Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The aftermath is never easy.

The streets are still caked with blood, and not a drop of it is gold — it's all the shades of red and maroon from sinners, stained into the gravel and concrete, dripping into the sewers. Soon enough, scavengers will come for the bodies lining the roads, but for now, Pentagram City is as quiet as it gets, the citizens retreating to safety to lick their wounds and count their losses.

It’s this scene that Charlie walks through on her way to the palace, keeping her eyes and attention carefully fixed on her destination instead of letting either linger on the carnage around her. Usually, she, too, would still be somewhere safe. As a child, Lucifer strictly forbade Charlie from staying in the palace; he would portal her (sometimes forcibly) to Sloth, where Belphegor would watch her for several days until the portal reopened and Pride was back to normal. Eventually, Charlie moved out, and now she curls in the bed in her warded hiding room instead of listening to the carnage, feeling almost sick over the fact that it’s only due to her status as a Hellborn that she’ll never face the end of an Exorcist’s blade.

Frowning, trying to shake those thoughts away, Charlie checks her phone again and makes sure that the messages from Lucifer are still there as if they would have disappeared in the minutes she’s been looking away.

Dad
hey sweetie? could you come by?
I have something really important to show you, but I think you’ll wanna see it in person ❤️

If Lucifer is texting her seven months after they last spoke, whatever it’s about must be important. Yes, her and her father have been…distant, since she moved out and even before that, if she’s being honest, but…he’s still her dad, right? Shouldn’t she at least humor him this once? Besides, maybe whatever he wants to show her has to do with the Extermination. Charlie has always been vocal about her hatred of them ever since she was old enough to know what they were, and maybe Lucifer’s finally figured out some way to stop them. Charlie certainly hopes so.

The closer she gets to the palace, the less blood there is; the Exorcists never come near the place, since Lucifer is the only one in the area and even they’re not nearly stupid enough to try to go against the Light-Bearer. The wrought iron gates swing open for Charlie silently and automatically as she approaches. Lucifer hasn’t had palace staff in many, many years now, which means the grounds are completely empty as Charlie walks up the long, winding path, stepping up the stairs hesitantly and raising her hand to knock. Maybe he wants her to wait outside…?

Several hard knocks and what feels like a period of forever spent waiting later, Charlie just looks around, squares her shoulders, and pulls the heavy palace doors open. The entry hall is quiet as a tomb and smells so dusty that Charlie has to pause to sneeze into her elbow. A moment later, wiping her eyes, she looks back around for any sign of Lucifer.

“Dad?” Charlie calls as she drifts through the foyer, peeking in every room that she passes.

The palace was full of life once, her father’s violin drifting through the halls, the nights spent with Uncle Ozzie and Aunt Bee and all of Lucifer’s other siblings around to let laughter brighten the empty ceilings. Now, it’s deathly still, and Charlie feels a pang of guilt for leaving her dad in this empty, lonely place with only portraits to keep him company. His throne room is empty, and so is his workshop, save for a few piles of bright rubber ducks with varying outfits and colors. Charlie’s mouth twitches into a reluctant smile, but she leaves them behind, wandering around the first floor until she’s once again back in the foyer. She glances around one last time, then looks up at the staircase leading up to where the bedrooms are located.

“Dad? It’s me, Charlie. Are you in here?” Charlie calls again, one hand on the banister as she slowly ascends. “You said you wanted to show me something…?”

Still nothing. Charlie frowns. Maybe Lucifer isn’t here. Still, it feels like he would have told her if he was somewhere other than the palace, and besides, where else would he go? It’s not like he’s got friends.

Ouch, Charlie thinks, wincing in spite of herself. The fact that it’s true doesn’t make it feel any less harsh, and besides, she’s one to talk…

“I know we haven’t talked in a while, but…but I’m glad you texted me,” Charlie says, directed to empty air, and then adds under her breath, “I think.”

The hallway stretching out in front of her now is the residential area of the palace. Her old room is just off to the side, and Charlie glances inside quickly. Aside from the dust, nothing has changed. There’s still the red and white curtains with music notes on them, the matching bedspread and pillows, her desk and vanity standing right where she left them. It’s simultaneously very sweet and…very, very sad.

Charlie ducks back out and closes the door behind her, more than a little wistful. In the years that she’s been away, she hasn’t come back to visit Lucifer once. They talk on the phone maybe once or twice a year, and it always feels stilted and only halfway there. Charlie loves her father, she really does, but…she wishes he would make just a little more of an effort to actually be her father.

Still…maybe she could make a little effort, too.

“Dad?” Charlie says, approaching the grand double doors at the end of the hall that open to his bedroom. They’re closed, and the last thing she wants to do is charge in there, but it can’t hurt to knock.

Her shoes click on the black marble as she walks closer, reaching out a hand to knock gently, but as soon as she touches it, the door swings open. Light spills into the hallway from the window on the other side of the room, and Charlie blinks as her eyes adjust, not having realized until now just how dark the rest of the palace was. The light illuminates what at first glance is a pile of white sheets or blankets laying in a heap on the floor, but then Charlie looks a little closer.

It’s not blankets or sheets on the floor.

It’s wings.

Charlie’s voice feels stuck, and it takes her what feels like a long time before she manages to ask, very softly, “...Dad?”

The wings rustle and shift, folding partly out of the way, and Charlie gasps and nearly steps back as Lucifer comes into view. A trail of glittering gold blood winds down his face from his hairline, and there’s a gleaming white collar wrapped around his throat that radiates powerful magic even from where Charlie is standing. Strapped around his face is a cage that covers his mouth — a muzzle, Charlie realizes, with a swooping, nauseating feeling. Within a second, she’s running to her father and flinging herself down beside him, his bare upper torso the only thing that’s visible above the heavy, fluffy heap of his wings.

“Dad! Dad, are you okay, are you— oh, my Hells, what happened to you, are you alright?!”

Lucifer’s eyes seem distant when Charlie grabs his face, his skin sticky with blood under her hands, but she brushes a lock of blonde hair out of the way and something in his gaze sharpens and focuses on her. Desperately, Charlie reaches for the back of his head and scrabbles at the clasps of the muzzle before something breaks inside her and she just tears the leather straps apart with a sharp growl, throwing the contraption into a corner of the room where she doesn’t have to think about it.

“Charlie?” Lucifer asks, and his voice is rough. “Charlie, what…what are you… You shouldn’t be here. Charlie…”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Charlie says, hushing him and folding more hair back from his face because she doesn’t know what else to do with her hands. “It’s okay, the Exorcists are gone. It’s safe.”

Lucifer shakes his head and tries to get up, his hooves scrabbling at the floor for a moment before he collapses again, panting. “No, that’s not… Charlie, you shouldn’t be here. What are you doing?”

“You— you sent me a text, you told me to come. You said that…that you had something important to show me.” Charlie’s voice wavers, still focused on him, the way he couldn’t even seem to pick himself up, the way his arm has come up to wrap around her own and she can see fresh burn marks and old scars where the white fades to the gray of his forearms. “Dad, please, tell me what happened.”

“I didn’t send you any texts,” Lucifer says, and then his eyes widen. “My phone. Where’s my fucking— fuck!”

Lucifer collapses again with a yelp, his head falling against Charlie as his chest heaves, a shudder going through his body. Carefully, Charlie tries to reach for his shoulder, his skin angel-hot and sticky with drying sweat under her hands, and rubs it gently the way he used to for her when she was scared or worried.

“You should go, Charlie,” Lucifer says, and his words are harsh like he’s gritting his teeth. “You— you should go. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m fine. I just— I’m okay. Just go, please. You don’t need to— you shouldn’t see me like this.”

“You’re hurt,” Charlie says, her voice wobbling, and her hand on his shoulder goes to the back of his head, where blood has matted into the fine blonde strands of his hair. “Dad, you’re hurt. You need help. We need to call some—”

“No!” Lucifer yelps, and he grabs at her with surprising strength, his claws digging into her upper arm even through her jacket and shirt as he raises his head to stare at her, golden eyes imploring and pupils slitted in terror. “No, Charlie, no, no one else can know about this, please, just— just leave me here, I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not!” It’s nearly a shriek, and a whimper threatens to escape Charlie as his wing shifts and she sees ragged feathers and gold blood against stark white bone where the joint has been cracked. “Dad, please. Please. Show me what’s wrong. Is it your wing? Please, just let me help, if you won’t let me call someone then— you need help, Dad!”

Charlie doesn’t know what’s wrong. All she knows is that her father is lying broken and bloody on the floor and won’t tell her what happened or let her help. She should— she should call one of his siblings, like— like Bee, or Ozzie, maybe they’d know what to do, but— but he looked so scared when she said that—

Lucifer laughs, the sound seeming more like a noise of pain than amusement, and shakes his head, dropping it again to rest against her shoulder. “Charlie…”

“Dad,” Charlie says, and she tries to keep her voice as gentle as she can, petting his hair like she’s got KeeKee in her arms instead of her father. “Please. Let me help. You’re hurt. You need help.”

This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. Why would an Exorcist go after Lucifer? And why isn’t his healing fixing his wounds? Charlie’s eyes fall to Lucifer’s slender neck, where the white collar sits, and she nearly wants to hit herself for not thinking of it before.

“Hold on. Just let me—”

She thinks she sees the latch, a little locking mechanism off to the side, but as soon as her fingers touch it—

Lucifer screams.

The sheer agony in the sound makes Charlie jerk her hand back in shock, nearly toppling over. As soon as her hand is off the collar he goes quiet, his body shuddering and his chest heaving, little sobs escaping from where he’s got his face buried in her chest, and Charlie understands now why he doesn’t want anyone to see him like this. He’s Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell, the Fallen Angel, and he’s being cradled in someone’s arms as he sobs in pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t— I didn’t think that would do that, I’m so sorry, Dad,” Charlie whispers, barely managing to hold back tears, and she bundles him up as best she can and moves so she’s leaning against the bed with him in her lap, trying not to jostle him and especially not putting her hands anywhere near the collar. “Shh. Shh. Just breathe, I’ve…I’ve got you. You’re safe now. Whoever hurt you, they’re gone. I’m sorry. I won’t touch it again.”

Charlie’s panic and fear is steadily being replaced with anger, slow and simmering in her chest. Her and her dad might not be the closest, but whoever did this is going to suffer for it, because if there’s one thing that Charlie will not fucking tolerate, it’s people hurting her family. Every Extermination reminds her that people deserve redemption — but some people’s redemption needs to hurt.

“Charlie...”

Lucifer’s voice breaks her out of her stupor; he’s stopped crying and now his voice just sounds raw and weary. Charlie looks down at him, wincing; it hasn’t gotten easier and every time she takes in how broken he looks brings another wave of tears and rage and uncertainty. She thinks about the muzzle again, that cage over his mouth like he’s some kind of common beast. Even still, Lucifer tries to smile at her. The effect is mostly ruined by the tear tracks that have created trails in the blood on his face and the bruise settling around one of his eyes.

“You can go, Charlie. I’ll be okay.”

“I’m not leaving,” Charlie says, and she wipes her face roughly, determined to stand her ground. “I’m going to help whether you like it or not. What happened, Dad?”

“Hells, you’re stubborn,” Lucifer says weakly, with a tearful laugh, and he closes his eyes and awkwardly brings up one of his hands to wipe his face. Charlie only notices now that his other shoulder is bruised and swollen, gold blooming beneath the porcelain white skin, and Lucifer sighs and folds his wings tighter around himself as he says, “It’s not really important, Charlie, but I’ll tell you anyway. It was just some overeager Exorcist. Probably a new recruit. What better way to impress your superiors than rough up Lucifer Morningstar, right? So it’s no big deal. Not a problem at all, really. You can just be on your way—”

“I don’t know what part of ‘I’m not leaving’ you didn’t understand, but I’ll say it again.” Charlie’s eyes flash. “I’m not leaving.” She looks over him, and for the first time, considers the possibility that he might be naked under his wings. The thought brings heat to her cheeks and she looks back up at his face quickly to distract herself. “Besides, that doesn’t make sense. You could take down an Exorcist in your sleep. And what’s with the collar?”

Lucifer winces. “Well…the collar is just…it’s…”

“It’s enchanted,” Charlie says, and she looks closer at it, making sure not to get too close. “I see…some kind of binding sigil?”

“Among others.” Lucifer stares past Charlie to the ceiling. “It, ah…keeps me from fighting back and from magically healing any wounds that are inflicted. They use them in Heaven to…make their rules known. If anyone tries to take it off, including me, well…saying that it hurts would be an understatement.”

Charlie’s stomach roils unpleasantly. “That’s sick.”

Lucifer laughs, almost fond but mostly sad, and he doesn’t close his eyes fast enough to hide the tears. “Oh, Charlie. Yes, it is sick, but that’s how it is. It’ll be obsolete in a few days or so — I’m too powerful for them to last long on me. Until then, though, these wounds won’t fully heal, and I’m stuck in…this form. No snakes for me in the next few days, unfortunately.”

“How’d they even get close enough to get it on you?” Charlie asks, struggling to imagine a scenario where an Exorcist managed to get within weapon range of Lucifer, much less ‘put a collar around his neck’ range. Even if he was unarmed, he could probably take care of an Exorcist with his eyes closed and both hands tied behind his back.

“Took me by surprise.” Lucifer shrugs, giving her an easy smile as he opens his eyes again. “I’m not omniscient, sweetie.”

That doesn’t feel right. Charlie knows that he’s hiding something, that there’s something he’s not telling her, but one look at the pain in his eyes and she decides to leave that questioning for another time. Instead, she takes a deep breath, nods, and lifts her head up to look around.

“Okay, um… We need to get you cleaned up.”

“This isn’t your responsibility.” Lucifer tries to push himself away, reaching for the edge of the bed and attempting to pull himself up with gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t have to— you shouldn’t have to take care of me. That’s my job.”

Charlie pulls him close and hisses at him warningly, giving him a glare.

“You can’t even stand. Where are you hurt? If you move your wings—”

“Oh, no, that’s not happening,” Lucifer says quickly. “That is not a part of me that you ever need to see.”

His legs…? Charlie wonders, and then she blushes again as she realizes that he is naked under his wings. She tries to recover with, “Well, that’s fine. I’ll just get a sheet and whatever they did to your legs, I can…”

Lucifer looks away, staring at the floor, something tightening on his face as he tucks his wings a little tighter around himself despite the way that it causes the wound to leak a fresh dribble of gold blood. The horror that dawns on Charlie is slow and thick like tar and melted brimstone. Suddenly, she feels like she can’t get enough air.

It’s not his legs.

“Dad…” Charlie whispers, silently begging him to tell her she’s wrong. Please, tell me it’s not true, please, tell me it’s not what I think…

Lucifer closes his eyes.

The room spins, and Charlie has to take a deep, shaky breath, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to picture everything good she can think of to distract herself from what her imagination brings her. They hurt him. They hurt him in the worst way possible, that even some of the saner citizens of literal Hell agree is too far—

“Charlie, Charlie, it’s okay, I’m fine, it’s okay…” There’s a hand on her cheek, and Lucifer’s voice becomes audible again over the blood in her ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I can handle it. I’m okay, sweetie. I’m okay.”

Tears blur Charlie’s vision when she opens her eyes, and her shoulders shudder when she sees Lucifer’s expression, panic and worry. He’s trying to comfort her, trying to spare her this at his own expense, even though he’s in so much pain that he can barely stand. The fact that this is the first time they’ve spoken in what feels like forever is completely abandoned as she nuzzles into his hand, bringing her own up to cover it and hold it against her cheek, desperate for his touch.

“They’re sick,” Charlie says, thick with tears. “They’re sick. They’re— they’re evil. They shouldn’t be angels, they— they don’t even deserve to be demons, they just—” She sobs, squeezing her fingers around his hand. “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t you worry yourself about me.” Lucifer is all false cheer and paper-thin arrogance, patting her cheek gently like none of this matters to him despite the waver in every word. “As soon as the collar breaks, I’ll be up and at ‘em again.”

Charlie sniffles, trying to nod, but all she can think of is Lucifer below some black-clad exorcist, their spear digging into his throat and those golden eyes so much like her own blank and dull as he’s—

Stop, stop.

“I…I need to set your shoulder. And try to splint your wing as best I can.” Charlie wipes her face again, hoping that if she focuses on what needs to be done, the horrible images that swirl in her head will leave her alone. “Here. Take this blanket and put it over your lap, then unfold your wings so I can see.”

Lucifer seems too tired to fight any longer, so he just nods, taking the blanket that she tugs from the bed and then staring at her meaningfully until she closes her eyes. There’s the rustle of his wings unfolding, then his weight shifts. “You can open your eyes now,” Lucifer says, uncharacteristically quiet. Almost…shy.

Charlie does. He’s tucked and fastened the blanket up around his chest as best he can so it pools over his lap, hiding everything above the knee. Just below is the smooth meld into the silky gray fur of his goat-like lower legs, and Charlie is relieved to see that as far as she can tell, nothing looks broken or dislocated there. She looks back up at where his wings are spread out in their relaxed position behind him, one held at an awkward, uncomfortable angle, but something draws her eyes back down. In this position, she can clearly see the scars on his inner forearms and how they match up to his claws. She has to fight the way her throat constricts and fresh tears well up in her eyes, trying to blink them away and scrubbing a sleeve across her face.

Charlie clears her throat and forces herself to focus on his shoulder, knowing the scars are old and she can’t do anything for them right now. The angles of his collarbone and arm just look wrong somehow, mismatched to his other shoulder, and the area is swollen and discolored with the gold pooling under the skin.

Just the sight of it makes Charlie ache in sympathy. “Your shoulder is…it’s dislocated. I think I can pop it back into place, though.”

Lucifer sighs wearily and turns slightly to the side to give her a better angle, turning his face away. “Be quick.”

Charlie’s heart squeezes at how willing he is to suffer pain, but outwardly, she just nods, reaching up and setting her hands in the best position she can get before she shoves the joint with all the force she can muster. There’s a stomach turning pop, but Lucifer just hisses softly through his teeth before opening his eyes and experimentally rolling that shoulder.

Oh, no, Charlie thinks. If that’s how he reacts to having a joint popped back into place, what did the collar feel like?

“Better,” Lucifer says, and he looks up to smile weakly. “Where’d you learn that?”

“You taught me,” Charlie says. “When I was younger, you…you made me learn combat and first aid. Said that I had to, being a princess. Don’t you remember?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah! Of course, I, um… I just didn’t think you retained any of that,” Lucifer flounders. “But I’m glad you did! That’s…that’s good.”

The awkwardness of the situation must be dawning on him now. Charlie’s already gone through the five — no, more like twenty — stages of that, but Lucifer might just now be fully realizing that he’s dressed in nothing but a sheet sitting on his bedroom floor with his daughter after…

Charlie swallows. She still doesn’t want to think about that. “Okay, you should…you should be on the bed. On your stomach. That’ll give me the best angle to get to your wing.”

That’s all well and good, but Lucifer isn’t getting himself up there, so how is Charlie supposed to…? When an idea crosses her mind, she doesn’t let herself hesitate, and a moment later she’s got her arms up underneath Lucifer’s body to lift him up bridal style. He’s not really as heavy as she expected — which actually makes sense, honestly; she’s got a good amount of height on him and he’s built like a twig, even with the awkward bulk of his wings that he’s tucked up against his back as best he can. Charlie supposes that vanishing them must count as changing shape to the collar, and she gives it a malevolent look as she sets Lucifer down on his silk sheets.

Lucifer actually moans when he comes into contact with the fabric, burrowing his face into it and not resisting as Charlie guides him to lay on his stomach, his wings falling limp over the bed in a mass of vaguely shimmery white feathers. The cool silk probably feels good against the angelic fever of his skin, Charlie rationalizes, but either way, she makes a quick exit, mumbling something about grabbing a cloth to clean the blood out of his feathers. The attached bathroom is also filled with rubber ducks, but she doesn’t let herself wonder. She just reaches for one of the cloths and runs it under the tap for a moment, looking up at where the mirror should be and finding an empty wall instead. In fact, glancing around the bathroom as she wrings the cloth out, she can’t find a single reflective surface to be found.

When she returns with the cloth and a few things that she thinks she can make a passable splint from, Lucifer almost looks like he’s asleep, his eyes closed and his face pressed into the sheets. Charlie allows a breath to steel herself, then comes closer and reaches out to gently touch his shoulder. The way he flinches makes her want to start crying all over again, but she just gently shifts his uninjured wings out of the way as best she can — they are, after all, kind of fucking huge — and pulls the broken one towards her. She knows that wings are sensitive, and that touching them is reserved for only important things — this would qualify, Charlie thinks… Well, hopes. Either way, that just means that it’s extra important to be careful so she doesn’t hurt them further or make him uncomfortable. Right? Right.

The wound is located on the middle right wing, appearing as if someone took the two parts of it in each hand and snapped the joint like a piece of kindling. Charlie wishes she had healing magic, but healing magic isn’t exactly common in Hell, even among powerful demons; the only ones she can think of that use it are a few of the Ars Goetia. Maybe a potion would work? Could she go to Sloth and ask for a healing potion or something? But then they’d ask questions, and Charlie understands why Lucifer doesn’t want anyone else to know about this. If it got out that the leader of Hell could be seriously injured…

Charlie sets her jaw. It’s up to her.

Lucifer hisses at the first gentle touch of the cloth to his wing, his others shivering as Charlie shushes him and continues to carefully wipe the worst of the blood away. The wound makes her a little sick to look at, so she tries not to, taking breaks every few moments to allow herself and Lucifer to catch their breaths, stroking her hands over the soft, fluffy unmarred feathers as he does in hopes that it soothes him, rearranging the ones that are out of place, which are…a lot. She wonders when the last time he actually preened them was. Either way, it certainly makes her feel better, and he isn’t asking her to stop, at least. His wings are gorgeous, even by Heaven’s standards; the Exorcists all have wings in shades of gray and silver, small and utilitarian, nothing like the majesty of Lucifer’s. Demon wings, for their part, come in basically every shade except white. It makes the injury feel all the more cruel.

Charlie swallows hard and sets the cloth down once she’s done cleaning the break as much as she can. She doesn’t trust herself nearly enough to try to set it back into place like she did his shoulder, but she can at least wrap it and splint it so he won’t accidentally move it and cause himself more pain.

“Dad,” Charlie whispers, trying to draw his attention. “I’m going to try to splint your wing now, okay? It’s going to hurt.”

“Okay,” Lucifer says without raising his head. There’s a long pause where Charlie makes sure that everything she needs is within arm’s reach, and then Lucifer shifts slightly, one hazy golden eye opening and peering up at her as he whispers, “I trust you.”

Oh. If that isn’t a punch to the stomach, Charlie doesn’t know what is. She practically abandoned him. Even as a teenager, back when she still lived here, she was angry and bitter, knowing the Exterminations happened every year and that Lucifer could stop it and chose not to. As a result, the few times that she saw him, she barely spoke to him, and it was more frequently than not short-tempered jabs or snide, if childish, insults when she did. Charlie still wishes that he would do something about the yearly slaughter of their people, but…she was cruel, sometimes. Needlessly cruel. Some of the things she’s said, well… She isn’t exactly proud of them.

Even after all that, Lucifer still trusts her. He’s letting her see him like this, albeit with reluctance, and he’s letting her take care of him, letting her handle his wings, letting her meticulously wrap the makeshift splint with bandages and arrange his feathers around it. The whole time, Lucifer doesn’t make a sound, but a quick glance shows that his hands are wound tightly into the sheets, gripping them so hard every muscle trembles. Charlie looks back to her work, and a few wraps later, she fastens it and carefully sets the wing down on the bed with one final brush over it to smooth the feathers down back into order.

“You can’t even pull your wings back, can you, huh?” Charlie asks softly, mostly thinking out loud, her hand lingering on the soft warmth of his wings. She knows they’re powerful, but they feel so fragile…

“No changing shape, remember?” Lucifer carefully rolls onto his side, reaching for the cloth and trying to raise it to his face with a soft noise of pain.

Charlie gently pries the cloth from his claws and takes up the task herself, dabbing the blood away to find a small nick at his hairline that’s not serious, just bloody. “Yeah,” she says, and then she frowns. “But…that means that your wings were out when you put the collar on. You said someone took you by surprise…?”

Lucifer keeps his wings incorporeal unless he’s actively flying, and if he was actively flying, he would have been able to outfly any Exorcist and probably the rest of Heaven, too. Lucifer is silent, holding himself still as Charlie stares at the collar. Suddenly, she doesn’t want to breathe for fear of breaking the brittle stillness that’s fallen over them both.

Lucifer breaks the silence first as he pushes himself away from her, reaching for the blankets and yanking them up to cover himself as best he can and turning away so Charlie can’t see his face. “You know, I am just exhausted! Imagine that, yeah, I, uh…they really did a number on me. I think it would be best if I just slept for a while, okay? You can— there’s a sofa in the parlor, or there’s— well, there’s plenty of beds, I mean, this palace is open to you any time you want it, um— there’s a kitchen— well, duh. Of course there is, you know that, you lived here! I’m just going to— to take a quick nap, and, um, I’ll see you in a few hours. Or, um, you can go now! If you want. You should. I’m sure you have way more important things to do than take care of me.”

Charlie tries to reach for his shoulder, but halfway there, she thinks better of it. It’s obvious even to her that Lucifer needs some space. Slowly, swallowing the suffocating feeling of tears that threatens to choke her, Charlie pushes herself off the bed, careful not to jostle him.

“I’ll let you rest for a while,” Charlie says, backing away, wishing she had a reason to hesitate. “But— I’ll be back in a few hours to check on you. I’m not leaving.”

The little ball of blankets with wings that’s taken Lucifer’s place on the bed seems to curl a little tighter at the suggestion, and Charlie turns, carefully stepping over the bloodstains on the floor and shutting the door behind her. Just before she does, she hears a single, sharp sob.

Chapter Text

Several hours later, with the red sky of the Pride long having darkened to the bruised purple of whatever passes for night in Hell, Charlie knocks on Lucifer’s bedroom door, carrying a teacup on a saucer in the other hand. She’s showered and dressed in fresh clothes — unfortunately, she took all of hers when she moved out and isn’t willing to leave for long enough to go fetch them, so she had to make do with some of Lucifer’s that had been seemingly left in the laundry room. They were a little dusty, but looked clean, at least, and now Charlie wears a pair of long, billowing white pants that are a bit too short on her and one of Lucifer’s looser shirts only because there’s no way his slim tailored dress shirts were fitting her.

“Dad?” Charlie asks. “Are you awake? I made tea.”

After a moment, taking the silence as a good enough answer, Charlie opens the door, glancing around to make sure nothing’s changed. If Lucifer is awake, then she wants to get him cleaned up a little more, and if he’s asleep, well, it can’t hurt to check on him, right?

Lucifer stirs when Charlie steps inside, the feathers on his wings fluffing as he lifts his head up slightly, eyes wide before Charlie steps into the room a little further and gently pushes a wave of magic into the lamps on each bedside table. Soft light bathes the room, and recognition dawns on Lucifer’s face, his feathers settling once again as he quickly tugs the blankets up a little further to cover even more of himself despite the fact that nothing showed.

“Charlie. You’re…still here.” Lucifer tries for a smile. It’s very unconvincing.

“I told you I wasn’t going to leave,” Charlie says, and she feels a little hurt that Lucifer really thinks so low of her that he expected her to be gone. She thinks about sitting down on the bed next to him, but something keeps her standing, and she awkwardly wrings her hands together as she looks over him. “How are you?”

“Golden,” Lucifer replies breezily. “I’m doing great. You really helped. Thank you.”

Charlie lets that hang in the air, meeting Lucifer’s eyes and staring at him until he looks away.

“I’m…okay.” Lucifer’s injured wing rustles softly as he speaks. “The injuries won’t fully heal until the collar is taken off. But trust me, I’ve…I’ve been through worse.”

Charlie thinks of the illusion of a falling star that she saw an Ars Goetia summon at a party back when Lucifer still had parties, the blinding luminosity of it, the sparkling trail left in its wake, the way it slammed into the ground in a blast of light that made her eyes water. Is that what it looked like when Lucifer Fell? A streak of light in the darkness? Did he hit the ground with enough force to shake the world? He doesn’t talk about it, never has. She asked once when she was younger, but the way his eyes filled with tears and something in his face went closed off and wounded taught her not to ask again.

“Do…” Charlie looks at the lamp and blinks hard before turning back to him. “Do you want to get cleaned up? I could go, um, fill up the bath for you. Not that I think— I mean, you’re fine, if you want, but you’re just, you’re hot, I mean, very warm, and maybe cool water would help, and, um— it might make you feel better?”

Charlie’s voice trails off into a squeak as Lucifer blinks up at her, his cheeks flushed a rather pleasant gold.

“...Or not?” Charlie tries, desperate to claw herself out of this hole she’s apparently dug herself into.

It feels like she’s looking at him for the first time in her life. Like…like something’s changed, like the very air between them has shifted, and Charlie has to breathe slowly past the strangling weight in her chest. She doesn’t even know what she’s feeling. Is it because of the fact that they haven’t even seen each other in years? Is that why she wants to reach out and trace her thumb across his cheekbone where the glowing gold is brightest?

“Should I go…do that?” Charlie asks, desperate to redirect herself.

Lucifer blinks, and he almost seems to shake himself, like he’s waking up from a deep sleep. “Y…Yeah. Yeah. Thank…thank you, Charlie. That would be nice.”

Charlie practically flees to the bathroom, closing the door behind her and leaning over the sink and taking several short, sharp breaths. What the fuck was that? If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that she felt…

Yeah, no, not that, it definitely wasn’t that, she’s not…

But…

Absolutely not. She won’t even entertain that idea.

“You need to get yourself together,” Charlie says, staring at the marble of the basin since there’s no mirror to berate herself in and keeping her voice low. “Get yourself together and handle this like an adult. He is your father, and he is hurt.”

Hurt. Lucifer is hurt. She just needs to keep reminding herself of that. Her wires are crossed, she’s panicked, she hasn’t even seen him in years, so she just needs to keep reminding herself that he is hurt and needs help. She looks up at the wall, imagining there’s a mirror there, blinking away the red that she can feel trying to bleed into her eyes and setting her teeth before shaking herself and turning to the large inset tub and opening the faucet. The pipes sputter, but after a heartbeat water starts trickling and then pouring. After a second of deliberation, Charlie reaches for the nearest rubber duck — one that’s been made to look like a purple dragon — and tosses it into the tub.

When she returns to the bedroom, Lucifer is sitting up on the edge of the bed, the blanket tucked around him once more, and he’s flexing his shoulder, rolling it with a pinched expression on his face.

“Does it hurt?” Charlie asks, suddenly worried that maybe she made it worse, but Lucifer looks up at her and smiles gently.

“Just stiff.”

Charlie moves closer, almost eager to reach for him and feel the heat of his skin underneath her hands once more. “Can you walk? Do you want me to carry you?”

Lucifer chuckles weakly, but his smile seems plastered on as he looks away from her. “You’d think I’m a damsel in distress with how much you’re carrying me around.”

“I picked you up once,” Charlie retorts. “Besides, I owe you. Remember all those times you carried me when we went flying?”

The brittle expression on Lucifer’s face fades, something softening the lines of pain and bringing warmth to his eyes as his wings twitch with the memories. As a child, Charlie desperately wanted to be able to fly like he could. Short of magic or enchantments, the next best thing was Lucifer letting her cling to him as he flew, her arms wrapped around his neck to keep herself steady. She still remembers the rush of air on her face, being surrounded by his warmth, the heavy beats of his wings around her as the sky wheeled past in flashes of red and crimson. Never once did she feel like she was going to fall, not even when he let her go so she could pretend she was the one flying, shrieking in delight at the swooping feeling of freefall before he effortlessly caught her again and pulled her close.

“You loved it so much,” Lucifer says, fondness coloring his voice with something that makes Charlie want to cry, and he reaches for her hand, linking their fingers and squeezing it gently. “You begged and— and pleaded with me to do it every day. Like I— like it was the most amazing thing in the whole world and all the realms.”

“It felt like it,” Charlie says, and she stares down at his hand intertwined with hers, the dark gray of his skin that fades to white as it reaches his elbow, lined with healed scars, each finger tipped with shiny black claws. “Maybe…maybe when you’re healed, we could do that again. I…miss it.”

Charlie didn’t even realize that she did until now, but all of a sudden, the idea of watching Lucifer swan dive off the upper levels of the palace only to flare those wings right at the last second and swoop back up to grab her and carry her off with him as he climbs higher and higher sounds like the best thing ever. When’s the last time they did that? She had to have been young; once she hit around 120 she started shunning ‘childish’ things like that. Right now, though, it doesn’t sound childish. It sounds freeing.

Lucifer beams — Charlie understands now why they use that word, because his smile is what she imagines the sun would look like — and squeezes her hand again. “Yes. We will. Maybe we could go somewhere where the air is cleaner.”

Charlie nods, a little dazed by the dazzling grin on his face and the realization that she hasn’t seen a smile like that since she was young. Hells, has she really grown that distant from him to the point where she can barely remember seeing him truly smile?

“When you’re healed,” Charlie cautions, coming back to the task at hand, and Lucifer’s thin shoulders slump. The loss of his smile makes Charlie want to claw her own heart out, but she just tries to focus on what she needs to do instead of letting her mind wander.

Lucifer gives a very undignified squawk when Charlie picks him up again, seemingly having forgotten that was even going to happen, his feathers fluffing out as he reaches up to grab at her shirt so hard she can feel his claws through the fabric. It’s cute, and Charlie giggles before she thinks about it, shutting up rather quickly when he narrows his eyes and flicks his tongue at her but still unable to hold back a smile. It’s cute, is the thing, he’s cute, and Charlie—

I will not be weird, Charlie thinks, and neatly cuts that thread off before it can go any further. Ignoring problems is, after all, the Morningstar way. Not that this is…a problem, or anything. It’s just that she’s relieved that he’s alive when it very well looks like he could have not been and she’s overwhelmed and panicked and it’s fine.

Charlie nudges the faucet closed once they’re in the bathroom and sets him down on the edge of the tub. The sheet has slipped despite his best efforts, and now his chest is exposed, just as skinny as the rest of him and the same pale porcelain shade as his face and upper arms. His wings brush the tile, filling up the space with red and white feathers that rustle softly with his breathing, and the smaller, more confined space makes Charlie feel acutely aware of his aura. Lucifer practically hums with power, like that slender body is mere seconds away from bursting into light and noise and color at all times.

“I could have walked,” Lucifer says, and he’s blushing again, cheeks stained gold. “But…thanks.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.” Charlie tests the water temperature — lukewarm, but still cooler than Lucifer’s body temperature — and motions for him to get in. “Here, it should be okay for you to get in. Just keep your wing out of the water so the bandage doesn’t get soggy, but— well, you probably know that, why am I telling you? Just go ahead, there’s blood in your hair and I want to get it out.”

If there was ever a contest for how awkward an angel could look, Charlie thinks Lucifer would win it right now, staring at her like a deer in the headlights as he clutches the blanket close to himself. “Um,” he says, the absolute picture of royal grace. “You’re not going to— Charlie, I— you do not need to bathe me.”

“I’m not climbing in with you!” Charlie says indignantly, feeling her own cheeks flush hot at the prospect. “I’m just washing your hair. It’s fine, Dad.”

“Fuck my immortal life,” Lucifer whispers under his breath, and then he sighs heavily. “Okay, fine. Just, for the love of all that is unholy, don’t look.”

Obediently, and because she doesn’t think she really wants to see him naked any more than he wants her to, Charlie turns her head away and closes her eyes for good measure, offering her hand for Lucifer to grab. There’s a pause, the sound of the blanket dropping, and then Charlie feels his hand very carefully being rested on hers, warm and trembling slightly. She has to force herself not to look when there’s a sharp hiss of pain and the sound of water sloshing, shutting her eyes tight, and suddenly she can’t help but wonder how he looks, all those long, slender lines, angelic perfection turned jagged and sharp from Hell.

Lucifer was the most beautiful of the Seraphim, Charlie heard once. So perfect that he hurt to look at.

And Heaven help her, because she’s never seen another Seraphim but she’s willing to believe it all the same.

“Alright,” Lucifer says, after a few more small, bitten-off noises and his hand has left hers. “You can look.”

Charlie opens her eyes and immediately checks to make sure he’s okay. His wings are arranged as best he can to keep them out of the water, sitting in the tub with his arms folded over his knees and his chin on his arms, exposing the sharp edges of his spine. Humans, Charlie remembers, were built in the image of the angels. She’s never actually seen a human, of course, just Sinners and… Well, that’s it, really. Lilith, her mother, was a human, but she turned into a demon when she Fell, and besides, she left just after Charlie was born, so Charlie only knows her from the portraits on the walls. She thinks she gets the general gist of humans, though: like Lucifer, but not nearly as perfect.

Satisfied that he’s settled as best he can, she goes to the shelf of soaps and other various toiletries, grabbing a bottle of shampoo because apparently Lucifer has used the same one for 200 years and Charlie bets he’ll use it until— until—

Well, Charlie doesn’t know how Hell is going to end, but she assumes there’ll be lots of fire and probably screaming, and Lucifer will still have been using the same shampoo.

She takes a seat on the marble platform that forms a low shelf of sorts around the tub, folding her legs under her and setting the shampoo down. Lucifer’s fine, golden-blonde hair still has the remnants of blood dried into it, and he winces when she runs her fingers through the short strands on the back of his head, humming softly as she assesses the damage. It almost looks as if…

“Is this from the muzzle?” Charlie asks softly, trying to picture it without losing her composure and either starting to bawl or picking something up and throwing it at the wall as hard as she can. She thinks there were clasps back here, but then again, she wasn’t really looking at it very hard.

Lucifer nods, and Charlie presses her mouth into a thin line to stop her lower lip from wobbling as tears fill her eyes. He didn’t deserve that.

“Sharp teeth,” Lucifer says, and though his tone suggests nonchalance, his aura gives him away with a spike of what Charlie can only describe as betrayal. “I’m the only angel with sharp teeth.”

Charlie wishes she did climb in with him, because all she wants is to wrap her arms around him and cry. Lucifer is where she got her fangs, and they’re one of the things that Charlie likes about herself — she thinks they’re cute, and she has fond memories of running excitedly to him as a child and showing him the first pointy tip of a tooth that was coming in, exclaiming excitedly that she was going to be just like him. That’s why they muzzled him. Like he’s something to be scared of. Like he’s an animal. And Lucifer is the evil one?

With a shaky breath, Charlie swallows back tears and places a gentle hand on Lucifer’s head to tilt it back. He goes willingly, eyes closed, and she feels a sudden and absolutely absurd urge to kiss him on the forehead. It’s quickly shoved aside in favor of using a small bowl she found in the cabinet to pour water over his hair, smoothing the strands back and letting herself focus on the feeling of them underneath her hands, softer than silk. Angelic perfection, in every way, soft hair and soft skin and white-edged wings and—

She’s crying again. Charlie holds back her sobs, but the tears slip down her cheeks silently as she bites her lip with one of her fangs — muzzled like a dog — so she doesn’t alert Lucifer to her distress. Carefully, she massages shampoo into his hair, combing out the blood and the tangles and all the while feeling his aura wrapped around her, buzzing on the back of her tongue and somewhere deep in her chest, power and light wrapped up into this body smaller than hers, and Charlie has never before thought of her father, Lucifer, King of Hell, as breakable, but suddenly she looks at his thin shoulders and the cracked wing, the collar wrapped around that pale, slender throat, and she realizes that he is broken, was broken, thousands of years ago, and he’s still trying to pick up the pieces.

Charlie’s never thought about it before, really thought about it, what it must be like to Fall, because for all Lucifer’s failings as a father, he’s always caught her. Charlie has never had to question what would happen if her life fell apart or if she was injured. Lucifer may have been distant, but he made sure she knew, at least, that she would always have a soft place to land. For a moment she thinks of the falling star again, tumbling through the sky. How long does it take for an angel to Fall? Did Lilith keep hold of his hand, or was he alone?

“Charlie?” Lucifer asks.

Charlie starts. She’s been sitting still, her hands having slipped from Lucifer’s hair to rest on his shoulders. His skin is so warm, and she wonders what it would be like to be wrapped up in his wings, pressed close to that warmth somewhere soft and dark and quiet. He hasn’t held her in a very long time. Nobody has held her in a very long time.

“Sorry,” Charlie says, trying to force her voice steady. “Sorry. I just got distracted.”

“It’s alright.” One of Lucifer’s hands comes up to grab hers and squeeze gently. “You can go, if there’s something—”

Charlie rolls her eyes and gently presses on his uninjured shoulder as a form of reprimand. “Stop trying to get rid of me. I’m staying until you’re better. Just let me finish this, and then I’ll go find you some clothes.”

Lucifer’s responding laugh is weary but fond, and he drops his hand again, tilting his head back when Charlie guides him to. For another few long moments, there’s just the sounds of water splashing and their breathing echoing off the tile. When Charlie finally sets the bowl aside, the water in the tub has a shimmer of gold. It would be pretty, Charlie thinks, if she didn’t know what caused it. She reaches for the towel hanging nearby, using it to towel Lucifer’s hair off and then pulling another one so it’s within his reach.

“Do you want me to stay while you get dried off?” Charlie asks, already turning her face away and offering her hand once more for him to climb out with. “Just in case you…you trip, or something?”

“Over what? My own hooves?” Lucifer’s hand is in hers again, and he’s not trembling anymore. “I’ll be fine. Clothes would be nice.”

Charlie can’t blame him for wanting to get dressed, so once he’s sat down on the edge of the platform the tub is set into with the towel wrapped around him and the water draining, she goes back to the bedroom to find clothes. There’s ones similar to the ones she’s wearing in the disorganized closet, loose pants and a simple robe, and she folds them over her arm and heads back to the bathroom thinking of maybe changing the sheets while Lucifer gets his clothes on and—

“Charlie!”

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry!” Charlie yelps louder than Lucifer does as she pushes the bathroom door open without thinking and, more importantly, without knocking, catching sight of the lines of his back and the fluff at the base of each of his wings before she whirls around so her back is to him, her face feeling like she just stuck it in a pool of lava. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— I just forgot— I didn’t see anything. I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to scare me to death if you do that again,” Lucifer says, but at least he doesn’t sound angry, and a moment later he huffs. “Okay, now come in.”

“I really am sorry! I was thinking about— I want to— nevermind, it doesn’t matter,” Charlie says, cheeks still ablaze, and she turns around extra slowly just in case. “I, um— I got you these. Are they okay?”

“They’re fine.” Lucifer’s face looks a little flushed too, and so does his chest, his collarbones stained gold just like his cheeks. “It’s— it’s fine, by the way. Just, you know, give a guy a warning next time.”

“I will,” Charlie assures him, still feeling like she needs to apologize more if only to get him to stop avoiding her eyes. “I promise. I’m sorry. I’m— I’m gonna go— um— clean.”

She leaves without waiting for his response, hurrying to the linen closet just to get as far away from him as she can because all of a sudden his aura is making her feel jittery, like she needs to run fifteen laps around the grounds just to be able to sit still. It’s as though their every interaction has been zapped with an electric current and even being in the same room with him is going to fry her into a smoking crisp. Something changed, in the bath or when she found him — something is different, and it terrifies her.

“What the Hells is happening to me?” Charlie whispers, staring down at her hands as if they’ll give her the answer, but all she finds is her own palms the same as they’ve ever been.

Fuck, she can’t do this right now. Lucifer first, crises later.

She gathers up some of the bedding and returns to the bedroom, remaking the bed in record time and cursing her inability to magic sheets onto a mattress without ripping them. The old bedding is dumped in the laundry chute, and as she walks back towards the bathroom door, a glint of metal catches her eye.

Charlie hesitates only a moment before reaching down to pick up the muzzle from where she threw it hours ago. Just the sight of it makes her feel downright murderous, and her eyes flash red as she clenches one hand around it and it bursts into flame. The satisfaction she takes from watching it disintegrate into ash is worth getting said ash on the rug, and she quickly dusts her hands off and knocks on the bathroom door.

“Dad?” Charlie asks. “Do you need help? I made the bed.”

“These fucking— damned fucking wings, stupid fucking magic— oh, fuck you!”

That doesn’t sound good. “Are you okay…?”

The bathroom door opens to reveal Lucifer standing there, dressed in nothing but his pants and looking pissed.

“Uh.” Charlie blinks. “Is everything…?”

“I can’t fucking wear a shirt because I can’t use my magic to get my wings through it!” Lucifer hisses, tongue flickering, and his hands flex like he’s thinking about reaching up and tearing the collar off himself before something flits across his face he seems to think better of it. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I just… It’s frustrating.”

Staring at the robe, Charlie sees the problem: Lucifer’s wings can’t pass through the fabric because he doesn’t have his magic to do so. How has she never thought about that before? She always just kind of accepted that his wings sprout out of his back whenever he wants them no matter what clothes he’s wearing. Though, on second thought, she supposes that’s how it works for her tail, and she’s just never actually paid attention to it before… Suddenly, Charlie has more than a few questions about how, exactly, that magic works.

Questions later, remember? Charlie reminds herself.

“It’s okay,” Charlie says, and she takes the robe from him and sets it on the bedside table. “If you’re cold, just get under the blankets.” At his look, she manages to smile. “Really, Dad, I don’t mind.”

Lucifer grumbles under his breath, tucking his arms around himself — still moving his shoulder as though it’s stiff, Charlie notices. She reaches out a hand to steady him as he limps towards the bed, pulling the covers back and providing something to hold on to as he laboriously climbs in. At least once he’s settled, some of the tension seems to leave him, and he pulls up the blankets again to cover himself as Charlie finally gives in to herself and sits down on the edge of the bed.

“You really shouldn’t feel like you have to do this for me,” Lucifer says after a second, staring at the wall instead of looking up at Charlie. “I should take care of you. You don’t… I’m not your problem.”

The pain that lances through her feels as sharp as an Exorcist’s blade, and Charlie doesn’t even think before she’s reaching to grab his hand, clasping it in both of her own as tight as she can. “What are you talking about? You’re not a problem, Dad, and anyone who says you are is some kind of lowlife prick who— nevermind. Just, I want to help you, alright? I want to— I want to make sure that you’re okay, and I want to— to find the asshole who did this and ask them what the fuck they have to say for themselves!”

Charlie’s so animated by the end of her sentence that her glamor slips and she feels her tail whip angrily across the bed behind her, the weight of her horns on her head sudden and unexpected, and she has to close her eyes and take a slow breath to avoid setting the bed on fire with a stray burst of flame. She counts to five, wills the horns and tail away, takes another breath, and then opens her eyes again to look at Lucifer.

“You’re not some terrible burden that I have to bear,” Charlie insists, leaning in close until she can rest her forehead against her father’s, hearing his breath hitch as he closes his eyes. “You’re…you’re my dad, and…I love you.”

She hasn’t said that in a long time. Too long. When did she last say it? Was it when she moved out? It must have been…right?

…Did he say it back?

Lucifer’s next breath is a little strangled, and he makes a sound suspiciously close to a sob as he reaches up with his free hand to put it on the back of her neck, warm and heavier than it should be across her spine. “I don’t know how I made you, Charlie. I really don’t.” He pulls away after a few moments, wiping his eyes, and tries to smile at her. “When all of this is over, how do you feel about some pancakes?”

“That sounds great,” Charlie says, and something tightens in her throat. “Do you need anything else?”

Lucifer hesitates, then sighs. “Well…it’d be nice if you could find my phone, but—”

Charlie’s already up and off the bed. “I’ll bring it to you.”

She eventually finds it under the desk near the door where Lucifer keeps his letter writing supplies in a stubborn rebellion against texting — he still swears up and down that the only proper way to invite someone to a party is with a handwritten invitation. Or, at least, he did, back when he still had those.

Lucifer murmurs a thanks when she hands it to him, curling up on his side with his wings out behind him. His lockscreen is a photo of a portrait that was painted when Charlie was young, her sitting on his lap, head resting on his chest with her eyes closed.

“I’ll…let you sleep,” Charlie says, and she wishes she could smooth his hair back again, the damp strands falling across his forehead just begging to be put back in order. “I’ll, um, be…in my room. If you need me. Or you can just text me. Or— whatever. Just tell me if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” Lucifer says. “I…I love you too, sweetie.”

Charlie doesn’t want to leave. The palace is so lonely, and she already knows that staring at the dark ceiling of her old bedroom isn’t going to do her any favors. It takes real effort not to climb in next to him and wrap her arms around him, gather all those shattered pieces that she saw for the first time today and hold them together like simply doing so will make him whole again. Why shouldn’t she? What’s stopping her?

It would be so warm, Charlie’s heart pleads. And you could keep each other safe. Away from Hell, away from Heaven.

But Charlie still turns and walks away, listening for any reason to turn back, any hitched breath or soft noise that would make it okay for her to go right back to him and hold him again. There’s nothing. Just the soft sounds of his breathing and the occasional rustle of his wings until she leaves and lets the door close behind her.

Chapter Text

Charlie’s dreams are filled with falling stars and golden blood and a fever-hot body next to hers, and she wakes up gasping against her pillow, wholly unaware of where she is until the shapes of her bedroom sort themselves out into familiarity instead of abstract colors and blobs. Her bed feels too small, her room too claustrophobic, and she sits up and checks her phone quickly, wiping the tiredness out of her eyes. No texts from Lucifer…or anyone else, for that matter.

With a sigh, she drops her phone back down and rolls over onto her back. Since she moved out of the palace, she’s been…lonely, she guesses. Not that she wasn’t lonely living here, either. Barely seeing her father and without any staff to keep her company, she basically haunted this place, spending her time reading and drawing. She and Lucifer were like two ghosts that drifted around the same rooms, existing on two planes that never quite touched.

The older Charlie got, the sadder Lucifer seemed. Is he disappointed in her? Did she remind him too much of Lilith? Why did Lilith leave, anyways? Where did she go? Charlie knows the story: Lilith and Adam, the apple, the Fall. They said that Lilith and Lucifer were in love. If she loved Lucifer so much, why’d she leave him? Why leave her newborn daughter? Charlie doesn’t want to be mad at her — she’s sure Lilith had good reasons — but sometimes it just…hurts.

Yeah. There’s definitely a good reason for leaving your family and not sending so much as a single text, letter, or fucking carrier pigeon. Lilith must be off just…doing something important, and one day, she’ll come back to Hell and tell Charlie all about it.

“Fuck.” Charlie rubs her face, then swings her legs over the side of the bed to stand up and head to the bathroom, running a hand over her hair as she does and wincing when she feels the tangles. She put it up in a hurry after she showered yesterday without even bothering to comb it, which certainly didn’t do her any favors.

She brushes her teeth and splashes some water on her face, resorting to using her phone camera as a mirror because there isn’t one in this bathroom, either. There is a half-hearted effort to brush her hair, but after a few seconds she just groans and puts it back up in a ponytail with a promise to herself to deal with it later. With that done, and with a fresh pair of clothes also stolen from Lucifer, she walks down the hall to his bedroom, the only sound being her hooves clicking against the floors.

A brief glance into his room shows that he’s still sleeping, his arms wrapped around a pillow that he’s curled his body around and one set of wings halfway folded over himself. He looks…peaceful, at least, his face relaxed, his aura warm and quiet as Charlie pauses, leaning against the doorframe and telling herself that it’s just for a second and there’s nothing strange about it. She’s just…making sure he’s okay.

Even now, even after everything, he still almost seems to glow, his skin with a subtle pearly sheen visible in the dim room as if he’s giving off his very own light. Ethereal, almost. Angelic. A Fallen Seraphim is still a Seraphim, after all. As if sensing her gaze, Lucifer’s wings shift, moving to cover a little more of him as he shivers slightly and his face tightens for a moment before he sighs, adjusting his head and slipping back into sleep.

What am I doing? Charlie wonders, and it’s like being doused with cold water, the warm little glow in her chest fizzling out as she blinks at Lucifer. Staring at him like a creep while he tries to recover from being attacked by an Exorcist?

No. Not an Exorcist. Charlie knows he’s lying about that, because absolutely nothing about it adds up. He was attacked, sure, but not by some lowly Exorcist. Could another demon have attacked him? One of the other Sins? One of the Ars Goetia? An Overlord? But why? And why would they just leave him there instead of — Charlie winces — finishing him off and broadcasting to all of Hell that they got rid of Lucifer Morningstar in his own home?

And there’s another thing that doesn’t make sense. Lucifer created Hell. He could vaporize basically anyone except the other Sins with a trivial amount of effort, even the most powerful Overlords and all of the Ars Goetia, and Charlie imagines that he could probably take the Sins down, too, given proper motivation, like…like being…

Charlie shudders and turns away from that thought, still not wanting to face it.

No matter how she arranges it, none of Lucifer’s story makes sense, and he knows that, too. He’s deliberately hiding something from her. Why? Is he scared of something? What could the King of Hell possibly be scared of?

Charlie is still staring at him, and she knows she should walk away but can’t bring herself to. She wants nothing more than to crawl in next to him and let him wrap himself around her instead of the pillow, held close to the heat of that living star that she calls her father. She just wants to be near him in a way that she never has before, like some kind of switch was flipped, or someone put a spell…on…her…

Oh, fuck.

Charlie closes the door as softly as she can and leans against the wall, covering her mouth with her hand as she gapes at her own stupidity. Of course. A potion or a spell or something, of course, why didn’t she think about that before? Hells, she’s fucking stupid! If someone knew she was coming, and they obviously did since they lured her here, they could have set some kind of trap for her! It’s not impossible to make a lust potion or spell of some kind; it takes some specialized equipment and knowledge, but one of the Ars Goetia could do it or have their spell books stolen by someone else. Fuck, she’s such an idiot—

Despite the prospect of possibly being enchanted, something in Charlie seems to relax. This…this explains everything. Someone laid a trap for her, and she got whammied by some kind of spell without even realizing it. Nothing’s wrong, nothing’s changed. She’ll get whatever charm is on her removed, and everything will be fine, and her and Lucifer will go back to normal.

Charlie breathes an audible sigh of relief and rests her head back against the wall, grinning for a moment before shaking herself and pulling out her phone. Well, if this is all some kind of love or lust enchantment, she knows exactly who to call…

Charlie
Hey Uncle Ozzie !! I kinda have a little problem and was wondering if you might be able to give some advice…could I come by sometime soon??😊 hope you’re doing well ❤️❤️🌈

Uncle Ozzie
Heyyy, Char-Char! OFC I can help any time! Is it urgent? Kind of a busy schedule today but if you need something ASAP I could absolutely squeeze you in…

Charlie
Omg no please don’t stress! I’ll be ok for another couple days 🥹

Uncle Ozzie
If you say so, girlie! How about tomorrow evening? Got a free dinner. My partner is out so we can talk in private. I’ll open a portal for you, where should I send it?

Charlie
Tomorrow night would be great 🥰 I’m actually at the palace with Dad right now, sooo…the entry hall? haha 😂

Uncle Ozzie
Oh really? Well, say hello to your daddy from me, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow. Love ya, girl!

Alright. Tomorrow evening, whatever spell has been put on her will be unceremoniously taken off by Ozzie. A day and a half. She can do this. This’ll be fine. Easy. No stress. A day and a half and Lucifer isn’t exactly feeling spritely, so it should be simple as can be. She’ll be fine! She just needs to find things to occupy herself that aren’t thinking about how soft her dad’s skin is and the way he looks curled up in the red sheets, pomegranate silk complementing the scarlet insides of his wings, his blonde hair and pale skin bright against the shades of red.

…Okay, maybe it’ll be a little harder than she thought.

“You’re fine,” Charlie whispers to herself, taking a deep breath and smoothing her clothes just to have something to do with her hands. “You’re fine. You can do this. Just keep calm and— and do something productive!”

Maybe…maybe she could look for whatever triggered the spell. Yeah, that might be a good idea. If it was bound to a physical object that she touched, she might be able to go back over everything and notice it now that she’s looking for it. She doubts it’s in Lucifer’s room, because then he’d probably be affected, too, so maybe it’s bound to something that only she touched on her way in, like a…a…well, okay, she doesn’t actually know what it could be. A door that she opened? A railing that she put her hand on? Either way, this place is huge — it’ll take forever to check off all the things that she touched.

Well…at least it’ll keep her busy.

***

It’s well past dinner time when Charlie finally drags herself back up the stairs to Lucifer’s bedroom. She checked everything that she could think of and decided that while she was doing it, she might as well clean the place up a little bit. And then she got so focused on cleaning that she totally forgot the first thing she was doing and had to go back and do it all over again.

To make it all that much more annoying, she didn’t even find anything. As far as she can tell, the palace is free from any enchantments that aren’t the pre-existing warding spells that hang around it. Which, okay, that does make sense. Charlie was probably being a little silly thinking that anyone could overpower Lucifer’s magic. But hey, that’s fine! It’s fine! It was probably some kind of magic tripwire or something, where it only stayed around long enough to hit her before dissipating to leave no evidence. Charlie’s never heard of that kind of spell being used for a lust spell, but surely it can’t be impossible, right? She’s not an expert on magic. There’s a lot she doesn’t know!

She cleans herself up in her bathroom, then finds herself in the doorway of Lucifer’s room again. He shifted slightly in the hours she’s spent working, now laying on his other side but still asleep. Maybe he feels her there, because as she watches, he stirs and stretches for a long moment, sitting up enough to extend his five intact wings to their full length and shake them before they fold back against his body again. He blinks a few times, slitted pupils wide and adorably silly, then seems to realize Charlie is there and squeaks, yanking the blankets up again.

“How long have you been standing there?” Lucifer asks, flushing gold.

“A few seconds…?” Charlie says, feeling sheepish all over again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just, um…”

Oh, damn it, think of something not weird to say, like, uh, shit—

“...was wondering if you wanted more blankets?”

Lucifer peers at her as if she’s asked why the sky is red, and Charlie gives him her best winning smile.

“I’m…fine, thanks.” Lucifer seems to relax a little, but he doesn’t drop the blanket as Charlie walks in. “Are those my clothes?”

Charlie glances down at herself, having entirely forgotten that she’s been dressed in Lucifer’s clothes for the past couple days. “Um, yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind. I just don’t really have any clothes here that would still fit me, so I…just…borrowed some of yours? I can go get my own—”

“No!” Lucifer says, and then he winces. “I mean, don’t…don’t go through all the trouble. It’s okay. I don’t mind! I just… Wow.” He laughs weakly. “You look a hell of a lot like me, you know that?”

Charlie doesn’t know why that makes her feel as proud as she does, and she allows herself a moment of preening, brushing her bangs to the side and smiling at him. “Guess you could say the apple doesn’t fall far.”

“You’re hilarious.” Lucifer yawns, white fangs flashing before he covers his mouth with his hand, and then he looks at Charlie again, taking her in. “You look tired, sweetie. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Last night,” Charlie admits, and she takes a seat in the spot that’s quickly becoming hers on the bed next to Lucifer and brightens the room with another well placed whisper of magic to the lamps. “I found some granola, but there’s not really much in this place to eat, Dad.”

Lucifer sighs. “I know. If I had known you were coming, I would have got something, but...”

Seraphim, as it turns out, don’t strictly need to eat; Charlie isn’t sure if this extends to all angels or just the most powerful of them. Lucifer mostly eats for enjoyment, like his favorite snack of caramel apples or the pancakes he really makes for Charlie because she knows he secretly prefers waffles. Oh, and cotton candy ice cream, too. He loves cotton candy ice cream. Charlie should get some of that for him. She can’t imagine he’s had any of that stuff in a while, judging by the emptiness of his shelves. Charlie herself can go longer without eating than most demons, but not like Lucifer, who can seemingly do it indefinitely.

“It’s alright,” Charlie assures him. “I mean, I’m— I’m alright. How are you? Feeling better?”

Lucifer’s hand goes up to the collar, stopping just before he touches it and hesitating before dropping his hand. “I’m…fighting it. The collar, I mean. I’m fighting its magic. And it’s working, it’s just… Uncomfortable. Exhausting, really. But there’s nothing to do but wait it out, so…”

“I wish I could help,” Charlie says, looking at the collar again, taking in the shining white gold and platinum, etched with symbols and lines. When Lucifer shifts, she can see bruises underneath it like it’s too tight on him. “Is…is there anything I could do? Or something I could get you to take your mind off it? I know you’re tired, but maybe…”

“You have done more than enough,” Lucifer says. When Charlie furrows her brow, he reaches out and rests his hand on her wrist with a small, sincere smile. “I mean it, Charlie. You’ve helped so much.” Then he pauses, looking her over. “Though if you really want me to do something, might I offer my assistance in fixing that?”

The last word is accompanied by a meaningful flick of his serpentine eyes towards her hair, and Charlie laughs sheepishly, tucking a strand back behind her ear. “Well…only if you feel up to it…”

Lucifer rolls his eyes and gets halfway to snapping before he seems to remember. “Grab me a brush. And that one jar of stuff, the, uh, the stuff that smells like strawberries with the—”

“—with the paisley on the container, yes, I know.” Charlie rolls her eyes fondly. “Tell me it’s not the same jar we had when I was a kid.”

“I’m offended you’d even entertain that thought. I’m the Devil, not a barbarian.”

Charlie flicks her tongue at him, leaving and returning a few moments later with a hairbrush and the jar of detangler that she’s been using since she was a child. She picked it out the first time because it smelled good, too young to really care what it was or what it did, but it stuck, and even now she still keeps it in her own bathroom for times like this. Lucifer motions her to sit up closer to him and she does, smiling to herself as she hears him grumbling about how tall she’s gotten. So maybe it’s a little funny that she’s taller than him…

Lucifer’s hand is well-practiced and gentle as he undoes the ties keeping her hair in its ponytail, brushing it out as best he can with just his fingers and making thoughtful noises as he…uh…assesses the damage, so to speak. Charlie tries not to cringe. Every day that goes by, the temptation to cut it all off and wear it short, or at least shorter, gets stronger. The pressure of him beginning to brush the smallest of the tangles out is noticeable but not too painful, carefully working at it with the conditioner and brush until he can drag the bristles through it without encountering resistance.

The sensation throws Charlie right back into being a kid, feeling warm and safe sitting on his lap or between his knees as he did her hair for her. He taught her every style he knew, but Charlie always felt — and still does, though she doesn’t like admitting it — that her own handiwork never quite looked as good as his, those Heaven-quick hands working the smallest kind of miracles even all the way down here. She let him do her hair even after she told herself that she outgrew all the other childish things…well, when he was still around, at least. It feels like by her mid-hundreds, she barely saw him. Her fellow ghost haunting a palace that ruled over nothing; not a king but a lesson to be learned, a warning to be heeded.

Is that why they threw him out of Heaven? To be a bogeyman? A fable? A threat?

Charlie closes her eyes and the scene flashes once again, the heap of feathers on the floor, the gold blood trailing down his face, the muzzle. She keeps picturing that quiet resignation on his face as she realized exactly why he couldn’t stand and then wondering, feeling a little nauseous, exactly what was done that could have hurt him that badly.

He brushes her hair gently, using his other hand on the lower portions where it must not hurt as much to move his shoulder, and eventually every pull of the brush through the spun-gold blonde is smooth and easy. He could stop now. Charlie should tell him to stop now. But she just wants to melt back into him, or maybe turn around and lay across him, let him run his fingers through her hair and stay here forever in this quiet peace.

“If I hadn’t come…” Charlie says, unable to hold it back any longer, and the motion of the brush stops for a moment and then resumes. “If I hadn’t come, what would you have done?”

Lucifer seems to measure his words out carefully before he speaks. “I would have been okay, Charlie.”

Charlie blinks, sending tears cascading down her cheeks before she even realizes she’s crying. “That’s not an answer.”

“I would have waited it out,” Lucifer says. “Eventually, the collar would have been broken, and I would have been fine.”

Something about that — I would have been fine, he says, like it was something stupid like a twisted ankle or a scrape on the knee — is the final crack in a facade that’s been dangerously close to toppling.

“How are you taking this so well?!” Charlie turns to face him, Lucifer jerking back in surprise as she whirls around, her words breaking and something clawing at her chest. “How can you just— just act like nothing happened?! You could have died! They could have killed you! If they had a weapon, you’re not— they would have killed you, they don’t think you’re an angel anymore— and— and the collar, the enchantments, you’re not— you could have died! And you’re acting like— what?! Like it was just some fucking— petty catfight?!”

The surge of emotions is so hot and painful that Charlie doesn’t even register she’s moving before she’s reaching for Lucifer and dragging him into a desperate hug, remembering to be mindful of his injuries at the very last second as she yanks him into her arms and buries her face into his good shoulder with a helpless sob. He could have died, since whoever attacked him obviously had access to divine weapons, and they assaulted him — the idea is so sickening that Charlie doesn’t even want to think the proper word for what they did to him — so bad he could barely walk.

“What if you had died?” Charlie sobs. “What if you had gotten hurt worse, and— and I didn’t come quick enough? What if your wings had been hurt worse? What if—?”

“Charlie, Charlie, oh, sweetie,” Lucifer’s voice is soft in her ear, and his arms wrap around her so gently that it just makes her cry harder. “Charlie, breathe. It’s okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. There’s no point in what-ifs, you know that. Look, I’m fine.”

How?! Charlie wants to scream, but she just sobs harder, clutching at him tightly, her claws digging into the lean warmth of his back beneath his wings, and something tells her that she shouldn’t hold him like this but she doesn’t know what else to do. She hasn’t really cried over it yet, not the way she’s really wanted to, and now it feels like it’s hitting her all over again and she keeps wondering who would have found him if he really had been killed.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Lucifer whispers, and his good hand comes up to rest on the back of her head, stroking her hair. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Just get it all out. It’s okay. You’re okay, Charlie, just let it out.”

“They hurt you,” Charlie gasps out between sobs. “They hurt you.”

“I’m fine.” Lucifer’s uninjured set of wings curls around her, enclosing her in warmth as he rests his cheek against her head. “I’m okay. Once the collar comes off, I’ll be the same as always.”

Charlie closes her eyes, pressing her face into the burning smoothness of his bare skin and allowing herself to be surrounded by his scent, starlight and ozone and charred feathers, his aura heavy in her ribcage like a warmth sitting there that radiates love and concern so strongly that it makes her want to throw up. Every possibility running through her head is worse than the last. They could have killed him in so many horrible ways like the Exorcists do to Sinners — bodies slit open from belly to throat, heads hacked off, limbs torn from their sockets with angelic claws and the victim left to bleed to death. She can see it in her mind’s eye: gold blood instead of red, those eyes so much like hers wide and sightless in death, wings hanging jagged and broken in some twisted mockery of flight.

Charlie chokes on her next breath, the picture almost too horrifying to think about. If he had died, especially if he had died like that, she would have never forgiven herself.

He didn’t. Charlie clutches Lucifer a little tighter. He didn’t. He’s okay. He didn’t die.

Slowly, calmed by his presence, Charlie’s sobs die down to whimpers and then to nothing, and exhaustion creeps up, heavy and bone-deep, to take their place.

After a long silence, Lucifer sighs, his chest rising and falling against hers, and he shifts, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. “Why am I taking this so well? Because thousands of years ago, I got tossed out of Heaven, and once you go through that, there’s not much else that compares. Charlie, listen to me: there is nothing in this world that could truly hurt me after the Fall. Nothing except…” Lucifer hesitates, and when he speaks again, his voice is very quiet. “Nothing…except losing you.” He lets that hang for a moment, his throat clicking dryly as he swallows before continuing, a little shakily, “Compared to that? Compared to Falling? Everything else is like a papercut. It hurts in the moment, but how long do you remember a papercut? Once the physical pain fades, you just forget. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“What if you had died?” Charlie croaks, her voice so hoarse that she winces.

“I wouldn’t have. Angelic weapons can’t kill me. Even if they could, I didn’t, so it’s not important anymore. And soon, none of this pain will be, either. My shoulder, my wing. Everything else. It’ll all be gone, and…” Lucifer trails off, then clears his throat. “And I’ll be fine.”

What isn’t he telling her? The reminder that he’s hiding something shakes her out of her daze somewhat, and she sniffles and subtly tries to raise her arm to wipe her face before she gets more snot on him. Gross. She could never be a parent.

“I know you’re not telling me the truth,” Charlie says, and she hears his breath catch. “Please, Dad. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t— I won’t hate you, no matter what it is. I only want you to tell me the truth.”

Lucifer seems to squeeze her a little tighter, his exhale shaky, and something in his aura changes, the subtle frequencies of angelic power shifting in Charlie’s bones to something scared and ashamed and resigned. Has she always been able to pick up on his aura like this? No, Charlie realizes, she hasn’t; it scares and excites her in equal measures. Is it really that she’s just extra sensitive after spending time away, as she thought before? Or is it a result of the spell that she’s under?

“I will,” Lucifer says eventually, the words seeming stuck in his throat. “I will. Just…not now. Please. I only got you back yesterday.”

Raw desperation colors every word, frightening in its intensity. She can’t remember him ever sounding like that once during her childhood. He’s afraid of her leaving him, she realizes, and she feels a bitter tinge of self-loathing as she realizes that he has every right to be afraid of that. She’s already done it once. But if she had known something like this was going to happen, she never would have. Maybe if she had been here, if she hadn’t left, if she had insisted on staying in the palace during the Extermination…

“You won’t lose me again,” Charlie whispers, and she means it. No matter what he tells her. No matter what happens. “I promise.”

Lucifer’s body shudders. This isn’t the father that she remembers, and it’s making her feel like she’s lost her balance on a tightrope that she didn’t know she was walking. It feels like she’s…intruding, seeing something that wasn’t meant to be seen by anyone. Those lonely hours in the palace when she was younger, watching him sit by the windows and stare sightlessly at the red sky, it was always a serene sort of sadness, like one of the marble statues in the gardens or a forgotten porcelain doll sitting high up on a shelf. It wasn't this. This feels like watching a star collapse, how they get so bright and heavy that they just fold in on themselves.

Charlie suddenly has no greater need than to pull back and cup his face in her hands and— and do something, something to calm this pain in her chest. Promise him she’s never going to leave him. Tell him she’s sorry. Tell him she loves him.

Kiss him.

No, Charlie hisses to the rogue fantasy that creeps in, and she tries to reel her thoughts back. Giving in might make those thoughts worse — but then again, how does she know that denying them isn’t making them worse, like trying not to think about something and then it’s all you can think about—?

The light changes, and Charlie realizes that Lucifer is moving his wings away, folding them back against himself and sending a chill down her spine as the little pocket of warmth that she was tucked in dissipates into the cool air of the bedroom. The way she tries to press herself a little closer to him is entirely instinctual…at least, that’s what she tells herself.

“You should get some rest,” Lucifer says, his voice steady again like nothing happened. “Maybe…maybe eat something. You have to take care of yourself, Charlie.”

Charlie doesn’t tell him that she’s been taking care of herself for years. It’s a strange feeling, this new ache to be near him warring with the years-old bitterness and confusion as to why he faded out of her life like he did.

Despite his words, he hasn’t taken his arms from around her. Charlie isn't particularly inclined to change that. Somewhere inside of her, the girl that watched him haunt his own life is desperate to have him back. Is that the spell, she wonders? Will she stop feeling like that when Ozzie takes it off? Would…that be better? Does Lucifer even want her back in his life? Did he ever want her in his life in the first place? Ugh, it’s all so confusing. Charlie doesn’t want to think. Can’t she just stay here and not have to worry about it?

It’s a childish urge to want to sleep next to him. Childish, or perhaps the opposite, mature for all the wrong reasons. She’s an adult, there’s other beds, he’s injured, he’s emotionally fragile, he’s…

He’s so warm, and she still remembers when being in his arms meant safety from everything bad in the world. From the Exorcists, from Hell, from the ones who hurt him and the ones who would hurt her.

It’s that memory that pulls the words from her mouth without her even realizing she’s speaking. “Can I…stay here? Just for a— a little while, I mean…”

As soon as she says it out loud, she realizes just how pathetic it sounds. She’s over 200 years old, and she’s asking to sleep here like a child. Or worse, she’s taking advantage of him when he’s injured, because spell or not the way that she’s been thinking of him is disgusting—

“Of course you can.” Lucifer pulls away just far enough for her to see his face, and there’s not a trace of disgust or reticence in his eyes. “If you’re willing to deal with these, that is.”

He twitches his wings with a self-deprecating little smile. The red undersides are almost iridescent, flashing in the light, and Charlie realizes he raises a good point. Even as big as his bed is, there won’t be much room with his wings in their corporeal form. The only way she’d be able to fit without laying on them would be for her and Lucifer to…

It’s dangerous. She’s edging ever-closer to a precipice, a line that she shouldn’t cross, but surely it will be okay just this once, right? By tomorrow evening, she’ll be completely back to normal thanks to Ozzie. Just for tonight. Lucifer said it was okay, and she’s not doing anything wrong — it’s a little strange, sure, but not unheard of; other people do it and it’s not weird for them. She’s the one making it weird! He’s trying to be a good parent!

Mark the calendar, it must be a holiday, Charlie thinks, and then she internally winces at herself. She wishes her brain could just fucking choose one: does she love him or not?

Focus! It’s fine! She just…has to be normal about it.

Charlie’s already showered and changed from her cleaning spree, so she just ties her hair back up before readjusting her position on the bed, Lucifer watching and waiting until she gets comfortable before laying down next to her. He keeps a distance between them, small but obviously deliberate, but she can still feel him next to her with the heat that radiates from him and his aura that covers her like a blanket.

With a twisting of Charlie’s hand, the magic in the lamps fizzles out and leaves the room dark. The heavy curtains are open just wide enough for her to see a slice of the pentagram that perpetually lights up the sky.

“Goodnight, Charlie,” Lucifer whispers.

Above them, the pentagram burns, and above that, the light of Heaven shows like a ragged hole in the sky of Pride. Charlie blinks the afterimages of red and white from her eyes and resists the urge to turn around and face Lucifer.

“Goodnight, Dad.”

Chapter Text

Charlie wakes up feeling cold.

Wanting to resist the cold reality of wakefulness, she reaches for the blankets, trying to pull them back up over herself. Then the feeling of cool, slippery silk against her hands knocks her so far into wakefulness that she nearly throws herself out of her bed.

Hah, wait, not her bed.

Charlie opens her eyes and bolts upright, staring down at the red sheets as her mind ticks off through what she remembers and how she got here. Lucifer brushing her hair, the tears, falling asleep next to him. Duh, that’s why she’s cold: the living, breathing star she fell asleep next to is gone, and has been gone for a while, it seems. Well…at least that means he’s up and walking?

A glance at the bathroom door shows that it’s open and dark inside, so he’s not in there. Charlie’s shoulders slump for reasons she’s not entirely sure of. She should be glad that he got up and walked out to wherever he went on his own, but…she almost wishes that he would have stayed.

Ugh… Charlie rubs her eyes. Maybe I should have asked to see Ozzie yesterday.

Whatever. Dinnertime. Less than a day. She can do this! She’ll be fine. And in the meantime, she should probably go find her dad.

She pushes herself out of the bed, splashing some water on her face and brushing her teeth before heading out into the larger halls of the palace. Now that she’s not surrounded by the sound-dampening hangings and rugs of Lucifer’s bedroom, she can hear the sound of movement in the kitchen, something frying and a whisk against a metal bowl. Is Lucifer…actually making her pancakes?

It sure seems like it. When Charlie turns the corner into the kitchen, she sees him standing in front of the stove, the tie of an apron around his waist and a spatula in his hand. The collar is gone, without even a line of bruising or swelling to signal where it was, and so are his wings, incorporeal once again. His white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, but his forearms and hands are covered in his usual thin black gloves, hiding the scars that Charlie now knows are there.

“Dad?”

Lucifer jumps, turning around and smiling as he sees Charlie. “Oh, Charlie! Good morning, sweetie.”

“What…are you doing?” Charlie asks, and she takes a step closer to look over what Lucifer is cooking. Two pancakes sizzle in one pan, and in the other one are golden-brown hash browns sprinkled with pepper. A plate off to the side has a paper towel underneath a pile of still-steaming bacon, and Charlie’s stomach decides that right now is a good time to voice its approval of the proceedings.

“Um, making breakfast?” Lucifer says, and he laughs when he turns back to the stove to check the pancakes. “Have breakfast foods changed since last time I checked or something?”

“No, I just…” Charlie looks around. The table in the little room adjacent to the kitchen, separate from the grand dining table in the banquet hall, has been set for two. She shakes herself and asks, “So you’re…feeling…better, then?”

Lucifer doesn’t look like someone who just spent the last couple of days sleeping off an angelic attack and powerful binding magic. He looks, well, normal. Like nothing ever happened. Even his hair has been slicked back once again, a few strands escaping as they always do to curl around his cheeks.

“What? Oh, yeah. I feel great! Better than ever. I tell you, nothing like feeling terrible for a little while to really make you appreciate how good you feel the rest of the time!” Lucifer hums and flips the pancakes. “You should go ahead and sit down. I’ll bring you a plate when it’s all done.”

Charlie doesn’t move. Part of her is absolutely convinced that she’s dreaming, or maybe that she’s gotten thrown back in time and she’s 70 years old again, or maybe she got a head injury and all of this has been a hallucination brought on by head trauma and the good drugs they have in Sloth. He’s just…standing here? Like nothing’s changed? Like they’re father and daughter again?

Well, we never stopped being that, Charlie reasons. Even if it felt like it.

Lucifer looks back, and seeing that she hasn’t followed his suggestion, rolls his eyes. “I’m fine, Charlie. Go on, sit down, relax.”

He punctuates his words with a haphazard motion of the spatula to indicate the breakfast table, and Charlie manages to unstick her hooves from the tile long enough to walk over and numbly take a seat in one of the chairs. She sat here a lot as a kid, drawing or reading or watching Lucifer in the kitchen as he cooked for them. But then again, there were a lot of meals that she ate alone here, too.

A moment later, Lucifer sets a plate with pancakes, hash browns, and bacon down in front of her, ruffling her hair before he steps back to the stove and reaches for the bowl of batter to drop a few more dollops into the pan. The food looks good, and despite Charlie not strictly needing to eat, she’s not going to turn down breakfast. She wants to cling to this fragile moment, a snapshot of her childhood with different versions of them pasted over top. 70 year old Charlie couldn’t have comprehended the idea of Lucifer being anything but effortlessly powerful and unbreakable. 130 years later, and she sees him as anything but. And yet, he still makes killer pancakes.

Charlie asked him once why he was such a good cook, considering he didn’t even need to eat what he made. Sure, he likes some of the foods he makes for her, but not all of them — see pancakes versus waffles. Why bother?

Lucifer had laughed like it was the silliest thing anyone had ever asked him. Because of you, he had said. I want you to eat well, even if I don’t have to.

It’s been a long time since Charlie thought of that. Who taught him to cook, she wonders? Lilith? It’s coming to her attention that she barely knows her father. Oh, yeah, she knows he’s the Devil, knows about the Fall, knows about Lilith and Eve and the apple, but…what about him? What about the person he was before all that? The person he was before her?

A glass of water appears on the table next to her in a shower of sparkling red, and a moment later Lucifer sits down in the opposite chair, setting his own plate and glass down in front of him and smiling at her.

“Sorry,” Lucifer says. “I realized I didn’t get any drinks when I went to the store. I hope water is okay.”

“You went to the store?” Charlie asks.

Lucifer’s expression turns sheepish, and he looks down at his plate. “Well, technically I just…kinda…portaled everything here and left the money on the counter.”

Charlie snorts, taking another bite of her food. It tastes just like it did when she was younger, like it’s been sent forwards through the years from when Lucifer was unbreakable.

She sneaks a glance at his forearms, still able to picture the scars hiding underneath the black gloves. He’s always worn them, but Charlie doesn’t remember ever seeing any scars when she was younger and he took them off to do something. Then again, would she really have noticed? And did she ever really see him without them once she got older?

“You’re…um, still at school, right?” Lucifer asks, breaking her from her thoughts. “At Solomon Academy?”

At least he remembered that much. Charlie resists a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Solomon Academy is one of three secondary education institutions available to Hellborns, and the only one located in Pride. Charlie’s been taking classes there ever since she moved out, living on the campus that’s located just outside Pentagram City. The students are mostly children of the Ars Goetia and the other noble families of Hell, with a few people from the lower classes who got in on scholarships or awards. Charlie is almost glad that the Morningstar name carries so little weight — it’s saved her from having to deal with people who only want to be her friend for the boost in status. But then again…maybe that would be preferable to nobody ever bothering to talk to her for any reason.

“This didn’t… I mean, you’re not going to be in trouble for missing any classes, right?” Lucifer sounds a little nervous, and he tries to cover it with an unconvincing laugh. “I don’t want you to get in trouble on my account…”

Charlie shakes her head. “They cancel classes for the week of the Exterminations, since most of them just go with their families to the other rings. Gluttony is popular.”

“I imagine it is,” Lucifer says, and when she dares a glance up at him she finds his face unreadable, his eyes downturned.

Shame, his aura tells her. Anger.

Charlie tries to shake the foreign emotions off, but they linger in the back of her head. Anger at whom?

“Besides,” Charlie continues hurriedly, trying to smooth over the jagged break in conversation, “I’m not taking that many classes. I got all my core requirements out of the way for graduation, so now I’m just taking a few more electives to round everything out.”

“Oh, that’s…that’s fun,” Lucifer says, and then he clears his throat. “What classes…are those, exactly?”

“Earthen Astronomy, Linguistics, and Music Theory.” They sound lame when she says them out loud. “Um, I took the astronomy class because I thought…well, I had kinda hoped… I wanted to see the stars, but…it’s just charts. You know. Maps.”

According to the laws, she can’t leave Hell unless she has a ‘very good reason’ for it, but she’s not exactly sure what would constitute a ‘very good reason’ and doesn’t think the Seraphim would accept wanting to see the stars as one. Then again, how much attention do the Seraphim really pay to anything that goes on down here? Would they even notice?

“Ah.” Lucifer’s voice is even, but his aura gives his regret away. “Yes. Well, they…they’re just great big masses of spinning plasma hundreds of lightyears from the surface of Earth, so…you know, there’s…pictures.”

The irony of the Morning Star saying something like that is not lost on Charlie, but she bites her tongue before she can turn that back on him. What good would it do to get angry at him? Does she really want to go back to what they were? Where she would snap at him and he would just sit there, his face a mask of tranquil melancholy? Where she would go days without seeing him despite living under the same roof?

“Did you…make them?” Charlie asks, hesitant and unsure and desperately hoping that she’s not treading too close to any old wounds. “The stars, I mean.”

Lucifer freezes. For a moment, Charlie thinks he’s going to start crying. Or maybe yell at her, despite her being able to count the times he’s raised his voice at her on one hand. She doesn’t ask about things like that, what it was like before the Fall. What…he was like. But after the last couple of days, she wants to know everything. She doesn’t want to go back.

After a second, something in Lucifer seems to kick back into gear. He takes a slow bite of his food and swallows it before answering.

“...A few.”

Great big masses of spinning plasma hundreds of lightyears from the surface of Earth, and he made a few of them. Charlie can just imagine it, those clever fingers spinning the fabric of existence into glittering night skies. Down here in Hell, there are no true stars, not in any of the rings. Sure, some of them have something close — Wrath’s embers look like stars if you unfocus your eyes, and the little specks of angelic magic, cast off from Heaven, that flicker across the bruised background of Pride’s night come somewhat near to the effect. But nothing is like the pictures she’s seen from Earth where the whole sky is filled with stars, splashed across the wide, dark expanse, a whole swath of little pinpricks of light like silver glitter spilled across navy fabric.

There’s a poster of it, bought off a succubus, that hangs above her bed and shows that spilled trail of stars over a calm, placid lake that reflects them back up, separated from the sky only by a line of trees. How many of them did Lucifer make? Could he point them out to her? She pictures them lying side by side on the shore of that lake underneath that sky, her tucked up against his warmth, listening to his voice as he points out all the dazzling little bright spots made by his own two hands.

I’ve never seen them, so I don’t know what I’m missing, Charlie realizes. But he hasn’t seen them in a lifetime.

The rest of the meal is eaten in silence, and Charlie isn’t sure whether or not she’s glad that he’s not trying to talk to her. All the questions she’s desperate to ask — are you okay, do you need help, why did you abandon me — are burning a hole in her chest, but for a moment, she’ll cling to this, just like last night when she fell asleep next to him. Just for a little while longer, before everything changes any more than it already has.

What could be so horrible that he needs to prepare himself to tell it? Does she really want to know?

If it helps her understand what happened to him, yes, because right now she still doesn’t understand a damn thing. She needs to know so she can make the person who did it answer for their crimes.

“I’ll get your plate,” Charlie says, standing and reaching for his plate, waving Lucifer’s protests away. “I know you can do it. It’s fine. I’ll clean up.”

Lucifer watches her for a moment, then stands as well and holds his hands up in surrender as she raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m just making the rest of the batter! Don’t look at me like that.”

Charlie supposes that’s fair. He returns to the stove while she washes the rest of the dishes, content to do it by hand despite being fully able to do it with magic. Well, kind of. Last time she tried, she broke two plates before she got the hang of it. That’s always been the problem with her magic: she doesn’t know how to dial it back. Too powerful, is what she is, but never in the ways that matter. Sometimes it feels like her magic is fighting her, like it’s not sitting right inside her, like it needs to be wrenched back into place.

Guess that’s what happens when an angel and a demon have a kid, Charlie thinks, the bitter edges worn from how many times she’s thought it over the past 200 years.

She’s not really mad at her parents. Sometimes it’s just…tiring, is all.

“Dad?” Charlie asks, staring down at the soap bubbles being washed down the drain as she rinses the last plate.

There’s the sound of a spatula on a pan. “Yeah?”

“About…the last couple days…” Charlie doesn’t really know what words there are for it, but she knows what she wants to say. She wants to tell him that she misses him, that she wishes he would have called her instead of her having to be lured here by the person who hurt him, that she doesn’t want to see him hurt ever again. Eventually, she settles on, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come sooner.”

She hears Lucifer’s intake of breath even from across the kitchen. She reaches for the towel, turning to face him as she dries the plate off, and it nearly falls from her hands as she sees the way he’s looking at her. It’s the way he looked when she asked about the Fall, that wounded animal look seared into her memory, except now his aura is sour with shame and she’s barely registered his expression before he’s quickly turning away and hastily wiping his arm across his face.

“Sorry,” Lucifer says, almost believable if not for the thickness in his voice as he looks back up. “Something in my eye. Um, it’s okay. I didn’t… I mean, you weren’t… Um. I could have handled it.”

Charlie purses her lips. “You were bleeding on the floor.”

“I’ve found myself bleeding on the floor more times than I can count,” Lucifer says drily. Then he seems to realize what he’s said and stammers out, “M-Metaphorically! Metaphorically, of course. Obviously. Hah, because, obviously, what else would happen to me? I mean, I’m, you know, the King, you know— it’s…uh…”

He trails off into an awkward pause, and something in Charlie’s memory clicks into place.

It’ll be obsolete in a few days or so — I’m too powerful for them to last long on me.

…The only way Lucifer would know how long the collars last on him is if they had been on him before.

“That…wasn’t the first time, was it?”

The silence that follows is so great that Charlie’s half-sure all of Hell has gone still. Very carefully, she sets the plate aside and meets his eyes.

Lucifer looks away first and kills the burner with a shaky wave of his hand, and then says, “Charlie, this isn’t—”

“You said you were going to tell me the truth, Dad, so please, just tell me the fucking truth!” Charlie’s voice breaks, and she reaches for him without thinking, unsure of whether she wants to shake him by the shoulders or pull him into her arms—

And Lucifer flinches. He flinches, turning away, and Charlie stops dead in her tracks with a feeling like she’s slammed into a brick wall. She didn’t mean to— That’s not what she—

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispers, stepping back until the counter digs into her back and she collapses against it, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I just wanted to—”

“No.”

Charlie nearly has to stop breathing in order to hear Lucifer’s words. Look at me, she begs silently, but he turns his head away, and all she can see is the way his shoulders shake before he seems to wrestle himself back under control and sets them into a hard line.

“It wasn’t the first time.”

Charlie brings one hand up to cover her mouth, trying to hold back the strangled noise that threatens to escape at the implications tumbling down on top of her as if the palace itself is collapsing over her head. How many times? How many times did he go through that? Was it back in Heaven? Was it recently? Could Charlie have stopped it? Why didn’t she know? Why didn’t she see that something was wrong? Why didn’t she just fucking suck it up and talk to him?

Before she can find her voice, Lucifer shakes his head and finally, finally looks up at her. She can’t name the emotion on his face, or maybe she just doesn’t want to, and his aura sings anger and humiliation and, most agonizing of all, love, so strong that it makes her sick.

“You never should have come,” Lucifer says, every word digging the claws of grief deeper into Charlie’s chest, and then there’s a curtain of glittering red and he’s gone.

***

Charlie spends the rest of the morning in a haze. She tries Lucifer’s bedroom, but the doors are locked tight and no amount of knocking or calling for him will get them to open. Eventually, she turns around and slides down until she’s leaning against the carved wood with her knees tucked up to her chest. She’s hoping to hear some kind of sign of life from inside, even if it’s just him moving around, but there’s nothing except oppressive silence from every angle. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think that Lucifer left the palace entirely.

How many times? The question won’t leave her head. He never told her. Never asked for help. Is that why he sent her away during every Extermination? Is this some kind of pattern? Some kind of vicious torture that Heaven inflicts on him every year? Were they not satisfied with turning him into a fable?

Charlie used to think that Heaven was the ideal. She wanted everyone to be able to go there, that glittering light that you can see from Pride, always just out of reach. She’s pictured it so many times in her head: golden walkways, the soft chatter and laughter of happiness instead of the constant low hum of violence that encircles all of Hell, blue skies and sunshine and as many stars as you can take. Whatever this is hasn’t stopped her from wanting redemption, but it’s made her think that maybe…maybe Heaven can’t be the end goal. At least, not yet. Maybe, before the Sinners change, Heaven needs to be changed first.

If it was Heaven…but at this point, nothing else seems likely. No run of the mill demon would have access to or be able to utilize the angelic magic that was used in that collar. No, the only ones who could harness power like that — and use it against a Seraphim — are probably the Seraphim themselves, and if not them, then at least a powerful and high-ranking angel. One of Lucifer’s siblings? Would they really do that to him? Come all the way down here just to…what? Punish him further, because throwing him out of Heaven wasn’t enough?

Charlie rubs her eyes until spots burst in her vision, trying to focus long enough to think about what she can do. Lucifer obviously isn’t ready to talk. She’s tried texting and calling, but nothing even goes through, just gets stuck in limbo — he must have discorporated his phone or something. Okay, so that’s not happening. Even if she could get through to him, she doesn’t really know if forcing him to talk about it before he’s ready will do him much good.

“I should have paid more attention in psychology class,” Charlie bemoans, lifting her head up and staring sullenly down the hall. Then again, she did not like the Freud-Jung guest seminar. Those guys were fucking weird. And they made everyone take notes on paper—

Wait. Does she still…?

Charlie pushes herself up and trots to her room, rifling through the drawers of her desk until she finds a sheaf of paper and a package of pens. The pens are, unfortunately, glitter gel pens, but Charlie doesn’t really want to waste the time looking for a more suitable writing implement. She gathers a few sheets of the paper and the pens and hurries back to where she was sitting. The marble floor is flat and smooth, fine for writing if she leans over and props herself up with one hand, and she digs around for one of the darker pens before uncapping it and…

…What does she even say?

Charlie touches the pen to the paper, then pulls it back, suddenly paralyzed. What words can she tell him that are going to make him feel better, or at least let him know that she’s here, and she’s not going to leave him to the mercy of Heaven or Hell? What words even are there?

Dad,

Charlie pauses again. The silence stretches out long and deafening. There aren't any words. That’s the problem. She can’t make this better with words.

But since she doesn’t have anything else, she has to try.

I’m not mad at you. I hope you don’t think I am. I won’t pretend to understand what you’re going through, but I’m not mad at you for not telling me. I just want you to tell me now so I can

So she can…what? Help? That sounds patronizing. He’s not powerless. He’s literally the king of this entire realm. Then Charlie remembers the cluttered workshop and abandoned throne room. He’s not powerless, but…maybe he feels like he is. Maybe he does need help. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with that — Charlie would never dream of looking down on anyone for needing help — but, well, he is Pride. If she wants to offer help, she might have to be a little bit smarter about it.

I can make sure that you’re okay. We need you.

I need you.

Tears prick her eyes, and Charlie blinks, rubbing at her face with her sleeve. She’s needed him for years and he hasn’t been there. She could leave him to his pain, give him the distance that he so obviously wants, but she’s not going to let him feel like she did. Doesn’t he understand that he’s the only blood she’s got? There’s no Lilith. No brothers or sisters. The other Sins are her family, yes, but not like Lucifer is.

I missed you. I mean, when I was younger. I mean when I wanted you to wake up and see me. Is this why you couldn’t? I missed you so much. I would have understood if you had told me. You can tell me anything. I’m not a child anymore, I know what they did to you. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.

I just want

You don’t have to hide. Even if you’re not ready to talk about it yet, that’s ok. I’ll wait for as long as you need. I’m sorry I demanded you tell me before. I can wait. I will wait.

I understand if you’re hurting or sad or lonely. I just want you to let me be there. Please. We only have each other

I won’t leave like

You’re the only father I have. Please just talk to me. You’re not alone. Please trust me.

Charlie swallows, feeling the wetness on her cheeks before her brain even catches up with the fact that she’s crying.

I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that more. You’re my dad. Nothing will change that.

She stares at it, then signs at the bottom and draws a small picture of her and him holding hands, and, at the last moment, adds one more thing.

PS Making your phone incorporeal is unfair.

…And then one more.

PPS Text or call if you need anything even if it’s just a glass of water. We don’t even have to talk if you don’t want.

Looking at it now, the whole thing feels childish and stupid, nothing but the ramblings of a naive girl who's way out of her depth. What does she honestly know about helping Lucifer? About helping anyone? Unfortunately, right now, she’s the best that Lucifer’s got. Before she can second-guess herself, Charlie folds the letter in half and slips it underneath the doors.

She listens for a while, trying to see if she can hear Lucifer walking to pick it up, but there’s still nothing but silence. Eventually, Charlie admits defeat — for now — and gathers up the paper and pens to take them back to her desk. If nothing else, this morning has certainly made her own worries about the way she’s been thinking of him seem rather unimportant.

But they’re not unimportant. They’re very important, actually, because not only is it disgusting of her to think of him like that for so many reasons (him being her father, first and foremost, and him having gone through what he did closely following behind), but also because the longer the foreign magic is in her system, the more risks it carries. Charlie checks the time: early afternoon. Maybe she could just call Ozzie and ask if she can come by early…

No, she doesn’t want to make him worry or inconvenience him. He’s got a busy schedule, being a Sin and all. She can deal with it for a few more hours. It’s not like she’s jumping on him and ripping his clothes off.

…Fuck. Dinner can’t come soon enough.

***

Uncle Ozzie
I’ll be opening the portal in five minutes or so! You still on for a meeting?

Charlie
Yeah
🥲

Uncle Ozzie
See you soon. Everything ok?

Charlie
You’ll hear all about it soon enough 😣

Uncle Ozzie
I’ll have some hot tea ready for you. Whatever’s up, we’ll get it sorted out.

Charlie sure hopes so. She pushes her hair back from her face, sighing, and only then realizes that she’s still in Lucifer’s borrowed clothes. Ah, fuck. Well, there’s no time to go and get her own, so she’s stuck in these. How closely is Ozzie really going to look? Does he even know the difference? It’s not like these are very obviously not from her closet. A maroon button up and white pants — anyone could wear that in Hell, Charlie included.

These clothes fit right into my wardrobe, Charlie tells herself. Ozzie won’t notice. It’ll be fine.

Before she finds her shoes and heads down to the foyer, she tears off a piece of paper and writes another note to Lucifer, since he still hasn’t responded to any of her texts. She doesn’t want him to assume that she just left entirely.

I’m heading out for something but I’ll be back in a few hours. If you need me, text me. Love you. — Charlie

Her name is accompanied by a small heart, and just like the first one, this piece of paper is slid under the door into Lucifer’s room. Charlie lingers for just a moment, but a glance at the time pulls her away and she slips on her shoes and makes sure she has everything before she hurries down to the foyer.

She arrives just as the portal is opening, spinning open with crackling magic and bringing with it the sharp sting of ozone and incense. Visible on the other side is Ozzie’s dining room in his palace, all gleaming purples and blues and sparkling clean as if he just recently gave it a thorough scrubbing. Knowing what Ozzie gets up to, Charlie prays that he has. She adjusts her clothes, fixes a smile on her face, and steps through.

The portal hasn’t even closed behind her before she’s getting wrapped up in an enthusiastic and soulfire-warm hug, Ozzie practically squeezing the life out of her and lifting her up off her hooves into his arms as he spins her around.

“CharChar!” Ozzie sounds as boisterous as ever. “There’s my little demon! Have you gotten taller since I saw you?!”

Charlie wheezes in response, unable to do much else, and Ozzie quickly puts her down, patting her on the head affectionately as she finds her balance again and catches her breath enough to say, “I don’t think so… It hasn’t been that long. You visited me before I left for the Academy, didn’t you?”

Asmodeus, the Sin of Lust, is not technically her uncle. The Sins more or less crawled out of the primordial Hell-soup that composed most of this place back when it first began, spawned by the sheer eruption of power that Lucifer brought when he Fell. But to Lucifer, freshly mourning the loss of his siblings, the other six Sins became more or less like family — and to Charlie as well, by extension. Asmodeus and Beelzebub, better known to Charlie as Uncle Ozzie and Aunt Bee, are her favorites…and she’s pretty sure they know that.

Ozzie chuckles and ruffles her hair. “Yeah, I did, but I swear you’re taller. You shot up like a weed! I still remember when Luci realized you were gonna absolutely tower over him. Man, you should have seen the look on his face!”

Lucifer. Any good mood that Ozzie inspired in her fizzles out at the reminder of her father, and Charlie’s shoulders slump even if their height difference is the least of her worries right now. Even thinking his name brings a tight, uncomfortable mess of feelings to her chest, swirling around and making her feel a little nauseous.

Ozzie seems to notice, because his face falls, as do the two ghostly faces in his soulfire mane. “Oh, Charlie. Do you wanna sit down? I made some food. Or tea? You want some tea? You look a little green around the gills.”

Wordlessly, Charlie nods, and she finds her way to the table and takes a seat, watching as Ozzie brings over a little tray decorated with hearts that carries a teapot, two teacups, a bowl of sugar cubes, and a small pitcher of milk. He sets it on the table and pours out a cup for her, then moves around to the other side and somehow manages to fit all of his height down into a chair to sit across from her and pour himself a cup.

“Alright,” Ozzie says, having lost the edge of playfulness. “Spill it, girl. Something’s wrong. I don’t think I’ve seen you this miserable since that loser you took to Hell Prom dumped you.”

Charlie manages a weak laugh, a little surprised; she hasn’t thought about her breakup with Seviathan in a while. It hurt like a bitch, at the time, and since those were the years of Lucifer being…well…distant, Ozzie was the one she turned to. He took her out shopping, got her ice cream, and let her alternate between crying on him and furiously ranting about how stupid dating is and how much boys suck. She felt absolutely miserable back then, but after a few months, she was totally fine. Maybe…maybe what’s happening now isn’t so insurmountable, after all. Bolstered by the thought, Charlie takes a sip of her tea and tries to gather her thoughts.

“I, um…” Charlie clears her throat, keeping her eyes down to stare at the table. “I’m pretty sure I got hit by some kind of romance, or— or lust spell, or something.”

Ozzie frowns. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, I’ve…been…” Oh, fuck, Charlie’s pretty sure she’d rather get thrown from Heaven than admit it out loud. It’s fine, it’s fine, he doesn’t know who she’s talking about, it’s fine, just play it cool… “Having those kinds of thoughts about a person that I, um. Really shouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts about. You know?”

Ozzie doesn’t say anything for a while. Then he exhales slowly and leans back.

“Charlie, it’s okay if you’re into girls. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t mean—”

“What?” Charlie jerks her head up to stare at him. “No! I mean, well, yes, I do like girls, but I know that already, this isn’t— No, it’s not like that. It’s like…” What’s a good example that won’t give it away? “Like, um… Um, fuck. Like someone…who…like someone who it’d be wrong to feel that way towards!”

“This person, can they consent?” Ozzie asks, and he quirks a brow. “You know, mentally sound, an adult, et cetera, et cetera?”

“Well…yes…” Charlie says slowly. “But—”

“Then what’s the issue?” At Charlie’s scandalized look, Ozzie laughs. “Charlie, I’m the Sin of Lust, not the Virtue of it. As long as they can consent, why should you or I care?”

Charlie’s brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. Why should she care? Why should she care? Because it’s her father she’s talking about! Because they’re blood relatives! Because he raised her! It’s not like she’s eyeing some married man or villainous gangster, someone who she shouldn’t logically be attracted to but who doesn’t make her a freak for liking.

“Ozzie, you don’t understand.” Charlie’s words are pleading, fighting to keep a hold on her composure even as her voice breaks. “I can’t feel this way about him. I can’t. I never have before. I just— I saw him and it’s like a switch got flipped and suddenly I’m having all these thoughts that are wrong and I don’t know what to do and please, I just want them to stop, I want to— I just want— Fuck, I don’t even know what I want, because I want him! But I can’t, it’s— it’s wrong! It’s wrong, it’s wrong, I can’t—” Charlie’s sobbing before she even really knows it, and she puts her face in her hands as her shoulders shake. “I can’t. It’s wrong. It’s— it’s wrong. I shouldn’t— and he’d never— but I look at him and, and—”

“Charlie,” Ozzie’s voice soothes, and she feels his hand on her shoulder, patting it gently; he must have gotten up and come around to comfort her. “Charlie, honey, breathe. Breathe. Just take a breath. There you go.”

Charlie hiccups, forcing herself to focus on Ozzie’s hand on her and the comforting scent of her tea. She feels awful for even talking about it, like saying it out loud makes it real. What would Lucifer say if he knew? He’d probably be so disgusted with her, and he’d have every right to be, especially with her thinking those kinds of awful things while she was supposed to be helping him and taking care of him, and mere hours after he told her that he’s been assaulted, no less. He’d hate her. He tried so hard to be a good dad and—

“Charlie, you with me?”

Ozzie’s voice forces her back to the real world, and she sniffles, managing a little nod. Ozzie hums sympathetically and pets her hair, summoning a box of tissues onto the table in front of her. Charlie takes one and dabs at her eyes as Ozzie kneels next to her chair. With his height, he’s basically at eye level.

“Look…” Ozzie sighs. “I know Lucifer instilled you with…well, let’s say a certain moral code. And for the most part, that’s great, it really is. You’ve got a good soul, Charlie. The problem is that Lucifer raised you like an angel. But down here? That kinda shit doesn’t matter. This is Hell, honey. Nobody down here gives half a damn about that kinda stuff. You think most people spend their time worrying about who they should and shouldn’t lust after? Give me a break.”

Charlie wipes at her eyes again.

Ozzie continues, “This person, this guy…he can consent, he’s of sound mind. He can walk, talk, chew gum. And you’re not forcing all of this on him. You’re keeping it to yourself until you know for sure you can let it blossom. Yeah?”

After a moment of hesitation, Charlie nods.

“Yeah.” Ozzie pats her shoulder. “So what’s the issue?”

“But what if…” Charlie has to swallow a sob. “What if he went through something awful? In the past? Something that hurt him?”

She doesn’t want to tell Ozzie about what exactly Lucifer went through, but surely even the suggestion of it changes things, right? All other things equal — assuming they were unrelated, that is — wouldn’t it be wrong to try and make him do anything when he’s been hurt like that?

“You think that trauma makes people sexless, hmm?” Ozzie asks, eyeing her critically, and Charlie falters. “If he knows what he’s agreeing to, and agrees to it, then that’s that. Besides, it doesn’t sound like you’re jumping in the sack with him, so why is that even an issue right now? You thinking someone’s hot doesn’t do anyone any harm…except yourself, it seems. Be honest…how much of that is really just you feeling guilty over it and trying to find excuses to make yourself feel justified in feeling guilty about it?”

Ouch. Charlie stares down at the table again.

“That’s what I thought,” Ozzie says, and he stands, going back to his seat and settling back down as he takes a drink from his cup. He’s silent for a moment, and then, mildly, he asks, “This awful thing he went through, it…wouldn’t have anything to do with, ah…Falling from Heaven, now, would it?”

As soon as the words leave Ozzie’s mouth, Charlie’s blood turns to ice in her veins, shocking her horns from their glamor and her eyes into the sharpened vision of her demonic form as fight or flight kicks in.

“How—” Charlie’s body suddenly feels very small and very numb. “How did you know?”

Ozzie blinks at her. “Honey, you’re wearing Lucifer’s clothes and came from Lucifer’s palace. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together and get incest.”

Charlie tries to vanish her horns, but all she gets is a fresh wave of tears. “Are you going to…tell him?”

“Oh, Charlie, no. Of course not.” Ozzie reaches across the table and gently takes her hand. “I would absolutely never do that to you. This is your journey, not mine. And before you ask again, there are zero enchantments, charms, or curses hanging around you. Everything you’re feeling is all you, girl.”

Charlie gives a pained noise, putting her forehead in her free hand. It’s what she was afraid of, the possibility so shameful that she wouldn’t even let herself think about it, and it means that this is all something wrong with her, not a magical attack or malicious enchantment.

“He’d hate me,” Charlie says, directed at the table. “If he knew. He’d hate me.”

“Lucifer could never hate you,” Ozzie says. He sounds so confident that Charlie almost believes it. “You could actively be stabbing him with an Exorcist’s spear and he’d probably still tell you that he’s proud of you. He loves you, Charlie.”

Lucifer, at the end of an Exorcist’s blade—

Charlie sniffles and doesn’t think about that. She takes her hand from Ozzie’s so she can reach for another tissue and use it to wipe her face again, coming down from the worst of the adrenaline and panic.

“Well, we all know how you feel about love,” Charlie says after steadying her voice as much as she can, hoping to redirect the conversation. Ozzie’s distaste for romance isn’t exactly a secret.

But to her surprise, the expression that finds its way onto Ozzie’s face isn’t derision or amusement, it’s…almost wistful.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Ozzie murmurs. “I’ve been…broadening my horizons, a bit.”

Ozzie? In love? Wrath must be freezing over. Charlie balls the tissue up in her hands and drops them to her lap, staring at her tea. The demon features have faded, and she winces as she sees the claw marks in the table.

Ozzie shakes himself. “Anyways, if you’re hoping that I’m gonna turn around and talk you out of it, you’re out of luck. You’ll hate me for saying it, but honestly? You could do worse than your dad.”

The Charlie of a few weeks — Hells, days — ago probably would have gagged at the mere insinuation of a comment like that. The Charlie of now is…well, not agreeing, but she can’t deny that she sees his point. There’s a lot of evil people in Hell. That is, after all, kind of the point of it being Hell. Any of the Overlords, like that awful moth demon with the porn studio. A few of the Ars Goetia have terrible reputations, too: Duke Focalor’s wives all supposedly died of natural causes, but when more than one woman drowns in the same bathtub, Charlie starts to get suspicious.

Lucifer isn’t like any of that. He’s not sadistic or perverted. He’s just…distant. Lonely.

Before I found him, how long had it been since anyone had touched him? Charlie wonders. Then the nausea and simmering rage return as she amends, Touched him with kindness?

“He doesn’t feel the same way.” Charlie recoils as she hears herself say it. “Oh, God, did I just say that out loud? Shit, no, I absolutely shouldn’t use that curse, I don’t want God knowing about this—”

“What’s He going to do?” Ozzie asks wryly. “Throw you out of Hell? I think that ship’s sailed. God’s not watching all the way down here, honey.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully. “And sure, Lucifer doesn’t feel that way towards you, or maybe he does and he’s just done a fantastic job of hiding it. But you’re not a child anymore. And, forgive me for saying it, you two aren’t exactly doing much father-daughter bonding, so might I suggest some…father-daughter bondage?”

It was a mistake to have taken a drink of her tea, because Charlie nearly spits it out at that, just barely managing not to choke as she swallows and gapes at him.

“What?”

“Just a suggestion.” Ozzie holds up his hands in surrender. “Or not. Maybe try kissing before jumping in with handcuffs.”

“You think I’m actually going to—?!” Charlie sputters. “Ozzie, that’s my fucking dad.”

Ozzie and both his goat heads raise their eyebrows.

“Not like that!” Charlie groans and hides her face in her hands. “I just…I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to hurt him, or…or make him think that he has to…I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Ozzie says, having toned his voice back down to something sincere and gentle. “Just be there with him. See what happens. It’s not always about lust at first sight. Sometimes you gotta let it take its own time.”

Charlie squirms a little, unsure if the twisting, knotting feeling in her gut is butterflies or dread. Could she really…? No, of course she couldn’t. She wouldn’t even be able to— well, she wouldn’t enjoy it, is the thing, it’d just be too weird, too wrong. She’d hate it. Right?

…Right?

“Here’s what you should do now, though,” Ozzie advises, back to his usual boisterous self, and he stands up with a flourish of his tail and heads back into the kitchen. “Eat some food and talk about something else. Take your mind off things! Letting yourself stew around in your own brain juice isn’t going to help you.”

Charlie’s about to protest that even if she was hungry, she’d have lost her appetite by now, but Ozzie shushes her before she can even open her mouth and points an accusatory finger at her.

“I know, I know, you probably don’t need to eat — you can thank your favorite angel babe for that, too. But nobody needs to have sex, either! So come on, just unbunch your panties for a second and let me feed you. And talk to me about something other than your daddy issues. I do have hobbies other than giving fantastic advice, you know!”

A wobbly smile sneaks its way up onto Charlie’s face, and she nods in acquiescence, watching as he hums his way through getting some plates and silverware for them both. It’s good to know that no matter what happens, some things really do never change.

***

By the time Ozzie gets ready to open a portal back to the palace, Charlie does feel significantly better. He managed to coax her into conversation about her classes, and soon she was excitedly telling him all about her final paper that she’s writing on the different dialects in each of the different rings — she’ll be blessed if he retained more than a few words of it, but he smiled and nodded and asked questions at the right times, and that was enough for her.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Ozzie says, standing next to Charlie and giving her a worried look. “Seriously, CharChar. Anything.”

Charlie accepts the hug he gives her thankfully, smiling to herself as he rocks her from side to side. “Thank you, Ozzie.”

“You’re welcome.” Ozzie pulls away, hands on her shoulders. “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

“I’ll…be fine,” Charlie says, though she’s not entirely sure that’s true. “I think.”

The prospect of going back to the palace is…a little frightening. She still hasn’t gotten any texts from Lucifer. What if…what if she really fucked up?

I can’t think like that, Charlie tells herself sternly. I have to stay optimistic. Nothing’s unfixable.

She breathes deeply and squares her shoulders, looking Ozzie in the eyes as she reassures herself, “It’ll be okay. I’ll be fine.”

Ozzie’s face breaks into a grin. “Yeah, you will. That’s the Charlie I know. And uh, hey…tell me how it goes, mmkay?”

He winks at her, and by the time she’s finished rolling her eyes, the portal has opened. She steps through, gives him one last little wave, and watches as it closes. As soon as the magic has crackled out of existence, silence falls once again. The foyer is just as lonely and abandoned as it was before, albeit a little cleaner thanks to her work yesterday, and there’s no lights on. She can see in the dark, but it’s still a little…eerie? No. Depressing, more like.

Charlie sighs, shoulders slumping again, and turns around, preparing to climb the stairs to head back up to the residential area. It’s only when she does so that she realizes the foyer isn’t completely dark.

Lucifer does glow. It’s subtle, but even at rest, his body is ringed by light, as if the edges of him have been gilded. He’s holding the first note she gave him, Charlie realizes, and she looks back up to his face with a painful twisting inside her chest. His eyes are luminous in the dark, cadmium red on gold, and as Charlie stares, they flick up to meet hers.

“Hey, sweetie.” Lucifer speaks before she can, holding her gaze for a moment before sighing heavily and looking down at the note. “I think…it’s time for us to talk.”

Chapter Text

They end up in the library. Charlie mutely follows him past the rows of windows and shelves of books to where several chairs and sofas are arranged around the large fireplace, and with a wave of Lucifer’s hand a fire springs into life, throwing light over plush red cushions and tables made of polished wood. He sits first, lowering himself into one of the chairs with a weariness that reminds Charlie of how many years have been piled atop those thin shoulders. Silently, she takes one of the adjacent chairs.

Lucifer stares at the fire for a second, then leans forward, putting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees. After a couple beats, he takes a single, shaky breath, then sits back up, wipes his face, and looks at Charlie.

“I love you,” Lucifer says, in a voice that’s surprisingly steady. “Do you know that?”

What could be so awful that he wants to hear me say that? Charlie swallows thickly, holding his eyes despite the way that he’s looking at her makes her want to cry.

“I know,” Charlie says. Her words aren’t nearly as firm as she wanted them to be. “I’m not going to leave, Dad. I promise.”

Lucifer looks at her for a second, the fragment of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Then his expression darkens again and he drops his eyes to his hands, still covered by his gloves.

“Lilith isn’t your mother.” Lucifer’s words are quiet, but still steady. “In fact, Lilith never met you at all.”

Charlie expects to feel like she got hit by a truck. The person that she thought was her mother for 200 years might not even know she exists.

But, honestly? She doesn’t. She doesn’t even know if she really feels surprised. It’s not like she hasn’t thought about it over the years — how could she not? Besides, she never actually knew Lilith. There’s no mother-daughter relationship to sever. No fond memories to look at in a new light. Truthfully, Charlie cares more about why Lucifer lied to her for 200 years than the fact that someone else birthed her.

“Okay,” Charlie says, and her mental family tree reorganizes itself, with Lucifer on one side and a question mark on the other. “So…if she’s not my mother, then who is?”

Lucifer heaves out a breath, and then says, matter-of-factly, “I am.”

…Uh.

“That…doesn’t make sense. You’re my—”

“Dad,” Lucifer finishes, and he gives her a tired, slanted smile. “So, sure, I guess you could say I’m not your mother. But if you want to know who birthed you? That was me.”

Charlie lets that sink in, trying to fit it into everything she knows about Lucifer. Perhaps it’s lucky that she knows so little — there’s a lot of empty space to fill in.

Thinking about it, she can see how it makes sense. She knows that Lucifer’s a shapeshifter — if he can turn into a snake, bird, or any other animal he can think of, why couldn’t he…? Charlie blinks and steers her thoughts back on track. Besides, being transgender isn’t limited to humans; Hellborns can be every identity under the pentagram moon. She even knows a couple people like that, who were born one way and live another. Unfortunately, bigotry isn’t limited to humans, either. Especially not in Hell. After all, where else would the assholes and homophobes go?

Charlie looks at him again, the cautious expression on his face but the pure desperation in his eyes. Is this…what he wanted to tell her that he thought was going to make her hate him so much? That he’s trans? Charlie feels a pang of shame. Has she done something to make him think that?

“That’s okay,” Charlie says, and Lucifer blinks, the golden sheen of his eyes bright with tears. “I guess I never told you that I like girls, too…”

Lucifer stares at her for a second, then laughs, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and grinning at her, weak but genuine. “No, you never did. But I’m happy you told me now. At least that’s one thing we have in common.”

Hah. Then Charlie frowns as a sudden realization hits her. “So, do you want me to start calling you by a different…? I mean, if you want me to refer to you as my parent instead of my dad, or—”

“Dad is fine, thank you,” Lucifer interrupts, but he’s still smiling, warm and soft as he looks at Charlie. “I’ve grown pretty fond of it. I can tell you all about Seraph gender later, if you’d like.”

Charlie nods, finding herself smiling as well, and she holds his gaze for a moment longer. His eyes really are pretty, and his smile is infectious, reminding her of better, younger days. After a moment, though, he clears his throat and looks back at the fire.

“That was the easy part, so now for the hard part,” Lucifer says, seemingly more to himself than her. “You’re probably wondering who the…other half is.”

He doesn’t call them my other parent, Charlie notes, and she can’t explain why that gives her a bad feeling. “I mean…yeah, but if it’s not important—”

“Unfortunately, it is important.” Lucifer’s voice takes a hard, sharp edge, but she can see the shine of tears in his eyes again as he stares resolutely at the fire. “Because the man who fathered you is the same man who brought you here. You’re not the daughter of me and Lilith, Charlie. You’re the daughter of me and Adam.”

Oh.

Now Charlie feels like she’s gotten hit by a truck.

Of all the realizations that have come in the past days — and there’s been too fucking many for her to count them right now — this is quite possibly the worst.

Charlie’s voice comes back to hear ears as if from a great distance. “What?”

The same man who brought her here. Meaning, the same man who hurt Lucifer. Meaning, the same man who…

Say it. Lucifer’s staring at the fire still, and Charlie’s inner voice sounds just as sharp as he did. Fucking say it. You’re here because of it.

The same man who raped her father.

Adam. The First Man.

“It was the Extermination after Lilith left.” The hard edge to Lucifer’s voice sounds hollow now. “She hadn’t been gone very long. Weeks. We didn’t think Heaven would notice — and for the most part, we were right. But Adam did. He never could let her go. His first wife, the one that didn’t even need to eat the apple to realize that she didn’t want anything to do with him. Oh, he never got over that.”

Charlie wants him to stop. She doesn’t want to hear this. She doesn’t want to know. She wants to go back—

Lucifer’s hand drops down his arm, digging his claws into his forearm until he seems to remember he’s wearing gloves and stops, never taking his eyes off the flames. “Adam found me. I would have just done Creation a favor and killed him, but that bastard had a dead man’s switch: his second-in-command, Lute. If he hadn’t come back, she would have gone to Sera and told her that Lilith wasn’t in Hell anymore. So he made me a deal. If I let him do whatever he wanted to me, he and Lute would keep quiet. It was payback. Revenge. Whatever you want to call it. He never was very creative.”

Nausea is swirling in Charlie’s stomach, and she can taste bile in the back of her throat as she desperately tries not to imagine it. It doesn’t take that much creativity to think of what, exactly, Adam would do to Lucifer.

That’s why she was born. Not out of love. Not even out of lust. It was a sick, demented revenge fantasy inflicted for perceived crimes thousands of years old that brought her into this world. It’s like her life is crumbling around her, but she can’t stop listening to Lucifer’s voice.

“The deal was binding, of course. They kept quiet.” Lucifer looks at her, and past the ringing in her ears she can feel his aura again, love flowing so strong across the frequencies that she feels like she could drown in it as he smiles again, broken and shaky. “And…well, after a little while, I…I just sort of…knew.”

Love, warm like a jacket around her shoulders, like getting tucked into bed as a child. Why? Why does he love her like that after what happened? Lucifer would have every right to hate her, to be disgusted by her. Half of her is Adam, after all. Does he see him every time he looks at her? Is that why he’s so thankful that she looks like him?

There’s a hand on hers, and she snaps back to the present as she realizes that Lucifer has knelt in front of her, clasping both her hands in his and looking up at her with anguish etched into every line of his face. “Charlie, please, don’t—”

“I’m only here because—” Charlie whispers, and tears are falling before she knows it, dripping down onto their hands as she looks at him. “He—”

“You’re here because I made the choice to have you,” Lucifer says, and he sounds desperate, squeezing her hands tightly. “You’re here because I wanted you. You’re here because I love you, Charlie, and I have since before you were even born.”

Charlie whimpers, hating that she believes him because somehow, that makes it hurt even more. “Weren’t you—?”

“Scared?” Lucifer asks, with a tearful laugh. “Fuck, Charlie, I was terrified. I didn’t know how to be a parent. I barely knew how to take care of myself. And…and I was angry, at first. I promised to tell you the truth, and that’s it, I was…I was angry. And bitter. But you— you were blameless, Charlie. You still are. It’s not your fault. None of it is your fault.”

It’s not her fault, but that doesn’t stop the twisting ache of disgust inside her, a sense of uncleanliness, like she needs to bathe in one of Wrath’s volcanoes until every part of her that isn’t from Lucifer is burned away. She wants to scrub her skin raw until she bleeds, wants to pull herself apart and excise every little piece of Adam until she’s only Lucifer’s daughter.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Charlie asks, her voice catching on another sob. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Lucifer looks down at their hands. Charlie blinks and his gloves are gone, his skin suddenly warm against hers, and he gently intertwines their fingers as he looks back up at her. She can see the scars again, claw marks up and down his forearms, and she understands now why they’re there because she wants to claw her own skin off, too. Was he going to lie to her the rest of her life? Let her live in ignorance?

“This is a burden that you never should have had to carry,” Lucifer whispers. “This isn’t something that should be on your shoulders. I thought, once, that maybe I should, but you were so young, and this isn’t something that I was going to tell a child. By the time you were older, I…” Lucifer trails off, pulling away slightly, his eyes darkening. “I didn’t know how. And even if I had…what good would it have done? It would have hurt you for no reason. It is hurting you for no reason.”

Charlie’s shoulders shake as she sobs, and Lucifer reaches up to cup her cheek with his hand, shushing her gently as he wipes the tears away with one thumb. Despite the tenderness of it, she can’t help but flinch. She doesn’t want his love, doesn’t deserve it, not after what was done to him—

“Charlie, look at me.” Lucifer waits until she does, blinking at him through the tears, and then he smiles again, leaning up to push her bangs away from her face, his fingers tracing her brow. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You are the best thing that I’ve ever made.”

Charlie hiccups, leaning into his hand despite herself. “But Adam—”

“Adam is not going to ruin the only good thing I’ve ever done,” Lucifer says firmly. “Adam is an arrogant douchebag with an overinflated ego who thinks he’s Iad’s greatest gift to Creation because he was brought into existence with a dick.” He wipes another tear away, his thumb leaving tingling lines of warmth across her skin. “You are not him. You are nothing like him.”

Closing her eyes, Charlie lets herself sink into the sensations of him, his warm hands wiping her tears away, the crackling of the fire, the heaviness of his aura around her that covers her in the sensations of love…and relief. What must it feel like to hold a secret like this for 200 years? A burden that she never should have had to carry, Lucifer said, but that doesn’t mean that he should have had to carry it, either. At least, not alone.

Charlie sniffles and opens her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath as she blinks until her vision is a little clearer. She watches Lucifer sit back on his knees, dropping his hands to his lap as he worries at his palms with his claws, tracing circles, over and over.

“Does anyone else know?” Charlie asks.

“Aside from Adam, all the Sins know that I’m the one who had you. Ozzie and Belle know the rest. That’s it.” Lucifer stares down at his hands. “I didn’t want anyone to treat you differently. And I didn’t…I didn’t want Heaven to take you away.”

“Why would they…?” Charlie’s eyes widen as her heart skips a beat. “Am I…an angel?”

For 200 years, she’s lived believing that she’s a Nephilim: the daughter of a fallen angel and a former human. But what’s the daughter of a fallen angel and another angel? Could she have been raised in Heaven?

“I don’t know,” Lucifer says, bringing one hand up to scrub at his face. “I don’t know if they would have. I— I didn’t think Adam would have been able to tell them, and I still don’t, but I didn’t plan for you when I made the deal, I didn’t know—” He pushes his hair back and looks back up at her. “I didn’t care what you were. But I knew that other people in Hell would, whether for— for leverage, or power, or— something. That’s why I made everyone think that you were Lilith’s child. She hadn’t been gone that long, and I— I was able to…make a few illusions. Nothing too big. Just letting people see her in the windows, or the balconies. Out in the gardens. Then we — I — announced the pregnancy and made up an excuse about how we would both be out of the public eye until you were born.”

Charlie’s voice catches somewhere in her throat, and she holds out a hand again, staring at him until he puts one of his own back in it. “I’m sor—”

“Don’t tell me that you’re sorry,” Lucifer says, all sharpness again, teeth flashing. “It’s not your fault, and I don’t want pity. I don’t regret you. I never have, and I never will.”

Chastened, Charlie murmurs a soft apology, and Lucifer’s face immediately softens. He squeezes her hand as his aura prickles comforting waves of forgiveness across her skin.

“Belle helped me figure out how to take care of myself.” Lucifer’s eyes go soft, filled with a tender sort of haziness like he’s looking into the past. “And Ozzie helped get everything ready. He was very excited to meet you.” Then he laughs weakly. “And also about ready to storm Heaven’s gates and bring me back Adam’s head.”

Charlie can’t help a soft huff of amusement at the image, despite it not really being funny. “That sounds like Ozzie.”

Lucifer is silent for a while, and when he looks up at her, there’s tear tracks down his face. “And then you were born. Ta Zie Cnila. I thought I loved you before, but then you looked at me for the first time, and— and I— I thought I might die. I thought that I might get struck down because I knew I wasn’t allowed to be as happy as I was when I saw you. You were perfect, Charlie. You are perfect. Angel, demon, anything in between; none of that matters, not to me. What matters is that you’re my daughter, and I would do anything to protect you.”

His hand is still in hers, charcoal against ivory, and Charlie realizes that she doesn’t doubt him for a second. For all the lonely hours she spent in this palace, for all the tears that she shed wondering why he acted like he did, for all the slammed doors and insults spat in his direction, not once did she ever truly convince herself that he didn’t love her. She knows because that’s why it hurt so much. If she had been able to tell herself that he didn’t love her and make herself believe it, at least she would have been able to let go of the father she so desperately wanted.

There’s still so many questions that she wants to ask. But right now, only one really matters.

She swallows, trying to figure out the best way to say it, and then slowly asks, “Why did Adam come back? Why…why did he lure me here?”

“He knew that you were his. I mean, of course he did. He knew that you weren’t Lilith’s, he knew we had…well, you know, and he can do basic math. Trust me, I was surprised by that last part, too. Just like the first time, he used Lute as his failsafe, and found me. You were with Belle, safe for the moment, but he—” Lucifer’s face tightens, his eyes going red between one blink and the next. “He threatened you. He threatened to kill you, Charlie. He asked me how long I thought I could really protect you for. How long would it be until I slipped up? Would it be when you were a child and wandered away from me? When you were a teenager rebelling against me? When you were an adult, living on your own? I couldn’t send you away to Sloth forever, and I knew that.

“So, I made another deal. Ironclad. No Exorcist is allowed to touch you — or any other Hellborn — during the Exterminations. In return, for the duration of every one of their slaughters, Adam is allowed to do as he pleases with me. No magic is off-limits. He may torture me, fuck me, or simply force me to listen to him talk. Trust me when I say the latter is far worse than either of the preceding options.”

Charlie isn’t surprised. She expected this to come, expected it to be something like that, but there’s a difference between expecting it and actually hearing it—

Hearing him say those words—

The memory of his scream when she touched the collar is still clear and sharp in her mind, and she can still see the way he looked when she first found him, that far-off, distant look in his eyes. Obviously, Adam wasn’t just making Lucifer listen to him talk. She was at the palace around 45 minutes after the bell rang to signal the end of the Extermination, which means that Lucifer was alone on the floor for almost an hour, bleeding into the rug, huddling under his wings. And what about all the times that she didn’t come? He said he would have waited it out. Is that what he did for the 200 times, give or take, that she wasn’t there?

For me. Charlie stares at him, tears filling her eyes again. He did it for me. To protect me.

“I don’t know why he tricked you into coming here except to humiliate me,” Lucifer says, looking down at their hands, his eyes back to their normal red on gold. “You weren’t supposed to know this. Any of this. You were— supposed to…to…”

“To assume that my father didn’t want anything to do with me?” Charlie asks, with a feeling like something’s breaking open inside her chest. “To just…keep on hating you because I thought you didn't want to put in the effort to be my dad?”

Lucifer turns his face away from her, his gaze directed at the floor. “I would rather have had you hate me for the rest of our lives than see me like that.”

See him like—? Charlie’s throat constricts, the words refusing to process for a few long, agonizing moments. Does he think that she’s disgusted by him? That she thinks he should be ashamed? That she thinks less of him knowing these things?

Pride, the first and greatest sin, Charlie realizes, and this time it’s her that reaches for his face, tilting his chin back up towards her. He allows her to, blinking up at her, exhaustion in the lines under his eyes, the strands of blonde hair falling unkempt over his forehead. Charlie’s thought it before, but she thinks it again: even with this weariness in his eyes, Lucifer doesn’t look thousands of years old. He doesn’t even really look old enough to be her father.

Yes, he lied to her. He made her think that she was one thing when she was another. He kept her true parentage from her. None of that is even touching on the fact that she barely even had a father for years and years of her life when he fell into those haunting years of melancholy and depression. To say that she isn’t upset would be a lie. Upset doesn’t even begin to cover it, honestly — she feels murderous rage towards Adam, nauseating revulsion towards herself, and every time she meets Lucifer’s eyes her heart breaks all over again. So, yeah, she’s upset.

But…if she was in his place…would she really have done any differently? When, exactly, would have been a good time for him to tell her, ‘Oh, and Charlie, just by the way, you’re actually the product of what was most likely several hours of repeated sexual assault that I subjected myself to in order to protect the woman who you thought was your mother and that I go through again every year to keep you safe’? It’s not exactly the kind of thing you tell a child over dinner. She wouldn’t have been very receptive to him trying to sit her down for a serious talk when she was a teenager, anyways. She probably would have yelled at him and slammed the door in his face just to try and prove some kind of point.

I love you. If I had known I would have stopped you. If I had known I would have stopped him. I love you, Dad. You shouldn’t have done that to yourself. You shouldn’t have done that to me. You should have told me. You should have let me help you. I love you so much, Dad, and I missed you. Please don’t ever leave me again. I won’t ever leave you again.

Every single phrase she wants to say dies in her throat as she looks down at him, kneeling at her feet as if he’s asking for absolution but expecting a slap to the face.

“You’re my dad,” Charlie manages eventually, voice halting. She doesn’t know what else to say. “You’re… That’s never going to change. You’re my family. Family takes care of each other, Dad. No matter what.” He opens his mouth, and Charlie shakes her head, cutting him off. “It’s okay for you to need help, I promise. You don’t need to do everything alone. Not anymore. You have me, and I’m going to help you, because I love you.”

Tears well up in Lucifer’s eyes, falling when he blinks and tries to smile, little lines of heat running over her hand. There’s a moment of just the crackling flames in the fireplace, then, “I’m sorry I didn’t take better care of you, Charlie. I should have done…well…more. I should have been there.”

And hearing that…hearing that hurts. But it doesn’t hurt like she’s being wounded. It hurts like a healing bruise, like the feeling of angelic grace cauterizing wounds that have been bleeding for too long. They’re not gone. They’ll never be gone, Charlie thinks. But they don’t feel quite so raw, either.

“I should have been there, too.” Charlie’s words linger in the air, a simple phrase that could have been said so many years earlier. He did things wrong. She’ll never deny that. But it shouldn’t have taken Adam and everything he did to bring them back together.

After what feels like both too long and not long enough, Charlie blinks hard, then reluctantly pulls her hands back, scrubbing at her cheeks and trying to catch her breath.

She doesn’t even know what to say. For a half-second, she’s almost sure that Lucifer is going to lean up and kiss her, and she’s entirely sure that she wouldn’t push him away. But then the moment passes, and Lucifer pushes himself to a standing position and steps back to a respectable distance.

“Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water?”

“Could I just…” Charlie sniffles, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes before pulling them away and giving Lucifer a sheepish look. “Could I just have a…a minute?”

Lucifer’s expression does a complicated thing, his aura spiking like a scratching record with a jolt of insecurity, but after a moment he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you want me to come back in a few…?”

Shaking her head, Charlie manages a wobbly smile. “No, it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Lucifer starts back towards the door, pausing for a moment to lay a comforting hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Remember what I said, Charlie. It’s all just papercuts.”

When Charlie doesn’t respond, he clears his throat and pats her shoulder before continuing off towards the entrance to the library. Charlie hears the door open, then close, leaving her with just the crackling flames to keep her company, warm light dancing off the polished wood around her and radiating comforting warmth. It’s funny…now that she’s gotten accustomed to Lucifer’s aura, she feels almost…bereft without it. She wonders, idly, how much he can control it. Does he even know she can feel it as strongly as she does?

Huh. She wonders if she has an aura. Charlie makes a note to ask him that sometime, then sits back in the chair, wiping her face again. Just a little while to collect her thoughts, and then she’ll go to bed. She wasn’t kidding: it’s been a long fucking day. Between Ozzie and Lucifer, she’s more than fulfilled her quota for uncomfortable conversations.

Right now, she mostly just feels…exhausted. Wrung out. Not exhausted enough to not feel angry, though — furious, really, and about ready to strangle Adam with her bare hands. Heaven is supposed to be a place filled with good people. It’s supposed to be paradise. Eternal happiness. The angels are supposed to be virtuous and honorable and benevolent and…

…and is she really surprised when they come down here once a year to slaughter every Sinner in their path? They had to have learned that cruelty from somewhere. It only makes sense that they’d be following the example of their leader.

They cast Dad out for less, Charlie thinks, staring at the fire, and the arm of the chair where she’s resting her hand singes at the idea. Angels can do anything and stay in Heaven…except be dreamers, I guess.

Charlie watches the flames, barely feeling the seconds slipping by that turn into minutes and then hours, pooling around her feet and in the hearts of the fire. The dark near-silence of the library is almost like some kind of pocket dimension, and she can sink into the quiet, watching as the flames begin to die out now that Lucifer’s magic isn’t around to sustain them. For 200 years, he’s been living with this secret. She thought she didn’t know much about who Lucifer was before the Fall…but it turns out that she doesn’t know much about him now, either.

What does she know?

He loves birds, especially ducks. He’s a great singer. He has a sweet tooth. He’s a talented craftsman. He likes apples. He’s a good cook. He likes flying. He likes pancakes, but likes waffles better. He makes her feel safe.

He’s lonely.

He loves her. If she knew nothing else, if she woke up tomorrow knowing nothing about herself or about him or about the world, she would still know that Lucifer loves her.

Maybe she doesn’t need to know the rest, at least not yet. Maybe it’s like Ozzie said: maybe some things just have to come in time. Maybe, just maybe, they have another shot at this whole father-daughter thing.

Maybe they have a shot at something else. It feels wrong to think, but…not as wrong as it did before. Charlie thinks of Ozzie’s words again: You think trauma makes people sexless? Who said anything about sex? There’s no finish line here. No award to win. Maybe all she wants is to be with him in any way she can.

The fire has long since died by the time Charlie stands. She picks her way through the darkness, the library doors shutting behind her with only a whisper, and heads towards her bedroom, the click of her shoes on the marble her only companion. She’s just closing her door and kicking off her shoes when she pauses, staring at the doorknob and then turning to look at her bed. Before last night, the last time she slept next to someone was the girl she dated for a few months in her first year at the Academy, which was…well, not a lifetime ago, but…it sometimes feels like it. Charlie can’t help it — she likes physical contact. She likes being next to someone, being close to someone, being able to curl up with someone else at night.

She realizes now that it was pretty naive of her to think that last night would be a one-time thing.

When she peeks back out into the hall, she sees that one of Lucifer’s bedroom doors is hanging ajar. Charlie does her best to be quiet as she slips through and lets it silently fall shut behind her. She can make out the shape of him in bed, half-under the sheets, one arm tucked under the pillow and his breathing soft and light. She starts forward, but something stops her and she falters, falling still, suddenly unsure. Should she really be doing this? She should probably just go. It wouldn’t be right to bother him. He probably wants space—

“Charlie?” Lucifer asks, and he raises his head slightly, eyes glowing in the darkness. “Is everything okay?”

It’s a silly thing to ask after the night she’s had, and Charlie isn’t sure whether she wants to laugh or start crying again. Before she can make up her mind, Lucifer pushes himself over on the bed to (somewhat symbolically) make more space and shoves a few pillows over so she has a place to put her head.

“C’mere.”

Not even Charlie can fight against that, and she tries not to let her movements show how desperate she is as she walks to the bed and climbs in next to him. He’s settled down again, his back to her, and Charlie feels such a ridiculous surge of affection at the silhouette of him next to her that she wants to make fun of herself. She shakes her head at her own stupidity and starts to follow his example, laying down and facing the opposite wall to avoid letting herself get too close or too comfortable. As soon as she closes her eyes, though—

Red and white feathers bent and broken and scattered. A puddle of molten gold slowly spreading across black marble floors.

Charlie opens her eyes again and stares into the darkness. Lucifer said that angelic weapons can’t kill him. How would he know that unless someone’s tried? Charlie can picture a blade singing with celestial frequencies at his throat, the spill of liquid gold down his chest, down his chin, the hilt of a knife between his ribs, the light leaving his eyes, over and over and over and—

“...Charlie?”

His voice sounds closer. A lot closer. It takes a moment for her to realize that she’s moved and is now curled entirely around him, tucking him up into her taller stature with her arms around his waist and his hair tickling her face. It’s not a way that parents and children sleep next to each other, and honestly, right now, Charlie doesn’t fucking care. Lucifer’s gone still, breaths shallow and questioning, but just as Charlie begins to realize that she should probably let him go, he relaxes, his chest rising and falling with a soft sigh as he brings a hand up to gently rub at one of her arms wrapped around him.

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Lucifer doesn’t sound angry or uncomfortable. Just…tired, and maybe a little fond, too. “I promise.”

Sure he is, at least physically. In that sense, he’s perfectly fine. The perks of angelic immortality, she supposes. Being able to heal, over and over, no matter what’s happening to you. No matter how much you might wish that you could fall asleep for a little while and forget. No matter how much it hurts.

Charlie swallows, then closes her eyes, his hair soft against her cheek. “It doesn’t matter how small a papercut is. If you get enough of them, you’re still going to bleed to death.”

It’s cringeworthy, when she says it out loud — one of those things that sounded way better in her head. In a different situation, Lucifer probably would have snickered and told her that she should take up poetry.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t say anything at all, actually.

Charlie holds him a little tighter.

Chapter Text

Charlie wakes up alone. Again.

A different kind of alone, though: this time, when she slowly drifts back into wakefulness, she can hear the shower running. Pride’s light gleams red and fuzzy outside the curtains, and Charlie nearly reaches for her phone to check the time before realizing that she doesn’t actually really know where her phone is. The sheets are still faintly warm with residual body heat and smell like Lucifer, starlight and smoke and the bright freshness of apples, and she’s glad that no one’s around to see her as she stretches slowly, allowing herself to bury her face in the sheets for a few long, glorious seconds before she sighs and pushes herself up to sit against the headboard.

Her first morning knowing…well, everything. She hopes it’s everything. She doesn’t think she has it in her for any more life-altering conversations. Charlie pulls her knees up to her chest, staring out at the slice of Hell visible through the curtains. Now that the adrenaline has faded and the exhaustion has mostly passed, she just…feels…

Angry.

Yeah. Angry.

What kind of person does that to someone? And happily, no less, with no remorse? What kind of person finds that enjoyable enough to keep coming back to it year after year? Did it always happen in this room? …In this bed? Charlie looks down at the sheets, suddenly feeling cold. How many times has Lucifer been hurt, tortured, violated right here where she’s sitting? Did he look up and see the same hangings that she can see right now? Six hours a year for 200 years, give or take. Some quick math gets her a number that she doesn’t really want to think about but does anyway. Put into days, it’s more than a month.

Last night, these thoughts would have sent her into a fit of tears — and, to be honest, that's still not out of the question. Mostly, though, they just fill her with righteous outrage. She wants to storm into the Heaven embassy and demand that Adam himself comes down and she can ask him who the fuck he thinks he is. It doesn't even matter what Lucifer did or didn't do all those years ago, it doesn't matter that he stole Lilith away from Adam and made Eve eat the apple, it doesn't matter that he created Hell, because there are some things you just don't do to a person.

Charlie stands, walking to the glass doors that lead out to the balcony and pulling the curtains open the rest of the way to look out over Pentagram City. Heaven's embassy rises tall in the center, gleaming as it always does, like some kind of bastion of light. Charlie's lip curls just thinking about it. The glittering images of Heaven are starting to fracture — what kind of Heaven allows someone like Adam to stay? Even if the other angels aren't aware of it, shouldn't whatever higher power that brought the angels into existence know? Shouldn't He— She— They care? Isn't Lucifer still an angel? Doesn't he still deserve protection? Or did They forget about him entirely when they threw him down into this pit?

Charlie's eyes turn up, past the hovering pentagram, focusing on the winged, white orb in the sky, little smears of light constantly circling around it like its own halo. It looks so close that it seems like she could fly up to it if she only had wings, but she knows she couldn’t.

“Good morning, Charlie.”

Charlie starts, whirling around to see Lucifer standing in the bathroom doorway. He's dressed in a loose white shirt and pants cropped just below the knee to avoid getting in the way of his hooves. His hair is still damp, but it's brushed back in its usual style, and as Charlie watches, he snaps and the smooth black fabric of his gloves seamlessly appears over his arms, disappearing under the rolled up sleeves of his shirt. He smiles when he meets her eyes, coming to join her at the doors.

“Lovely day in Hell,” Lucifer comments, waving the doors open and walking out onto the balcony as Charlie follows a few steps behind. He looks up at the seething clouds starting to amass above the pentagram, squinting a little. “Looks like we might get some acid rain later.”

Hell is Charlie’s home, and she’s learned to see the beauty in it. Outside the limits of Pentagram City, Pride rises sharp and jagged, like a field of stone teeth stretching out into eternity. Charlie grew up under this red sky, this small quadrant of the pentagram, the homes of Ars Goetia and other high-ranking families situated around the palace. Across the city, past the clock tower, the neons and billboards of the Vee Overlords seem bright enough that they should reach all the way up to Heaven with their artificial light.

What must it have been like to go from paradise to…this?

Lucifer’s got his elbows on the railing, leaning his weight on his arms with his eyes upturned to the glowing orb of Heaven. As Charlie watches, he sighs and drops his gaze back down to the city.

“This is where I Fell,” Lucifer says, unprompted and without preamble. “I mean, this smooth spot. Heaven’s embassy is built over the spot where I landed.”

Charlie stares at him for a moment, then looks back out over the city, some twisting, shuddering feeling making her stomach do an uncomfortable little flip as she realizes that she’s literally never thought about why there’s a large, smooth depression in the middle of Pride’s jagged spikes before. It makes sense, though, now that she is thinking about it. Lucifer would have landed with the force of an atom bomb, raw angelic power slamming into the teeming mass of darkness that formed the youngest iteration of Hell. And of course — of course — Heaven would have built their gleaming tower right there. Charlie doesn’t know why she would ever have expected otherwise.

“Lilith landed not far that way.” Lucifer nods his head in a direction vaguely to the left of them. He looks, for a second, like he’s going to say something else, then he just slouches his shoulders and looks at the clock, the halo around the spire casting a warm glow over it.

This is the most Charlie has ever heard him talk about the Fall in her entire life. She can picture it: a star falling from the red sky, trailing burning feathers in its wake, light and color in the darkness of Hell.

They didn’t Fall together, she realizes. Was he alone the whole way down?

“Why did Lilith leave?” Charlie asks, one of the questions she was dying to ask last night but unable to voice for fear of breaking her fragile control. “I thought…I mean, the stories said that she loved it here.”

Lucifer’s eyes reflect the halo of the clock tower, a cool breeze playing with the loose curls of hair that frame his face. “She did. For a while. But…Lilith wasn’t…she wasn’t made to be tied down like that. That’s why she never fit with Adam. Lilith had free will in her soul from the moment she was brought into existence, no apples needed.”

Charlie blinks. “But everyone says that you two were in love.”

“We were,” Lucifer says simply. “We…are, I guess. We would be, if she was still here, that is. I did love Lilith. I do love Lilith. And she, I can assume, loves me. But loving someone isn’t always enough.”

“But…wouldn’t she have come back if it meant you didn’t have to…?” Charlie trails off, not wanting to voice it out here in the open despite the fact that there’s absolutely no one around to hear them.

“If she knew about my deal, I’m sure she’d be fighting with Ozzie over which one of them gets the honor of killing Adam,” Lucifer says. He glances at Charlie with a tired smile. “I haven’t talked to her since she left. I don’t even know where she is. It should stay that way. I know that she wanted to go to Earth, though. See all the things that she never got a chance to.” There’s a pause, and Lucifer rubs at the railing with his thumb, little flakes in the wrought iron. “Besides, I’m not… Well, it doesn’t matter. You are really not the person I should be talking to about my romance troubles.”

“Sure, because you have so many other people to talk to.” It’s meant as a joke, but Lucifer doesn’t laugh.

A second passes. Charlie clears her throat.

“Sorry.”

Lucifer looks at her again, something assessing in his eyes, then back out at the city. “I am not an easy person to have a relationship with.”

Charlie shrugs. “Is anyone? This is Hell.”

Lucifer does laugh at that, a soft huff as he shakes his head. “I suppose. But… Nevermind. I just don’t want you to think unkindly of Lilith. She’s an amazing woman, Charlie. Fierce. You two would have gotten along, I think. She didn’t leave out of cruelty or apathy. She just needed something that Hell — that I — couldn't give her.”

Charlie falls silent. She…well, honestly, she doesn’t really understand. At least, not the part about Lilith still loving him. How could you ever leave someone you love?

Isn’t that exactly what you did? A little voice inside her asks, and Charlie winces.

Carefully, expecting him to push her away at any second, Charlie moves close enough to place her hand over one of his on the railing. He looks up at her, what must be shock dusting his cheeks with gold, but doesn’t resist.

“I’m not going to leave you like I did again,” Charlie says, because something tells her he needs to hear it. “I’m going to stick with you from now on. Okay?”

Well, she’s still pretty sure that he needed to hear that, but she greatly underestimated how awkward this would be. He’s staring at her, his mouth hanging open just enough for her to see the points of his teeth, looking like he’s been powdered with gold dust. His aura, previously quiet, suddenly feels very…warm.

That is so not a thing that a daughter should say to her father, huh? Charlie thinks, belatedly, of course. Then, What am I talking about? That’s not weird at all! Why is he so flustered by it?

But then Lucifer shakes himself and smiles like nothing happened, and Charlie physically feels his aura pull itself back like someone pulling a jacket tighter around themselves.

“That really means a lot, Charlie.” Lucifer puts his other hand over hers, patting it gently before drawing away. “I’m…going to go to my workshop, I think. If you need me, that’s, um, that’s where I’ll be.”

Charlie lets him go. Just before he crosses the threshold back into his bedroom, though, she remembers another one of last night’s unanswered questions.

“Dad, wait…”

Lucifer turns, one hand on the door. “Mhm?”

“Last night, you…you said something. Ta…Zie…? Cinal?” The words feel foreign and awkward in her mouth, and she grimaces, embarrassed at butchering his native language as badly as she has. “That’s…Enochian, isn’t it?”

“Ta Zie Cnila,” Lucifer corrects. From him, it sounds smooth and natural, his voice wrapping around the lilting syllables without a hint of hesitation. “It means ‘you of my blood.’ Roughly, obviously. Enochian doesn’t usually translate well.”

“Ta Zie Cnila,” Charlie repeats. It’s clumsy, but Lucifer smiles at her again, one of those wide, bright smiles that makes her feel like she’s staring into the heart of a star. “You of my blood.”

“Maybe I could teach you more sometime.” Lucifer shrugs, somewhat sheepishly. “I forgot how much I missed hearing it.”

The casual punch to the stomach leaves Charlie staring mutely at Lucifer’s back as he walks away, the bedroom doors opening for him as he makes his way out into the hall to where Charlie knows his workshop is. Lucifer’s first language, and how long has it been since he’s been able to speak in it and have anyone understand him? Charlie knows a few words of it, mostly from lullabies that Lucifer would sing to her when she was young, but she doesn’t understand anywhere close to enough to have a conversation or even form a fluent sentence.

Charlie turns, looking back out over the city. If she squints, she can block out the lights, the neons and the billboards, and pretend that the only point of brightness is Heaven’s clock tower like a star falling down, down, down into a pitch-black void, almost able to see the afterimages of golden light and wings spread wide when she blinks.

Ta Zie Cnila. You of my blood.

The first few drops of acid rain are beginning to speckle down by the time Charlie steps back inside and closes the balcony doors behind her.

***

Charlie steps back through the portal from her cottage on campus, ushering Razzle, Dazzle, and KeeKee in front of her, barely twenty minutes after she went through it the other way. She wanted to get a few things from her place, and the idea of walking all the way across Pentagram City or catching one of the always-late buses or cabs didn’t seem appealing, especially not in the rain. It’s not acidic enough to hurt, but it is kind of a pain to get out of clothes. Luckily, Lucifer wasn’t so engrossed in his work that he couldn’t summon a portal for her and allow her enough time to pack some of her belongings and supplies into a few bags.

KeeKee and the two dragons happily trot off to go explore the palace and see what’s changed since the last time they were here. Charlie does feel bad about leaving them for so long, but luckily, a living magical item and two plush toys brought to life don’t exactly need to eat or go to the bathroom. In fact, Charlie’s pretty sure they just slept on her bed the whole time — that’s where she found them, at least. Charlie makes sure the portal closes, then heads to her bedroom, dropping off her bag and some of the textbooks that she hastily threw into her backpack before heading back in the direction of Lucifer’s workshop.

She’s used to him being so engrossed in his work that you could probably detonate a grenade next to his head and he wouldn’t notice. Today, though, he looks up when she walks in, a pencil in his hand and drafting papers spread out in front of him. There’s half-hearted scribbles on some of them, crossed out and underlined seemingly randomly, but the majority of the paper is blank. He seems surprised to see her.

“Hi, Charlie.” Lucifer turns around on his chair to face her, taking her in. “Did you get everything you needed?”

Charlie shifts her weight, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “Um…yeah. And I got Razzle, Dazzle, and KeeKee through, too.”

“Oh. That’s good. We wouldn’t want them to get lonely,” Lucifer says, with an unconvincing smile. “Do you want my help with something?”

“No…” Charlie stretches the word out, hoping to maybe delay the inevitable, or better yet, psychically beam her thoughts across the room so she doesn’t have to say anything out loud. “I just…um, I was going to work on my paper for Music Theory, and I was wondering if I could…work on it…in here?”

The thought of being alone right now is…a little frightening, as is the idea of not keeping herself occupied. Whenever her thoughts drift, they drift, inevitably, towards Adam. Is she ever going to stop feeling like her very existence is unclean? She swallows and deliberately pulls herself back to the present, trying to smile at Lucifer.

Lucifer stares at her, his expression going from confused to nervous to cautious. “Well…yeah, of course. Of course you can. Uh, do you want me to clear off—?”

“It’s okay, I’ll just…sit…” Charlie looks around, and for the first time, takes in the sheer amount of rubber ducks scattered around. It looks as if there was an effort, for a while, to line them up on the shelves around the room, but at some point it seems that he just gave up and started piling them against the walls. “Um.”

Lucifer follows her eyes and cringes, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone would— I mean, people don’t usually— here, let me just, ah…”

He waves his hand, and one of the piles readjusts itself to make space for her to sit on the low couch that’s shoved into a corner. There’s a little table in front of it, and Charlie slowly sets her laptop down there, reaching for one of the ducks and picking it up to turn it over in her hands.

“I…I have to ask, why the ducks?” Charlie holds it up as she looks at him again. “They look great, don’t get me wrong, but…?”

“I just…like them? I don’t know. I’ve always liked them.” Lucifer shrugs one shoulder, leaning against his workbench. “There were a lot of them, back in…you know.”

Charlie looks at the duck again. She struggles to picture Eden, honestly; the closest Hell comes is Gluttony, tropical and heavy with humidity and the sweet scent of honey, but half the flowers in Gluttony are carnivorous and people get lost in the forest with some regularity. It doesn’t help that Lucifer doesn’t talk about Eden much. All she really has to go on is that it was beautiful and warm and bright.

But then, how clear are Lucifer’s memories of paradise, really? Not even Charlie remembers all of her childhood, and that was a mere 200 years ago. It must feel very strange to have parts of your life be ten thousand years ago.

“Can I keep this one?” Charlie asks. The duck she’s holding is colorful and finely detailed, with an iridescent purple-green head and brown and green body dusted with shimmering pink on the belly and flanks. “It’s pretty.”

“Um, sure, if you want,” Lucifer says, watching with wide eyes as she sits down on the cleared sofa and sets the duck next to her laptop. “It’s— it’s a Wood Duck. That’s, um. That’s what that species is called.”

“A Wood Duck.” The duck’s red eye gleams cheerfully, and Charlie smiles, imagining a bird like this on crystalline water in the bright sunshine. It’s another thing for her and Lucifer to see when they finally get to the surface.

Charlie doesn’t know when her fantasies of going to Earth started including Lucifer, but now when she sees herself on the shore of that lake or in the clean, gleaming cities or the grassy meadows, he’s right there next to her. Why shouldn’t she take him? Surely, if Heaven can turn a blind eye to Adam’s behavior, Charlie could sneak Lucifer out for a little while, right? Just for a day or two? Just to see the stars again? To see the ducks?

The duck is set down next to her laptop as Charlie takes a seat on the cleared sofa, trying to ignore the feeling of Lucifer’s eyes on her. She knows that this is wildly out of the norm for them, but does he have to be so awkward about it? Can’t he just go with it?

“Charlie…” Lucifer starts, and he sighs. Out of the corner of her eye, Charlie sees him rub a hand across his face.

Apparently, Lucifer cannot just go with it.

“I don’t need supervision,” Lucifer says eventually. “I didn’t tell you everything so you could pity me, or— or treat me like glass. I’m not going to break, okay? It’s not like— I’m not going to shatter if you look away for five minutes.”

Charlie shakes her head. “It’s not about that—”

“Then what is it about?” Lucifer crosses his arms. “I don’t want you spending time with me just because of some kind of misplaced guilt or feeling of obligation, so if that’s what this is, then— then just go. All the choices I’ve made, I’d make them again. Everything that Adam’s done, I’d let him do it again. I don’t want a fucking medal, I don’t want empty sympathy, and I sure as fuck don’t want my daughter to feel like she has to babysit me.”

“I don’t!”

The look he gives her is withering in a tired, cynical way. “No?”

Charlie’s first instinct is to stand up and grab him and never let him go, but she’s not having a repeat of what happened yesterday in the kitchen. Lucifer can swear up and down that he’s fine, but she saw the way he flinched. So, closing her eyes for a moment, she takes a deep breath and tries to sort her words out, acutely aware of Lucifer watching her despite not being able to see him.

“No.” Charlie blinks, staring at the duck for a moment before lifting her head to look him in the eyes. “Sure, I came back because of what happened, and at first, that’s why I stayed. But I’m not… I know that you can take care of yourself. Okay? I know that. I do. And— and yes, I do feel guilty, and I do feel sympathetic, but it’s not why I’m here now. I’m here because…I missed you. I mean…before this, how long had it been since we had spent more than a few minutes with each other at a time?”

Lucifer lowers his head, his shoulders slanting, and it’s all the answer that Charlie needed.

“I’m not…” Charlie’s voice catches, and she squeezes her eyes shut for a second to try to head off tears before they can appear. “I’m not popular. You know? I don’t really have friends. People are nice to me, but…I don’t…I’m not…” It’s easier to direct her words to the duck instead of him. “It just gets lonely sometimes.”

There’s a pause. Charlie can hear rain pattering on the glass of the windows.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer says, very quietly.

Charlie can’t resist a weak laugh. “Now you’re the one giving me pity. Look, we fucked up, okay? You could have been a better father. I could have been a better daughter. But everyone deserves a second chance, and…that includes us. So, no, I’m not here to babysit you. I just want to spend time with my dad. Haven’t you ever considered that maybe I need the company?”

Nobody’s ever going to say that Lucifer and Charlie Morningstar did the whole father-daughter relationship thing very well. But it’s not just Sinners that deserve another shot. Second chances are everything that Charlie’s about, after all. They should extend to the only blood relative she has in her life, too.

But, Charlie realizes, maybe she should tone it down a little, despite the idea of being away from him making her chest ache. “If you want to be alone, I’ll…I’ll go. But you don’t have to be.”

For a heartbeat, Charlie thinks that maybe he’s going to say yes and ask for her to leave. Then he smiles, one of those soft, sad, gentle smiles that makes her wonder what he looked like before the Fall, and stands from his chair, walking to where Charlie sits and very carefully taking her face in his hands to tilt it up and give her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

“You are the only good parts of Heaven that I ever had,” Lucifer whispers, his lips warm against her skin, aura humming with comfortable, tender affection.

He stays, for a second, but it’s not long enough, not even close. Charlie has to resist the urge to pull him back towards her when he steps away, wanting him close for longer, wanting to curl up next to him like she used to when she was small, before things started to crumble and he would read to her every night or sing to her until she fell asleep. She hasn’t heard him sing in years…

“I’ll be quiet so you can work in peace,” Lucifer promises as he sits back down, reaching for his pencil.

Charlie manages to tear her eyes away from him, her face feeling warm with the memory of his aura and hands on it, and tries to clear her head with a few deliberate breaths.

I’m in way too fucking deep, she thinks, and it’s equal parts dismayed and adoring.

***

Several hours later, after Charlie’s done a lot of staring at her document and not a lot of actually working on it, she finally admits that she needs a break and closes her laptop with a definitive click as she stands and rolls her back, her spine stiff from leaning over the low table. The sound seems to draw Lucifer’s attention, because Charlie hears the scrape of his chair on the floor and turns to find him standing as well, looking out the windows and frowning at the rain that still runs trails down the glass.

“Terrible weather,” Lucifer remarks, which is odd, considering he’s never really been one to care about the weather. Charlie thinks it comes with the territory of never actually having to go out in it.

“It’s good for baking, though.” Charlie walks over to stand next to him, tucking her arms around herself to resist reaching for him as she follows his gaze out into the rainy twilight. “Or cocoa. Is there any cocoa in this place?”

“Uh, no.” Lucifer frowns. “But I got apples yesterday. Apple cider?”

“Apple cider!” Charlie says at the same time, meeting Lucifer’s surprised look with laughter. “Yes, let’s do it!”

Without thinking about it, she reaches out and grabs his hand, realizing only too late — but Lucifer doesn’t flinch, just smiles fondly and allows her to tug him out of the room and towards the kitchen. This is it. This is what she wants. Just to be close to him again, or maybe to be close to him in a way that she hasn’t been before. Ozzie’s words ring in her ears: Just be there with him. Charlie can do that. Second chances, and all.

Lucifer used to make apple cider all the time, and Charlie would help as she got older and could be trusted with things like hot stoves and boiling liquids, and the familiar spiced, sweet, tart scent of it permeates many memories of her childhood. It’s been a while, but she still knows where to go, pulling out the designated pan and plunking it on the counter as Lucifer picks out the bag of orange-pink apples from the fridge and waves a cutting board onto the counter. He could just snap his fingers and they’d all fall into the pan perfectly chopped, but Charlie knows for a fact that he prefers cutting them the normal way because he enjoys sneaking bites every few minutes.

Charlie rifles through the cabinets for sugar and spices as Lucifer washes the apples and starts chopping them, his favorite chef’s knife, silver with a pearly red handle, flashing well-practiced and smooth as he neatly cuts them into halves and then quarters. Just as Charlie expected, whenever he thinks she’s not looking, he’ll cut off a small chunk, neatly slice the core away, and pop it into his mouth.

“I want a piece,” Charlie says, nudging him as she walks by carrying a load of spices.

Lucifer flicks his tongue at her, but he carefully cuts the toughness and seeds from the piece he’s holding and offers it to her. His gloves are off, Charlie realizes, having disappeared at some point, and now his black claws gleam against the dark ash of his hands and pink and white shades of the apple. Charlie’s hands are still full with the spices — as many cider-related ones as she could find — so after a split second of deliberation, she just leans down and carefully grabs the slice with her teeth.

She nearly drops it straight to the floor as she pulls away. His pupils have thinned to slivers, eyes wide, all smoldering gold, and heat washes over her — not her own, but his, a rolling storm over the deserts of Wrath.

Then Lucifer turns, serpent-quick, back to the counter and resumes his work with an audible crackle of his magic pulling against his body. Charlie has never felt more stupid than she feels right now, her hands taken up with spices and an apple slice still held in her teeth, but as she carefully sets them on the counter next to the pan and reaches up to steady the apple as she takes a bite, she can see the gold that’s bled into his face, bright against porcelain skin.

“They’re good, right?” Lucifer says, steadfastly staring down at the cutting board, each cut slow and measured. “Apparently they’re called Lenola apples. Some kind of new variety or something. It’s great how many varieties there are now! You know, for a while, there were really only red and green, and if you didn’t like either of those you were kind of boned, but now there’s— there’s all these colors, and you can get ones that are just the right mix of sweet and tart, and actual crisp ones — ugh, there’s nothing worse than a soft apple, I’ll die before I eat a soft apple—”

His voice blurs into the background as Charlie stares at the little rolls of cinnamon in their glass jar, skin still prickling with the memory of his aura over her. That didn’t feel like it did any of the other times she’s been aware of it; that was heavy, exhilarating, thrumming in her bones all the way down to the marrow. She swallows, trying to shake it off, and tries to focus on his voice again, catching the thread of his rambling as he scrapes the last few apples into the pan.

“—though of course there were quite a few good ones that showed up around the time that all those people were fighting and killing and such about the royals across the pond, you know, that Civil War or something or other — eesh, talk about a population boom, am I right? So many people just dropping from the sky in the absolute silliest outfits. But the apple varieties really got going then, that’s for sure!” Lucifer hums. “Anyways! Onwards and forwards. Water, if you please, Charlie?”

Yes. Right. They were doing something. They still are doing something. Charlie digs out the large measuring pitcher from the cabinet and fills it with water from the tap. Lucifer’s stopped talking, which is absolutely exponentially worse than having him talk, and Charlie doesn’t meet his eyes as she walks back to where he’s set the pan on the stove to pour the water in.

“Is that enough?” Charlie asks, knowing full well it isn’t, because holy fuck if she doesn’t say something she’s going to explode.

Lucifer eyes the level. “More.”

A couple inches over the tops of the apples, that’s what Charlie learned, and so she dumps more in until Lucifer makes an approving noise and reaches for the spices.

“What do you want in it this time? You always liked it heavy on the ginger when you were younger, so some of that, certainly…”

Charlie blinks at him, abandoning her attempts to not to look at his face too closely. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember that,” Lucifer says, as if he didn’t spend half her life forgetting she was even there. “You once upended an entire jar of ginger into it and I had to magic it out to make it edible.”

The memory shocks a laugh out of Charlie. Yes, she did do that, once — she honestly can’t remember how purposeful it was, if it was a case of small hands unfamiliar with the concept of glass jars or if it was purposeful, the childish assertion that more is always better. She does remember the spiciness of it in her nose as she looked down into the pot, the way her eyes watered, the warmth of Lucifer’s hand on her shoulder as he peered over her and made a helpless little noise at the sight of all of it piled on top of the water. He didn’t get mad, though. Lucifer so rarely got mad at her.

“Yes, ginger. And cinnamon, obviously.” Charlie watches as he picks those jars out and sets them aside. “Cardamom? You like that, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Lucifer nudges that jar aside too. “Black pepper?”

“What? No, we are not putting pepper in apple cider, you psychopath.”

“Hey! It’s good! It makes it a little spicy!”

“It’s supposed to be spiced, Dad, not spicy. There’s a difference.”

“It’s supposed to be spiced,” Lucifer repeats mockingly, and Charlie sticks her tongue out at him. “Fine. No pepper…this time. Vanilla?”

Charlie starts uncapping the jars and shaking the spices out into the pan, making sure the powders are mixed in with a wooden spoon. “A little.”

Everything is added and mixed and Charlie turns the burner on, standing over it as it begins to steam. Even so early in the process, it still smells just like she remembers, spices and apples and warmth, and it’s like being a kid all over again, back when she was still shorter than Lucifer and had to stand on a stepping stool to reach the stove. She gives it one more stir and then sets the spoon down across the top of the pan, keeping half her attention on it as she watches Lucifer magic the knife and cutting board clean and back into their places before turning to the sink to wash his hands.

The scars, again: Charlie tries not to stare while he dries his hands, the soft skin of his forearms like black jeans that have been washed one too many times under layer upon layer of off-white scars. Charlie wants to take his arms in her hands and run her fingers over them, as if she can heal them, as if she can make up for the times that she never saw them — did he ever hold her while his arms were bandaged underneath those unobtrusive black gloves?

“Do you want me to watch it for a while?” Lucifer asks as he turns, setting the towel aside on the counter and coming to stand over the pan next to Charlie. He keeps a distance, always a distance, a few deliberate inches between them. “Just until it boils. Then we can leave it on its own.”

He hasn’t put his gloves back on yet, and Charlie watches as he reaches for the spoon, long, slender fingers wrapping around the handle and soft foam coalescing and dispersing as the scent of cinnamon and cardamom steams up when he drags it through the water. Her hands move before she really knows they’re doing so, and there’s a moment’s pause when her fingertips brush across his skin. He stops, freezing like a prey animal, and Charlie waits; one heartbeat, two. Then she carefully wraps her fingers around his forearm to bring it up and turn it over so his palm is to the ceiling.

“Charlie,” Lucifer says, hushed. Warning. Pleading.

There’s so many. Charlie thought she could handle it, but maybe she can’t, because there’s so many. Years. Decades. Scars on top of scars. The one that she ghosts her thumb over seems recent, still shiny and tinged faded gold, its edges jagged and its surface raised.

“They’re really nothing to worry about,” Lucifer says, and he looks down at her hand on his skin. “Seriously. I just lose track of what my hands are doing sometimes, which is bad when you have claws as sharp as mine, and, you know, high pain tolerance, so—”

“It’s okay.” Charlie brings both hands up to clasp his, meeting his eyes as he raises them up to her. “I mean, it’s not okay. But…it’s okay. When you’re ready, I’m here.”

Lucifer blinks. His eyes look wet. “That ‘when’ is carrying a lot of weight.”

“We’re immortal.” Charlie gives a half-hearted shrug of one shoulder. “We’ve got time.”

“Actually, funny story, I forgot to tell you about my plan to implode Hell tomorrow,” Lucifer jokes weakly. “Nothing to spice things up like a good end of days. Keeps everyone on their toes…”

Charlie gives him a reprimanding look, all soft at the edges like the warm glow in her chest that she can’t seem to stop feeling whenever she’s near him.

“Oh, fine,” Lucifer says after a moment, rolling his eyes. “No implosions of Hell. You’re stuck with me for eternity now.”

Charlie smiles before she even has to think about it. “Good.”

They’ve drawn closer, the space between them closing without either of them even having realized they’ve moved. She shouldn’t kiss him right now. She shouldn’t kiss him ever, honestly, but especially not right now, despite the way he’s looking up at her. They’re so close now that she can see the details of his eyes, all the little shades of red, dark like Sinner blood at the edges of his iris and bright near the center, striking against shimmering gold. His mouth would taste like apples, she thinks. He’d be warm in her arms. He might have to go up on the tips of his hooves to reach her, and that’s a cute thought, made cuter by the way the hand that’s not held between hers has come up to rest on her arm.

An inch forward and she’d practically be pressed against him. Another inch or so and a dip of her head and she could feel his lips against hers.

For a moment, she feels him again, that slow, rolling drag of magic in her bones, and this time, she recognizes it: desperation and desire all rolled together and burning like brimstone.

Then there’s a hissing noise from next to them as the frothing mass of bubbles that has risen up in the pan spills over the side and lands on the burner. Charlie’s not sure which of them pulls back first, but the moment breaks like a glass shattered on marble and they end up on either side of the stove, Lucifer muttering curses as he waves his hand irritably and the burner is wiped clean and turned down, the smell of burnt spices disappearing. Charlie tries to subtly reach out and support herself against the counter as he picks up the spoon and stirs it again.

Lucifer clears his throat, not quite meeting her eyes as he says, “We should leave it to simmer.”

Simmering it is what’s done next when making apple cider, yes. But Charlie’s still staring at him, the profile of his face, the line of his shoulders, the curve of his back. She knows what she felt, and if she felt it that means that he was feeling it, and that is— that is just too much for Charlie to handle.

“Yeah,” Charlie says. “I’m going to go, um— I just need to— I’ll be right back.”

Nice. Really smooth. Not weird or awkward or suspicious at all. She turns, hearing him start to say something and desperately blocking it out because if she listens to him right now she’s going to turn right back around and do something that she’ll regret.

Before she realizes where her hooves are carrying her, she’s in front of her bedroom door. She doesn’t even have to touch it for it to shut tightly behind her as soon as she’s past the threshold, magic roiling in her chest, and Charlie sits down on her bed and stares at the wall as her heart pounds in her ears.

There…was something. In the kitchen. Between them. There was something. Electrical charge. The latent magic that lingers in the very fabric of Hell itself. Fucking angelic sorcery, she doesn’t fucking know, but there was something there.

Charlie will be honest: she doesn’t have much relationship experience. Seviathan, if you really want to count him; then two or three relationships that never lasted from one Extermination to the next with a couple girls and a boy. Nothing bad — Seviathan was kinda airheaded, but he didn’t hurt her — but nothing serious. And nothing, really, that made her feel quite like this, like she’s too big for her skin, like there’s not enough air in a room full of it.

“It’s wrong,” Charlie whispers to empty space. “It’s wrong.”

Even she can’t deny that it’s feeble. Ozzie’s laughter is practically audible all the way from Lust.

If he…

Charlie can’t even finish that sentence.

Come on, she lectures herself, taking a deep breath. Be a big girl. Think about this reasonably. Think about it like Ozzie would.

If he’s okay with it…

This must be what trying to walk through a wall feels like. She closes her eyes and takes another breath.

“If he’s okay with it then what the fuck is wrong with it?” Charlie says out loud, the words fast and running together because the quicker she says it the quicker it’ll be over with, and then she opens her eyes and stares at the closed door. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

But…she’s right. What’s wrong with it? Ozzie was telling the truth — Lucifer raised her with angel morals as much as he could, and yeah, thou shalt not fuck your family members wasn’t exactly brought up in detail, but that’s because Charlie’s pretty sure it’s one of those things that goes without saying. But…they’re both grown adults and Lucifer made it pretty clear earlier today that he doesn’t want her to look at him like some kind of shrinking violet or, Charlie thinks with a shudder, damaged goods. She could certainly do without the memory of that phrase from an essay she had to read for one of her literature classes…

Charlie falls back on the bed, her arms out at her sides as she stares at the ceiling. It’s not like Lucifer manipulated her into this. He didn’t groom her into these feelings. She has other options — as seen in excruciating detail by the few times she’s wandered into places she really shouldn’t have on various forums and found posts about herself that she honestly wishes she hadn’t. And there’s another point: Lucifer has never made her feel uncomfortable or creeped out, despite having the power to do all manner of awful things to her. Low bar, sure, but he’s the Devil, and this is Hell. People probably wouldn’t be surprised.

“Which is just unfair,” Charlie says, directed at no one in particular. “He’s not evil.”

She doesn’t agree with everything Lucifer thinks, namely his opinions on Sinners, but he’s not needlessly cruel or sadistic like some people down here. He’s spent years alone in his workshop making rubber ducks, for fuck’s sake. And apparently humans are…scared of him? Or something? Charlie gets the sense that humans are scared of him.

So weird. Charlie’s never been scared of him in her life, despite knowing what he’s capable of. What is there to be scared of? To Charlie, he’s just her dad. The one who took her flying. The one who cooked her breakfast. The one who sang to her at night.

Charlie drags her hands down her face. She should just go talk to him. That’s what she should do. She should just talk to him, one adult to another, and surely that’ll be better than this dance they’re doing around each other. She doesn’t really want to do that — she’d honestly kind of rather fling herself into a pit of spikes — but she didn’t want to tell Ozzie her problems, either, and look at how that went: way better than expected!

“Haven’t I had enough revelations for a while?” Charlie whines to her ceiling, and she pulls out her phone. Maybe she should just write him a text…

No, that’s cheap, and she knows it. Charlie groans, fighting the urge to roll over and bury her face in the pillows. Yes, she should just go talk to him. And she will.

Just…not right now.

***

Hours pass before Charlie finally manages to steel her nerves enough to sit up and take a sharp breath. “Alright. You can do this. You should be an old pro at uncomfortable conversations by now.”

Charlie stands in one quick movement, keeping her shoulders squared as she leaves her bedroom and walks decisively in the direction of the kitchen. It’s fine. She can do this. She’ll be fine. Whatever happens, it’s best to get things out in the open. Letting things fester doesn’t do anyone any good. Her entire adolescence proves that point very nicely, she thinks, and she’s not letting it happen again.

When she eventually reaches the kitchen, she can’t help but slow, her decisiveness rapidly draining away. The pan is still on the stove, but it’s been taken off the burner and the kitchen is dark. Charlie stands there for a moment, wondering where Lucifer could have gone, the sweet scent of apples filling the air. Then, as if a caress from an unseen hand, a cool breeze brushes across her face, filled with the fresh, slightly bitter scent of the ground after acid rain. Charlie follows the sensation, looking past the living area to the set of glass doors that lead out to this story’s balcony.

They’re open, and through their frame, she can see Lucifer leaning against the railing, his head bowed as if in prayer. Looking at him, she feels much less sure of herself than she did a few minutes ago.

I have to do this. Charlie takes a deep breath and takes one step forward, then another. Her mouth feels dry. I won’t let us be pulled apart again.

The air is damp when she finally crosses the threshold of the balcony, her hoofsteps feeling loud in the silence. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. From another direction comes gunfire. It all feels very unimportant.

“Dad…?” Charlie asks.

Lucifer’s shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry that I ran off.” Charlie fidgets, shifting her weight, and then walks to join him at the railing. “I…I shouldn’t have.”

She can’t see Lucifer’s eyes. She doesn’t know if she could stand to right now, anyways.

“I came back this time, though.”

“I’m sorry.” Lucifer’s voice is rawer than she’s ever heard it before. “I’m so fucking sorry, Charlie.”

Charlie reaches out to put a hand on his shoulder, resting it gently on the sharp, angular bones she can feel underneath his shirt. There’s no easy way to say this. There’s no script to follow. Charlie wets her lips, then reaches out to grip the railing with her other hand to steady herself, staring down at the rain-slick grounds that the balcony overlooks, the old greenhouses and gardens tucked behind the palace, away from prying eyes. The iron is cold and wet with rainwater underneath her hands.

“I love you,” Charlie says, because she doesn’t know what other words there are. “I…I really do love you. And I know you love me.”

Lucifer shudders, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders. “Charlie—”

“I can feel your aura, okay?” Charlie says, before her brain really catches up with her mouth. “I— I can read it. I just started noticing it, and then I guess I never stopped, and I— I felt it. I felt it, in the kitchen, I felt it—”

“And I’ve been feeling yours since you got here!” Lucifer jerks his head up to look at her, his hands gripping the railing like it’s the only thing tethering him to solid ground. “You’ve got one, too! And fuck me for never telling you that, Charlie, because now I know exactly how you feel about me, and that’s—”

The mortified blush that instantly blooms on Charlie’s cheeks feels like she’s put her face into a fire, and she can’t do anything but stare at him in horror for a long few seconds.

“Yeah.” Lucifer laughs, self-deprecating and bitter, and wipes a hand down his face. “Joke’s on me, right? Lucifer Morningstar’s A+ parenting, everyone. Seems like everything I do ends up biting me in the ass. I couldn’t be a good father if there was a fucking spear to my throat.”

Charlie’s voice fails her at first, a little slow to respond to his words and mostly still panicking about the fact that he knows. “...Dad, I…I am so sorry.”

Lucifer’s eyes widen, and he reaches for her before stopping himself, looking pained. “No, no, Charlie, that’s not— this isn’t your fault. No. I didn’t tell you that to— I’m not angry, sweetie, I promise. You haven’t done anything wrong. This is just something that— that I need to just—” He shakes his head. “I just need to put an end to it, so that’s what this is. We have to stop it here. We have to— it has to end.”

Put an end to it? Stop it here? Charlie doesn’t really think that’s possible. Maybe she could ignore it. Maybe it would go away. Maybe they’d go back to normal. That doesn’t seem likely, though. What seems more likely is that this is yet another wedge between them, yet another excuse for them to haunt each other instead of actually being part of each other’s lives. Charlie’s made her choice — she’s not going back to that.

“No,” Charlie says, and Lucifer jerks his gaze to her, shock in his eyes. “We’re not ending it like that. If you don’t want to act on it, fine. I—I wouldn’t blame you. But we’re not going to sweep it under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist. Look, I understand why you hid things from me, and I forgive you. But we’re not doing that ever again, okay? We— We can’t. This is part of how I love you, and I know it’s part of how you love me.”

Lucifer looks like an animal as seen through a rifle scope, frozen in place. Charlie reaches for his hand, placing her own over top of it, and he doesn’t pull away. She won’t pressure him into a relationship, but she won’t let him act like this doesn’t exist, either. It feels like something has crystallized inside her, and now she doesn’t want to run from this anymore. She wants it. She wants him.

“We can’t,” Lucifer says, but it sounds weak. “We can’t, you’re my daughter—”

“But I’m a grown woman.” Charlie holds his eyes. “And I’m saying yes. I’m not going to demand that you do, too, but if you want it, and I want it, then…who’s getting hurt?”

Lucifer’s throat bobs, and he glances down at their hands. When he looks back up at her, the cautious hope in his eyes almost makes her kiss him right then and there. Charlie’s proud of the way she doesn’t jump when she feels his other hand on her back, pulling her that much closer.

“You might regret it,” Lucifer says, deathly soft.

“I might regret a lot of things.”

Closer still. In the dripping darkness that smells of acid rain and gunpowder, his eyes glow like twin suns with ruby centers.

“I could hurt you.”

“You would never hurt me.”

Charlie’s heart is beating fast and hard in her chest, so loud that she thinks he must be able to hear it. Lucifer’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips.

“My actions gave humanity free will and damned it in the process.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Charlie shrugs minutely. “I want this. Do you?”

They’re practically pressed against each other now. Somehow her arms have come up to rest on his shoulders. She can feel his aura again, and it’s like getting hugged by someone you love after not seeing them for a long time: warmth and affection and fierce protectiveness. It’s breathtaking, and beautiful, and Charlie doesn’t entirely know how to control her own, but she hopes that he can feel how much she loves him right now, standing here in this moment, how much she’s loved him for years and tried to forget that she did. Everything feels hyper-bright and sharp, like this is the only real moment after days of dreaming. Like she’s finally woke up.

“Ask me to kiss you,” Lucifer whispers.

“Kiss me.”

And Lucifer does.

It’s hesitant, at first, like he still thinks she’s going to change her mind at any second. Her eyes slip closed without really knowing it, and she feels the way he tugs her down with one hand in her collar, his other pulling her against him. It’s just like she thought it would be: his warmth close to her, his mouth soft against hers, and there’s such a sudden feeling of this being right that Charlie nearly sobs in relief. This wasn’t a spell and it wasn’t a mistake: this is what she wants, and now that she has it, she’s not ever letting it go.

When Charlie finally pulls away, head spinning, her eyes feel wet and she’s out of breath like she just sprinted from one side of the city to the other. Lucifer isn’t moving back, so she doesn’t either, dropping her forehead against his as she catches her breath, keeping her eyes closed. It feels like opening them will shatter this moment and leave her right back where she started. The smile that finds its way onto her face feels delirious.

“You’re a good kisser,” is what Charlie comes up with, and she feels Lucifer chuckle.

“Several thousand years of practice,” Lucifer replies. “And not with my hand.”

That makes Charlie laugh, and she finally pulls away and looks at him and he’s grinning, and then he’s laughing, too, and before either of them knows it they’re clutching each other for support with Lucifer’s face in Charlie’s shoulder as they both giggle helplessly in relief and embarrassment and love. A wall that neither of them wanted to admit was there has been torn down, and now when Lucifer finally picks his head back up, tears of joy making his eyes glitter, Charlie kisses him again just because she can and it feels good.

“I love you,” Lucifer says when she pulls away this time.

Charlie makes a quite frankly humiliating noise and pulls him as close as she physically can, hiding her face in his hair to avoid having to think about how hard she’s blushing. “I love you, too.”

They’ll talk about what this means soon, try to figure out where to go from here, but for these precious minutes, she’s content to just hold him and let him hold her in turn. The present is what matters most right now, and the present is a warm angel in her arms with soft hair and a soft mouth and clever hands.

Everything else can come later.

Chapter Text

“So…” Charlie snuggles a little closer to Lucifer’s side, staring at the fire that he’s summoned into the fireplace of the sitting area. “You were just never going to tell me that I had an aura?”

They’re back inside, curled up together on one of the sofas. Charlie feels comfortable for the first time in what feels like a very long time, like some great, crushing weight was lifted off her and she can finally breathe again. Not just over the past few days — but over years of loneliness and bitterness, too.

Lucifer’s wince is nearly audible. “In my defense, when you were younger, you didn’t. Or, well, you kind of— it flickered. On and off. It was very weak, and I didn’t think it would last. Then you came back, and suddenly, there it was. I guess it got stronger as you got older, instead of fading.”

Charlie hums, thoughtful. “And nobody else in Hell has one?”

“Nobody that I’ve met,” Lucifer says. “Not a true one. Some particularly powerful demons have powers that mimic auras, but true auras are specifically an angel thing. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know.”

“Can I ask what makes an aura ‘true’?” Charlie asks drily, and Lucifer just shrugs.

“I didn’t get a crash course, Charlie. Iad didn’t hand me a guidebook when They brought me into existence…or when They threw me out.” Lucifer’s hand, draped over her back, starts rubbing soothing circles into the space between her shoulder blades. “I know what an aura feels like, and I know how to read one. I assume they’re specific to angels because we’re such social creatures.”

It doesn’t make sense, per se, but it at least checks out. Charlie can’t explain everything about how her magic works. There’s entire institutions dedicated to studying the magic of Hell in Sloth. But Lucifer’s words start off another tangent in her head, and she furrows her brows despite him not being able to see her.

“Iad.” It feels strange on her tongue, and not just because it’s unfamiliar — the very word itself almost tastes bitter. She’s heard him say that before, back in the library, so that word must mean…

“Enochian,” Lucifer says. “Translated, it’s…parent, I guess you would say, or God. Which, to angels, mean the same thing. It could mean divine, if you’re taking a very literal translation. Almighty. Et cetera.”

Charlie blinks at the flames, feeling more than hearing the slow pulse of power inside him that acts as his heartbeat. Well, it’s no wonder that Lucifer didn’t do so great in the parenting department — it’s not like he had a fantastic example. How cruel do you have to be to cast out your own child from Heaven and exile him and the woman he loved forever? Charlie doesn’t know when or if she’s going to have kids, but she can’t imagine doing anything like that to them if she did. She can’t imagine Lucifer doing it to her, either. She sighs softly, feeling his movements shift to trailing his fingers up and down her back, never going lower than the middle.

Right. He’s got a tail, too. He knows anything below that is sensitive, Charlie thinks, with a private grimace. If only everyone else would be so considerate.

“I have to ask…” Charlie starts, and his aura hums a little higher with trepidation. It makes her hesitate, wondering if this is really a door that she wants to open. No secrets, right? “How long?”

Praise be everything that is unholy: Lucifer doesn’t make her specify. He just huffs out a soft, apologetic laugh.

“Not long.” Lucifer’s fingers trace the bumps of her spine, thoughtful and absent-minded. “Never when you were younger.”

Well, stupid as it may seem, that does make Charlie feel better, which…trips her right into some self-examination that will definitely go down at a later date than this, thank you; she’s got better things to do right now. Things such as enjoying these precious few moments before they have to…talk? She guesses? She doesn’t really know where to go from here.

“We didn’t even last a week, huh?” Charlie realizes after a second, almost feeling more ashamed of that than anything else to do with this fucked-up situation and smiling about it anyways because hey, it’s a little funny. “That’s…kind of pathetic.”

“I’ve always fallen too fast for my own good,” Lucifer says, fondness in his voice, and then he pauses before adding, “The lowercase kind of falling, in this instance.”

Fuck, sometimes he honestly is the most depressing person that Charlie knows, but she can’t even be really mad at him for it because she knows he’s not trying to be. This is normal to him. This is just…his life, the way he’s been living it for ten thousand years. Is this what he meant when he said he wasn’t an easy person to be in a relationship with?

Oh, he was totally fucking talking to me, Charlie realizes with chagrin, and she can’t help a mortified groan at the memory of their conversation on the balcony now that he’s told her about being able to read her aura all along. Holy shit, I’m stupid.

In hindsight, it seems like an achievement that they lasted as long as they did.

The movement of Lucifer’s hand stops at Charlie’s groan. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Charlie mumbles into Lucifer’s shirt. “But I do kind of hate you for not telling me about the whole ‘being able to read my emotions’ thing sooner, because every interaction we’ve had in the past week just got ten times more embarrassing.”

Lucifer laughs softly. “Oh, sweetie. It’s okay.”

Charlie groans again, shaking her head despite the smile on her face, and is just about to make a comment on how she’s never going to be able to look at rubber ducks the same way again when her phone buzzes in her pocket. For a moment, she pretends she didn’t feel it…then something tells her that maybe she shouldn’t just ignore her texts and she sighs as she reluctantly removes one of her arms from around Lucifer and digs out her phone.

Uncle Ozzie
How’s it going? You doing ok?

…Is he spying on her, or something? The timing is sketchy as fuck. Charlie squints at his contact photo suspiciously, then slowly types out a response. A series of responses, actually.

Charlie
OMG
I’m fine
Maybe…better than fine? 😝😳

Uncle Ozzie
In that case I’ll shut up now… have fun ;)

Charlie huffs out a soft laugh, rolling her eyes and tucking her phone back into her pocket. She should have known Ozzie would get way too involved in this — he is a sucker for gossip. Especially lustful gossip, because, well, duh.

“Anyone fun?” Lucifer asks.

Charlie settles back down against him, closing her eyes and letting herself be surrounded by his presence. “Just Ozzie.”

“Ozzie, huh?”

Oh, shit. Charlie winces. “Right…yeah, so, um, yesterday? When I left?”

Lucifer acknowledges this with a hum.

“I…uh…went to talk with him.” Charlie bites her lip. “I thought…that I had gotten hit with some kind of…lust spell. Or something. Because, you know, it was…” She motions vaguely with one hand in a sort of all-encompassing wave. “…Sudden. But, obviously, I didn’t. And he figured it out, so, um…don’t be surprised if he starts pestering you?”

“I see,” Lucifer says, sounding faintly amused and also vaguely concerned. “And did Ozzie have any pertinent things to say?”

Very deliberately, Charlie does not allow herself to think of handcuffs. “...Not really.”

“Hm.” Lucifer doesn’t seem convinced. “I guess I can’t be surprised. For someone so convinced that love is boring, he’s amazingly good at picking it out in people. He’d have figured it out at some point.”

Lucifer’s probably right. Besides, if he hadn’t figured it out, she’d probably still be in her bedroom right now, stubbornly trying to convince herself that she’s totally not in love with her dad.

…Eugh. Thinking it still sends shudders down her spine, despite being perfectly comfortable cuddling him. Isn’t that weird? Like admitting it, or maybe just admitting it like that, makes it worse.

“Charlie…”

Something in Lucifer’s voice sends worry dropping into the pit of her stomach, and she pushes herself up far enough to look him in the eyes. “Yeah?”

“Are you…okay?” Lucifer’s hand moves to brush her hair out of her face as he examines her. “I mean, with everything that’s… You’ve been through a lot the past few days. I want to make sure that you’re alright.”

Charlie opens her mouth, answer already on the tip of her tongue — of course she’s okay. But something stops her. Is she? Really?

Everything she’s learned the past few days suddenly feels like it comes crashing back down on her, the giddy, content lightness that had felt so freeing just moments ago suddenly seeming hollow. She’s Adam’s daughter, and she was only born because he did horrific things to Lucifer. That’s her now. That’ll be a part of her forever.

Something in her face — or her aura — must give her away, because Lucifer’s expression goes soft and sad, and he pulls Charlie closer to kiss her on the forehead. The temptation to fall back against his chest and just let him hold her is strong, to hide from this and every other uncomfortable question she has to ask herself, and Charlie allows herself just a second of weakness. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Honestly…” Charlie keeps her gaze down towards the sofa, rubbing at the fabric just to give her hands something to do. “I don’t know.” Lucifer’s hand trails down her arm to take one of hers, and she squeezes it gratefully. “I don’t really…I’m still…upset, I guess. Not at you, just…in general. And I still want to fucking kill Adam.”

The violence of the thought surprises her. She doesn’t think she could ever kill anyone, not even Adam. She doesn’t want to see any more human lives be taken — and it’s not like Sinners are innocent, obviously. But…Adam feels different. He doesn’t have any interest in changing, if the last 200 years are anything to go on, and he doesn’t care about the people he’s hurting. Does someone like that still deserve a second chance? And should Heaven, at least the way that it is now, really be the goal if someone like him is allowed to stay there?

“The past few days have been pretty weird, I won’t lie.” Charlie traces her thumb over the back of Lucifer’s hand, feeling every ridge and line of bone. His hands are smaller than hers, and Charlie smiles. It’s strangely cute. “Seriously, in the periods of my life, I don’t think anything will ever top the past week in terms of weirdness.”

Charlie raises her eyes back up to Lucifer, taking in his face. If he looked at Lilith anything like the way he’s looking at her right now, Charlie thinks she understands why Lilith was willing to Fall for him. He looks at her so tenderly, like she’s something to be cherished. She doesn’t really remember anyone except him ever looking at her like this. Her relationships before…she felt loved, yeah. But not like this.

“But I think I’m glad,” Charlie finishes eventually, and she looks back down at their hands. “I’m glad that you don’t have to keep this secret anymore, and I’m glad that I came back, and I’m glad that we’re together again. So, um…I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m not really okay? But I’m not…not okay. Maybe I…I will be okay. Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I mean. I will be okay. Because I have you.”

Charlie doesn’t know how she’s going to get past this, but she has faith that she will. Foolish optimism, maybe — but foolish optimism is what she’s known for. So, she’s going to turn that foolish optimism onto her own future. She knows it’s going to hurt for a while. She knows that she’s still going to have moments of hating Lucifer for the ways he failed as a father. But just like she said earlier in the kitchen, she has time, and there’s a line about time and healing wounds that seems pretty applicable.

Lucifer brings her hand up to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “That’s my girl.”

Crap. Something about the way he says that makes Charlie feel all gooey and warm in her chest, her heart thudding against her ribs. Fuck, this is embarrassing.

To distract herself from the humiliation of feeling like a character straight out of one of the romance novels she absolutely does not have in a box under her bed, she tries to even out her expression as she clears her throat and gives him what she hopes is a serious look.

“Are you okay?”

Lucifer laughs and gently drops her hand. “Yes, Charlie. I’m fine. All things considered, this year was quite tame.”

…Okay, well, they’ve got some…things to work on, maybe. Charlie knows that she has a habit of looking at people like they’re problems that need fixing, to the point where it ended one of her relationships, but in her defense, most of the time, she’s right. Still, she does sometimes take it a little too far. Something tells her that Lucifer will be even pricklier towards that attitude than others.

Still, she can’t help the look of horrified concern that sneaks onto her face. Tame? That was tame? A binding collar and a muzzle and a cracked wing and not being able to get up was tame? Upon seeing her expression, Lucifer sighs, pulling just out of reach.

“Charlie, I get that this is new for you. But this has been the past 200 years or so for me.” Lucifer holds up a hand and Charlie’s immediate retort dies in her throat. “Trust me, out of the past twenty years or so, yes, that was tame. Maybe he just wasn’t feeling particularly energetic.” There’s the hint of a sardonic smile. “I think he meant to break my other wings, too, but they’re much stronger than they look. I guess he decided it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Oh,” Charlie says, and her voice cracks. She’s going to start crying again if she’s not careful, because she saw how much pain he was in with just the one wing broken, and if it had been all six of them…

“Fuck, okay, I’m sorry, that’s not what I—” Lucifer’s swearing pulls her back from memories of the way he shuddered and held tight to the sheets while she cleaned and wrapped the wound, and his hands tug her back against him as he shushes her. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need to know that. What I’m trying to say is that I’m fine, alright? You don’t have to worry about me.”

Who else is going to? Charlie wonders, and she allows herself to be cradled against his chest once more, steadying her breathing before she speaks. “That’s what family does, Dad. Worries about each other. But…if you’re okay for now, then…that’s good.”

They will talk about this. Charlie isn’t going to let him live like this anymore — thinking that grievous bodily injury is tame, talking about violent assault like it’s nothing. But she’s not going to push him too hard, too fast. That’s another one of her bad habits, and she won’t let herself fuck this up. Not this. Not now. She nuzzles her face into his neck and sighs softly. Just one night. One night of peace.

“Is the cider done?” Charlie asks, closing her eyes. He’s so warm that she feels like she’s curled up to a heater, and she loves it.

“Yeah,” Lucifer says. “I took it off the burner, but it’s done. It should still be warm. Do you want me to go get some?”

A warm cup of apple cider does sound nice, but staying here sounds nicer. “In a bit.”

She wraps her arms around him again, giving in to the need to be close to him that’s been clawing at her since she walked in and found him on the floor. Lucifer’s breathing happens in fits and starts — he doesn’t technically need to do it, and only started because a much younger Charlie told him once, very seriously, that only vampires didn’t breathe, and he should probably start doing it in case someone thought he was a vampire and tried to stake him. The stories that he read to her were clearly a formative experience of her childhood. It’s oddly endearing that he’s kept the habit all these years later.

Charlie doesn’t sleep, curled up against him while the fire crackles in the fireplace and the honeyed scent of spiced apple cider settles over them, but it’s nice anyways. Her thoughts try to linger on the past few days, on Adam, but she focuses on other things, and eventually, she finds the wherewithal to push herself off him and stand, giving a slow stretch as he gets up, too.

He waves the lights on as he walks back into the kitchen with her just a few steps behind. The cider is strained with a snap of his fingers, always the only part he was willing to do with magic because both of them hate doing that part, and Charlie pulls out two mugs from the cabinet and finds the ladle. A quick rinse of the mugs to get the dust out, and then she passes them to Lucifer, who ladles it into both and hands one to Charlie.

“You wanna put some pepper in yours?” Charlie teases, gently nudging his shoulder as he puts the rest away.

“Ten thousand years and the world still isn’t ready for my genius,” Lucifer says with a haughty sniff, and he magics the pan clean and then carries his mug to the table and sits down.

Charlie follows and sits down in what used to be her spot when she still lived here, taking a sip and instantly feeling a rush of comforting familiarity at the taste: sweet apples and the warming spice of cinnamon and ginger and cardamom, just like when she was a kid. For a moment, she clings to that sensation, reveling in it even after all this time. When she opens her eyes, Lucifer is looking at her with that same tenderness, hands loosely cupping his mug, and he smiles at her.

“Good?”

Charlie nods. “Good.”

For a while, Charlie allows them to sit in silence, drinking their cider and just…existing near each other. It’s a little bit strange, Charlie will admit, but…not in a bad way. He starts fidgeting with his hands, pressing his claws into the insides of his wrists, and Charlie places a hand on the table, palm-up. After a second of staring at it, a light gold flush on his cheeks, Lucifer reaches out and gently places his own over top.

Their cups have both been emptied by the time Charlie speaks, keeping her voice quiet so as to not split the silence too harshly. “I know we need to talk about…this. Us.”

Lucifer blinks at their hands, one eye slightly out of sync with the other, adorably reptilian. She feels his fear before he even meets her eyes and she sees it in the gold.

“But,” Charlie continues. “That can wait until the morning.”

Lucifer’s relief is palpable, and he gives her another one of those slanted smiles. “No arguments here.”

Charlie stands when he does, lingering in the doorway as he takes care of their cups, allowing herself to watch him. In the lights of the kitchen, his arms bare and his posture relaxed, he looks so…soft. Beautiful is not a word Charlie thought she’d ever use to describe him, but right now, it fits. He sets the mugs back in their place and turns to face her, and Charlie waits until he’s fallen into step beside her before she starts off back towards the bedrooms. His aura seems to brighten at the action, so Charlie shushes the little voice in her head that tells her she’s being too clingy and keeps pace with him until she reaches her bedroom door.

“Um, all my stuff is in my bathroom,” Charlie says, motioning in that direction by way of explanation. “But I— could I stay in your room tonight? Again?”

Could I stay there forever?

“You don’t have to ask.” Lucifer gives her a smile that could melt a glacier. “Take your time, and don’t worry about waking me up.”

He pushes himself up on the tips off his hooves to kiss her on the cheek, then continues towards his room. Charlie watches him for a second, wondering when and how she managed to land herself in the weirdest fucking romance novel ever, then sighs at her own (mis)fortune and heads into her bathroom to get ready for bed.

Several minutes later, she’s slipping into Lucifer’s bedroom again and feeling…more confident? Not really. Maybe just nervous in a different way. Will it be different now? She’s not scared of him or anything. She doesn’t think he’s going to take advantage of her. The thought is so ludicrous to almost be hilarious. No, it’s not that… It’s just…different. Everything’s different.

Cuddling on the couch didn’t feel so different, Charlie thinks, and the ways that it did were good.

Lucifer’s on his back when she carefully crawls into bed next to him. There’s plenty of room for them to sleep on opposite sides and leave a completely respectable amount of space between them, but Charlie crosses the distance and curls right up next to him, feeling his hand come up to pet her hair. At this point, she’s pretty sure she’s going to get addicted to how warm he is and never want to sleep anywhere else ever again.

“Night,” Charlie whispers. “...Love you.”

When did it get so much easier to say that to him? She wouldn’t have dreamed of telling him that when she was younger. She thought it, yes, practically screamed it at him in her head, I love you, so why can’t you see me, but she never said it out loud except when she thought she had to, when it was socially expected of her to do so. Which, seeing as how they barely went anywhere with social expectations together, wasn’t very often.

“Goodnight.” With barely a twitch of Lucifer’s hand, the sheets come up to settle around her, cool silk that smells like him and makes her feel safer than any warding spell or protective enchantment. “I love you, too.”

Maybe it got easier when she realized that he wanted to say it just as badly as she did.

***

Awareness comes in roughly four stages the next morning.

Wait, where am I?

Right, Dad’s bed.

…Wait, why am I in his bed?

…Oh. Yeah.

Slowly, still a little convinced this might be a dream, Charlie reaches for the weight that she can feel across her body, giddy and anxious in equal amounts as her hand brushes across Lucifer’s. Charlie rolls over onto her other side. When she shifts, his eyes blink open, pupils contracting against the light before he blinks a few times and focuses on her face.

“Good morning,” Lucifer says softly, voice low and husky with sleep.

All of this feels much scarier in the light of day. What is she doing? What, honestly, is she fucking doing? This is wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this. Neither of them should be doing this. Charlie’s stomach turns unpleasantly, suddenly feeling like she needs to crawl out of her own skin.

The tentative touch — because there really is no other way to describe it — of Lucifer’s aura against her consciousness comes as a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. Silently, shocked out of her troubled thoughts, she raises a brow at him.

“It got really dark for a moment there,” Lucifer says, by way of explanation. “Are you okay?”

“...I’m just wondering what the fuck we’re doing,” Charlie confesses after a second, figuring that honesty is the best policy from now on. “I mean…do we actually think… Could we actually do this?”

Lucifer hums. “You tell me. You’re the one who convinced me to try it.”

“I know,” Charlie says, and she shakes her head. “I just don’t want to ruin anything. I don’t want to ruin…us. In any way that there is an us.”

“You can’t ruin us, Charlie.” Lucifer says it like she’s silly for even thinking it. “There’s nothing that you or anyone else could do to make me stop loving you. That’s what being a parent means. No matter what happens to you, or to me, or to this place, I will always love you.”

“This is the weirdest flirting I’ve ever experienced,” Charlie manages after a moment, with a weak, shaky laugh, trying to distract herself from the surge of emotion that threatens to choke her. It mostly works. Mostly.

Lucifer’s smile is pained and brief, and he’s serious again a moment later, keeping hold of her eyes. “I mean that, you know. And I am so incredibly sorry for making you think it wasn’t true. I know how it feels, and I never wanted you to know that, too.”

He’s talking about the Fall, Charlie realizes, and she protests, “That’s not the same. You… I didn’t go through anything like what you did.”

Lucifer never purposefully hurt her, and he certainly never exiled her. Sure, he’s not winning any Best Dad awards anytime soon, but comparing what he did to her to being actually, literally thrown from Heaven is pretty silly, Charlie thinks.

Lucifer shrugs one shoulder, looking like he doesn’t agree but isn’t willing to fight her on it. Charlie waits a moment, then sighs, reaching out to take his hand as she tucks her other one up under her head. What is she doing? She’s loving someone, and being loved in return. Is that really so wrong? It might be dangerous, it might be out of the norm, but she trusts him not to hurt her.

“I think we can do this,” Charlie says, answering her own earlier question. “Whatever it is.”

Lucifer traces his thumb over the back of her hands, distant before he seems to make a decision and meets her eyes. “Then you have to make me a promise.”

Charlie would promise him anything if it meant he kept looking at her like he is right now. “Yeah?”

“You have to promise me that if I ever hurt you, or make you uncomfortable, or…anything, you’ll tell me.” Lucifer’s words are solemn. “Anything. Even the smallest little thing that feels like it doesn’t matter. You have to tell me, Charlie.”

You’ll never hurt me, Charlie wants to say, but she has a feeling that’s not an answer he’ll accept, so she just nods instead. “I promise.”

Lucifer seems to relax a little bit at that, and he smiles. “Okay, then.”

Like it’s that simple. Well, why can’t it be? They’re two people that love each other, two people that know what they’re walking into and are doing so together. Charlie can’t help a little grin — Ozzie would be so proud. Well, except maybe for the love part.

“So, how do you control your aura? Can you teach me?” Charlie focuses on the feeling of his as she speaks, like a hum in her chest. Is that what hers feels like to him?

Lucifer frowns, considering it for a second. “I can try. It might be different for you, since I’m the only one around who has one. I didn’t really…have to learn. It came naturally to me. But then again, I had lots of other angels around.”

“Is it hard?” Charlie asks.

“Not exactly,” Lucifer says, drawing the words out, and then he shakes his head. “I’ll be able to explain it better when I’m more awake.”

“Do you even need to sleep?” Charlie pauses. “Wait, do I need to sleep?”

“It’s a way to pass the time,” Lucifer says wryly, and Charlie has to agree with that, at least. He turns onto his back and sighs, staring up at the hangings above him. “Honestly, I don’t know much about Adam’s needs. He’s not Heavenborn like I am, after all. He was human first. Maybe next year, I’ll ask him. I owe you that much.”

“Wait.” Charlie pushes herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. “Next year?”

Lucifer arches a brow. “Yes, next year, when the next Extermination happens and he comes back. Our deal doesn’t stop. He’s not allowed to tell Heaven or Hell at large, but I did make an exception for you when I wrote the contract. Like I said, I did plan on telling you, once. Anyways, my point is that the deal isn’t broken. It still stands — and will stand for eternity, seeing as how we’re both immortal.”

Charlie stares for what feels like several minutes. “You can’t—”

“The de—”

“I don’t care about the deal! Adam is never going to fucking touch you ever again,” Charlie says fiercely, and she crosses her arms.

Lucifer’s just going to let that happen again? Like it’s happened times before? And now, Charlie would know it’s happening, have to sit through the Extermination listening to her people be slaughtered while also thinking of Lucifer being hurt.

“Charlie,” Lucifer says, speaking like he’s talking to a child or a particularly dumb adult. “If I break the deal, if I hurt Adam, your life is as good as forfeit. Every Exorcist in Heaven will hunt you down. They know they can’t kill me without the help of the Seraphim or Archangels, but they can kill you, and they will, Charlie. You, and all the other Hellborn.”

“Then— then we can make a new deal.” Charlie casts around wildly, trying to find something that would get him out of it, and before she really knows it she’s saying, “Me. Me instead of—”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Lucifer snaps, and his eyes go red, slitted pupils on blazing gold as he glares at her. “Don’t even say something like that. I will never allow it to happen. I would burn Heaven, Hell, and Earth before I’d let Adam lay one finger on you.”

“There has to be a way,” Charlie pleads, and she hates how he looks away, expression set into hard, bitter resignation. “Dad, there has to be a way.”

“There isn’t.” Lucifer pulls back, turning his body away from her and tucking his arms around himself. “Even if, by some miracle, you managed to get your hands on an angelic weapon and kill Adam, it would just leave you vulnerable to the rest of his legions, and it’d probably start a war with Heaven, too. He’s got all the power in this situation and he knows it. So please, Charlie, just drop it.”

Charlie doesn’t want to drop it. She wants to figure this out. Somehow, she is going to get Lucifer out of this deal and keep the rest of the Hellborns safe in the process. She’s not going to let him do this for the rest of eternity, counting down the days to the next stretch of torture.

She doesn’t think he’s ready for that, though, so she shuffles back a bit, giving him space on the bed and pushing her hair back. “Okay. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Lucifer says eventually, and he shifts back towards her, the tension in his shoulders easing. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I just know that if anything ever happened to you, I’d…”

Lucifer trails off, but Charlie thinks she knows where he was going, especially when he seemingly unconsciously tucks his forearms against himself again, hiding the scars. As Charlie watches, he shudders slightly.

“You matter more to me than anything else in all of Creation.” Lucifer raises his head, and his eyes are wet. “I don’t even want you in the same realm as Adam.”

This time, Charlie can’t stop herself from tearing up. It stings, and there’s a sudden moment of clarity as she thinks about how awful she must look after crying so much for the past few days. She ducks her head, attempting to subtly wipe her eyes and wincing at the pain.

Lucifer swears softly and reaches out to offer her a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— It feels like all I’ve been doing lately is making you cry.”

Charlie laughs, the sound wet with tears but still a laugh, and accepts the hug gratefully. “It’s okay…”

“It’s not!” Lucifer insists, and Charlie sniffles but finds herself laughing weakly because she doesn’t know what else to do. He huffs in faux-annoyance and kisses the top of her head. “I hate seeing you cry. Here’s a deal: no more tears for the rest of today. I want to see you smile more. I missed it too much.”

Charlie pulls back to look at him, wiping her face with her hand and holding her other one out for a handshake. “Deal.”

They shake — not actually a deal, of course, but the motion is nice — and Charlie gamely dries her eyes and steadies her breaths. Lucifer’s hand lands on her upper arm again to rub gentle circles into it, warm and steadying. Once Charlie feels like she’s got a hold of her emotions again, she looks up at him.

“You know what would make me smile?”

Lucifer tilts his head to the side. “What?”

Charlie glances out the windows, then back at him, smiling for real this time. “Flying.”

It takes a second for the meaning to hit Lucifer. Then he grins like he’s gotten the best news of his life. Charlie’s heart does a little flip at the sight of it, and she almost feels bad pulling away and pushing herself off the bed so she can get dressed.

“Meet me on the balcony in five minutes.”

“Dress warm!” Lucifer calls after her as she leaves the room, and when she turns back to nod her understanding at him, the radiance of his smile feels like the only warmth she’ll ever need.

***

When Charlie walks out onto the highest balcony a few minutes later, she finds Lucifer with his wings already out, standing at the balcony as he rolls his sleeves up over his gloves. He’s back in what Charlie considers his normal outfit, red vest over a white shirt and white pants with shiny black boots, but instead of a tie or bowtie, he’s left the top button of his shirt open and there’s no sign of his signature white tailcoat lined with red silk. He turns to face Charlie, looking pleased.

“Feel the updraft?” Lucifer asks. “Perfect flying weather.”

Charlie…doesn’t, really, but she nods anyways, giving him a half-smile as she comes to stand at the railing. It’s always a little dizzying, being up this high; the balcony wraps around the highest spire of the palace, the gargoyles that inspired Razzle and Dazzle watching from the wicked point above them. Charlie peers over the edge and can’t help but shiver, even knowing that she’s perfectly safe. After all, it’s a long, long way down.

Lucifer doesn’t seem bothered. He pulls himself up to balance on the railing, offering her a hand so she can do the same, and after a moment, swallowing her instinctive apprehension, Charlie takes it and steadies herself on the six inches or so of metal that’s the only thing between her and a very harsh landing on the flagstones of the front drive.

“It’s okay,” Lucifer soothes, his aura radiating easy confidence. “You know I’m not going to let you fall, sweetie.”

Charlie wraps her arms around his neck, peeking down again. “I know, but it’s been a while, and we are up…really fucking high.”

“Do you want me to count down?” Lucifer asks, and Charlie nods. “Okay. Three…”

Excitement and the best kind of fear prickle up Charlie’s spine as she feels him wrap his arms around her waist, pulling her close, lean figure deceptively strong. It’s been decades since they’ve done this, and she can feel her pulse fast in her chest, suddenly feeling like her clothes aren’t thick enough to protect her from the wind that whips at her hair, tied up into a messy bun to prevent it from blocking her or Lucifer’s vision.

“Two…”

Charlie lets out a little involuntary squeak, then laughs at herself, closing her eyes and trying to relax and take a deep breath as Lucifer shifts, his shoulders shifting as he readies himself for flight.

“One!”

Lucifer leaps.

The yelp that escapes Charlie is carried away by the wind, the stomach-turning sensation of freefall stealing her breath away but leaving her just enough to laugh gleefully when Lucifer’s wings snap open with a rustle of feathers and catch the wind to send them arcing back up into the red sky. Charlie opens her eyes, blinking away the tears as the air hits her face like a physical thing and grinning hysterically at Lucifer’s triumphant whoop. She can feel the motion of his wings behind them, the rise and fall as he pushes them high, high, higher, all the way up into the cold, dry air high above the city. Clouds roll by above them, dull like faded red fabric, and below them Pentagram City flashes by in the shine of neons and steel, the streets cutting through it mirroring the lines of the sigil above.

“I told you I wouldn’t let you fall,” Lucifer says, and despite the air rushing past them, he only has to raise his voice slightly for Charlie to be able to hear him.

Before Charlie can respond, there’s one powerful flap of Lucifer’s wings and they’re rocketing straight up, his head upturned as he carries them even higher, the muscles of his shoulders flexing underneath Charlie’s touch.

They’ll never be able to touch the pentagram — it’s a funny quirk of it that no matter how close someone gets, it’ll always feel just out of reach — but Charlie almost believes they could by the time Lucifer’s ascent finally slows, his wings beating currents in the air as he hovers in place high above the city. Around it raise the jagged spikes of stone that form the rest of Pride, spotted with little manors and palaces of some of the other Ars Goetia, and Charlie remembers abruptly that this is where he Fell, that this must be the view he saw as he tumbled down from Heaven. A glance up at his face, though, and there’s no fear or bitterness on it, just glee. As soon as he sees her looking, he turns the full force of those gleaming golden eyes and a disturbingly attractive sharp-toothed grin on her.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Charlie says, without hesitation, and she means it. “Yes, I trust you.”

Lucifer’s smile goes positively manic. “Good. Hold on.”

Charlie doesn’t have time to ask why she needs to hold on any more than she already was before Lucifer’s pulling her backwards, her stomach flipping as the world turns upside down and he tucks his wings against his back to send them into a dive.

The wind screams past Charlie’s face as seconds stretch out into minutes, hours, days, the world blurring into a mix of red and black and white as they hurtle together towards the ground, Lucifer holding her tight around the waist. The blinding excitement of his aura is infectious, and she finds herself laughing shrilly as she watches the ground draw closer and closer yet feeling entirely safe despite herself because she knows that Lucifer would never let her get hurt.

Lucifer leaves plenty of room before they get impaled, spreading his wings out again and wrenching them back upright with a sensation like a crowbar under her ribs, easily flipping them so they’re parallel to the ground once more and coasting on momentum. Charlie feels dizzy with giddiness and altitude change, and she tips her head back and lets herself laugh like she hasn’t laughed in years. It’s freeing like nothing else could ever be, like up here nothing matters except them and the air under Lucifer’s wings. She never wants it to end.

Lucifer dips and wheels a few more times, still just as good of a flier as he was when she was a child, bringing them so close to the skyscrapers and buildings of Pentagram City that she can see their reflection in the glass before veering off back out into the jagged borderlands. He’s still got that blinding smile on his face, eyes bright and wild, and something catches in Charlie’s gut at the sight. This isn’t just the man who raised her — this is the most powerful fallen angel in all of Creation, someone that could level mountains and wipe out legions. When he’s in his element like this, Lucifer looks dangerous.

And that’s…really hot.

Charlie tries to put it out of her mind when Lucifer finally lands several adrenaline-filled minutes later, coming to a skidding stop on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the city not far from the palace. She takes a few shaky steps back from him and tries to catch her breath as he shakes all six wings before tucking them against his back. Her hands feel frozen from the wind and her knees are wobbly like she’s going to lose her balance, but there’s not a thing that she’d do differently — that was the best thing she’s done in years.

“That wasn’t too much for you, right?” Lucifer’s hair has come out of its neat style, falling around his face in messy locks of gold, and his cheeks are flushed, matching the brightness of his eyes. “You’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m great.” Charlie leans against his side when he moves up close to her, taking slow, deep breaths to calm her racing heart. “That was awesome.”

“I hadn’t realized how much I missed flying,” Lucifer says, his arm wrapping around her in a casual, easy hug as he takes in the landscape. “It’s been years. I need to do that more.”

“Only if you promise to take me,” Charlie replies, and Lucifer looks up at her, that radiant smile returning. Charlie can only stand it for a second before she leans down to kiss him, chaste and gentle.

Lucifer looks a little dazed when they pull apart, and Charlie worries that maybe she overstepped and moved too fast. This is still so new, and maybe…

But then Lucifer’s kissing her again, hand on the back of her neck. Charlie sinks into it gratefully, daring to take his jaw in her hand and tilt his face to get a better angle, rewarded with a little noise of pleasure that makes her shiver.

Lucifer’s manic expression has softened into something warm and sweet when she finally pulls back, having lost her breath all over again, and he smiles, a little apologetic.

“Sorry. It’s been a while since I had anyone to do that with, too.”

“Don’t apologize,” Charlie says. “But…we might want to be careful about doing it…you know. Out here.”

They might not be in the city proper, but Charlie doesn’t trust that TV-head Overlord and his creepy little Voyeur Scopes. She’d rather not have that on the evening news with Katie Killjoy…

Lucifer shrugs. “I imagine that most people here have done far worse.”

Charlie hums — he’s got a good point — and lowers herself down to sit on the edge of the outcropping, her legs over the side. Lucifer sits down cross-legged at her side, one set of wings not-so-subtly curling around her.

“You know, if I ever go back up to Earth, I want to go flying over the ocean,” Lucifer says, apropos of nothing. “A real ocean. Not whatever Greed has.”

Charlie relaxes against him, the world tilting as she leans her head on his shoulder. “Why don’t you just…go? You’re powerful enough, you could open a portal.”

“Heaven may not have been watching Lilith closely, but I can almost guarantee they’re watching me. They’d know if I opened a portal to the surface, and I’m only supposed to go up there for official business.” Lucifer stares at the city. “And…I don’t know. I guess maybe I don’t really want to see what I did to humanity. Every bad thing in the world…that was me. If I hadn’t gotten involved, humanity would…well, probably still just be Adam and Eve in the Garden.”

“Humanity isn’t all bad,” Charlie says, frowning. “There’s good up there, too.”

“But was it worth it?” Lucifer’s wings curl a little tighter around Charlie. “People get murdered and tortured and raped every day. Children get abused or starve to death in warzones. Forests are razed to make room for farms that run on the backs of slaves. I may not be making them do it, but they’re right in that they wouldn’t have had the option if it hadn’t been for my meddling. I never wanted that. I just…I just wanted them to be able to dream. I wanted them to be able to want more.”

“Yeah. I think it’s worth it.” Charlie blinks at the city, letting her eyes go half-closed so the lights turn into little smears of brightness and the halo above Heaven’s tower fades into the red of the pentagram. “Nothing is ever unsalvageable. Besides, every day on Earth, people help each other. Doctors take care of the injured. People go into warzones to rescue those children. Somewhere out there, people plant trees. It’s not all awful, Dad. I promise. You might have to look for the good, but it’s there.”

Lucifer lowers his head with a soft sigh, but his voice is fond as he says, “You sound like the angel I used to be when you say things like that, Charlie.”

Charlie tilts her head to look at him. Then she settles back down and reaches for his hand, linking their fingers and holding it tightly. “You could be that angel again. I know you could. You just have to find the good.”

They sit for a while longer, the wind whistling mournfully through the spikes and valleys of stone, the city humming further out. Tucked up within the lee of Lucifer’s wings, she feels safe and content, the adrenaline of flight having faded and settled and leaving her pleasantly relaxed.

Not so different from sex. Charlie hopes the sudden flush of embarrassment isn’t noticeable in her aura, and she quickly tries to shoo that thought away, not wanting to admit that there’s…definitely a lot of similarities.

A better thing to think about is Lucifer’s mention of Earth. He does have a point that Heaven is probably keeping a closer eye on him than Lilith, and Charlie understands why he doesn’t want to just open one of his portals. It would be better if he could use some other way to get to the surface. Something like one of the Ars Goetia’s grimoires… Or…

Finally, Lucifer stands, brushing off his pants and offering her a hand. “Ready to go?”

Charlie starts, having nearly lost herself in the plan that’s taking shape in her head, but she takes the proffered hand and pulls herself to her feet. “Yeah.”

This time, Lucifer easily scoops her up into his arms, holding her bridal style as he steps off the outcropping and lifts into the air. Charlie wraps her arms around his neck again, mostly out of an urge just to be close rather than out of any fear of being dropped, and when they alight not long later on the same balcony they took off from, she’s almost sad it’s over.

“Do you want me to get you a cup of cider?” Lucifer asks, plucking a stray piece of fluffy white down that escaped his wings off her shirt as he steps away.

“Sure,” Charlie says. “But I’ve got to go grab my phone, I…need to make a quick call.”

Lucifer nods good-naturedly and gives her one last quick kiss before stepping back through a portal. Charlie huffs, fond amusement bubbling up in her — are stairs really that hard? Then again, she can’t entirely blame him. She’s not a huge fan of the tight, creaky spiral staircase that leads up here, either.

Whatever. Not important. Charlie hurries down said staircase, heading to her bedroom where she left her phone. She opens it, scrolls through her contacts, and selects one as she closes her bedroom door with a flick of her hand.

It rings for so long that Charlie begins to think he’s busy and she’ll have to try later. Just as she’s about to hang up, there’s the sound of someone picking up.

“Charlie!” Ozzie’s greeting is as jovial and enthusiastic as ever. “Hey, girl! How’s it going?”

Charlie should have expected that he’d demand the hottest new gossip. “Good, if you must know, but let me tell you about that in a second. I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything for you, princess. Just say the words!”

“...How hard would it be to get me an Asmodean Crystal?”

Chapter Text

The next afternoon, upon returning from a quick trip to the store, Charlie finds a sleek blue box with glittering purple ribbon tucked next to the entry doors of the palace. She squints at it mistrustfully, then, after peering around to try and see if the person who left it is still around, switches her bags to the other arm and leans down to examine the tag hanging from the ribbon.

Charlie —
Here’s your crystal…and a few extra things ;)
Have fun and be safe. Or don’t. Whatever makes you two happy xoxo
♡ Uncle Ozzie

Ozzie’s handwriting — and thinly veiled references to sex — are unmistakable. Charlie sighs fondly and picks the box up, finding it light enough to carry in one hand, then carefully eases the doors open with just enough magic to move them and carries the stuff up towards the kitchen. Luckily, Lucifer isn’t around to see her duck into her bedroom to drop off the box that is almost certainly filled with stuff that she’d rather not have him see. Once she’s put everything away, she checks once more to make sure that Lucifer is in his workshop before walking back to her room and folding one leg underneath herself as she sits on the bed to open the box. She unties the ribbon keeping it closed and undoes the magical seal, releasing a little explosion of enchanted silver glitter that dissipates after a few moments.

Just as promised, resting on top of a layer of tissue paper in its own smaller box, is a pale green crystal, cut into a faceted diamond shape and glowing slightly. Charlie makes a note to tell Ozzie that she owes him one.

Or maybe not. She tucks the crystal into her dresser drawer to keep it safe, then sits back down and pulls the tissue paper back to find…exactly what she expected to find. Inside are three sex toys, all in varying shades of red. If Charlie hadn’t spent the better part of this morning very comfortably making out with Lucifer, she’d be mortified at the idea of Ozzie sending her sex toys.

Okay, well, she’s still a little mortified, actually. As if it’s going to bite her, Charlie carefully picks up one of the toys. She’ll admit that it does feel very well made, though her expertise does basically extend only as far as the simple vibrator that she’s owned for years and gets the job done when she doesn’t feel like using her hand.

She can see something underneath the toys, and she pushes the other two aside as she sets the one she’s holding down to find a strap-on harness, black with red metal accents. Just the sight of it makes her blush, which she feels stupid for — she’s not some kind of simpering little virgin. She’s seen a strap-on harness before. She’s had one used on her, for fuck’s sake. Context really does make all the difference, it seems, because the difference is that this one isn’t being used in any old relationship, but her and Lucifer’s relationship, which makes her feel all kinds of weird if she thinks about it for too long. She wonders if Ozzie meant this for her or for Lucifer.

Shapeshifter, Charlie’s brain reminds her a little too eagerly, and she feels herself blush hotter. Probably her, then.

Charlie stares down at the toys, the two in the box being a simple but obviously well-made dildo in a pale red shade and the other a small bullet vibe that both look like they could fit into the harness. Could she really…? It’s not like they have to. Or have to right now. No finish line, right? Kissing is one thing. She couldn’t actually… She doesn’t look at him like… Well, okay, maybe she kind of does, but that doesn’t mean anything, fantasies are just fantasies, after all… And he probably doesn’t want anything to do with sex, anyway; she sure wouldn’t, if she was in his place.

Charlie takes a deep breath and sets the stuff back into the box. She’ll thank Ozzie for the crystal and tell him that they’re still taking it slow for now. The easiest thing to do would just be to…ask Lucifer what his preferences are, but Charlie’s definitely, for sure, one hundred percent done with awkward conversations for, like…a while. She’d rather just let it come up on its own, organic instead of forced.

There’s a sex joke in there somewhere, Charlie thinks, closing the box and sliding it underneath her bed. Ozzie must be rubbing off on me. Damn it, that’s one, too. Fuck.

Fucking is…kind of the problem.

***

Charlie tries to put the sex toys out of her mind. She doesn’t exactly consider herself a prude, and it’s certainly not that she doesn’t like sex, it just feels strange to put that and Lucifer together in her head. But now that she has, she can’t seem to split them back apart. She tries to focus on other things when she’s near him, glad for the brief crash course he gave her in controlling her aura so he doesn’t know every time she thinks about if his moans are as pretty as his voice, but when she’s alone, sitting on the balcony as she works or making herself food in the kitchen, they wander in nonetheless, sneaking past her defenses like shadows.

Lucifer’s…attractive. She knows that. She always kind of knew that in a sort of detached, abstract way, she thinks. It’s no secret that by Hell’s standards, Lucifer is at the top of the list for a lot of people, which…of course he is. He’s an angel, and Charlie knows that he was attractive even by angelic standards. The most beautiful of all his siblings. The favorite, once upon a time. So, yeah, he’s handsome. Pretty? Sort of both, honestly. Charlie should ask which one he prefers.

But being attractive isn’t the same thing as being hot. So…is he…?

…Yeah. Yeah, he’s hot. Charlie sighs and puts the last plate she’s holding away, closing the cabinet door and leaning her hip against the counter as she crosses her arms and stares down at the floor. She can’t stop thinking about the sight of him as they flew, all wild abandon and reckless, gorgeous fever, those golden eyes bright and sharp. What would it feel like if those eyes were fixed all on her? How much would it take to get him to start panting for breath? She’s not even sure what she’d want to do — she’s always been a switch, which her girlfriends took much better than her boyfriends did, though something tells her that’s not going to be an issue with Lucifer. The strap-on is…definitely tempting.

“You haven’t even talked about this with him,” Charlie hisses to the empty kitchen, hoping that maybe if she says it out loud she can trick her brain into thinking it’s someone else reprimanding her. “That might not be the kind of relationship he wants.”

But what if it is? Could she do it? Could she honestly sleep with him…in the more euphemistic meaning of the term, that is?

Why not? She’s already made out with him. And it was a really nice makeout session. It’s not really like anyone’s going to say, Oh, well, it’s fine that you made out with your dad, but having sex with him? That’s straight to Hell with you!

“Is my life one big cosmic joke, or something?” Charlie asks, raising her eyes upward and not really expecting an answer. “Because, um, You have a pretty sick sense of humor, if it is.”

She picks up the cup of tea that had been steeping on the counter as she washed up and carries it to the sitting room. She will have to go back to classes at some point and finish out this term, so she’s catching up on her reading as much as she can. It feels…strangely absurd to just carry life on as normal, but what else is she supposed to do? She’s not going to become one of those clingy people who never leave their partner’s side. She’s got a life outside of Lucifer; she’s had that life for years without him ever factoring into it. She can continue it.

It’s weird how much things can change in such a short period of time. A week, give or take, and Lucifer’s not only back in her life, but they’re also apparently a…couple? Actually, she’s not really sure what name to put on them. Calling him her boyfriend is an instant and visceral nope, but partner, which is her current go-to, seems a little…stiff? There’s not really a term for this. Calling him her sweetheart? Cute, but a little juvenile. Her hookup? Out of the question.

Calling him her dad solves this problem very nicely, but Charlie doesn’t think that’s quite the term she’s going for…

Speak — or in her case, think — of the Devil, and he will appear; Lucifer’s hoofsteps click on the marble of the kitchen floor, and a few moments later he walks into the parlor. Charlie moves over without him having to ask, and he takes the offer, settling next to her and pulling his knees up.

“Mm, a bedtime story?” Lucifer asks, and Charlie folds the book over so he can read the cover. ”The Solomon Textbook of Neo-Abrahamic Music Theories. That sounds…thrilling.”

“It’s certainly putting me to sleep,” Charlie says wryly. “I took this class thinking that I’d like it because I like music so much, but…ugh, it’s so boring sometimes.”

“Do you still play?” Lucifer asks, resting his chin on her shoulder and looking over her at the text.

“Piano, acoustic guitar, and cello are the only ones I’ve really kept up with,” Charlie replies, skimming the next paragraph. “The piano at the Academy never feels right to me.”

Lucifer hums. “Trust me, whenever I try to play any fiddle but my own, I usually end up wanting to throw it against the wall.”

“You sure you’re just not still bitter about that one kid?” Charlie teases.

His eye roll could win awards in exasperation. “Can’t people let that go already? It’s been decades!”

“That sounds like something that someone who’s bitter would say,” Charlie says, and Lucifer hisses at her. She giggles and turns the page of her book, skimming the text again, comfortable with Lucifer’s slight weight and humming warmth.

They sit like that for a while, Charlie reading and Lucifer resting, his eyes closed but his aura most certainly awake as it blankets them. Charlie’s glad they can still have this. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to just…be with someone like this.

When Charlie finally sighs and sets the book aside after tucking her hand-drawn bookmark inside to mark her place, Lucifer raises his head and blinks a few times, one eye and then the other, pupils visibly narrowing. Charlie cracks her neck and checks the time. It’s not even late evening yet, and she’s not really tired, but if Lucifer wanted to…

“Do you want to practice on our piano?” Lucifer asks out of nowhere.

Charlie’s brain has to take a second to catch up to the change in subject. “Um…”

Lucifer hesitates, then shrugs one shoulder. “I missed hearing your music. You…you always sang so much, too. When you lived here.”

Charlie did. She would practice her instruments or her singing, not particularly caring about bothering anyone since Lucifer was barely around to bother and staff was either minimal, or in later years, gone. The palace must really have been silent once she moved out…

“You know what? Sure.” Charlie stands from her seat and walks to the piano that takes up most of the corner, dusting it off and pulling the bench out before folding the top up and taking a seat. “Did you have something in mind?”

Lucifer, trailing a few steps behind her, thinks for a moment. Then he snaps and sheet music appears in front of her in a flash of red sparkles.

“Deux Arabesques No. 1, by Claude Debussy,” Charlie reads off the sheet, then turns to Lucifer. “Really? You have to know I was never good at this one. I fucked it up all the time.”

“Sure, you were a little shaky on some of it, but the parts that you could play, you played very, very beautifully.” Lucifer takes a seat next to her, giving her one of his signature Morningstar smiles. “Please? Humor me.”

Charlie can’t say no to that look. “Fine. But you’re not going to say a word when I fuck up.”

“Not a word,” Lucifer promises.

Charlie takes a deep breath, taps her hoof one, two, three, four times, counting the beats in her head as she finds the keys. She practiced this one for hours at one point in her life, and it comes flooding back as she plays the first few notes, just barely nodding her head along. It’s not terribly fast, just a comfortable andantino that quickens near the end, and she finds her hands still have the muscle memory to play it at that pace, remembering long afternoons spent playing this over and over until she felt like she could do it in her sleep.

Lucifer hums along next to her, one hand half-way moving as if on keys, following the sheet music just like her. The rhythm is easy to slip into once again, and Charlie falls into the pattern, soothed by the simple act of playing music and hearing the notes fill the air just like they used to. It’s a special privilege of being as magically powerful as Lucifer is that his piano never goes out of tune, and the notes ring clear and beautiful in the space, like the palace itself is grateful to hear music again, too.

…Then Charlie hits the part she always, always fucked up, and a single discordant note makes her cringe, hands faltering for a second before she takes a breath and gets back on the rhythm, trying as best she can to hold the tune until she eventually admits defeat and drops her hands, the last note ringing for a moment before fading into peaceful silence.

“I told you,” Charlie says ruefully. “I wasn’t very good at it.”

“It sounded great to me, except where it didn’t,” Lucifer replies. “Do you want help?”

“You promised not to say a word.” Despite her teasingly hurt tone, Charlie obediently gets up when he motions her to, watching as he takes her place on the bench and then scoots forward.

Lucifer waves her back when he’s settled. “Come on, sit behind me. Put your hands over mine.”

Charlie’s mouth goes suddenly dry, only barely managing to wrangle her aura back under control before it can spike into unsure, shaky attraction and more than a little heat at the idea of the position that he’s talking about. Her legs will be spread around his, her chest pressed up to his back, and that probably shouldn’t excite parts of her as much as it does.

Oh, get a handle on yourself, Charlie snaps to her own overactive imagination. You’re as bad as a horny teenager. Have some fucking maturity.

Before Lucifer can wonder what’s taking her so long, Charlie does as he says, pushing herself up against his back and reaching around his front to lay her hands over his as she puts her chin on his shoulder so she can see over him. Like this, it’s almost possible to forget that mere days ago it was dislocated and tender. His hair is soft against her cheek, the smooth fabric of his gloves muting the warmth of his skin against her palms. She can feel the way his muscles tense and flex as he sits up a little straighter, her body pressed up the line of his.

“Good,” Lucifer says, and he plays a few notes before skimming the sheet music until he reaches the part that tripped her up. “Just watch my hands. Feel how they move.”

Charlie focuses very hard on staring at his hands. She does not focus on how his body feels, about how warm he is, or about how if she turned her head to the side, her face would be buried in his neck. No, all of her attention is devoted to his hands underneath hers, long-fingered and nimble, moving effortlessly despite the weight on top of them. It’s another one of those things where every motion is made with confidence — as natural and easy as blinking. Like he was made to make music. Charlie supposes that in a way, he was.

Lucifer plays the part, and then plays it again, and then drifts off into little threads of other songs that Charlie used to play and some that she doesn’t know. After a while, Charlie’s hands fall from his to wrap around his middle as she lays her temple on his shoulder and closes her eyes. It’s easy to just sink into him like this, following along with the music or working out the tune as he goes if she’s never heard it before. He plays so beautifully that it almost makes her want to cry. How often did she hear him play the piano when she was younger? At least a few times a week. And then, just like the rest of him, it faded away.

When Lucifer finally stops, the last note reverberating and then falling into the crackling of the flames, Charlie feels like she’s coming out of a daze. Unthinkingly, more on instinct than anything else, she turns her head and nuzzles into his neck with a comfortable sigh.

“I’m sorry, did I bore you?” Lucifer asks, smile audible in his words.

“Of course not.” Charlie squeezes him a little tighter. “I just remembered that I need to shower before I go to bed.”

“Ah.” Lucifer’s weight leans back into her. “You know, you can use my bathroom, if you want. The shower’s a little bigger. And nicer. Or there’s the tub, if you’d like to soak. Just ignore the ducks.”

Charlie can’t hold back a giggle. “Right, ignore them while they stare at me with their beady little eyes.”

“You’re so mean to my ducks!” Lucifer says, laughing the whole time, and she feels him shake his head. “They’re friendly, I promise.”

Heaven above, Charlie loves hearing that tone from him, that voice ringing with laughter instead of pain or sadness. It’s times like these that it feels like her love for him is slamming her in the chest or a suckerpunch straight to the gut. He’s beautiful, and despite everything that’s happened to him, he’s still so bright, like the star after which he’s named. Charlie lifts her head up to bump her jaw against his until he turns his head to the side and she can kiss him, realizing in that moment that this rhythm, too, feels natural and easy, as though she’s always been waiting to slip into it.

They pull apart a moment later, Charlie having learned that Lucifer will kiss her until she passes out because he forgets that she has to breathe, and she allows herself a contented little noise as she rubs her cheek against his.

“You know, I’m a little surprised you’re okay with all of this,” Lucifer says, after a moment. “It's…well, you've just taken it in stride, and I didn’t really…expect you to. It hasn't been that long. And you've always had such a strict sense of right and wrong, even when you were a little girl.”

Charlie stares at the sheet music still sitting in front of him as she chews on the words. He's right — this is pretty fast. Faster than any other relationship she's ever been in. But then again, there's no need for them to get to know each other, no need for them to build something up. The scaffolding was already there.

“I think that's why I'm okay with it,” Charlie says slowly. “Because this isn't wrong. Not really. Not to me. No one's getting hurt, and it's making us happy. Why would that be wrong?” She pauses for a second. “You're awfully comfortable with it yourself.”

“Well,” Lucifer says, a touch of amusement to his tone. “After you spend ten thousand years in a place made to contain humanity's worst aspects, your worldview tends to change a bit. I’m not the same angel I was in Eden.”

“You were the one who raised me with that sense of right and wrong,” Charlie reminds him. “It's not like you abandoned it entirely. I'm the way I am because of you.”

Lucifer is silent for a second. “Maybe…I wanted you to be better than me.”

Charlie presses a soft kiss right at the edge of his jaw, just under his ear. “I think you’re just fine.”

“‘Just fine’ is all I get?” Lucifer’s voice is back to lightly teasing. “Harsh critic.”

“Don’t push it.” Charlie pauses, then sighs. “Okay. I need to shower before I get distracted. You’re sure you don’t mind me using yours?”

“Of course not.” Lucifer snaps, and the sheet music tucks itself out of existence as the piano folds back up. “There’s nothing in there that’ll tell you anything you don’t already know, unless you’re desperately seeking the ingredients of my body wash.”

“You don’t know my hobbies,” Charlie says, half-grinning, as she climbs off the bench, sad to pull away from him.

Lucifer flicks his tongue at her, but he’s smiling, even as she turns away and leaves the room. Charlie’s chest feels warm as she heads to her bedroom to grab pajamas and then to Lucifer’s bathroom, all black marble and gold edging. The shower turns on with a harsh spray of icy water before Charlie pushes the dial to the other side and strips her clothes off as she waits for it to warm up.

Since she didn’t bother to grab her own toiletries, she reaches for his — there’s a certain fondness that overtakes her as she sees how much he’s really leaned into the whole apple aesthetic. The scents that greet her all seem to be variations on the theme: apple blossoms, crisp apples, cinnamon and apple, et cetera, et cetera.

Charlie glances at one of the rubber ducks sitting at the other end of the shower. “He can be pretty silly sometimes, huh?”

The rubber duck, as expected, does not respond.

Charlie finishes her shower and steps out into the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping one of the luxuriously soft towels around herself and carefully picking her way across the marble floor made slippery by condensation and wet hooves to the sink where she can comb her hair out with her fingers and do the rest of her nightly routine. There’s still no mirror. Charlie hasn’t brought it up, not wanting to put Lucifer on the spot, but it’s still a little jarring.

Honestly, her entire stay here at the palace has felt kind of surreal, like she’s slipped out of time. She used to get up and do her makeup and go to class every day, or go to one of the coffee shops on campus or the library, or run errands for herself. A few people asked her, once or twice, why she actually bothered to do those things — she could have gotten anyone to bring her groceries, or be her study partner, or anything else she needed. The Morningstar name might not be threatening, per se, but she is still technically the princess of Hell.

But, honestly, Charlie doesn’t really care about being the princess. It’s not like she’s got a throne to inherit, since Lucifer is never going to die, and she’s not really interested in making people feel like they have to be subservient to her just because of the nature of her birth. Especially not now that she knows the exact nature of her birth.

The reminder of it still brings her up short, her hand faltering where she’s braiding her hair over one shoulder. Is this where Lucifer cleaned himself up after Adam tried to break him that first time? Did he suffer through morning sickness on this cold black marble? Did he take the mirrors out so he wouldn’t have to see his body changing in them?

Charlie swallows, closes her eyes, and counts backward from twenty. She can’t go back in time and save him, and she thinks he’d be angry at her for even wanting to. What’s happened has happened, and there will be consequences, but who’s helped by hating herself for it? Isn’t it better to think of Lucifer as he is now, laughing at the piano, high in the air with unrestrained glee in every beautiful, dangerous sharp edge of his face?

She ties her braid off and leaves the bathroom, her thin shirt and shorts sticking to the dampness of her skin. Lucifer’s sitting on the edge of the bed, toying with something in his hands, red and glittery and shiny, branching out like petrified lightning. As Charlie enters, whatever it was falls in a cascade of shimmering crimson into a liquid sphere in his hands and then disappears entirely.

“It’s been a while since I made anything except ducks,” Lucifer says, by way of explanation, and then he stands and dusts his hands off. “I’ll be right back.” Charlie nods, feeling him bump his shoulder against hers affectionately as he walks past her to the bathroom. Even when she’s wearing her own clothes, they still wear practically the same thing, his red silk shorts and white t-shirt mirroring her own long red shirt and black shorts. She takes his spot on the edge of the bed and watches as the bathroom door closes behind him.

When he returns, she’s already claimed her side, propped up enough against the pillows to look at her phone, but she sets it aside and pushes herself down to face him when he slides under the sheets.

“Another day in paradise done,” Lucifer says drily.

Charlie makes a show of thinking for a second, then shrugs. “You’re here, so it’s close enough.”

Lucifer barks out a laugh, sudden and joyful. “That is the absolute sappiest thing anyone has ever said to me, congratulations. You should get a prize.”

“Oh? What’s my prize?” Charlie asks, quirking an eyebrow, knowing exactly what her prize is going to be and welcoming it when Lucifer leans in to give her a kiss.

“That,” Lucifer says, and then he lowers himself back into his spot, staring at her for a few long moments. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re perfect?”

“Well…it might have been said sometime,” Charlie says, with an embarrassed grin and a teasingly dramatic toss of her braid, hoping to play it off to avoid having to acknowledge the compliment, but Lucifer’s hand catches her jaw, directing her gaze back towards him.

“I mean that,” Lucifer insists. “You really are perfect. Sweet, and bright, and hard-working, and stubborn as Hell when you put your mind to something.”

“There might be some disagreement about that last one being a positive…” Charlie says, but she trails off, feeling her face flush underneath his fingers.

Lucifer huffs. “Well, they’re wrong. I couldn’t have asked for a better daughter.”

Charlie tries not to make it obvious that he’s just made her feel, once again, like she’s gotten a bat to the ribcage. After how she treated him, after not being there when he needed her…

“Just remember that,” Lucifer murmurs, and he thumbs her under the chin gently before withdrawing his hand.

“Sometimes I hate how easily you do that,” Charlie manages after a moment, feeling a heartbreakingly strong mix of holy fuck I love him mixed with I am an awful daughter and why is he so fucking good at making me feel like this. “Just…make me feel like I’m tripping over myself all over again.”

“Sweetheart, they don’t make references to my silver tongue for nothing.” Lucifer rolls his eyes. “Though I assure you, whatever the books may say, I am being completely truthful.”

The pet name — sweetheart — is accompanied by a press of his aura against hers, arrogance and affection that would feel condescending from anyone else. She’s usually just sweetie, and hearing the full name sends a little shiver of something down her spine. She shakes it off and leans over to kiss him again. This time, when she pulls away, she doesn’t go far, settling her head on his chest and letting herself feel the slow hum of power radiate through her.

“That reminds me,” Charlie starts. “I don’t… If I was going to describe you…”

“Uh-oh.”

“Shh. I’m asking about positive attributes.” Charlie thinks for a second, then decides the best way is probably to just bite the bullet and ask. “Would you rather be called handsome, or pretty?”

In the silence, Charlie thinks she might be able to hear the sound of her confidence cracking. Then Lucifer laughs, tipping his head back with an honest, full-throated laugh, his ribcage shaking under Charlie’s head. Charlie pushes herself up to prop herself up on her elbow over him, scowling, but she’s never really going to be angry about hearing him laugh.

“Okay, okay, laugh it up,” Charlie snaps, face flushing again as she realizes that it’s probably stupid to ask someone like him that question. “Ugh. I’m just trying to be supportive.”

“You are adorable,” Lucifer says, once he finally manages to tamp down his laughter into the occasional giggle. “Well, first of all, who are you calling me attractive to, hm?”

“Maybe I’m telling Ozzie all about you,” Charlie says haughtily.

“Yeah, I think Ozzie would have some choice words to describe me, but ‘handsome’ and ‘pretty’ wouldn’t be on the list. Fuckable might be. Twinky, probably. Breedable. Ravishable. I’m feeling a lot of words with the —able suffix here.” Lucifer reaches up to brush her bangs back to the side, grinning when she just continues to scowl at him. “I love you for asking, Charlie. I do. You can call me whatever you want. It’s really all the same to me.”

Charlie can’t even pretend to stay mad at him for very long anymore. She tries to bite her lip to hold her instinctive stupid grin back, but then she rolls her eyes and gives in, smiling against his mouth as she leans in to catch the kiss he eagerly accepts.

“Cute?” She asks in the brief seconds they’re away from each other before diving right back in.

“Am I a pet?” Lucifer teases, and he reaches up, his hand landing on the middle of her back, warm and steady over her spine.

“Mm. Bewitching?”

“Well, I can do magic…”

“Beautiful?”

“Angels usually are.”

Charlie thinks she’d be happy to stay here for the rest of eternity. He is beautiful, eyes glowing gold in the dark, hair falling over the pillow as he looks up at her, smiling like she’s got the secret to happiness written on her face. She loves him, and she wants him in every way he’ll let her have him.

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t figure all that out sooner,” Lucifer says softly, tilting his head to the side slightly, catching a lock of her hair and gently dragging his claws through it to brush the damp strands back into order. “You did insist on giving me a bath. Which, don’t get me wrong, was very sweet.”

“It’s not like I was looking,” Charlie admonishes. “I wasn’t trying to…you know. I wasn’t looking at you like that.”

Lucifer hums. “You can, you know. Look at me like that.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, halfway to kissing him again before the meaning of his words actually sinks in and she pulls back, staring at him.

“Are you trying to fucking seduce me?”

“I’ve been trying to seduce you since this morning.” Lucifer’s grin is easy, if a little apologetic. “Not my best work, I see.”

“I—” Charlie falters, choosing instead to just shake her head with a disbelieving laugh. “You— Really?”

“Really,” Lucifer says. “Truly. Madly. Deeply.”

“I take everything I said back. You’re awful.” It’s easier to joke about it than to face it, so that’s what Charlie will do, at least until she manages to gather her racing thoughts that jump from one conclusion to the next like she’s an acrobatics act in the circus.

“No take-backs. Haven’t you ever heard what they say about me?” Lucifer allows her to laugh — for a second. Then he brushes the backs of his fingers against her cheekbone, bringing her back down to reality. “Do you want me to stop? All you have to do is say the words, and I’ll stop, and I’ll never bring it up again unless you ask me to.”

Charlie’s shaking her head before he’s even finished the sentence. “No, don’t— that’s not what— no, it’s not that.”

Time for the pendulum to swing, as it always seems to, back to sadness. Charlie worries at her lip with one fang before shrugging one shoulder.

“At first, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to see you that way. But, um…”

“Please, do go on,” Lucifer says, his teeth glinting in the wicked smile he flashes. In a sudden flash of hot clarity, Charlie wonders how they’d feel in her neck.

“You’re really hot when you’re flying,” Charlie manages after a second, staring very deliberately at the pillow. “But,” she adds quickly, before he can get any ideas, “I don’t want to…hurt you again.”

The flash of bitterness that splits Lucifer’s aura like a streak of lightning nearly makes Charlie recoil. She manages not to jerk back, but she does pull away slightly, allowing him to sit up, and leans her weight back onto one hand, watching him. Was that the wrong thing to say? It’s true, but maybe she shouldn’t have put it like that. She doesn’t want to do what Adam did, doesn’t want to remind him of that, doesn’t want to make him feel like how he must have felt then. The knowledge that he’s trying to get her into bed with him — er, so to speak — was so surprising for that exact reason: she didn’t think that he’d want anything to do with sex.

“Even when Adam isn’t here, he’s still ruining my fucking life,” Lucifer mutters, resentment coloring every word, and he sighs and drags a hand over his face before propping his chin in his palm and looking at her. “It’s not…like that. Things aren’t that simple.”

“Okay,” Charlie says, feeling like she’s walking across a very, very thin balancing beam. What should she say? What does she do in this situation? “Even if it’s not simple, you can tell me.”

Lucifer stares past her, the seconds ticking by silently and whatever mood they had thoroughly shattered. Eventually, though, he sighs and turns his gaze back towards her.

“200 years feels like a long time to you,” Lucifer starts, slowly at first, like he’s not entirely sure where he’s going with it. “It’s your whole life. And— it is a long time, for some things. But I’m ten thousand years old, Charlie. Give or take a few…I don’t know, millenia, since I’ve technically been around since before time was a concept. And I like sex. I have had a lot of good sex, in ten thousand years. Anyone who tells you that Lilith and I weren’t fucking six ways to Sunday, pun most certainly intended, since before I got the horns is either lying or ignorant. My point is that I’m not going to let Adam ruin it for me. Not in 200 years.”

Charlie’s never really thought about it like that. But…she sees where he’s coming from, she thinks. She doesn’t really know how he’s feeling, but she thinks she might understand. Ozzie’s right — she shouldn’t have assumed that trauma equals sexlessness. After so many years of having it be a part of his life, did she really expect someone as stubborn and prideful as him to drop it, just like that?

“It doesn’t…it doesn’t bother you?” Charlie asks, just to reassure herself one last time.

“No, of course…” Lucifer trails off, then clears his throat and shakes his head. “Most things, no. Of course not. And you know what makes all the difference?” His eyes are clear and bright as he looks right at her again. “I want you.”

Charlie is firmly of the belief that having discussions about consent and boundaries is important, but she’s never really thought of it as sexy. Lucifer has just single-handedly changed her mind with that last sentence, and she is…really not sure how to feel about that. Is it wrong to feel like that, in the context of what he’s talking about?

“Do you want my advice?” Lucifer asks, pulling her out of her thoughts like he can read her mind.

Charlie nods.

“Stop overthinking it.” Lucifer moves closer. “Stop forcing yourself to walk on eggshells around me.” He reaches for her face, and she lets him, leaning into his hand as he pulls her closer to rest their foreheads together. “Do you want this?”

“Yes,” Charlie whispers, surprising herself with the rawness of her voice. There’s something fluttering in her ribcage, and she lets it stretch its wings, trying to follow his advice. Don’t overthink it. You love him. He loves you. You can figure out the rest.

“So do I,” Lucifer replies, just as softly.

This time, when he kisses her, it feels different in some intangible, unnameable way, slow and soft at first, their legs pressed together as he moves a little closer. Her hands find his waist automatically, and after a heavy second of hesitation, she slides one down to the hem of his shirt, fingers brushing across the line of skin between it and his shorts. Everything about him is so slender and smooth and perfect, Charlie feels like she’s touching Heaven itself.

Her tongue finds his fangs, so sharp and deadly and beautiful, and she shudders thinking about them against her skin, feeling how easy it would be to slice her own mouth open. Predator, instinct tells her, but his hands are so gentle on her body that she can’t even comprehend the idea of feeling threatened. Heat stirs inside her when the fork of his tongue slides against her lower lip, a shudder going down her spine and a little gasp escaping her throat. How has she never thought about that before? Silver tongue is right, and now Charlie’s got ideas. She pictures him between her legs right as he closes the distance between them to straddle her thigh, tilting her jaw up, and when she pulls away to breathe she actually moans, a soft little noise that makes her flush so hard she can feel it all the way down to her breasts.

Lucifer’s responding purr makes her feel thankful she’s sitting, as does the way he dips his head and kisses along the line of her neck, leaving little spots of warmth in his wake. He’s got one hand on her thigh now, the tips of his claws just barely slipped under the hem of her shorts, and the realization of the touch sends a jolt of smoldering arousal straight to her core. Oh, fuck. This is real. This is very, very real. She grabs him a little tighter, suddenly feeling a rush of dizziness, and is shamefully glad when he carefully pulls her down and leans over her in a reverse of their earlier position, the collar of his shirt hanging off his shoulders and revealing a slice of the smooth, flat lines of his chest.

Charlie reaches up and puts a hand there, right over where his heart would beat, staring up at him as she feels her own pulse in her ears. Their legs are tangled together, his palm resting right at the arch of her ribcage, a comforting weight over her diaphragm, and when her hand presses flat against him, the resulting warm pulse of his aura makes her feel dizzy all over again.

“Say the words,” Lucifer murmurs. “At any point, say the words, and I’ll stop.”

Charlie’s voice catches at first, but her words are strong when she finally swallows and locks eyes with him. “Don’t stop.”

Is she wet? If she isn’t already, she’s going to be pretty soon, because Lucifer leans down again and kisses her like he’s been dying for it, his thigh shifting up between her legs until she can feel the press of it against her and he’s basically holding himself over her body, boxing her in despite being smaller than her. Even just kissing has her feeling like she wants to roll her hips down into him, his mouth hot and his hand sliding down to stroke a long line of fiery sensation along the outside of her thigh.

Lucifer breaks away from the kiss, swiping his tongue across his lower lip in a way that has to be fucking purposeful, staring down at her with the red of his eyes bright and burning against the gold. “I want to finger you so bad right now.”

“Motherfucker,” Charlie squeaks as something between her legs clenches, and then she realizes that’s not really an answer and nods quickly. “Yeah, uh-huh. Please, that— yes.”

“Not right this second,” Lucifer chastises gently, oh-so-fond. “I want you to be ready for it.”

Charlie has really never considered herself someone that’s particularly submissive, but the way he says those words is making her wonder if she should maybe give it a shot. She nods again before really realizing what she’s doing, grabbing his collar to pull him into another kiss and winding the fingers of her other hand into the pillowcase beneath her head. His hand has slipped up under her shirt, the tips of his claws over her stomach, her nipples feeling hot and sensitive and her chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths whenever she pulls away.

Lucifer’s hands raised her.

Lucifer’s hands are about to be inside her.

“Fuck,” Charlie gasps, and everything tightens again, arousal dragging itself down her spine and making her realize that her panties are already damp. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

The desperation that tugs at her feels wild and half-crazed, like this is going to end at any moment, like whatever spell they’re under will be broken and they’ll pull away and realize just what they’re doing. Charlie’s hips press down into Lucifer’s thigh and the shock it sends through her is so electric that she whines. She wants his fingers inside her, his tongue, would happily let him fuck her just as long as she can keep feeling like she is now, aching and warm and wound tight like her clothes are too small. Her own leg is fitted between Lucifer’s, her shorts riding up so she can feel the warmth there against her bare skin, and the knowledge that he’s getting off on this just as much as she is makes her moan all by itself.

“You make such beautiful noises,” Lucifer whispers, biting her bottom lip so, so carefully, not enough to break skin but enough to feel the points of his fangs and the threat of blood. “Will you make noises like that when you cum on my fingers?”

200 years of living in Hell, and that’s the most sinful thing Charlie has ever heard, his voice dropping into something low and rich as he leans down to lick right beneath her jaw where her pulse pounds hot and wild beneath her skin. The sound she makes is high and reedy, absolutely not attractive in the slightest, but she still feels Lucifer grin, his hand pulling back out from under her shirt in a slow, teasing drag before he reaches down to cup between her legs, pressing through the fabric of her shorts and underwear. If her panties were wet before, they feel downright soaked now, her folds lighting up with a shower of sparks at the touch. Has she ever been this wet? She’s sure she must have, but it seems hard to believe.

“Oh, fuck,” Charlie whimpers, and her hips grind down into his hand, biting her lip and letting her head fall back. “Dad—”

It should feel wrong to say that when she’s desperately trying to hump his hand, and in a way, it does. But it also sends a wonderful rush of fire through her, especially when he makes a choked off little moan and nips at her throat.

“You can leave marks,” Charlie says deliriously, before she really realizes she’s doing it. “Please leave marks. Fuck, please, Dad, please, please finger me, I’m so fucking wet—”

She’s never called anyone anything like that in bed before — her boyfriends weren’t daddy by any means, and her girlfriends weren’t into it, and really, neither was she. But hearing that word fall into the overheated air between them makes her throb as she spreads her legs a little wider, something about the sheer wrongness of it going straight to her clit and making her whine again when she cants her hips against his hand.

Charlie’s not upset at all when he curses softly and then, without another word, her shorts are suddenly gone, leaving her in just a pair of plain gray underwear and her shirt, hiked up to expose her midsection as Lucifer rubs two fingers down the line of her through her underwear.

“Yeah, you are…” Lucifer sounds breathless, almost awestruck, and when she meets his eyes, she swears they’ve darkened, rosewood on goldenrod. “You really are perfect, Charlie.”

She’s about to mutter something fond about how he’s one to talk, but the words have barely reached her tongue when she remembers something that she should have remembered a lot earlier. “Oh, crap.”

Lucifer’s entire demeanor changes, his hand going to her thigh, knitting his brows as he looks down at her. “What’s wrong?”

Charlie’s face burns, feeling humiliated just having to admit it, and she stares past him to the darkness of the canopy as she reminds herself that they are both adults who know how bodies work. “Ah, it’s…been a while since I shaved.”

Lucifer blinks slowly, reptilian and confused. “...That’s it?”

“Well, some people…” Charlie starts, but she trails off at Lucifer’s exasperated eye roll.

“Some people are jerks.” He kisses her, very tenderly, on the forehead. “Charlie, my sweet girl, I can assure you there were no razors in the Garden of Eden. Hair, no hair, anything in between. It doesn't bother me. I adore every part of you, no matter what.”

Charlie doesn’t know why that’s as arousing as it is. She does know that it makes her love him even more, and she pulls him into a real kiss, feeling him smile as she manages to mumble, “I guess I should have figured you wouldn’t care.”

“And even if I did,” Lucifer says, with a final parting nip to the corner of her mouth, “I want you so badly right now that I’d probably just ignore it.”

Charlie could choke on the moan that rises from her chest, that desperate franticity coming right back and making her want to splay herself out and just let him fucking have her. The anxiety drains away, chased off by the heat that comes rushing back as soon as he says something as hot as that. As far as she’s concerned, all that matters right now is their pleasure. She reaches for his wrist, closing her fingers around it and waiting for a second. When he doesn’t resist, she guides it to the hem of her underwear, pressing into the heat of his aura with trust and want.

“Please.”

The first slide of Lucifer’s fingers against her clit makes her hips jerk, instinctively biting her lip to hold in a noise before he tsks admonishingly and distracts her with a kiss. There’s a moment of panic — claws! — but then she realizes that she can’t feel them at all. It’s like they’re not even there as he strokes over the hot little bud right at the top of her folds, moving down to rub over her entrance but never quite going deeper.

Charlie squirms, bringing one knee up, turning her head just enough to nose at his temple as she gasps out, “I’m gonna fucking cum if you keep playing with me like that.”

“That’s the goal, sweetheart,” Lucifer purrs, voice like warm honey right into the cradle of her hips. “Unless you really want to stop at one.”

Charlie did have something good to say to that, but then he does something that makes her feel like her clit’s being sucked at, her back arching to press her hips into the pleasure as she groans, pulling him into another kiss and muffling her next humiliating noise into his eager mouth. It’s too fucking much, this is the first time she’s had sex in…uh, a while, and it’s with him, of all the people to do it with.

But it’s good, it’s mind blowing, and she can lose herself in the pleasure as he dips his fingers back down to slide two between her folds, the sound of her own wetness making her cheeks and chest burn. She shifts her arm to curl it around his back, clinging on as he swipes up and down, getting closer to her clit every time, pleasure building along with the anticipation and her hips rocking up into his hand until finally he rubs one, two firm circles over it—

“Cum,” Lucifer whispers, and there’s one more confident, sure press against her clit.

Charlie’s body obeys. The moan that spills from her throat is so loud that she surprises herself, throwing her head back as the pressure inside her snaps into liquid heat. She’s grinding into him, chasing the pleasure that floods her and makes her spread her legs even further while she clings tight to him and her cunt spasms under his hand. He raised her, he’s her dad, he’s her father, and Charlie whimpers out little broken noises of shameful pleasure as she feels him massage over her folds until her hips finally fall still and she’s left breathing heavily against the bed, pulse pounding between her legs.

“There you go,” Lucifer soothes, voice steady in her ear, a little hoarse at the edges. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“That’s just unfair,” Charlie chokes, blinking hard, and a strangled keening noise escapes her as the hot, slick pads of his fingers brush across her oversensitive clit. “Oh, God.” A beat of realization. “Shit, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Lucifer says. “I find the thought of Them knowing about this very entertaining.”

Charlie’s startled giggle quickly turns into a moan when the tips of his fingers find her entrance, barely down to the first knuckle, two at once making her realize just how wet she really is. She must be quite the sight right now — her shirt rucked up to her ribcage, her legs splayed, underneath Lucifer with his hand down her panties making her feel like most of her blood is between her legs. The sensation of him pressing a little deeper doesn’t do anything to change her mind about that, and her head falls back again as she moans, squirming, her skin sticky with sweat and catching her hair against her cheek as Lucifer purrs approvingly, rocking the heel of his palm against her clit when he’s settled his fingers inside her down as far as they can go.

“Good girl, good girl,” Lucifer praises, and he sounds breathless, which is…both flattering and adorable. He mutters something in Enochian that Charlie’s pretty sure is a swear word, then kisses her temple and whispers, “Do you like this?”

“Uh-huh,” Charlie moans, giving a short, quick nod, and she feels like she might be in danger of choking on her own tongue when he crooks his fingers inside her and pushes his palm against her clit again. “Yes, yes, fuck yes, please keep doing that, oh fuck that feels so good.”

Charlie’s pretty sure that not even her underwear can save the sheets from how wet she is, especially not when Lucifer works right up into her sweet spot and she can hear the slick, obscene noises of his movements. Out, in, sliding over the little point of sensitivity, her hips moving of their own volition to fuck down into his hand, digging her claws into his back through his shirt and shamelessly whimpering out little begging noises until he kisses her again, hot and heavy.

His aura is bleeding into every one of her senses, crackling with arousal and twining around her own to make every sensation feel ten times stronger. It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before, and she gives in to the instinct to pull one knee up even farther and arch her back, the change in angle nearly making her yelp against Lucifer’s mouth, her eyes suddenly feeling hot and prickly with overstimulated tears from the force of the love-lust-protectiveness that’s winding through every fiber of her being.

Charlie feels like she’s going to go crazy if she doesn’t keep a hold of something, and her hand finds his hair, burying her fingers in the soft blonde and holding on for dear life. She can feel herself being pulled closer and closer, his palm against her clit and his fingers inside her as she clenches tight, spasms running down her spine.

“I love you,” Charlie says when she pulls away to gasp in a breath, voice cracking from the pleasure. “I love you—”

“I love you too,” Lucifer whispers, and she knows he means it. “My beautiful Charlie. You’re so good, sweetheart. You’re so good. I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ll take care of you, it’s okay, just relax, baby.”

Charlie doesn’t know why she sobs, the sound cracked and desperate, but she tries to obey, giving herself up to the feeling of delirious euphoria, a shudder rolling down her spine as Lucifer makes a pleased noise and rewards her with a kiss.

“Good girl.” Lucifer’s voice is all rasp, all serpent, all Devil. “Relax, I’m right here, I’ve got you. I love you, I’m right here.”

Charlie wails when she cums, hips rolling on Lucifer’s hand and claws in his back, everything inside her feeling like it’s been turned into molten lava. The rush of ecstasy that overtakes her is so overwhelming that she’s sobbing for real, his aura a feedback loop that’s about to fry her brain. It feels so good that she thinks she might get addicted to it. Through it all, there’s love, strong enough to make her cry, big, messy tears from her eyes as she gasps, holding on to him for support, knowing he’s saying something but not being able to register it beyond an instinctive sense of warmth and safety.

It’s minutes later when she finally manages to get her brain working and remember such basic things as her name and what she’s doing. Lucifer’s still leaning over her, but he’s taken his hand from between her legs and must have magicked it clean, too, because it feels dry where he’s gently swiping little strokes over her hip bone. When he meets her eyes, he smiles.

“You okay?” Lucifer asks softly. “That felt a little intense.”

“I am…” Charlie’s voice is rough, and she clears her throat and swallows as she thinks of what she is, actually. Exhausted, wrung out, sticky, sweaty, out of breath — they could all apply, and apply very well. “Amazing.”

“Good,” Lucifer says, and he wipes a tear from her face. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Charlie hums, content for now, nuzzling his hand and letting him dry her face, but then a thought occurs to her dopamine-soaked brain. “Wait, what about you?”

Lucifer shrugs. “If that’s something that you’d like to do, sure. But I don’t ever want you to think that I only have sex because I expect something out of it. I have sex because it’s fun, and because you are the prettiest thing that I’ve ever seen when you’re moaning.”

“Even when I’m apparently bawling my eyes out?” Charlie asks, with an embarrassed little grin.

Lucifer gives a fondly amused huff. “As long as it’s in pleasure, yes, absolutely.”

Charlie allows herself another moment, then cautiously stretches, feeling pleasantly worn-out like after a good workout, and quickly becomes aware that Lucifer is still straddling her thigh. Would she like to do something about that? She very much would.

“I’d like to,” Charlie says, and she hates how shy she suddenly feels. Stop walking on eggshells. “What do you like?”

“I…” Lucifer starts, then he pauses. “Well, it’s…been a bit, except for…the obvious. But that’s fine, I—I just think—”

“Dad.” Charlie waits until he looks at her. “We don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Lucifer snaps, and then he winces. “I’m sorry. That— I’m sorry. You’re not doing anything wrong. I just…it’s easy when it’s someone other than me, but then it’s me, and it’s… I really want to. I just don’t…”

The silence stretches out, and then Lucifer swallows and drops his head.

“I don’t know if I know how anymore. When it’s me. I don’t know how.”

Charlie hesitates, then pushes herself up against the pillows to sit up, watching as he does the same. She doesn’t want to just brush it off, because if he wants to at least try, doesn’t he deserve that chance? She’s always thought of healing as therapy sessions and worksheets…but maybe this is healing too. Maybe this is his healing.

“That’s okay.” Charlie kisses Lucifer’s cheek as she pulls him close. “Maybe…maybe you could tell me what you don’t want to do.”

Lucifer hums out a strained note. “...Sure. I…don’t want…to, um…” His hand goes to his forearm; Charlie catches it and his other one in her own and holds them still, making him start and look down, then back up at her, looking a little ashamed. “...No penetration. At least, not right now, maybe—”

“Hey,” Charlie says gently, stopping him before he can get going and squeezing his hands. “You don’t have to explain it to me or put conditions on it. It’s okay. Anything you don’t want to do, you don’t want to do. Simple as that.”

Lucifer taught her that. Not in this context, obviously, but he made it clear to her as a child that she shouldn’t tolerate people touching her without permission. Knowing everything she knows now makes those conversations feel…much more depressing, in hindsight. She doubts he’d be okay with letting anyone forcing her to do what he’s doing right now.

Healing, Charlie reminds herself.

“Okay,” Lucifer says again, and then he nods. “Okay.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and something seems to light up in his eyes, some of the awkward darkness ebbing from his expression. “Could I… This might be weird.”

Well, that’s…promising? Worrying? Charlie’s not sure. She raises her eyebrows, silently telling him to go on.

“It might just… Stop me. If you want. Just, tell me to stop, and I will.” Lucifer moves back into her lap, straddling her thigh again, and, oh, Charlie thinks she gets the concept. He looks at her, eyes wide and unsure — the complete opposite of before. “Is this okay?”

“Very okay,” Charlie says, and she reaches up to put her hands on his waist, letting him settle himself.

He barely looks disheveled, the only evidence of their previous activities being his tousled hair, and Charlie can’t help but trace a hand along his back, feeling the way he shivers and rocks his hips down at even that slight touch. He’s still wearing his shorts, but she swears she can still feel dampness between his legs, his skin burning against hers where they’re riding up around his pale thighs, and Charlie realizes that she really wants those same thighs around her head one day.

Lucifer moans sharply when she shifts just enough to meet him on his next motion down, then he hisses and bites his lip, closing his eyes tight as he reaches up to cover his mouth with his hand. Charlie wishes she could just pull it away, but instead she holds him closer so their chests are pressed together, managing to focus enough to send what she hopes comes across as love and safety over her aura.

“You can be as loud as you want,” Charlie whispers, trying not to make him feel forced. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

“I know,” Lucifer manages, but it doesn’t sound like he does, not entirely. “I—” He chokes his moan back at first, then shudders again and drops his head against her shoulder, fisting his hands into her shirt and panting out a high, beautiful noise on his next thrust down. “I forgot how— good it feels, actually, on— hah—”

He’s grinding against her leg in earnest now, fast and quick, and there’s a little spike of something ancient and powerful in his frequencies as he gasps. It takes her a second to realize what’s changed, but once he raises his head slightly, seemingly just as caught off-guard as she is, she sees it very quickly. His horns have taken their place on his forehead, his tail stretching out from the base of his spine, and Charlie realizes that maybe her girlfriends had a point about her demon form being cute.

Lucifer falters, glancing up as if he can see the horns and sighing. “I’m sorry. I’ll put them—”

“It’s okay. I like them.” Charlie leans in to kiss right at the base of one of them where she knows for sure she’s sensitive and imagines he is, too, and she’s rewarded with a full-body shudder. “It’s okay if you’d like to keep them out.”

Lucifer stares at her like she’s promised him everything. He really is beautiful, handsome, every other word she can think of — his legs around her thigh, his hair falling around his face, the red of his horns against his pale skin. Then his face breaks into a smile, and he leans forward, settling his head on her shoulder again as he brings one arm up to wrap it around her neck. Charlie strokes along his back again, carefully avoiding the space right at the base of his spine where his tail is, deceptively thin with a wicked sharp tip.

“You can touch my tail,” Lucifer says, like he knows what she’s thinking, and his next words are shaky. “Just be gentle.”

“I will,” Charlie promises, dropping one hand to his hips to steady his weight as she slides the other one down to stroke over the smooth, almost scaly skin that covers his tail.

Lucifer’s noise is wounded, but the way he grinds hard into her thigh tells her that she probably shouldn’t stop. Tails are sensitive, especially near where they join the body; Charlie knows this from experience. She gently rubs her fingers over it, then, carefully, drags two of her claws from a few inches down all the way up to where it meets his spine.

“Charlie!” Lucifer’s body jerks, his thighs squeezing around hers. “Oh, fuck, Charlie—”

“You’re doing so well,” is what comes out of Charlie’s mouth, and she feels a hot rush of gratification at the way he moans. She’s never really been the best at dirty talk, even less so when she feels as unsure of herself as she does now, but something tells her she’s on the right track, and she wets her lips before rubbing circles right where she can feel the muscles of his tail flexing as it twitches, agitated in his arousal. “You’re so pretty like this. I’ve got you, I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”

The feeling of his movements getting frantic and jerky is as satisfying as the orgasms he gave her, and she feels him shudder again, his hips bucking, his moan muffled only slightly by her shirt as he whimpers, sounding like he’s crying, “Please, please, please, please—”

Charlie would give him the world when he begs like that. “Good, you’re doing good, I’m so proud of you, I want you to cum for me, okay?”

One last drag of the tips of her claws up the base of his tail and Lucifer moans like he’s been shot, his movements going jerky and uncontrolled as he spasms. He’s panting open-mouthed and hot into her shirt, his tail whipping from side to side, and watching it, feeling it on top of her, is good. Knowing that she made him feel like that? Even better.

Eventually, Lucifer slumps, breathing heavily and power throbbing fast and hard against his ribcage where he’s laying against Charlie. After a few moments, he pulls himself away and flops onto his side, folding one arm up under his head as he stares up at Charlie.

“Wow.” Lucifer’s flushed gold from the roots of his hair all the way down into the collar of his shirt, and it’s an adorable look on him.

“Yeah, wow,” Charlie agrees, feeling that sentiment all the way down to her core. Then she moves and realizes that the sentiment that she actually feels down to her core, right now, is a shower. And clean sheets. And clean clothes. “Ugh... I’m a mess.”

Lucifer’s face brightens considerably. “Oh, right.”

He snaps, and in the space of a second, Charlie’s clothes and skin and the sheets underneath her are clean and dry once again.

“That is infuriatingly handy.” Charlie asks with a groan, flopping down next to him and wishing she had that for all the times she’s taken bone-tired showers after someone made her cum her brains out. “Can you teach me that trick?”

Lucifer waits until Charlie’s settled before happily curling around her. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Charlie huffs. Despite the spell cleaning her off, she’s still sore in that good, satisfying way, still filled with the afterglow — but that doesn’t compare to Lucifer, who literally has an afterglow. His aura has gone warm and bright, outlining him in radiance, and he hasn’t yet glamored his horns again. Whatever Charlie was going to say leaves her head, and all she can think of is: I’m so glad we did that. I’m so glad we have this.

“Rest,” Lucifer says, with a fond smile. “Whatever you’re thinking of, it can wait.”

Yeah. It probably can. Not that Charlie’s really inclined to think about anything more complicated than cuddling with him right now, anyways. Lucifer’s smile grows soft, and he leans over to kiss her on the brow.

“Goodnight,” Lucifer whispers.

“G’night,” Charlie mumbles, and then she’s out.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Charlie does not want to get up.

She doesn’t even really want to move, honestly. Lucifer is laying halfway on top of her, looking soft and peaceful in sleep. At some point, she kicked the sheets down, and now they tangle around their legs. The downside to sleeping next to a very warm angel, Charlie reflects, is that sometimes the angel is too warm. Still, she wouldn’t trade it for anything, and she raises a hand to absentmindedly pet Lucifer’s hair, stroking the mussed blonde strands back as she closes her eyes and takes a slow, deep breath.

Well. She’s had mornings after that have felt a lot worse than this. She expected to feel guilty and ashamed, and…yeah, she kind of does, but… Not as strongly as she feared. What is there to be guilty about? Lucifer was into it, she was into it, they had a good time. Such a good time, in fact, that Charlie is honestly willing to just stay here for…at least a couple hours. Possibly the rest of the morning.

…Possibly the rest of the day.

Lucifer stirs under her hand, his body flexing in a slow, languid stretch like a snake uncoiling, but he keeps his head down. Charlie feels a smile sneak onto her face at the way he wraps his arms a little tighter around her. She clings, too. Her first girlfriend always teased her about it. It’s cute, and a little funny, to know that she comes by it honestly.

“Good morning,” Charlie says, still somewhat in awe of how soft Lucifer’s hair is.

Lucifer sighs, not unhappily, and she opens her eyes to see that he’s turned his head to face her, still laying across her and looking very comfortable right where he is. When he sees her looking, he smiles.

“About as good as you can get down here, yeah.”

Charlie closes her eyes again to prevent herself from making a very embarrassing noise. “Okay, you need to stop being so sweet. I can’t take it. You’re going to kill me.”

“Everyone knows I’m the sweetest guy around.” Lucifer sounds very serious. “That’s what they all say. ‘Lucifer Morningstar, famous for being sweet and lovely.’”

“Oh? Sorry, I must have skipped over that part.” Charlie snickers. “Maybe I read a different translation.”

“You must have. Everyone knows that I’m a real gentleman.” Lucifer pauses, then, softer, “And I’ve got some time to catch up on. Besides, I want to…”

“Want to what?” Charlie asks when he doesn’t continue, folding one arm beneath her head to look at him.

“Nevermind. Not important.” Lucifer smiles, but something feels a little hollow about it. “It’s okay, I promise. Sometimes I just say things. I do so love to hear myself talk.”

“...Okay,” Charlie says, drawing it out, and she frowns. “You could tell me, you know. You can tell me anything.”

Lucifer blinks. “I know.”

The way that her hand finds his seems automatic, linking their fingers together loosely like puzzle pieces that fit together just right. Charlie looks at him just a moment longer, letting his aura wash over her, all gentle affection and something protective and fierce that she’s come to realize is almost always there, layered under everything else like the foundation upon which all of it is built. Carefully, with the hand not holding his, she reaches up to trace a line down his face, so similar to hers. His is narrower, sharper, missing the softness in her cheeks, but the bones beneath are the same. Sometimes, looking at him feels like looking in a mirror.

Even still, there’s something ethereal about him, even when his horns are hidden and his wings are safely tucked away into invisibility. He’s perfect, not born but designed, brought into existence to be the picture of flawless holiness. The most beautiful Seraph to ever exist, and he’s here, laying across her, his eyes half-closed and a little smile playing at his mouth as she gently tries to pet the curls of hair that fall over his cheeks into some semblance of order. She doesn’t know how he does it…

“Do you want to talk about last night?” Lucifer asks, after a while of silence.

Charlie’s moved to carefully tracing the bones of his spine through his shirt. “Do you?”

“Not particularly.” Lucifer sighs into her chest. “But if I’m reading you right, you very badly do.”

Charlie frowns. Well, she doesn’t appreciate that insinuation. The hurt feeling is only compounded by the immediate flash of uneasiness that turns her blood cold — did he not enjoy it? Was he faking it? It didn’t seem like he was faking it, but… Did she force him into something he didn’t want to do? She pushes herself up on her elbows to look down at him.

“You…didn’t like it?”

“Quite the opposite. It was delightful.” Lucifer allows her to sit up, shifting so he’s laying on his side facing her. “Which is why I don’t want to overanalyze it.”

That is…a very Lucifer thing to say, Charlie thinks, going off what she’s learned in recent days. Afraid that if he looks the gift warhorse in the mouth, everything will get taken away. Yeah, Charlie can read him, too, now that she knows what to look for.

“No overanalyzing,” Charlie says. “Just healthy communication. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Lucifer’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You think I’m embarrassed?”

Nope, wrong thing to say. Charlie backtracks with, “No, I just think that it can be embarrassing, and it shouldn’t be.” A little better, but she doesn’t think she’s making much progress. “I do this with everyone, you know. It’s not just you.”

“Oh, good,” Lucifer deadpans.

“But it is important for you. For— us,” Charlie corrects, because it’s true. “I don’t think you’re embarrassed. I think you’re stubborn and prideful—”

“What? Me? Prideful? Never.”

“—and that you’ve been dealing with a lot of really awful emotions on your own for 200 years. Actually, scratch that, make it ten thousand.” The way his jaw tightens makes Charlie wince internally, but it does signal that she’s on the right track. “You don’t want to be treated like glass. So I won’t. When I have a sexual partner, I expect them to communicate. I think you could appreciate that doubly so, considering who you’re sleeping with.”

Lucifer blinks slowly at her, something assessing in his eyes, and Charlie wonders, very briefly, if maybe she just crossed a line. Then he smiles.

“Good job.”

Charlie’s relief is a little nausea inducing, something inside her still hating the feeling of pushing back against anyone — and she kind of regrets pulling the daughter card, on second thought. “Wait, was that some kind of test, or something?”

“No, I just like seeing you assert yourself. And not in any kind of ooh, sexy woman way,” Lucifer says. “I’m proud of you for being able to do that.”

Wow. He is good at this. Charlie can appreciate that, but gets back to her point. “Nice try with the redirection, there.”

“Guilty,” Lucifer sing-songs, then he sighs and closes his eyes for a long few seconds. “Okay, alright. I understand what you’re saying. That’s just…not how I think about it.” Anticipating her comeback, he quickly adds, “And that’s not how I thought about it before Adam, either.”

“For the record, I do get it.” Charlie rests her elbow on her knee and props her chin up in her palm. “It’s really hard for me to bring it up without actually ever having had sex with someone. Mostly because I’m never actually sure if someone is really interested in me or if they’re just being nice and humoring me or if they just want something quick or if they actually want something serious, you know?” She thinks for a moment. “But then, once they actually, you know… Once we get into it, it’s like the ice is broken. And it’s fine, and then I could talk about it all day.”

“Mm.” Lucifer thinks for a moment. “I guess I just got used to Lilith and I knowing each other so well. We were together for thousands of years. We just…didn’t need to talk, because we were so good at picking up on each other’s signals. I mean, when you’re around someone that much, that long…”

Charlie wouldn’t know, but she sees how it makes sense. She can’t imagine knowing someone that long — even him, the person she’s known for her whole life, is a measly little 200 years. The order of magnitude between her and Lucifer versus Lilith and Lucifer is so large as to be absurdly hilarious.

“Well,” Charlie says, thoughtful. “You’ll learn me. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Eternity, in fact,” Lucifer agrees, and his grin returns. “Or at least until my dear old Father decides They want to wipe the slate clean and start over.”

Charlie nods in mock agreement, deciding to take the joke instead of letting herself think about that frightening possibility. “Of course, of course. Which will hopefully not be soon.”

Charlie intends to let Lucifer learn her very well, which would have been a disturbing thought approximately a week ago but is now very comfortably settled somewhere in the intersection of very sweet and a little arousing. And in return, of course, she hopes to become as familiar with his body as he’s willing to let her. Charlie’s girlfriends did tell her she had quite the talent for eating someone out…

“Hopefully not.” Lucifer’s eyes gleam as he shifts slightly, one hand coming up to rest on Charlie’s knee with his fingers splayed over her thigh, a gesture that would look innocently absentminded if not for the way the tip of one obsidian claw traces carefully along the hem of her shorts. “And while we’re on the subject of learning, I consider myself a very good student.”

Charlie snickers, fully ready to let him drag her into round two, already halfway leaning down to get closer to him. Then something clicks back into place in her brain and she gasps, sitting straight up.

“Oh, fuck! What day is it?!”

Lucifer blinks, obviously taken off guard, and opens his mouth before pausing and closing it like he’s not actually sure, either. Charlie doesn’t give him a chance to answer before she’s scrambling for her phone and turning it on. As soon as she sees the time and date, she heaves a sigh of relief.

“Crisis averted.” Charlie looks back to find Lucifer still staring at her, obviously wondering what she’s talking about.. “I have to go to class.”

“Oh.” Lucifer thinks for a second, like he’s counting the days. “Huh. You had me worried. Do you want me to portal you?”

“No, it’s okay.” Charlie checks the time again. She still has a little over half an hour. “I just have to make sure I have everything, then I’ll get a ride.”

Lucifer shrugs. “Alright, whatever you say.”

Charlie pushes herself off the bed, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead and feeling more than a little sad at having to leave. But, then again, she’s been spending basically all her time with him for, like, a week. Getting out of the palace will probably be good for her. Unlike Lucifer, Charlie does start going a little stir-crazy if she stays cooped up for too long.

“I’ll be back this afternoon,” Charlie says, grabbing her phone and starting toward her room to get dressed in real clothes.

“You better be, young lady,” Lucifer calls after her.

Charlie rolls her eyes, but smiles, and she’s still grinning when she slings her bag over her shoulders and pushes the front doors of the palace open.

***

The chatter of people filing out of the Linguistics classroom and heading down the stairs fills the vaulted ceiling as Charlie follows the group, past the glass cases filled with ancient grimoires, stone tablets, and parchments. She pauses briefly at the message board by the door — there’s a new flier up, announcing the date of this year’s Aeternus Gala. It’s held every year, mostly for the graduating class, a night of dancing and, in Charlie’s experience, very awkward socializing. She went last year, dragged along by an acquaintance who promised everyone would love her…and then promptly wandered away from Charlie and left her with the musicians. They were nice, so it wasn’t a total loss, but…still.

Charlie thinks for a second, then pulls out her phone and snaps a photo of the flier so she’ll have it. Who knows? Maybe she’ll go this year. It is her last year at the Academy, after all. She tucks her phone back into the pocket of her slacks and shoulders the doors open, trotting down the steps and starting through the courtyard towards the front gates.

“Hey, Charlie!”

Charlie stops, turning to face the demon jogging to catch up with her. The girl is tall, with an athletic build not unlike Charlie, clutching her messenger bag with her paw-like hands to stop it from bouncing too much. Her long mane of curly ginger hair is tied up in a high ponytail, a few curls coming out to blend into the fluff at the base of the lion ears on her head. Charlie recognizes her instantly: Marigold Goetia, better known as Mari, the granddaughter of Duke Allocer. Charlie likes her, which is an improvement from having a hopeless crush on her their first year together.

“Hi, Mari,” Charlie greets her, waiting until her fellow student has caught up to start walking again, heading towards the front gates. “How are you?”

“Can’t complain,” Mari replies. “You?”

Charlie thinks of the past few days and smiles. “Good.”

“That’s good. You stay in Pride for the Exterminations, don’t you?” Mari asks, lowering her voice as they pass by a little trio of first-years comparing notes. “I heard the last one was brutal. Like, 10% of the population gone type brutal, according to the Overlords.”

Well, there goes that good mood. Charlie frowns, and now that she knows it’s there, she can feel her aura shift to bitter darkness and anger. Mari, of course, doesn’t feel any of that.

“Yeah, I…I stay here.” Charlie stares ahead, suddenly desperately wishing that she was back in the palace and had Lucifer close to her. Little does anyone know that the Sinners aren’t the only ones facing the brutality of Adam and his legions…

“Brave,” Mari says, as if Charlie is personally putting herself at risk like the hundreds of thousands of Sinners who spend the six hours in fear. “And I saw that apparently you and your dad are talking again.”

That brings Charlie up short, shaking her from her bitterness about the Exterminations. “What?”

Mari reaches for her phone, opens it, and swipes to a new tab before holding it out and showing Charlie one of Hell’s so-called news sites. The heading photo is a slightly blurry image that was obviously taken from when Charlie and Lucifer went flying, probably snapped from one of the buildings they passed — Lucifer’s got that look of wild glee and Charlie looks like she’s laughing, clinging to him tightly as the red undersides of his wings gleam like the iridescence of an oil-slicked puddle in the brief snapshot. It’s…a really nice image, actually, and Charlie makes a mental note of the headline to find it later before Mari pulls her phone back.

…That explains the looks, Charlie thinks, recalling the sidelong glances from a few of her classmates as she walked around campus today. It’s been…a while since Lucifer was seen outside of the palace. Or seen at all, really.

“I remember you saying that you and him weren’t very close.” Mari’s tone isn’t accusing, exactly; more like cautiously nosey. “And, you know, I’m not calling you a liar…but I’d have to be pretty close with someone to let them fly me around like that.”

“No, it’s… we weren’t, really.” Charlie huffs out a half-hearted laugh, hoping that Mari can’t hear the guilt in her voice. “At least for a while. After I moved out, I could probably count the times we talked on one hand. But we…we had a conversation, and I think I realized just how much I missed him.”

“You and your second chances,” Mari says drily. “But whatever, far be it from me to question the princess and the king…” She waits for a moment, then seems to shake herself. “Anyways. You took PSYCH201 last term, right?”

Charlie’s still thinking fondly of flying with Lucifer, and she comes back to herself a moment later than she should. “Uh, yeah.”

“Fantastic. Okay, so, you know that guest seminar that they always do? The Freud-Jung one?” Mari reaches into her bag and pulls out a little flier for said seminar. “I’m taking it this term, and they did it again, but I missed it, and all my friends take absolutely shit notes, like, it’s not even funny how bad their handwriting is, so I was wondering if I could just borrow yours, maybe? I think they’d be handy for a paper I’m writing.”

“Oh, um…sure.” Charlie veers off towards one of the little stone walls around a building, setting her bag down and pulling out her binder. “I think I still have them somewhere…”

“Nice pen choice,” Mari says, looking over Charlie’s pages of notes written in magenta glitter gel pen.

“Thanks. They were old-fashioned to the point of bemoaning the lack of fountain pens in the classroom,” Charlie replies. “Honestly, you might be glad you missed it. Those guys were…strange.”

“That’s what my friends said.” Mari scoffs. “Like, talking about all these weird stages and shit. Wait a second: he’s the penis envy guy, right? And, like, girls want to fuck their dads because they’re jealous of their dicks? Sidenote: if I had to hear a guy that old say the words penis envy, I’d probably cut my ears off.”

Oh, bad, bad, bad, holy fuck this is awkward. Charlie has to suppress a hysterical urge to throw something at Mari and flee for the wasteland. “I, um, can’t remember, exactly.”

“Probably a self-defense mechanism,” Mari says drily, and she doesn’t seem to see the way Charlie’s hands shake a little as she gives her the notes. “It makes me shudder and I wasn’t even there. The cousin marriages in my family are weird enough; wanting to fuck your parents is crazy person behavior.”

“Yep,” is the best Charlie can come up with, and then she laughs nervously. “Sorry, I have to go, uh…I have a ride to catch.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep you.” Mari smiles brightly and tucks the notes away. “Thanks for the notes, Charlie. I’ll see you around. Good luck with your dad, I guess?”

“Thanks, um…happy to help,” Charlie squeaks, and then she walks away as fast as she dares without drawing attention to herself, keeping her head down so no one sees the flush in her cheeks.

Yikes. Charlie practically throws herself into the backseat of her ride when she reaches the front drive of the Academy, wishing that she had taken Lucifer up on his offer of a portal. She’s glad when the driver reacts only with a surprised eyebrow raise and a moment of blinking but otherwise says nothing, just starts the car and pulls away, heading through the spiky badlands on the highway that leads into Pentagram City.

Charlie sighs and lets her head fall against the window, able to tolerate her racing thoughts for only a few moments before she admits defeat and reaches for her phone, pulling up her music app and scrolling with one hand as she digs out her earbuds from her bag with the other. Being alone with her thoughts right now isn’t a pleasant prospect, especially not with Mari’s reminder of the Extermination — and everything afterwards, too.

Wanting to fuck your parents is crazy person behavior. Charlie bites her lip, trying not to tear up with the humiliation of it. Isn’t her and Lucifer’s happiness the only thing that matters? If that’s true, then why does she care what other people think? Especially some random princess of the Goetia, who, yeah, actually, now that she’s thinking about it, have absolutely married into each other to…keep the families pure, or something. Now that’s shudder-inducing.

Royalty sucks, Charlie thinks, and she picks the playlist labeled Melancholy Mix — lots of Petal Mask, Avery Cotton, and Coalfire is what they’ve given her today — and puts it on shuffle, keeping one earbud out just in case as she leans her head against the window again.

What could anyone do about it? Lucifer is the king, an incredibly powerful fallen angel, the one who created this whole realm. Nobody can stop him from doing anything. Which really makes Charlie appreciate how lucky everyone, including herself, is that he’s the person he is. What if he was more like all the stories say he is? What if he was more like Adam?

Charlie sighs, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if shaking the thoughts away. It doesn’t matter what other people think. She imagines most of the Sinners wouldn’t care, because…well, they’re in Hell. End of the line, as they say, though Charlie hopes it isn’t. They’re criminals, murderers. It doesn’t mean they don’t still deserve some empathy and support, but it does mean that they don’t really have a leg to stand on and moralize about Lucifer and her. The Hellborns… Well, the older of the Ars Goetia wouldn’t care — the dukes, the kings, so on and so forth. The younger, all of their children and grandchildren…

The younger ones don’t really matter, Charlie thinks, then amends, in terms of power. And you could get them to come around.

The imps have enough to worry about, and they barely even acknowledge Lucifer as their king, anyways; they’re Satan’s, really. And speaking of him, he and the other Sins probably would sooner encourage it than discourage. Just look at Ozzie.

So…what? Some Princes and Princesses of the Goetia? Those are the only ones who would care? Is that really worth feeling humiliated and ashamed over? Probably not. Charlie’s living her life, and her life includes Lucifer.

“The planets never quite aligned,” Petal Mask sings softly in her ear, lilting and sad. “The stars weren’t ever on our side…”

Charlie glances down at her phone screen.

3:53 PM — Locked
Playing now: Wounded Pride by Petal Mask

“Oh, fuck you,” Charlie mutters, and skips the song.

***

Lucifer is in his workshop when Charlie gets back. She drops off her bag in her room, then joins him, coming up to stand at his side as he leans over his workbench, staring at a series of sketches that all look to be based off the same one, some kind of…thing that appears to be the love child of a picture frame and an hourglass.

“What’s this?” Charlie asks, leaning over to peer at it.

“Ah…nothing,” Lucifer says, and there’s almost something nervous in his voice before he clears his throat quickly. “Just ideas. Trying to find some kind of frame for a different project. I just can’t decide on which one.”

Charlie hums, examining each drawing. After a moment, she points to one that’s got little floral designs etched along the edges. Lucifer’s drawn a little box and filled it in with color on the side, arrows pointing to various parts of the etching; Charlie takes that to mean it’s inlaid with enamel, fading from a bright vermillion to a dark mahogany on the outer edges.

“I like that one,” Charlie says thoughtfully. “It’s pretty.”

“Yeah?” Lucifer asks, looking closer at it. “The etching isn’t too much?”

“Well, that depends on what’s inside it. But no, I don’t think so.” Charlie puts her hand on his shoulder, happy to have him back within her reach, and rubs gently along the little valley between his neck and his collarbone. “Branching out from ducks?”

Lucifer surveys the sketches. “...Yeah.”

There’s a lot of meaning layered into that word, exhaustion and cautious hope, his aura shaky but warm against Charlie’s, and she feels a swell of pride. He’s creating again, really, truly creating, and Charlie kisses the top of his head.

“How was your morning?” Lucifer asks when she’s pulled away, looking up at her.

“It was…fine,” Charlie hedges. She managed to put Mari’s words aside for a little while, but now that she’s next to him again…

Lucifer’s eyes narrow, protectiveness in the way he straightens his shoulders, sitting up and looking closer at her. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Charlie smiles when he continues to stare at her, obviously unconvinced. “Dad. I’m fine. I promise.” Once he seems to accept that, she shuffles some of his papers over and leans back against his workbench, her hands on the edge. “But…I was wondering… Are we ever going to…tell anyone?”

“I…guess that depends on what you want,” Lucifer says after a second, sounding like the question caught him off guard. “Because truly, Charlie, it does not matter to me what anyone else in this place thinks. They can love me or hate me, it makes no difference.” A tilt of his head. “You’re out there more than I am. You’ll bear the brunt of the reaction, whatever it is. Do you want to tell people?”

“No.” Charlie thinks. “Well, yes. I don’t know.” She pauses, then sighs heavily. “I don’t want to hide it. I mean, I don’t want to have to keep it from people, you know?”

“You don’t want me to be your dirty little secret?” Lucifer asks, every word dripping with wry amusement.

Lucifer was joking, Charlie thinks, but, honestly… “No. I don’t want that. I just…don’t know if I’m ready for what people will say.”

“I think you’re projecting a little here, sweetheart,” Lucifer says, not unkindly. At Charlie’s look, he holds up his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. You know what this place is, right? You know the kind of souls that end up here? Violent psychopaths. Sadistic murderers. Forgive me for not placing too much stake in how they feel about things.”

“Not everyone in Hell is like that,” Charlie rebukes softly, but she sees his point. “But…yeah. You’re probably right. I guess it’s just a little…”

“Shameful?” Lucifer asks, catching her eye with a soft, knowing look.

After a long moment of silence, Charlie nods and drops her head to stare at the floor.

“I don’t find you shameful.” Lucifer reaches for her hand; Charlie gladly lets him take it. “I find you wonderful. Everyone that matters to me — and that’s a short list — will understand. Everyone else can get fucked.”

“That’s…sweet?” Charlie tries. “I think. Let me think about it some more.”

“Think about it for however long you want.” Lucifer brings her hand up to kiss her knuckles again. “Nice turtleneck, by the way.”

Charlie laughs, a little abashed. “Oh. Right. Well, I’m used to marks healing in a few hours…”

When she begged Lucifer to leave marks on her neck last night, she may or may not have forgotten that everything on him is technically an angelic weapon, and was therefore surprised and more than a little flushed when she opened her phone camera to get ready today and saw the little bruises and nips all over her neck. She’s not complaining — it’s hot — but she did opt for a turtleneck instead of her usual button down, feeling more than a little self-conscious and not wanting to explain why she had angelic teeth marks in her neck.

“If you do tell anyone,” Lucifer says, like he just thought about it, “I won’t mind. I don’t care whether it’s just you and me who know, or whether it’s all of Hell that knows.”

“You, me…and Ozzie,” Charlie adds with a wry smile.

“And Ozzie.” Lucifer rolls his eyes. “He’s had his nose in my business since the moment he crawled out of the primordial soup. One more thing won’t make a difference. Do you remember that Chinese place we used to get takeout from?”

Charlie fails to see how that relates in any way to the preceding statement, and after a moment, she realizes that it probably doesn’t and Lucifer’s just doing that thing again where he changes subjects at the speed of light. “The one just into the triangle? Yeah, why?”

“I was thinking of getting it tonight,” Lucifer says. “Do you still want the same thing you used to get?”

“Uh.” Charlie thinks for a moment, pushing herself off the desk and trying to recall the specifics of her old order. “I think so. Yeah. Let me know when you’re ordering?”

He nods, turning back to his work. Alright, conversation over, apparently. Charlie’s beginning to get used to his weird quirks again. She pulls out her phone as she leaves the room, swiping to her messages and firing off a quick text.

Charlie
You free to talk? 👀

Rienne
With you? Always 😉💞

Charlie walks out onto the balcony as she dials her succubus friend’s number. It’s barely rung once before the call is picked up.

“Hey, Charlie,” Rienne says, dragging out the greeting and giggling at the end of it. “Long time, no call.”

Charlie sits down at the little table pushed back near the end of the balcony, feeling a little guilty at the truth of Rienne’s words. Part of the reason that she has so few friends is that she’s…kind of bad at keeping in contact with people. Huh. Where in the world could she have picked that trait up?

She sighs, wincing internally as she counts back the months and realizes that it’s been at least half a year since she last sat down and actually talked with her friend. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Aw, it’s alright. I’m only teasing.” Rienne murmurs something away from the receiver. “Sorry, I just had to peel someone off me.”

“Oh, if I’m, um, interrupting…” Charlie starts.

Rienne tsks. “No, no, absolutely not, don’t even start with me. She’ll live. I was just thinking about you the other day, actually.”

Well, that’s flattering, coming from a succubus. “Dare I ask why?”

“Uh, you were kinda on the news…” Rienne scoffs. “I actually thought you’d have been tearing your hair out and pacing a hole in your floor about it. I know how you feel about publicity.”

“Oh, I, uh…actually…haven’t been paying much attention to…” Anything, honestly. Charlie clears her throat. “The news. I’ve been busy. Hey, so, um, you know how I’ve been talking about going to Earth for basically the entire time I’ve known you?”

“Yep.” Rienne lowers her voice conspiratorially. “Finally going to stretch your wings and go topside?”

Just the thought sends a rush of nervous excitement through her. Her whole life, she’s dreamed of it, that thing just out of reach. She could have done it before, she thinks; Ozzie would have given her a crystal at any time, or one of the Ars Goetia could take her there with their grimoires. There was always just something that…held her back. Kept her from taking that final step. Strange, considering how impulsive she is about everything else, but Earth is new in a way that nothing else is, so maybe it makes sense. Either way, Charlie’s learned a few things in the past week, and one of them is that no matter how scary that final step is, it can often be all worth it in the end.

Charlie grins unashamedly. “Yes. I…I guess I realized that sometimes you just have to take the jump. And…there’s someone I want to bring.”

Rienne gasps, and Charlie can almost picture her dramatic hand on her chest. “Oh? Princess Morningstar is taking someone on a date to Earth? Who’s the lucky devil, huh?”

Ironic choice of words, Charlie thinks, and it takes a moment before she can convince herself to speak. “It’s, um, Lucifer, actually.”

“Oh.” Rienne sounds disappointed. “So it’s a father-daughter bonding thing, then. I didn’t even know you two were talking again until I saw it online. That’s a lot less fun than a date, but I suppose I can still—”

“Ah, it’s, well,” Charlie stumbles, then braces herself. You don’t want to hide it from people. So don’t. “It’s still kind of a date.”

She regrets it almost immediately, but there’s no unringing this bell, and maybe it’ll be a good test run, of sorts. Rienne’s silence is somehow more dramatic than her gasp. Charlie’s beginning to think about hanging up and hiding under her blankets for the rest of her life when, finally, there’s a hysterical cackle from the other end of the line.

“Oh, my God. Do mine ears deceive me, or did little Miss Moral Code just tell me she’s sleeping with her dad?”

“Please don’t say it like that,” Charlie says, wanting to hide her face in her hands.

“How else am I supposed to say it?!” At least Rienne seems to find it amusing rather than disgusting. “Holy shit, is that why you’re talking to him? You! You! Out of all the people in Hell! Charlie, this is hysterical; never in my life did I expect you to be the one to snag Hell’s absentee bachelor—”

Charlie groans, wishing she could disappear or possibly die. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Big deal? Nah. Funny as fuck? Definitely.” Rienne coughs, getting a last little giggle out, then her voice goes serious. “As long as you’re not in trouble, it’s really none of my business who you’re sleeping with. I mean, I think it’s hilarious, but I don’t actually care. You’re both adults. Whatever.” Then she pauses. “And…you’re not, right? In trouble? I mean, he’s not…?”

“No!” Charlie says quickly, rushing to reassure her friend. “No, absolutely not. I…I had to talk him into it, actually.”

“The famous it,” Rienne teases, more than a little sleazily. “And how was it?”

“Fine. Okay, amazing, but that’s really none of your business,” Charlie says, rolling her eyes as Rienne laughs again and wolf whistles through the phone. “Whatever! Can I actually ask for your advice now?!”

Rienne scoffs. “Pfft. Fine, yeah, but I am absolutely demanding details later. I’m a succubus, babe! That shit’s not just my business, it’s my way of life! Now, what do you want to know about Earth? Actually, wait, back up: where are you going?”

…I really don’t know anything, Charlie realizes. “Where…should I go?”

“Oh, so you’re like, clueless clueless.” Rienne hums. “What do you want to do? Have sex? Eat food? Actually, wait, no, I’m talking to Charlie. You probably want to go to museums or zoos or something. Um, there’s that one in—”

“Actually,” Charlie says. “I was hoping that there was somewhere we could stargaze. And see the ocean.”

“Wow. Boring. Okay…” Rienne thinks for a moment. “Stargazing and the ocean, huh? I think I might have heard of a place like that, but I don’t know the name exactly. Some kind of park. Like, a big park, not a little kiddie park. I’ll try to see if I can find it when I go up tonight and text you the name.”

“That would be really nice of you,” Charlie says, a rush of gratitude and excitement making her want to squirm in anticipation of getting that much closer to seeing the world beyond the bounds of this realm. “Thank you, Rienne.”

“My pleasure,” Rienne replies, which is a no doubt purposeful choice of words. “But don’t expect it for free. I want something in return. That’s how it works — here and topside.”

Charlie grumbles but nonetheless plays along, knowing that Rienne wouldn’t ever ask for something dangerous. “Alright, what’s your price?”

“I want you to tell me something. About Lucifer, obviously…” Rienne clears her throat, letting the anticipation build. “Is he really hung like a horse?”

Charlie’s affronted screech sets off a peal of laughter from the other end of the line, and she very nearly throws her phone over the edge of the balcony. “Rienne!”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding, I promise,” Rienne gasps out through her laughter. “I’m kidding. Kind of. I mean…is he?”

The flush on Charlie’s face feels hot enough to give off its own light. “I am ending this call right now.”

“So is that a yes?”

“Goodbye!” Charlie snaps, and she hears Rienne cackling right until the line goes dead.

There’s a few moments of blessed silence, Charlie’s face burning, and then she gives a belated little laugh, burying her head in her hands as she hears the balcony doors open.

“Charlie?” Lucifer calls, sounding worried. “Charlie, are you okay? I heard a— Charlie?!”

Charlie just laughs harder, raising her head so that Lucifer can recognize her shaking shoulders as mirth instead of sadness, trying to tell him not to worry about it but dissolving into another fit of giggles as soon as she meets his eyes.

“What…?” Lucifer sounds relieved, albeit completely mystified. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just—” Charlie manages to collect herself, blinking and taking a deep breath. “Nothing. It’s nothing, really. Just someone being stupid.”

Lucifer stares at her a moment longer, then smiles, shaking his head in fond bemusement. “...As long as you’re okay, I guess.”

“I’m fine,” Charlie promises, and she lets him approach to pull her closer and press a kiss to the top of her head. “You didn’t have to come out here and check on me, you know.”

“Don’t yelp like that, and I wouldn’t feel the need to,” Lucifer chides, and he looks down at her for a moment longer, then shakes his head again and steps away. “Good luck with your stupid people, I guess.”

“Thanks.” Charlie watches as he walks back into the palace, putting her chin on her hand and smiling what must be a very dumb-looking, lovestruck smile. The sappy adoration quickly turns into eager excitement when she glances down at her phone, remembering Rienne’s promise and the little crystal still hidden in one of her dresser drawers.

Earth, here we come.

***

The sunless light is dying an inevitable, quiet death on the far horizon when Charlie finds herself on the balcony again, sitting across from Lucifer this time. For an evening in Pride, it’s quite nice — the oppressive, humid heat that usually hangs over this ring has eased slightly and given way to a soft, cooler breeze. Charlie leans down to pet KeeKee as she slinks past Charlie’s feet before hopping up to sit on the railing and look over the city, curling her tail around herself. Lucifer’s leaning back in his chair, hands folded in front of him, gaze turned towards the embassy that gleams even brighter in the settling night.

“Everything okay?” Charlie asks, trying to catch his eyes. “You’ve been quiet since dinner.”

“What?” Lucifer blinks, like she startled him, then he gives a very unconvincing smile. “Oh, yes! Yes, I’m…I’m fine. Thank you for the ice cream, by the way. It’s sweet that you remembered I like that.”

Charlie’s trip to the store the other day included a container of cotton candy ice cream, because she walked by it and immediately thought of Lucifer. She acknowledges this with a little nod, but she recognizes the redirection for what it is once again. It seems like that’s his automatic response to any uncomfortable conversation that he’s faced with. Once upon a time, she probably would have let it slide. Not anymore, though.

“You’re welcome.” Charlie lets him sit for a moment longer, then leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. “What’s wrong?”

“Charlie,” Lucifer says, and his tone is filled with weary caution. “Let’s…not.”

It’s one of the blunter refusals that Lucifer’s given her, and that sets alarm bells ringing, because even Adam didn’t draw a reaction like this. Outright insistence probably isn’t going to win her any points; nor will it really make him comfortable with telling her whatever’s going on, so Charlie tries a different approach.

“You made me promise to tell you if something bothered me. Knowing that something’s wrong but not knowing what it is bothers me.”

“That is…” Lucifer looks up towards the pentagram and laughs softly, not sounding very amused. “A low blow.”

“It’s the truth,” Charlie says. “Even if you don’t want to talk about it, please, just give me something. You can’t just shove things down and expect them to be fine. If there’s something wrong, we can fix—”

“You can’t fix me,” Lucifer cuts her off, voice sharp, suddenly looking right at her as if daring her to disagree. “Okay? That’s what’s wrong. Me.”

Charlie opens her mouth, thinks better of what she was going to say, and closes it again.

Lucifer seems to regret his tone, because his shoulders sag and he drags his hands across his face with a heavy sigh. “I don’t want to… I didn’t want to bring it up. Because I— I wanted to pretend that it didn’t exist, that it wouldn’t happen, that I could— I could just be okay.” He pauses for a second, and when he speaks again, he’s staring at the table. “This isn’t going to last.”

“What?” Charlie wants to reach for him and take his hands, but she’s not sure if her touch would be well-received. “What are you talking about? You mean…us? What? This relationship?”

“I...” Lucifer grimaces. “Sure. Yeah. I—” There’s a silent struggle on his face, then he crosses his arms and looks anywhere but Charlie. “I’m not…I’m not usually like this. I don’t…act like this. The way that I feel right now, the way that I’ve felt since you got here, I…I haven’t felt like this in years. Decades. And it’s not…me.”

Charlie still isn’t entirely sure that she understands. “What do you mean?”

“I can get up! I can— I can create things. I can just— have a conversation. I can get dressed, I can— I can go flying, I can be someone.” Lucifer digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and then laughs again, self-deprecating and halfway to a sob. “But that’s not me. That hasn’t been me in…a really, really long time. Before this, I just… I don’t even know what I did. I didn’t do anything. I barely existed. When you’ve lived as long as I have, time doesn’t…it doesn’t feel the same. I’d wake up and realize that I had slept for five days straight. I’d stare at the ceiling for weeks without even realizing it. I’d have panic attacks that lasted for days. Once you were gone…Adam kept the time for me more than anything else.”

Pain and guilt squeeze Charlie’s heart, something twisting unpleasantly inside her. She can just imagine it, and that’s the worst part, the fact that she can just see that, the time slipping away from Lucifer and his years marked only by Adam’s visits and…what? Phone calls on her birthday? There aren’t really seasons in Hell, no holidays that she insisted on celebrating with him, nothing except what she now knows as torture to mark the passing of another year.

Lucifer just stares at the table as he continues, “My point is, this…this isn’t me. I don’t know what happened, but this— it’s not going to last, Charlie. It won’t— I’m going to wake up one morning, and it’s going to be just like it was. The other shoe is going to drop. It always does. And when it does, you’re not going to want to stay, and I won’t blame you. I’m— I’m pathetic, Charlie. When whatever this is ends, I won’t be able to be a—a father, or a partner, or whatever the fuck I am to you.”

Charlie swallows thickly, hating the sight of him like this, hating the resigned anguish in his voice. Is that really what he thinks? That she’s just going to leave once he stops being fun? The guilt just stabs harder as she realizes that his whole life has been person after person abandoning him: his siblings, leaving him to Fall, Lilith, walking away after all they had gone through together, Charlie, angry and bitter and half-convinced that whatever loneliness he was suffering was something that he brought upon himself. She doesn’t think that anymore — she hasn’t in a long time — but she did, once.

“I’m not leaving,” Charlie says, and then, stronger, “I’m not leaving. I said that to you when I found you. I’ll say it again, I’ll— I’ll say it until you believe it. I’m not leaving you.”

Lucifer shakes his head, still not looking at her. “Charlie…”

“No, Dad, listen to me.” Charlie finally gives in to the urge to reach across the table and take one of his hands. “I’m not going to walk away. I’m not going to just— abandon you when it gets a little hard. Fuck, did you really think that I’d stay through learning that I’m Adam’s daughter, but leave you as soon as you have a bad day?”

“They’re not bad days, Charlie,” Lucifer says, and he pulls his hand back. “They’re bad months. Barely leaving my bed or the bathroom floor for weeks at a time. Months gone without me knowing it. I won’t talk. I won’t acknowledge anything. It’s— fuck, it’s like I don’t even exist.”

Lucifer’s voice cracks so harshly on his last word that Charlie winces. He’s curled in on himself, his arms wrapped around his body and his head bowed. After a moment of quiet filled only by the sounds of the city below them, Lucifer raises his head, the way he blinks not quite enough to hide the shine in his eyes.

“You took care of me,” Lucifer says, sounding very hard like he’s trying to keep his voice even. “And I love you for that. But you won’t want to do that for the rest of eternity. And even if you did, you shouldn’t.”

“You don’t know what I do or don’t want.” Charlie’s rebuke is a little harsher than she meant it to be, and she softens her voice as she continues, “What I want is for you to believe me when I tell you that I’m not going to abandon you.”

Lucifer flinches like he’s been struck, and when he speaks, his words are shaky. “It’s not easy to love someone like that. Like…me.”

“Maybe not,” Charlie agrees. “But I’m going to do it anyway.” She takes a slow breath to keep her voice from catching. “Wouldn’t you do it for me?”

“Of course I would,” Lucifer replies, automatic and without hesitation. “But that’s—”

“Not different at all.” Charlie reaches for him again, slower, allowing him a chance to pull away. He doesn’t. “You don’t need to keep sacrificing yourself and expecting nothing in return. Don’t you think you’ve been doing that long enough?” She sees the way he closes his eyes, thousands of hours flitting across his face, and pulls his hand towards her so she can cover it with her own. “You’re not magically exempt from having people care about you.”

Lucifer sits there for what feels like a very long time. Eventually, he opens his eyes, stares at their hands for a moment, and then looks up at Charlie with a fragile smile.

“I…I think I need a bit.”

Giving people space isn’t what Charlie is best at, but she nods, carefully pulling away and standing up. As she heads back inside, she glances back to see that KeeKee has leapt from the railing to claim his lap as her new spot to sit, curling up and letting him pet her. Well, at least Lucifer’s got someone there.

Lucifer doesn’t come back inside until Charlie’s gone to bed several hours later, the sound of his hoofsteps and the bathroom light turning on and then off before she feels the bed dip and his warmth curl around her.

“You said you’d tell me until I believed it,” Lucifer whispers after Charlie’s relaxed again.

“Mmhm.” Charlie blinks sleepily at the little bit of light that bleeds around the edges of the heavy curtains.

Lucifer takes a shaky breath, and Charlie feels his face against the back of her shoulder, the way he presses himself into her like she’s going to disappear if he doesn’t. “Tell me again.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Charlie says, and she turns around carefully to face him, pulling him the last little bit into her arms and pressing her cheek into his hair. “I promise. I won’t leave you, no matter how hard it gets.” She pretends not to hear the soft, vulnerable noise he makes when she kisses his temple. “I said that I was going to stick with you, and I meant that. I won’t walk away again.”

Another shaky breath, and Charlie feels him wind the fingers of one hand into her shirt and hold on tight. Did Lilith tell him the same thing? Did his siblings ever say that they’d stand by him no matter what? She hopes her aura reads like she wants it to, reassuring and honest, quiet determination in the face of the future. She’s not going to be like them. She is going to stay. No matter what.

“Do you believe me yet?” Charlie murmurs, closing her eyes, sinking into the feeling of Lucifer near her, willing herself to never let him slip away.

Lucifer is silent for so long that Charlie wonders if maybe he didn’t hear her. Then he shifts, her shirt feeling damp where he’s still hiding his face, and she feels just as much as hears his whispered response.

“Almost.”

Chapter Text

As the days go by, Charlie finds herself thinking that it often feels like this was somehow meant to be. Uncomfortable cans of worms that those kinds of thoughts open aside, it’s…nice. Really nice, actually. She settles back into her life and Lucifer works on projects and what sometimes even looks like a few random assorted things from the Goetia and other Sins that seem to signal he’s actually making an effort to be, you know, the King of Hell. In the evenings, they’ll eat together, and Charlie, upon realizing that Lucifer doesn’t even own a television, has started forcing him to catch up on her favorite stupid soap operas and sitcoms. Most of the shows and movies available in Hell suck — thanks, VoxTek — but there are a few that are much more tolerable than the rest. Lucifer rolls his eyes and grumbles and pointedly ignores the screen half the time, but he still willingly sits down with her and watches it, and that’s better than nothing.

Rienne, for her part, got back to Charlie the morning after their conversation, sending several pictures of the front, back, and insides of a brochure for some place called Olympic National Park. Charlie thanked her profusely and told Rienne that she would take her out for a day sometime, hoping to make up for her terrible friend habits. Rienne sent a heart in response, then a horse emoji followed by a question mark. Charlie didn’t rescind her offer…but it was a near thing. Research for this so-called National Park is going okay; Charlie’s found out that apparently there’s a lake that’s great for dumping bodies in and at least a few Sinners who have used it as a hunting ground for murders, which is…promising, in a way. She’s trying to look on the bright side. Hopefully, some of the other succubi and incubi she knows will have a little more information on it.

Mostly, though, she just does her work for class, or practices her instruments, or reads everything she can about the concept of redemption, because her goal seems even closer now that she has Lucifer back in her life and in a position where he might actually listen to her, and she does all of it existing in this strange middle ground between family and lovers that her and Lucifer have so easily slipped into.

It’s a quiet early evening that Charlie ends up sprawled on the bed, pretending to read through her Linguistics homework but mostly just feeling like she’d rather be doing anything else. It’s a welcome distraction, then, when she hears hoofsteps and looks up to see Lucifer leaning against the doorframe. When she meets his eyes, he gives her a little smile.

“Hi,” Charlie says, setting down her highlighter. “What’s up?”

“Besides the pentagram?” Lucifer smiles wider at Charlie’s faux-agonized groan. “You asked for that one, sweetie.”

“Maybe I did,” Charlie says ruefully. She props her chin up on her hand. “How are you doing?”

She asks him that more often now, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the day when she has to pull him back out of his own head. It hasn’t come yet. Charlie hopes that the routine they’ve settled into, where there’s someone else in Lucifer’s life to steady him, might help soften the inevitable hard landing. The books she downloaded (to keep Lucifer from seeing them and feeling awkward or getting defensive) about supporting a loved one with depression have also been helpful.

“I’ve stared at my project all I can for today.” Lucifer hums, approaching to sit down on the bed next to Charlie. “I need to just walk away for a bit.”

Charlie frowns and does some mental math. “You’ve been working on this one a while.”

For a being who can literally will things into existence, the notion of Lucifer taking as long as he has to work on whatever he’s doing means that he’s probably trying to make it better than perfect. Charlie hasn’t pried on what it is beyond a few glances over his workbench, because he was vague when she asked, giving her the impression that he’d rather not explain it or be hovered over. She does wonder, though…

“Well, it’s a gift, so I want to make sure it’s good.” Lucifer’s hand finds her back, rubbing little absentminded circles into it.

Charlie gives in to the distraction entirely, closing her book and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor as she looks up at Lucifer. “A gift? For who?”

Lucifer gives her a look that suggests he thinks she’s being a little silly.

“Wait, for me?” Charlie gasps, sitting up in excitement. “Really?”

“You’re adorable. No, you can’t see it yet,” Lucifer says, knowing what Charlie was about to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. “I’ve done all I can. It’s just got to sit for a little while. Finish up some…conversions.”

Charlie is excited…and also completely lost. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see.” Lucifer smiles, so affectionate it makes her want to swoon, and leans in to give her a chaste kiss. “I think it’ll be done tomorrow morning.”

I am a grown woman who can be patient, Charlie tells herself, but she still kind of wants to wriggle in excitement even as Lucifer pulls away. “And what if I sneak off and look at it tonight as soon as you fall asleep?”

Lucifer raises his eyebrows in mocking disbelief. “Oh? You’ll stop clinging to me like an octopus and do some sneaking?”

Charlie gasps, barely thinking twice before she leaps on him and effectively tackles him to the bed, their difference in size and his complete lack of resistance meaning that she ends up over him. “Rude!”

They used to rough house when she was a kid, Charlie always having been a ball of energy and Lucifer wary of letting her tumble around with other kids for reasons that she didn’t get then but understands pretty well after the revelation of her true parentage — Lucifer probably didn’t want her to seriously injure someone with what he feared could be equivalent to angelic magic. She assumed he’d be reluctant to do it now after so many years of Adam, but on the contrary, he seems to enjoy her occasional shoves.

“You’re tackling me, and I’m the rude one?” Lucifer asks, with a wide, easy grin, his hands limp near his head in such a casual display of power that it nearly takes Charlie’s breath away — they both know he could throw her off him in an instant, and he’s simply choosing not to. “The disrespect… This is no way for a princess to behave.”

“My lessons in manners were lacking.” Charlie drops herself down onto her elbows so their faces are nearly touching. “Maybe I need a refresher course.”

There’s a gleam in Lucifer’s eyes like he knows exactly where she’s going with this. “Is that so?”

They haven’t had sex again since that first time, and Charlie thinks that now is as good a time as any to change that. Though, if she’s being honest, while the idea of getting to hear more of that ridiculously sexy dom voice is appealing, there’s something else she wants to do first.

“Actually,” Charlie says, and she closes the distance to press a kiss to the line of Lucifer’s pale throat visible above his collar. “I was wondering…”

“What?” Lucifer asks, and he sounds curious, not worried, which is a good start. One hand reaches up to land on Charlie’s spine and stroke all the way down to where her tail would appear, a shudder of sensation through her as his fingers trace over magically sensitive areas.

“I’d really like to eat you out.” Charlie feels the way he tenses at her words and pulls away to look him in the eyes, worried she’s made him uncomfortable. “Would…that be okay?”

“Are you sure?” Lucifer asks, eyes wide but voice still sounding like he’s not entirely sure he heard her right.

Charlie nods. “Um…yeah, unless you’re not into it. I’ve been told I’m pretty good at it, but—”

“No, no, it’s just…” Lucifer seems to think for a moment. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. Especially not something like that. It’s…well, you know. Pretty…involved.”

There’s a lot to unpack there, Charlie thinks drily, but she keeps that remark to herself. “Don’t worry. I want to. And I don’t really know how to break this to you, but you had your fingers inside me. I’m not sure you can get more involved than that.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Lucifer says. “In that case… Yes. If that’s something that you want to do, I…think I’d like that.”

Charlie just smiles and leans in to catch him in a kiss, slower and deeper as she shifts to resettle between his legs. He parts them readily, hands coming back up near his head as Charlie finds her place, but despite his ease, Charlie doesn’t miss the way he’s grabbing the sheets tighter than he really needs when she pulls away to sit back on her knees and look over him.

“Hey,” she says softly. “We don’t have to do this.”

Lucifer swallows, then blinks and meets her eyes, something determined and almost on the knife’s edge of spiteful in the gold. “Adam’s never done this, and even if he had, I wouldn’t let him ruin it. You’re not him.”

“No,” Charlie agrees, trying not to focus on the heartbreak that twists in her chest and instead letting his quiet resolution steady her. “I’m not him. I love you.”

She kisses him once more, just because it feels as right and as easy as breathing, and reaches for his clothing as she does, carefully undoing the buttons of his shirt and letting it fall around the slender smoothness of his chest. The lines of his hips, the hints of lean strength that she can feel when she puts her hand on his waist, the canvas of divine perfection that he willingly bares to her. It’s enough to make her cry, and she hopefully hides it by moving to ghost a line of kisses down the center of his chest, over the little dip of his sternum and heading down towards where her hands are working on undoing his pants.

Lucifer huffs out a laugh, and Charlie barely has time to wonder what’s so amusing before his pants are gone from underneath her touch, her fingers meeting warm skin and the soft cotton of his underwear before she manages to register the change. She looks up at him and receives a sheepish shrug.

“Look, if I can use magic to expedite things, I will. Unless you’ve got a thing for the little acrobatics act to take your pants off when someone’s sitting between your legs.”

Charlie rolls her eyes in fond amusement, but doesn’t argue. Why would she? He’s right. She’s sure that he can see her smiling as she leans back down to press a soft kiss right at the bend of his knee, wanting to sear this into her memory — as if she’s in any danger of forgetting. She can feel the heat of him, both his body and his aura, tickling at the back of her mind with cautious, eager lust, and she hears a soft intake of breath when she nips gently at the skin on the inside of his thigh.

The slow pace up towards the apex of his thighs is as much for her benefit as his. She does want to do this, but there’s still a part of her that wants to laugh hysterically and probably also cry at the prospect of what she’s about to do. She can go through all the rationalizations she’s made, and even then…it still just feels a little wrong. But she wants this, despite everything, and Charlie has never let a few misgivings get in the way of what she wants.

It’s only now that she realizes something about Lucifer’s thighs: the perfectly smooth canvas isn’t perfectly smooth. Little wavy lines stretch across the insides of his thighs like lightning, pale even against his nearly-white skin, soft under her fingertips as she unthinkingly reaches up to touch them.

“Apparently angels are as susceptible to stretch marks as anyone else,” Lucifer says softly as she traces one of them down towards the red sheets, and there’s a certain bittersweet affection on his face when she looks up to meet his eyes.

Charlie doesn’t really know what to say. They’re a part of him, which means that to her, they’re as loveable and perfect as any other part of him, but they only exist because of the horrible thing Adam did to him. She swallows thickly and pulls her fingers back, suddenly feeling hot with shame completely unrelated to what they’re doing.

Eventually, she manages to find her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. If anyone should be sorry, it’s Adam, and he never will be, so don’t shoulder the guilt that should belong to him.” Lucifer pets her bangs to the side, giving her a little smile. “Besides, I don’t mind them so much. I have them because you’re a part of my life, and that means that they can’t possibly be bad.”

I will not cry, Charlie tells herself very firmly, but Lucifer still seems to pick up on the hitch of her breath or the way her aura shudders with emotion, because he motions her up. She doesn’t hesitate for more than a moment or two before she obeys, letting him guide her into a sweet, soft kiss.

“Listen to me,” Lucifer whispers in between kisses, and Charlie closes her eyes as he takes her face in his hands. “Out of every change that’s happened to my body, the ones that happened when I had you are the best ones. Even if they hurt, even if I had to fight to accept them, their existence means that you exist, and you are worth anything I could give and more.”

Charlie has to swallow back a whimper, nodding because she’s not entirely sure her voice will be steady if she tries to speak, and presses her forehead against his for a moment as she gathers herself. His presence close to her is steadying, warm and solid, and once she wills away the prickling in her eyes, she turns her head just enough to the side to kiss the palm of his hand.

“I’m supposed to be making you horny, not sad,” Charlie says with a wry smile, hoping that maybe humor will help to ease the pain that’s constricting around her chest at yet another reminder that he loves her in a way she doesn’t know if she’ll ever really fully understand.

Lucifer chuckles. “In my experience, they’re not always as separate as you might think. Do you want to stop?”

Charlie considers it. It’s certainly not unappealing — she likes being able to lay with him and just feel him near her. But it also doesn’t seem like he has any particular urge to call it quits, and the sobering jolt of emotion has only strengthened her desire to wipe all of that from his mind with something good. The misgivings from earlier seem small now, unimportant, and Charlie shakes her head.

“Not unless you need to.”

“I’m okay,” Lucifer assures her, and he lets her pull away, looking up at her with a little smile on his face. “Go ahead.”

Charlie could purr, and she kisses him one more time, letting her fangs graze his tongue and being rewarded with a little tense of his body beneath hers. The thin pants and shirt that she’s wearing don’t do much to hide the heat of him, especially not when they’re as close as they are now. She pulls back slowly, recognizing the low hum of arousal low in her gut at the sight of him beneath her, trusting her like this. This can’t be wrong. Not when it feels like this. Charlie pulls her shirt up and over her head, throwing it carelessly to the side and resisting the urge to tuck her arms around herself as his eyes trace careful lines down her torso.

“Beautiful.” Lucifer’s voice is so soft that Charlie’s not even sure if he’s aware he’s speaking.

In her 200 years of life — and 30 years or so of having sex — Charlie’s been told she’s beautiful more than a few times. But none of those times have managed to make her feel quite like she does now, his golden eyes molten and fixed entirely on her, an angel calling her beautiful. It’s such a rush that she nearly moans out loud, warmth slippery and hot down through her body, and she manages to catch herself by focusing back on him, a hand on his stomach feeling the near-scalding temperature of his skin and her eyes picking out the little matching silvery ripples all along the base of his stomach and hips now that she knows they’re there. It’s just another reminder that he’s the one who gave birth to her, the one who raised her; and now she’s about to eat him out and probably enjoy every minute of it.

Charlie slides her hand just a little lower, over the plain black fabric of his underwear that hides the soft rise of his mound. He’s still watching her, mouth parted just enough for her to see the flash of dagger-point teeth, all that sharpness hidden underneath lines of pale skin and slender limbs, and when her thumb dips low enough to brush over where the heat of him is strongest, there’s a gleam of white as he bites his lip.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” Charlie says, and once he nods, she hooks her fingers under the waistband of his underwear and carefully tugs them down his thighs. His comical wriggle to help her get them all the way off makes her smile, glancing away to drop them somewhere and deal with them later before looking back and immediately letting out a little choked squeak of surprise. “...Oh!”

“What?” Lucifer says, looking worried and suddenly self-conscious. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s…um, gold.” Charlie feels herself flush, and she manages to tear her eyes from between his legs to look at his face. “It’s— it’s not bad! It’s pretty, actually. I just didn’t expect that.”

It’s silly of her to have forgotten that, considering she knows very well that his blood is gold. Her own is a reddish shade, though, and she just…well, honestly, she’s just never really thought about it before. Why would she? She shakes herself and settles again, wanting to soothe the undercurrent of anxiety she can now feel in his aura.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.” To show that she means it, Charlie reaches out to carefully brush a finger down the inside of his thigh, just barely ghosting over the outer folds where the pearl of his skin is tinged with golden shimmer. “I do think it’s really pretty. Just like the rest of you.”

“Flattery isn’t necessary,” Lucifer mumbles, looking away, but now his cheeks are gold, too, and there’s a little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Charlie hums, pretending to be thoughtful, slowly letting herself get used to this final leap as she brings her hand up to trace over the top of his thigh. “Well, if I was going for flattery, I’d tell you that you’re beautiful. And wonderful. I’d tell you that I love you, and that I love having this with you.” She lowers herself slowly back to the bed, settling into a comfortable position and resuming her earlier task of carefully kissing idle patterns up his thighs, feeling the rhythmic tenses of his body. “And I’d tell you that I probably should be ashamed of how much I want to do this, but I’m really not.”

A glance up at Lucifer shows her that he’s thrown his arm over his eyes, the gold on his cheeks having spread down to his chest, and he’s quite obviously trying to hold in a smile. Charlie kind of wishes she could keep going, but there’s a better use for her mouth right now.

No going back now, Charlie thinks, then she shoves away whatever apprehension still clings in the corners of her mind and closes the distance.

She starts small, little open-mouthed kisses right along the line of him, hearing him gasp as she does and then a little sigh, something in him seeming to relax. She’s done this before. This isn’t that different. Tentatively, she licks up between his folds, the heat of him even more intense, like molten metal against her tongue, and he’s…sweet, almost like honey or melted sugar just before it burns. The sheer sweetness of him is almost distracting enough for her to miss the soft little moan he gives, not just pleasured but relieved, too, relieved and wanting.

Charlie moves him without really thinking about it, trusting him to tell her if he wants her to stop, and pulls one of his thighs up over her shoulders, arm wrapping around his leg to keep it steady. The change in angle allows her to better access, and she can feel the little bud of his clit when she licks up him again, more of that smoldering sweetness, sending little shocks of pleasure through her at every taste. Even the barest brush of her tongue across it sends his hips canting up, some searching little moan falling from his mouth before he seems to clamp down on it hard. A brief flick of her eyes up at him and she sees that his hand has moved to his mouth, pressed over it tightly as he squeezes his eyes closed. She doesn’t want to pressure him, so instead of saying anything, she dips her head back down and focuses on his clit, licking at it until he groans from past his hand and there’s a little jerking motion of his hips downwards.

How long has it really been since he felt pleasure like this? Charlie’s resolve at the silent question only burns hotter and brighter in her chest, mixing with the arousal into something heady and intoxicating. She wants to make him feel good. However foolish she knows the idea is, she wants to make him forget Adam.

Charlie’s careful not to dip her tongue inside him when she swipes back down, his folds now flushed a rich gold and wet with her spit and his fluids. There’s something perverse about that thought, something wrong, and she knows that she probably shouldn’t feel the throb of want that she does when she considers that. She tells herself she’ll deal with that later and returns her attention to his clit, sucking at it carefully and moaning encouragingly around it when he presses his hips down into her mouth. It’s hot, if she had to put a word on it, hot that it feels like he’s trying not to grind on her face, and it’d be even hotter if he did. She makes another encouraging noise and sucks at his clit again, grazing her teeth across it and reveling in the hot rush of satisfaction that runs through her at the way he squirms and gives another little jerk downward.

“It’s okay,” Charlie says, pulling away just enough to speak, and in a flash of inspiration, reaches for the hand not over his mouth and brings it up to her hair. “Here. You can keep hold of my hair if that makes it better.”

“Fuck,” Lucifer chokes out from between his fingers, but he still does as she suggests, one hand winding through her hair in a gentle hold, the weight warm against her scalp. He’s trembling, just a little. “Charlie…”

“It’s just me,” Charlie soothes. Another long, slow pass up him before she flicks her tongue right at the top of him, right where the split of gold starts, just barely catching his clit and making him whimper. “You’re safe.”

Lucifer moans for real, then he turns to the side to bury his face as best he can in the pillows, hand tightening just briefly in Charlie’s hair as he gasps against the silk. She can feel the tautness of his muscles under her tongue when she laps at his entrance, still making sure not to dip too far, the little fluttering motions against her mouth making her hips press down into the mattress of their own accord. She wants to feel him cum, wants to feel it up close like this, not separated by clothes but with her mouth on him, wants to taste the release of tension as he’s overwhelmed by pleasure, not pain.

She keeps her pace steady, trying to avoid forcing him to the edge too fast. She wants Lucifer to enjoy it. To be able to revel in it. To know that if Charlie has her way, this is the only thing he’ll ever feel in bed for the rest of eternity. He’s searing under her tongue, apparently having lost the fight with himself and starting to grind against her mouth, little shallow circles as she focuses all her attention on his clit until she can practically feel the way his aura has run bright and hot through every thread of their beings. When she shifts his leg just enough to bend his knee a little further up, exposing even more of him to her hungry mouth, he moans again, half-muffled and desperate.

“Please,” Lucifer gasps, face still turned away. “Please, Charlie.”

What can she do except give him exactly what he wants? Charlie uses the hand not supporting his leg to slide up between his folds, effortless with how slick he is, and spread them so she can get right at his clit and work her mouth around it, not stopping even when he whines and bucks against her face in earnest, hand tightening in her hair and the very air around them feeling electrified until Charlie feels something in the air snap seconds before his whole body goes tight, back arching and his thighs squeezing around her head. Every one of his ragged exhales is halfway to a whimper, his muscles twitching under her mouth, and Charlie closes her eyes and lets the second hand pleasure wash over her in waves of honey-flavored warmth.

Eventually, once he relaxes and his thighs fall slack, Charlie slowly raises herself up to sit on her knees, carefully easing his leg off her and to the sheets below them. The contrast of it all should be a picture, or a painting, or something; Lucifer’s relaxed, lithe form, his shirt open over his chest, pale skin and gold flush and the rumpled pomegranate silk underneath him all bright and real and gorgeous. Charlie’s whole body seems to hum a little faster with a mix of affection and lust at the sight. He’s so…

Whatever hopelessly in-love end Charlie was formulating to that sentence is cut off by Lucifer finally raising his head and looking at her, his aura a warm mix of satisfaction and love. He beckons her closer again, pulling her into a deep, head-spinning kiss despite the fact that she’s still got his slick wet on her lips, and when she pulls away, breathless and light-headed, his pupils have widened into soft, saccharine ovals.

“Thank you,” Lucifer says, and he sounds like he means it.

“Anytime,” Charlie replies, and she definitely means that. “Do you want to…? I mean, I could…”

Lucifer’s shaking his head before she finishes her sentence. “No. But I would like to return the favor, if you’d let me.”

Forked tongue! Charlie’s brain reminds her, and she clears her throat and wipes a hand across her face, trying not to think about the hot, almost bruised feeling between her legs. “What was it you said about not having sex because you expect something out of it?”

Lucifer laughs, and Charlie doesn’t quite register movement before he’s sat up, legs still spread around her thighs but their faces much closer together. “Perhaps I worded that wrong. I’d like it very much if you’d allow me the privilege of returning the favor.” At Charlie’s amused look, he shrugs, obviously unashamed. “I love eating pussy. Need I say more?”

“Not when you say it like that,” Charlie giggles, and she shifts to lay down in the spot where he was, the sheets still warm from his body heat and smelling like him when she stretches out. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes.” Lucifer’s grin is as close as Charlie’s ever seen it to lascivious. “I’m quite sure.”

That’s hot, Charlie thinks, having to bite back an embarrassing little squeak as she raises her hips to help him get her pants and underwear off. It’s almost the same expression as when he was flying, confidence in every movement, like he’s good at this and he knows it. The way he pushes her thighs apart once her remaining clothes are thrown somewhere to the side feels so natural that she doesn’t even have any mental energy to spare for feeling self-conscious or apprehensive about what they’re doing. She follows him with her eyes, sure that he can see the flush down her chest, as he shrugs his shirt off to leave himself fully naked.

A boiling wash of arousal floods through her as Lucifer winks cheekily with the toss of his shirt over the side of the bed, and Charlie almost presses her thighs together. Lucifer seems quite comfortable between them, though, hands hot and sure on the insides of her knees and aura radiating confidence. Charlie expects him to dive right in, so it comes as a surprise — though not an unwelcome one — when he settles himself over her body to press kisses along her collarbone.

“Still want me to leave marks?” Lucifer asks, breath hot over her skin, and Charlie shudders as she nods.

“Please.”

The sharp points of his teeth nipping at her skin make her press her shoulders back into the bed, offering her chest up to him and letting him do what he wants to her, trusting and a little dizzy from the force of the arousal as she reaches up for his hair again, the sensation of tangling her fingers through the silken strands almost familiar. He makes a soft, pleased noise, mouth lingering right at the hollow of her throat. Even the little prickles of pain and the soft ache of what will surely be bruises tomorrow are tender, and her thighs fall open a little wider. The sensation is only heightened when the very tip of one of his claws reaches up to trace along the underside of her breast before he takes it in one warm, sure hand and squeezes gently, thumbing over the rosy peak of her nipple. The little twitch of her hips at the electrifying sensation makes her breath catch in her chest.

“That’s right,” Lucifer whispers. “Just let yourself feel it. I’ve got you.”

Charlie knows he does. She’s surrounded by him in the best way possible, his weight on top of her and his otherworldly, quietly powerful presence pressing in from every angle, making her feel like they could float right off these sheets and hang in this quiet, perfect moment in the air forever. She nods, but the words she was planning to say die in her throat in favor of a strangled moan when she feels the warmth of his mouth around her nipple and the cautious, curious lapping of a forked tongue around the little bud.

Between the memory of the taste of him and the feeling of him climaxing on her tongue and now this, Charlie’s cunt throbs between her legs, having to fight with herself not to reach down there and grind into her own hand. He’s not quite pressed against her, not there, and every little jerk or motion of her hips sends her feeling nothing but cool air against the slick heat of her folds, just the barest hint of his body heat, worse than any feather-light touch. Charlie whines when he flicks his tongue against her nipple again in hopes that he’ll get the message. Lucifer probably does — but he still just hums and pulls off slowly, almost contemplative, dipping his head to kiss right at the swell of her breast, his bite so soft and gentle that despite the pain, all she can think of is how sweet it feels. She wants him to mark her, wants to wake up tomorrow and know that they had this, that they were here in this moment.

She also really does want him to eat her out.

“Dad,” Charlie says, drawing it out into another whine, and his grin is unmistakable, even if she can’t see his face. She swallows back the hitch that wants to creep into her voice. “Don’t be a fucking tease.”

“Tease?” Lucifer asks, raising his head almost lazily if not for the sharp, knowing gleam in his eyes. “Sweetheart, this isn’t teasing. Do you want me to show you what it really means to tease someone?”

Charlie ignores the part of her that jumps up in excitement at the prospect, and she gives a tentative little scratch of her claws along his scalp. “Don’t you dare.”

“Another time, then,” Lucifer murmurs, like he knows exactly what Charlie’s thinking, and carefully, he pushes himself back on the bed to position himself between her thighs. “If you want me to stop—”

“I’ll tell you.” Charlie can’t help but stare down at him, the way he looks so at ease between her legs, his expression nothing short of rapturous. “It’s okay. I want this.”

Lucifer’s only reply is a smile, and that doesn’t do nearly enough to prepare Charlie for the way he presses forward into her. She gasps, the sudden heat of his mouth making her seize up in surprise before it’s replaced with an aching, delicious thrill, hand tightening in his hair as her hips roll up into him. She tries to force herself to stop, at first, but Lucifer moans appreciatively and hikes her thighs up over his shoulders to settle his fingers around her waist to hold her against himself, and she takes that as a pretty clear sign that he doesn’t mind so much. The sight of his charcoal fingers digging into her skin feels like she’s gotten a fire lit in her belly. There’s something so obscene about the sight, and even thinking about how wrong this must look makes her squirm in pleasure.

“Dad,” Charlie pants, and that’s obscene, too, just like the responding groan that sends vibrations right into the core of her. “Oh, Dad, that— fuck—”

He’s lapping at her like he’s starving, like he’s desperate for it, and any remaining shame is burned away with the surge of heat that overtakes her when he slides his tongue up between her folds to trap her clit right in the fork and lick it from both sides at once. The sensation is so intense and unique that Charlie yelps, wholly unprepared and even more unprepared when he starts to do it harder. It’s intense enough to make her hips grind down into him in earnest, rolling into his mouth and trying to find more of the sensation even as it sends arcs of uncontrollable pleasure ricocheting through her.

Lucifer’s claws dig into her skin, not quite drawing blood but almost threatening to. Charlie thinks of how she’d look with his handprints bruised into her waist, the memory of his touch like a tattoo on her skin, and the only warning she manages to gasp out is a broken moan of his name before she cums.

Lucifer’s pleased groan when she thoughtlessly pushes down against him is mind-melting enough without the fierce jolts of delicious agony that light every nerve up in a shower of sparks accompanying her movements and the steady, rhythmic movements of his tongue giving her something to ride her orgasm out against. Charlie’s noises are half-moans, half-whimpers, free hand gripping the sheets, and when she raises her head to look down at him, something inside her demanding to see him, the sight of those red-and-gold eyes looking up at her with nothing short of adoration sends her into another shuddering wave of pleasure.

Lucifer hasn’t moved when Charlie gives an overwhelmed little groan of his name as the pleasure ebbs into luxurious warmth and then bright, overstimulated lightning, his tongue slower on her but no less intense.

“You—” Charlie blinks, her breath hitching as Lucifer’s tongue teases at her entrance, the aftershocks of her orgasm making her realize just how empty she feels when her cunt clenches around nothing. “You don’t want to stop?”

“I’ll stop when you want me to stop,” Lucifer says, that rough edge to his voice back and every word ghosting a little breath across her slick, throbbing folds. Lucifer takes a second to drag the fork of his tongue up along the outer edge of her cunt, and when he next speaks, his voice can only be called worshipful. “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I love to do this, and if given the chance, I will do it until you ask me to stop, or pass out, whichever comes first.”

“F-Fuck,” Charlie whispers breathlessly, which is probably about as eloquent as she’s going to get when confronted with him saying something like that.

She’s about to try to make a comment about how he really wasn’t exaggerating, but then his tongue slips inside her, slick and hot and much longer than a tongue should be. It would feel weird if it wasn't so hot. His hands are still tight on her, pulling her down onto his face, tongue flexing deep against her inner walls even as the last spasms of her climax taper off and leave her feeling oversensitive and raw. Her thighs squeeze around his head as she grabs his hair a little tighter, whimpering when the pressure inside of her finds her sweet spot and washes her whole body with hellfire-hot pleasure.

Part of her still can't believe this. Every time her eyes find that mess of blonde hair or she catches a glimpse of pretty golden eyes it’s like a shock to her system all over again — but a good shock, a shock that makes something between her hips feel like a rubber band stretched too far. The rest of her is rapidly losing all higher thinking. Why should she care about little things like who’s eating her out when he’s doing it so well she feels like she might actually die if he stops? It’s like he’s starving, the way he licks into her so deep, the way his hands on her waist shift so he can hold her hips up like he wants to taste every part of her. She can hear him, too, his little noises of satisfaction every time she shifts or squeezes around him, the wet, filthy sounds of his mouth on her.

The temperature feels like it’s risen several degrees, Charlie’s skin slick with sweat, and she nearly sobs when she feels how happy his aura is, like fireworks burning bright in the overheated air. At some point, she’s crossed her legs over his back, ankles digging in just above his hips, and she can’t even find it in herself to care as she tightens them and pulls him closer with a wanton moan of his name. God, he hasn’t even come up for air.

She’s so close, too sensitive, and somehow, it feels different when it’s him doing it, like everything inside her has been turned up to one hundred. It’s never felt like this before, and all Charlie can do is hold on and try not to lose her mind.

“Please,” Charlie whimpers. “Please, I gotta fucking cum.”

The sensation of Lucifer’s tongue sliding free from her cunt has to be one of the weirdest and hottest things she’s ever felt, flexible and pushing against her sweet spot one last time to make her hips spasm and her hooves dig in that much more. She manages to look down at him, watching as he licks his lips almost hungrily. He seems to notice the way her cunt twitches at the memory of that wicked little fork, because he grins up at her just for a half-second before he leans in again and laps hard and fast and ruthless at her oversensitive, swollen clit.

Charlie just barely manages not to cry out when she cums this time, breaking into little gasped out moans and trying not to dig her claws into his scalp too hard as she steadies her spasming hips on his face. It feels like there’s a tsunami crashing over her, like something inside her got doused in gasoline and he’s just dropped a match right on top of it, so good it’s agonizing. It comes in waves, every trough with ebbing rises that make her body shake.

The comedown feels like she’s coming up for air, and strands of hair stick to her face with sweat as she blinks up at the canopy of the bed, gasping. Lucifer moans right along with her when she shifts, and she looks down in time to see a little shining string of slick break from his mouth as he pulls back to stare up at her. Words aren’t coming easily, but luckily, Lucifer seems to have something to say already.

“I’ll keep going,” Lucifer says, almost desperate, and the ghost of his words across her folds makes her realize just how slick she is with his spit and her own wetness. “Please. Let me keep going.”

Charlie whimpers, nodding before she really realizes she’s doing it, and Lucifer’s eyes light up. It almost looks like he’s about to push himself up to kiss her properly, but then he moves closer to give a gentle little lick right at the edge of her entrance where she can feel herself twitching, his groan reverberating through her swollen folds to set off a cascade of rippling little shudders through her. She’s still got her hand in his hair, and manages to loosen it just enough to pet him deliriously, her brain feeling like it’s leaking out her ears and the feeling of his hair soft under her fingers the only thing that’s keeping her hold on reality. Lucifer just hums happily and continues giving soft laps all along her folds, bringing her down just enough so that she feels like she can breathe again.

“Good girl,” Lucifer praises, aura made of heat and lust and satisfaction. “One more. One more for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Charlie chokes out, but no amount of praise can make her feel any less like she’s about to explode when he slips his tongue inside her again, the instinctive clench of her cunt around the slick heat of it drawing a whine from her throat. She tugs at his hair uselessly, trying to push him towards her sweet spot, only able to formulate a little gasp of, “Dad—”

Lucifer might be psychic, or possibly just very good at this, because he seems to understand her. Charlie’s whole lower half lights up with sparks when he presses his tongue up against that little area, focusing pressure on it and dragging her closer and closer to the edge. Her mind is filled with the sensation of his tongue inside her, his mouth slick on her cunt, the heat and brightness of his aura hotter than a raging bonfire and the fire in her gut that feels the same. Charlie’s never felt like this before, not once, and she pushes her hips down into him with a sharp sob as tears prick her eyes.

“Please, please, Dad, please, I gotta— please, I need it, please, Dad—”

One last solid rub against her sweet spot and Charlie is dragged over the edge of that cliff all over again. There’s something inside her that’s melting and oozing all throughout her body to leave molten ecstacy in its wake, white-hot and the best kind of painful, her cunt feeling sore and raw underneath Lucifer’s tongue — he still hasn’t stopped, just pulled his tongue out to lap at her, every thoughtless, staggering motion of her hips making him moan — and sweat slick between her breasts.

A brush of his tongue against her clit and she yelps, weakly trying to push him away out of instinct alone, clawing at his shoulder as she shoves him back and feeling him go willingly. The sensation is exactly what she wanted, but she still feels a strangled little sob escape her chest.

“I— please, I— Dad—” Charlie starts, blinking tears from her eyes, feeling limp and boneless and desperate for contact even as the touch of the sheets and his hands sliding from her waist send overstimulated sparks through her. “I—

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for, but there’s an aching, clawing feeling in her chest and she feels like she might start crying all over again. Lucifer doesn’t seem to be surprised or even particularly worried, and he reaches for her without hesitation, her legs falling limp around his body as he pulls her up into a tight hug, shushing her when she gasps out another little whimper at the heat of his touch against her.

“Good girl, good girl, oh, Charlie, you’re so good. I love you so much.” Lucifer doesn’t seem to care about how much of a mess she is. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Charlie just barely manages not to sob. The rawness in her chest matches the oversensitivity between her legs, every part of her a sensation like she’s about to burn clean through her skin and the only thing that’ll keep her here is Lucifer’s embrace.

Charlie sniffles, takes a deep breath, and lets herself tremble until she’s absolutely sure her voice isn’t going to shake. “Holy fuck.”

Lucifer’s laugh seems a little relieved, and he carefully pulls them back into a more comfortable position lying next to each other on the rumpled sheets as he says, “I don’t think there was anything holy about what we just did.”

Charlie’s not sure whether to laugh or groan. In lieu of having to decide, she just leans her head against his chest and closes her eyes, smiling as she hears a quiet snap and then feels a cool washcloth wiping the worst of the mess off her face, Lucifer’s fingers gently combing her hair back and tucking it behind her ear.

“You can magic us clean in an instant, and you’re using a washcloth,” Charlie murmurs, feeling pleasantly boneless now that the flayed, exposed-nerve feeling has ebbed. “Cute.”

“I just like touching you,” Lucifer replies, a smile in his voice. “Would you like me to magic you clean?”

Charlie shakes her head. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Lucifer kisses her temple and continues carefully wiping her clean.

Lucifer just hums his acknowledgment, curling up around her a little tighter and tucking the washcloth away so he can pet her hair.

Charlie allows herself to stay there until her head feels clearer and her legs don’t feel quite so weak. She’s slightly sad to pull away from Lucifer, especially when he makes a grumpy little noise and tries to tug her back towards him, but eventually she manages to free herself from the clingy angel embrace with a whispered promise to come back and make her way to the bathroom.

The cool water of the shower she steps into helps to wash the sweat from her skin and slick from her thighs, and she glances down at herself, tracing the little edges of the bruises that have settled along her collarbone and breasts with a tired, satisfied smile.

She dries herself off and gets dressed, returning to the bedroom to find the bed remade and Lucifer sitting on the edge of it, also clean and dressed and with a small box sitting next to him. Charlie pauses and raises an eyebrow at the box as she ties her hair up.

“Dare I ask?”

“It’s your gift,” Lucifer says, and he leans back on his hands, nodding towards it. “I checked on it, and it was done sooner than I thought it’d be. Open it.”

Charlie joins him on the bed, taking the box and shifting it slightly in her hands. It’s not very heavy — a can of soda would probably weigh more. Charlie glances at Lucifer one more time, then, wondering what it could be, unties the ribbon, and opens the lid.

Inside is a metal frame, fine filigree and floral etchings filled with delicate red enamel, that looks like the outer supports for an hourglass. Inside is a small glass sphere, not quite touching any of the supports and instead held in place with magic. Instead of sand, the almost-iridescent glass holds a small, pulsing spot of brightness that glitters like a bright, luminescent diamond, every color flashing for the barest hint of a second before the next one replaces it. Charlie’s breath catches as she carefully lifts it out of the box, almost afraid to touch it despite knowing that it’s surely stronger than it looks.

“It’s a star,” Lucifer says, and Charlie feels his shoulder press against hers. “Or as close to one as I could make without the threat of it collapsing.”

A few, Lucifer told her when she asked if he made the stars. He made a few. And he made this one for her. Charlie leans into him, nearly wanting to cry again.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers.

“You deserve to be able to see them for real one day. But…until then…” Lucifer trails off, and she feels his little shrug.

Are you ever going to get a better time than this? Charlie asks herself meaningfully, and she takes a deep breath. “I have a gift for you, too.”

Lucifer twists to give her an uncertain look. “Really?”

“Yeah. Hold on.” Charlie carefully sets the star down on the bedside table, then stands up and hurries back to her old bedroom, withdrawing the Asmodean Crystal from its hiding place and trotting back to where Lucifer waits.

Lucifer seems to recognize it as soon as she sits down, because his eyes widen. “Is that…?”

“Yeah.” Charlie’s so excited that she almost feels breathless, glancing at the little sparkle of light on the table next to her to gather herself one last time. “I got it from Ozzie. I— I remembered what you said about not wanting to open a portal. So, I figured that if we used this, then Heaven wouldn’t notice, or care, or whatever. I just…I want to go to Earth with you. There’s a park that a friend told me about, and it has— stargazing, and it’s next to an ocean, so we can go flying, if you want—”

Lucifer’s just staring at her, some mix of horror and hope and fear on his face, and Charlie trails off, swallowing and allowing him a moment to take in her words. Fear prickles up her spine — does he even really want to? Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he was just fantasizing when he told her about it. Maybe…

Finally, Lucifer breaks the heavy silence. “Are you sure? It— Earth is— A lot could go wrong, Charlie.”

“I’m sure.” Charlie reaches for his hand and squeezes. “It’ll be okay. You just have to trust me.”

Lucifer looks doubtful. Charlie isn’t going to let him believe in nothing but hopelessness anymore, and she brings his hand into her lap, drawing her thumb over his knuckles.

“I know you’re worried about what it’s like,” Charlie says. “But you’re never going to see the good if you don’t look for it.”

“I know.” Lucifer blinks at the crystal. “I…I just…”

“We’ll be fine,” Charlie promises, kissing him on the cheek and letting her head fall against his. “We’ll have each other. We’ll be okay. Just trust me.”

Lucifer sighs, but he still relaxes into her, and she feels him nod just barely as he whispers, “I do.”

Chapter Text

The morning of their trip to Earth dawns…well, the same exact way every morning dawns in Hell: it kind of doesn’t, since a dawn would require a sun. Charlie is nonetheless bouncing out of bed more or less as soon as her eyes are open and getting dressed in her carefully chosen outfit to blend into the human world — red blouse and black slacks with her favorite saddle shoes. She keeps pausing and fiddling with her outfit, tugging her clothes this way and that, fussing with her hair and trying a ponytail and then a bun and then back to a ponytail until eventually she just ties it back into a braid to keep herself from fucking with it any further.

She’s got her bag, having carefully stocked it with everything Rienne advised her to bring, including human currency for the country they’ll be in and several maps. The crystal has been calibrated for Seattle, Washington, which is apparently a large, busy city not far from the park they’re aiming for. They’ll be there by the early afternoon, Earth time, which should leave them plenty of time to explore. Charlie reaches into her bag and pulls out the list she made, color coded and with the opening and closing times of each place written out as a reminder.

► Pike Place Market (9 AM - 8 PM)
► Space Needle (9 AM - 10 PM)
► Museum of Pop Culture (10 AM - 5 PM)
► Chihuly Garden and Glass Museum (9 AM - 8 PM)
► Seattle Aquarium (9:30 AM - 6 PM)

There’s a few more, and the map of the city Rienne got her has all of them circled in their corresponding color. Charlie’s got their day planned out down to 15 minute blocks, and all of it will end with them walking to one of the observation points in the park in time to watch the stars rise. She looks over it one last time, then takes a deep breath and folds it up into her pocket, staring out the windows of the parlor where she’s been getting ready, grinning as she sees the red sky and remembers that soon, she’ll be seeing a blue one — a real blue one.

“Excited?” Lucifer’s voice asks from behind her, and Charlie turns to find him standing in the doorway. He takes in her outfit and smiles. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Charlie says, and then she looks back out the windows. “I’m so excited it’s hard to breathe. I’ve wanted to do this for years.”

Her younger self is probably crying and jumping up and down for joy right now. Her whole life, she’s wanted to see Earth, and here she is, actually getting ready to do it. It’s dance-worthy, if she’s being honest, and she has to resist a happy little wriggle. Having Lucifer here only makes it better, too; after so many years of estrangement, having him back these last weeks has been…

Lucifer joins her in looking out the window, looping an arm around her body and pulling her close to him so casually and naturally that it feels like they should have been with each other for millennia.

Good, Charlie finishes silently. Having him back has been good.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks, allowing him the half-hug for a moment before she squirms free and starts carefully refolding one of the maps, trying not to buzz out of her own skin with excitement and anticipation. “There’s so many things I want to do, and I think we’ll have time to do them all if we’re smart; sunset is at 9 PM — OMG, we get to see a sunset! — and most places close before that, so we might even have a bit of free time if we’re fast! I— okay, I think the city is next to the ocean, but I’m not sure, but either way, it’s close, so maybe we could go then…”

Charlie trails off, lost in thought, and so it takes her a while to realize that Lucifer hasn’t responded. She finds him still staring out the windows, arms crossed tightly over his chest and his jaw set. He doesn’t even seem to notice her looking. Something about the hard defensiveness in his eyes makes Charlie’s veins chill with an icy, brittle feeling.

“Dad…?” Charlie says, and then, when he doesn’t respond, “Dad?”

Lucifer starts, meeting her eyes and smiling an unconvincing smile. “Yes?”

“Are you…?” Charlie stops, then switches direction. “Do you…not want to come?”

“What?” Lucifer’s eyes widen. “What are you talking about? Of course I do.”

“I mean…you just don’t seem very excited,” Charlie says. She clears her throat and looks back down at her bag so he doesn’t see the tears that threaten to gloss her eyes. “You don’t… I won’t be mad if you stay here.”

“Charlie.” Lucifer moves into her field of vision, reaching up to gently guide her to look at him. “Sweetheart. I’m not staying here. We’re doing this together.” He waits until she nods, then he sighs, dropping his hand to gently smooth out the bow around the neck of her blouse. “I just…I want to make sure you know that free will is…a dangerous thing.”

He’s…scared…? Charlie blinks, then she reaches for his wrist and catches it, linking their fingers together. “No one’s going to hurt you, Dad.”

Lucifer’s sharp bark of laughter is unexpected, and he shakes his head, expression all teeth and hot-iron gold. “I know that. Any mortal that tried would be a scorch mark on the ground before they knew what hit them. It’s not me that I’m worried about.”

“Ah.” Charlie’s cheeks prickle with a mix of embarrassment and love as realization hits her. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

She doesn’t enjoy feeling like a helpless maiden too much, if she’s being honest — she knows that Lucifer just wants to protect her, but she is a grown woman with a very sharp pitchfork that she can summon out of thin air and also possibly some strange, half-Fallen angelic magic that she hasn’t fully tapped into yet (that last part is still a bit of a question mark). She doesn’t need anyone, whether they’re her father or not, treating her like she’s some flower that’ll wilt at the slightest provocation.

“So can I,” Lucifer counters, with a knowing arch of his brow, “and yet here you are.”

“Okay,” Charlie relents. “I guess that’s fair. But, still, you really don’t need to guard me.”

“Hm.” Lucifer doesn’t seem like he entirely agrees. “Either way, I don’t want you to be disappointed when you see what Earth is really like. Honestly, Charlie, it’s…not everything it’s cracked up to be.”

“Right, because everything bad that people say about something must be true,” Charlie says, and when Lucifer eyes her, she adds, meaningfully, “Or everything bad they say about someone.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem impressed. “Many of the bad things they say about me are true, so this is not as good of an argument as you think it is.”

Charlie groans. “Oh, come on. I’m going to be excited no matter what! Even if Earth sucks! Because I’ll never know if it sucks or not until I at least give it a shot!” She won’t get mad at him — she can’t get mad at him, not when she knows why he’s like this — but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t think he’s being a little insufferable. “Don’t write it off before you even get there.”

Lucifer’s shoulders slant, his expression going a little weary, but he still looks up at her with something that could best be described as affectionate resignation in his eyes. “You’re not going to let me be bitchy about this, are you?”

“Nope,” Charlie says, with one of what she’s come to think of as her signature Morningstar smile. “You’re going to be open-minded if I have to drag you into it by your ear.”

“Only you could threaten the Devil with optimism,” Lucifer grumbles, and then he shakes his head. “But fine. Let me just…”

He looks down at himself, shakes his head, and snaps. When the red glitter of magic fades, he’s dressed in white slacks, a white button down, and a deep rose red vest. He pauses, brushes something off his vest, and then looks up at Charlie as if asking for approval.

“Looks nice,” Charlie says with a nod. “I hope our clothes are okay. I don’t want to draw too much attention…”

“I’m sure humanity has better things to do than worry about a snazzily dressed couple.” Lucifer snaps his fingers and a bowtie appears around his neck, his hands going to it and tying it into an effortless knot in seconds. “Besides, humans dress weirder. You’ve seen what Sinners wear, right?”

Charlie hums in noncommittal agreement, then looks out the windows again, a fresh rush of excitement sending a whirl of butterflies through her chest. Earth. Sunshine. Stars. It’s so exciting, Charlie’s pretty sure that if she jumped a little too high, she’d end up rocketing straight past the pentagram. She takes a deep breath to calm herself, then swings her bag over her body, making sure everything is tucked inside before reaching for Lucifer’s hand.

“Ready?” Charlie asks.

Lucifer nods once.

Charlie slips the crystal from its place in one of the pockets of her bag and holds it in her palm. It pulses with a subtle power, the pale green of it clouded with shimmering smoke, and seems to warm up against her skin. The magic of it is bright and sharp, like a pinch, and Charlie takes another deep breath, squeezes Lucifer’s hand to steady herself, and whispers the command.

“Take us to Earth.”

There’s a crackle of magic — unfamiliar and heady, fighting against Charlie’s tenuous control of her own before she feels Lucifer’s aura steadying and strong against hers. It’s not like one of Lucifer’s portals, which are like stepping through a static-filled doorway, but more of being sucked down into a whirlpool, light and sound and color cascading in a torrent of shifting frequencies until, as suddenly as it started, something shifts, and the flood settles.

It’s…warm.

Charlie’s eyes fly open — she didn’t realize she had closed them — and the immediate brightness that meets her eyes is downright blinding. A few blinks, instinctively checking that Lucifer’s hand is still in her own, and the eye-watering intensity of what can only be the sun settles enough for her to look around at her surroundings.

They’re standing on a street corner, leafy trees shading part of the sidewalk but leaving just enough dappled sunshine to cast warmth onto Charlie’s face as she stares with wide eyes up towards the sky. She knew that it would be blue, but she didn’t realize how blue. Bluer than sapphires and every other precious stone, bluer than any paint or marker she’s ever used, so blue it feels like if she stares at it too long, she’ll drown in it. The buildings don’t rise nearly as high as the ones in Pentagram City, and the lack of hard steel and glass lines makes her almost believe that she could reach out and brush her fingers across the brilliant, warm azure, cloudless and perfect. Tears prick her eyes at the sight, and Charlie’s halfway to reaching up towards it when she feels a firm tug on her hand and Lucifer pulls her back against the wall of whatever building they’re standing next to — judging by the smell of coffee and pastries, probably some kind of cafe.

Before she can ask Lucifer why, there’s the sound of a bell and someone whizzes past on a bicycle, speeding through right where she was standing just moments before. Right. Situational awareness. Not just a necessity in Hell, but a necessity on Earth, too. Charlie shakes herself and glances up at the sky as if reassuring herself it’s still there before she looks closer at where they are. The street signs place them at 4th and Wall, and the other establishments at the intersection are a restaurant, a tall business building, and apartments. Cars are driving through at a slow, sedate pace, a few here and there, but beyond the limits of this little pocket, Charlie can hear the sounds of highways and horns.

Okay. She has to focus. They don’t have all day to waste time standing around. Charlie reaches into her bag for her map, bringing it out and unfolding it. She was pretty sure her phone map would have automatically updated with Earth’s locations, but she wasn’t entirely sure, and didn’t want to be stranded with no way of getting around.

“Cleaner than I remember,” Lucifer says, and though his voice is light, his aura is wound tight with wariness and unease. “Then again, I’m pretty sure it was some kind of economic tragedy last time I was topside in America.”

“It is clean,” Charlie realizes out loud, following his gaze around them. “Wow.”

It’s not spotless, but it’s miles better than Pentagram City. There’s a few pieces of litter, an overflowing trash can, but the sidewalks are clear of blood and gore and the cars don’t have to dodge bodies as they go through the intersection. Charlie looks back down at her map, buoyed by the good signs so far.

“Okay, I want to go to something called the Space Needle first.” Charlie taps it on her map — it’s only a few blocks away. “It’s…like a skyscraper, kind of. And you can go inside and go up to the top.”

Lucifer nods in acquiescence and falls into step next to Charlie as she starts down the street, glancing at the signs to make sure she’s going the right direction and staring around herself with unconcealed awe. Everything is so…bright. And people are laughing, and walking, and sitting outside restaurants and cafes and talking and eating without glancing around themselves constantly for danger, and cars are going by slowly with their windows down and music coming from inside, and all of it feels like Charlie’s gotten her ribcage cracked open and pure happiness poured into it.

“Oh, Dad, look, look!” Charlie jumps as a squirrel darts across the sidewalk in front of them, crawling up the nearest tree and perching in one of the lower boughs as it stares down at them, shaking its tail and chittering. “It actually looks fluffy!”

The squirrel gives one final whip of its tail before turning and climbing higher, out of sight, Charlie following its path until it disappears into the leafy green. Charlie giggles and looks back at Lucifer, wanting to see his reaction to an animal that cute, but he’s not even looking at the tree — he’s looking right at her, head tilted slightly to the side and expression soft.

“That was cute…” Charlie trails off, losing the thread of her thoughts at the sight of Lucifer looking at her like that. She clears her throat, then reaches for his hand again. “Earth has soft animals. I love it already.”

“We have squirrels in Hell, too,” Lucifer says, allowing her to lead him down the sidewalk. “You used to feed them when you were younger.”

“Yeah, but they’re not fluffy.” Charlie rolls her eyes. “They’ve got two heads and saber teeth!”

Lucifer scoffs. “You still thought they were cute.”

“They are cute! In their own way. Earth’s squirrels are cute in their way,” Charlie says with a grin. “Neither are better than the other. They’re two different kinds of good.”

Lucifer grumbles something that Charlie can’t make out, but he doesn’t seem to have any rebuttals to her endless optimism this time. Where Charlie watches people, Lucifer assesses them, something sharp and calculating whenever he looks away from Charlie, as if expecting a threat from around any corner. Really, though, no one seems to even notice them, people walking past as if they’re not even there.

There’s more people as they start approaching an open space, many of the humans chattering loudly and similarly holding maps and bags. Charlie tries not to stare, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself or send up red flags, but she can’t stop looking at all of them. Sinners were human, but most of them don’t look human — multiple arms, or wings, or they’re very tiny or very large, or they’ve got TV heads or three sets of eyes or any number of other features that mark the transition from a human soul to a demonic one. Up here, on Earth, they’re just…human. They all look a little different, different shades of skin and hair and eyes, skinnier builds or wider shoulders, but they’re all human.

Charlie towers over most of them, she realizes with a hint of uneasiness; as they walk into the throng of tourists, she sticks out like a sore thumb. She’s never even considered herself that tall before, at least not for a Hellborn. Taller than Lucifer, sure, but everyone’s taller than Lucifer. She tucks her bag around herself a little self-consciously and is glad when the most reaction she gets from the crowd is a double-take and then seeming disinterest.

“I didn’t know I’d be so tall,” Charlie whispers to Lucifer as they cross the street, following behind two women wearing matching sun hats and carrying backpacks. “I thought I was average height…”

“Do you want me to change it?” Lucifer asks, looking up at her as if he’s only noticing now how tall she stands above everyone else. “I could probably just…” He makes a lowering motion with one hand. “You know.”

“No, I…I think it’ll be okay.” Charlie clears her throat and tries to act natural, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the brightness as they near the edge of the tree cover. “It is really bright up here, though…I didn’t know it’d be this bright. I thought that it’d be like Gluttony, or Wrath, but—”

Her rambling is cut off by the feeling of something being pressed into her hand, and raises it as they wait on the corner for the crosswalk signal to change to find a pair of light sunglasses. A grateful look at Lucifer gets her a little smile in return, and she puts them on, relieved to have some of the blinding effects of the sunlight on her Hell-adjusted eyes lessened slightly. Wrath and Gluttony both have light skies, too, but it’s more of a diffused brightness, even with Wrath’s hovering balls of magma that drip endlessly into its volcanoes. Charlie adjusts the glasses on her face and keeps tight hold of Lucifer’s hand as they make their way across the street.

“Is that it?” Charlie asks, looking up once they break out from under the trees to see a tall spire of concrete and steel rising up into the sky, the top a round building that looks like it's stuck to a bicycle wheel with spokes out from the center. “That’s so cool! Look at it, Dad!”

“I see it,” Lucifer says, but he doesn’t sound as annoyed as his words suggest, and he blinks up at the structure. “So that’s the…Space Needle?”

“Yeah! Come on, I wanna go all the way up to the top. There’s an observation deck up there.” The buzz of excitement pulls Charlie forward once more, lightness returning with the sun warm on her face and the breeze carrying the scent of water.

“The advances in architecture are impressive,” Lucifer says as they allow themselves to be pulled into the crowd waiting for the signal to change to walk into the parking lot of the building. “Then again, I’ve been up here a lot while they’re destroying their architecture, so maybe I just have a low bar. The last big world war they put on would have been impressive if it wasn’t so awful — Heaven had me up here on official business, and it felt like every day was a new swath of lovely old buildings being reduced to rubble. Destruction: one of the few things mortals are good at.”

Charlie frowns. “Well, that was a while ago… Look at Earth now! This place is wonderful.”

“We’ve seen four blocks of one city.” Lucifer’s eyes are hidden by his own conjured pair of sunglasses, but Charlie’s pretty sure he’s rolling them. “Earth is—”

They’re cut off by the signal changing, and Charlie steps into the road along with everyone else, craning her neck back to stare up into the bright blue sky, broken in half from her perspective by the gleaming white of the building.

“Beautiful,” Charlie finishes, not letting Lucifer have a chance for more pessimism, and she pauses outside the doors to steady herself one last time. “Alright. Come on.”

Without giving him room for argument or her own brain room for second thoughts, Charlie pulls the doors open and walks inside with Lucifer close behind.

The air inside is cool — Charlie had barely noticed that outside was hot, considering Pride is by-default muggy and a little oppressive — and dry, and the loud chatter of the atrium threatens to draw her attention in a million directions at once. A line seems to be coalescing around a desk off to the side, and around the other sides of the room shelves are lined with little souvenirs: stuffed wolves, tiny replicas of the building, hats and shirts and socks. Charlie leads Lucifer towards the line, alternately wringing her hands in front of her and fidgeting with the strap of her bag.

“We’re right next to the gardens I want to go to,” Charlie says, spotting a sign outside the window and turning to Lucifer excitedly as they wait in line. “They’re gardens of glass! Well, sculptures. And artwork, I think. Or something! Apparently there was this guy who just made a bunch of sculptures and so they put all of them in these gardens and you can go look at them! Imagine if we had something like that in Hell? Oh! That would be amazing! I’m sure there’s lots of artists — the Academy has an entire art program, but their gallery isn’t very good, and there’s not a lot of glasswork, but—”

Lucifer gives her a meaningful look, and Charlie shuts her mouth, realizing how loudly she was talking.

“Sorry,” she continues quieter. “I just think that would be great. Maybe I could wrap that up into the Hotel…”

Lucifer’s expression does a complicated thing, very obviously holding back some choice words about her hotel idea, but then he nudges her shoulder with a nod as they get up to the desk, where an older woman with a gray-streaked bun wearing a navy blue polo shirt looks up from her computer and gives them a well-practiced smile.

“Hi! How can I help you two?”

“We’d both like to go up to the observation deck,” Charlie says, reaching in her bag for her wallet. “So, um, two…adult tickets, I guess?”

The woman pauses, then turns completely in her chair to look up at Charlie. “You don’t already have tickets?”

Charlie tries not to freeze as a shot of dread makes her brain slow to respond. “...No…? We— We couldn’t— uh, we didn’t have service, so we didn’t— couldn’t buy anything beforehand…”

Fuck… Of course. Charlie trails off, face feeling hot with shame and sudden frustration. She should have expected this. Rienne told her this was a tourist attraction; of course it would be busy.

“I’m sorry, miss,” the woman says with a sympathetic wince. Her name tag identifies you as Lizzy. “Unfortunately, we can’t sell any more slots today. Space is pretty limited up on the observation deck, so we’ve got it on a timed system. If you wanted to buy tickets for another day, though, I could help you find a time that works…”

“No, we’re…we’re only here for one day.” Charlie bites her lip, not knowing why she’s tearing up and feeling Lucifer step a little closer, steadying her. “Um…is there anywhere else…?”

The woman hums, glancing at her computer screen. “You know, I could probably get you entry into the Chihuly Gardens. Our tickets go through the same system, and normally we’d sell bundled packages, but…I think I could make something work so you’re just paying for the Garden tickets. Would that be alright?”

“That would be really nice. Thank you,” Charlie says, trying to blink away the stinging in her eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t…realize how busy it would be, I guess…”

“Yeah, the summer is a really busy time for us.” Lizzy taps a few keys and then peers at her screen. “Right. So I could get you both in at 2:30 PM, which is in about half an hour. How does that sound?”

Charlie nods and hands over a bill, taking the change back as well as the two sheets of paper that Lizzy prints out from a printer behind the desk.

“Sorry again,” Lizzy says, as Charlie steps to the side and tucks the tickets into her bag. “I hope you come back someday and get to go up there!”

“Yeah,” Charlie replies, managing a weak smile, and then she clears her throat and hurries off into the shelves of the gift shop, Lucifer a few steps behind.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Lucifer pauses once they’ve stepped into the shadow of a rack of sweaters. “If I had known…”

Charlie waves him off, shaking her head and trying to re-center herself. “It’s fine. It’s fine! We’ve still got all day. This was one thing out of, like, a hundred. It’ll be okay. We’ll still make it work.”

She doesn’t allow him any more time to worry before she walks back out onto the sidewalk, shaking herself before looking around until she finds a little stone wall that she can sit on. Lucifer takes a seat next to her, and Charlie’s vaguely aware of him leaning back and looking up to the top of the building as she reaches for the tickets and reads over them to distract herself.

The realization of what Lucifer is doing takes an embarrassingly long time to hit Charlie. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“What?” Lucifer looks at her with innocence all over his face. “I wasn’t thinking about anything.”

“Dad, we cannot fly to the top of one of Earth’s tourist attractions in broad daylight!” Charlie hisses, remembering only at the last second to lower her voice as a small gaggle of people walks by. “People will see!”

“Come on, they wouldn’t even know what they were seeing! As far as they knew, it’d just be…I don’t know, a trick of the light. Or a really big bird.” Lucifer turns and looks up to the top. “It’d be easy as pie, Charlie. Two wing flaps and we’d be at the top.”

“Heaven will probably notice if a bunch of humans start freaking out about a blonde guy with red wings flying around,” Charlie says, but she can’t deny that the idea is tempting. “If it was night time, maybe, but there’s like a hundred people just in the parking lot…”

“And how much attention are they paying to what the two of us are doing?” Lucifer’s grin is sharp.

“Now I know what people mean when they talk about the Devil on their shoulder,” Charlie says, but she still can’t help but look around the parking lot — Lucifer’s right: nobody’s paying them any attention. They’re just two more tourists. “You really think no one will notice?”

“Of course not.” Lucifer throws a hand out. “Look at them. They’re managing their children or staring at their phones. Humans don’t notice anything that isn’t right in front of them, and even then…”

He looks around, then gives a meaningful shrug. Charlie bites her lip and tries to go over all the reasons why it’s a terrible idea, because it is a terrible idea, but also…she was looking forward to this.

“You’re a really bad influence,” Charlie says, but then she tucks the tickets back into her bag and stands up. “But okay, fine.”

“My dear, being a bad influence is kind of my thing,” Lucifer teases, but he stands up, too, taking her hand and looking around before nodding at a little path. “Come on.”

The little sidewalk leads into a lightly forested area, mostly empty of people and somewhat sheltered from the parking lot and street. Charlie willingly tucks her arms around Lucifer and braces herself for the stomach-turning lurch of Lucifer taking off. Between one second and the next, they’re halfway up the building, and then there’s one powerful beat of Lucifer’s wings and they’re on solid footing once again. The whole thing takes less than three seconds, and Charlie grabs on to Lucifer tight as she realizes that they’re standing on the slightly domed ceiling of the building, but any fear of falling is wiped away as she looks up and sees an expanse of glittering water, deep green hills and mountains stretching out until the horizon meets the ground beyond it. The view is breathtaking, and up here, so close to the sky, the brightness of it feels overwhelming again, that all-encompassing blue.

“Oh, my God,” Charlie whispers, still holding Lucifer tight, and the sunlight glitters off the water and in the distance a ship steams past and the green and the blue all blur together until she realizes that it’s not the landscape at all but tears gathering in her eyes. “It’s…beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Lucifer says, just as soft, from next to her. “Yeah, it is. Have to give Them credit for that…They sure do know how to make a world.”

“You probably really miss it, don’t you?” Charlie asks, before she can stop herself, and she instantly regrets it. She wanted this to be a happy trip, not a trip to make Lucifer remember how much he’s lost.

But Lucifer just looks up at her, something tender in his expression, and shrugs. “Sometimes. But there are beautiful things in Hell, too.”

Charlie would hug him, if they weren’t already, and as it is she just gingerly walks a little closer to the edge and motions Lucifer down so they can sit together. She pulls her knees up to her chest, trying to drink in the view, trying to permanently etch it in her mind so she can keep seeing it forever. Everything is so bright and beautiful and fresh, a cool, crisp breeze offsetting the warmth of the sun, and it smells like salt and water and green things, not the acrid smoke and blood of Pentagram City or the smoldering sulfur of Wrath.

They sit there for a while, heads against each other, watching the water glitter in the light, letting the only sound be the air rushing around them and the distant sounds of traffic from the city. Charlie thinks she could stay here forever, and their trip has barely started — if this is what everything here is like, she doesn’t think she could get enough of it if she had an entire week on Earth. She loves Hell, for all its flaws, but this…this is something else.

Eventually, though, she pulls her phone out and takes a few careful, deliberate pictures before checking the time. “We should probably head back down so we can go to the glass place.”

Lucifer nods, standing up and seeming as if his footing on the slippery metal beneath them is as sure as can be, and holds out a hand. Charlie takes it and grabs hold of him again, feeling him raise into the air, wingbeats impossibly silent, and carefully but quickly lower them back down in the same spot they took off from. Charlie’s almost amazed that he was right and they managed to pull that off without anyone seeing them…until she looks up and meets the eyes of a very shocked teenager staring directly at them.

“You didn’t see anything,” Lucifer says, before Charlie can even think of opening her mouth.

The teenager shakes their head, turns on their heel, and very quickly walks away.

“I never should have let you talk me into that,” Charlie groans after a deafening beat of silence, hiding her face in her hands. “Now everyone is going to know—!”

“They won’t say anything, and even if they did, nobody would believe them,” Lucifer soothes, rubbing a hand over her forearm. “But…we probably should get out of here. Just in case.”

Charlie groans again, but recognizes his point, and she looks around before following the signs down the path to the building next to the Space Needle, large letters over the doors naming it as Chihuly Garden and Glass. This time, Charlie makes sure her tickets are in hand, taking another deep breath and crossing her fingers that this time will go better than the last.

There’s no line at this desk, and the man there looks over their tickets before giving them both a red wristband and motioning them into the dark doorway behind the desk with a chirpy request to look but don’t touch and to enjoy their visit.

“Woah,” Charlie breathes as soon as they step over the threshold. “These are…weird. I like them!”

The glass pieces in the first room are all distinctly organic, great, writhing masses of tendrils frozen in green and red and blue, sparkling under bright lights. Charlie knows she can’t touch them, but a part of her longs to run her fingers across the glossy surfaces, walking in slow circles around them and staring at their twisting angles.

“Humans are strange, strange creatures,” Lucifer mutters under his breath, earning him a sideways glance from a passing woman. He ignores her. “They’re not bad, I guess.”

Charlie scoffs to herself — if Lucifer is talking about humanity, ‘not bad’ is probably high praise. She takes a few more moments to look around, then sets a leisurely pace through the rest of the rooms, pointing out interesting things to Lucifer and watching as he peers at them with barely-concealed bemusement. There’s a room full of glass flowers as tall as Lucifer that’s particularly nice, and she takes a few pictures of it, giggling when Lucifer moves and the reflections of the lights cast checkerboard shadows all over his white clothes.

In a way, Charlie is glad that Lucifer isn’t pretending that this is the greatest thing ever. She knows he doesn’t trust humanity, that he might never entirely trust humanity, but she also doesn’t want him to lie about it to placate her. She’s glad that he’s here, and she’s glad that they’re together, and maybe this will be a piece of the puzzle in making him see that free will wasn’t weaponized to hurt him specifically. After all, could humanity have done all this stuck in that garden?

Charlie considers the final plaque on the wall before the exit, telling the story of Dale Chihuly, who was so passionate about his art that it’s now on display in over 400 collections. There’s a photo of him, a man with curly hair and an eyepatch who smiles at the camera like the person behind it just told an exasperating joke.

He looks nice, Charlie thinks, tilting her head to the side slightly. I think he’d be a good friend.

By the time they leave the main gallery building, the brightness of the sun is even more blinding after the relative darkness. She doesn’t want to put her sunglasses back on and ruin the colors of the sculptures out here, so Charlie instead wanders down the path with no real direction, keeping her eyes on the foliage and content to just walk with Lucifer until he taps her shoulder and points in the direction of a large, greenhouse-like building shaped like an overturned boat. Through the windows, Charlie can see a swirl of huge glass poppies, hanging from the ceiling as though suspended in midair. It’s beautiful, and she makes a beeline to the doors as soon as she sees it, blinking the sun-blindness out of her eyes and gaping up at the glass sculptures so obviously that she hears Lucifer laugh and feels him gently guide her out of the walkway.

“It’s so pretty,” Charlie says, head up towards the mass of red and orange glass that hangs almost ethereally above their head. “They’re so pretty! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“They’re lovely,” Lucifer agrees, all fond indulgence, and his hand lands on the small of her back, tipping his head up to follow where she’s looking as she leans into him.

Red and orange shadows glaze the white tile of the floor as the sunlight comes down through the glass, and each flower has to be the size of an umbrella, dark centers and all different shades of warmth as Charlie stares, open-mouthed, up at them. It’s one of the most beautiful things she’s seen, right up there with the view from the Space Needle, and she almost falls to her knees from the force of the adoration. This is humanity, this, right here, beauty and light and freedom, and she looks over to Lucifer just as he looks at her.

“I want a picture of us in here,” Charlie says, and she’s already pulling her phone out, almost afraid to look away from the beauty of the flowers in case they disappear. “It might be hard to get the flowers in the photo, though…”

“Oh, I could take one for you, if you’d like.”

Charlie and Lucifer both look up at the same time to see a young woman with the name of the gardens across her shirt approaching them, tucking a radio onto her belt. She smiles warmly at them.

“We get a lot of people who want photos here. The trick is distance. If you stand right over there, I can step back and get a photo of you both with the flowers in the background.”

Charlie doesn’t even think twice before handing her phone over before guiding Lucifer to stand with her, wrapping an arm around him and smiling at the camera as the woman holds her phone up. A few moments later, she drops it and starts back towards them, turning it out to show Charlie the photos.

“Anniversary?” The woman asks pleasantly, and Charlie looks up from the screen, not grasping the meaning for a second.

“Sorry?”

“Is it your marriage anniversary?” The woman motions at them both. “You’re both dressed up so nicely, and couples celebrating anniversaries always seem so familiar with each other, so I just wondered if maybe…”

“Oh.” Charlie feels her face heat up. “Oh! Um, no, no, he’s— ah, we’re just on— a little vacation, actually.”

“Ah, sorry, my bad. Anyways, enjoy your trip!” With a little wave, the employee leaves.

One glance at Lucifer’s face shows that his cheeks are also dusted with gold, and Charlie can’t help a halfway-hysterical little giggle as she leans down to show him the photos. “Anniversary photos.”

“Please never remind me of this experience ever again,” Lucifer mutters, looking anywhere but Charlie’s face. “Is this a weird place to draw the line? This is probably a weird place to draw the line, but I’m drawing it. People thinking you’re my wife is a bit too much, I think.”

“At least I wouldn’t have to change my last name,” Charlie replies, and it’s funny in such a horrible way that she nearly doubles over with sudden laughter. “Princess Morningstar to Queen Morningstar. Oh, that’s awful.”

“That is awful, and we should stop having this conversation right now.” Lucifer’s words are strained with held-back laughter and maybe a little bit of chagrin, and he grins at her when she looks up to wipe her eyes. “How are the photos?”

Charlie swallows back another giggle and shows him again. “They’re really nice. I think I want one framed.”

They are nice photos — Charlie and Lucifer next to each other, pressed close together, their clothes bright against the white and complementing the reds and oranges of the flowers that are visible behind them in the ceiling. Charlie really doesn’t have many photos of them together aside from a few baby photos she saved for one reason or another, so these are nice. Especially since Lucifer looks as happy as he does in them.

“Well,” Lucifer says, once Charlie’s put her phone back in her bag, “where to next?”

Charlie looks up at the flowers one last time, drinking them in and trying, once more, to make sure she’ll never forget this. After a moment, she lowers her head, looks around, and remembers that they’ve still got all day to see this beauty.

“I’m so glad you asked.”

***

Evening brings a cool breeze along what Charlie’s learned is known as the Puget Sound, ruffling a few strands of hair that have escaped her bun as her and Lucifer walk along one of the piers, each holding an ice cream cone. After the glass gardens, they managed to get into the Seattle Aquarium, where Charlie gushed over the simulated tide pools for ten minutes straight after a friendly volunteer pointed out each and every animal and marine organism in the water — and where she almost cried over how cute the sea otters were during the scheduled feeding of them. Then it was Pike Place Market, where Charlie gave in to the urge to buy a keepsake in the form of a small sketchbook with a star chart as the cover, and then they wandered around downtown Seattle, popping into little shops here and there and looking through the art and clothes and tchotchkes until finding an ice cream parlor and silently and unanimously deciding that this would be as good of an end as any to the day.

Charlie takes a bite of her huckleberry ice cream, apparently a Washington State specialty, watching as the sun begins to dip low towards the mountainous horizon on the far side of the Sound. She’s only been on Earth a few hours, but she’s fallen deeply in love with it nonetheless. It’s everything she dreamed of. She doesn’t want to stay here forever, really; she likes her home, despite the problems it has. Still, she wouldn’t mind coming back and maybe staying a while next time. Lucifer was right when he said that this is one tiny part of one city in one singular country. There’s a whole world to explore out there.

“The first sunset looked a little bit like this,” Lucifer says from next to her, leaning against the railing of the pier, one hand holding his pink-and-blue striped ice cream. “Cloudless. It was pretty.”

Charlie nods in agreement, long ago having ran out of words to describe Earth’s beauty. It’s not often that Charlie Morningstar is truly lost for words, but here she is, staring out at the water and wondering if there’s a word in any language for the landscapes in front of her.

“Goho Iad Christeos Olpirt,” Lucifer murmurs, seemingly half to himself. “And God said, ‘Let there be light.’”

Finding his hand and covering it with her own feels natural, remembering how bittersweet this must be for him. He could have known this world, had the angels been merciful. Instead, he’s forced to stay in a realm he hates, only ever seeing humanity’s evil and darkness and never seeing the brightness that he helped create. Behind Charlie, the city buildings rise, reflecting the evening light, and people walk to and fro, couples and groups and joggers and dog walkers and families. Just like the glass poppies, beautiful and warm: when Charlie thinks of humanity, that’s what she thinks of.

There’s a high-pitched yelp from a grassy slope next to one of the piers, and Charlie and Lucifer both look over to see a child hold up a ball in exuberant triumph, grass stains on her knees as she clumsily sprints back over to where a man is waiting, laughing indulgently and waving her back so she can catch it as he throws it again. Further down the path, two women walk, half-falling into each other with shared laughter and pulling each other out of the way of a person on a bike, their helmet flashing a light as they pedal hard to keep up with the dog next to them, tongue lolling out and happily sprinting along with its human down the sidewalk.

Love. Charlie looks up at the sky again, the azure fading into dark cornflower as the day gives way to evening. All of this is love, and all of this is free will. Maybe in the end, they’re the same thing.

They finish their ice cream, standing at the railing of the pier until the brightness of the sun begins to touch the horizon. When it does, Charlie stands up straight, makes sure her bag is zipped up and secure, and looks over at Lucifer.

“We should start towards the park.” Charlie looks around them. “It’s…that way… Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?” Lucifer straightens, too, instantly on alert. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“No, I…” Charlie stares across the Sound. “I’m so stupid. I didn’t realize how far it was— that’s the park on the other side of the lake. I thought it was just— I thought it was smaller! Everything in Hell is so small, but Earth is huge—”

They can’t walk to that. When she saw it on the map, she didn’t realize just how big this place was. Pentagram City is crowded, yeah, but it’s small, everyone packed together in those high rises and apartments, and most other cities in Hell are the same way. The biggest wide-open spaces you see are in Wrath, and even those don’t seem that large compared to what she and Lucifer are looking at right now. Charlie digs the heels of her hands into her eyes.

“Charlie…”

“God, I’m so stupid. I should have known—”

Lucifer’s hands gently wrap around her wrists and tug her hands down so she has no choice but to meet his eyes. “Charlie, I can fly. It’s okay. We’ll get there.”

Charlie sniffles, a little ashamed of being brought nearly to tears once again because of her own shitty planning skills. “People will see—”

“I don’t care.” Lucifer brings his hands up to link their fingers together. “You want to go, so I’m going to find a way to go. Unless you’ve got a better way.”

Charlie looks around, then shakes her head, finding nothing. Even if there was a way, it probably wouldn’t still be running this late in the day. Is flying really the best alternative, though? The Space Needle was already pushing it, and they were barely up in the air for a few seconds. Flying across the Sound will probably have them in the air for at least a few minutes, most likely longer, and there’s boats, and people on the shore… But Charlie looks over the water again, the sun a bright disk touched by those distant mountains, and can’t bear the thought of leaving Earth without seeing what she came here to see.

She takes a short, sharp breath, then nods. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. I think there’s some buildings over there where we could take off from.”

Past the grassy area are a few small buildings that look like some kind of tool sheds to provide a small shield from any wandering eyes of humans. Charlie makes sure her bag is secure, then wraps her arms around Lucifer again, watching as all six of his wings unfurl from his back in a riot of red and white feathers. He glances up, judging the distance, and then there’s a head-spinning lurch upwards and Charlie is airborne for the second time today.

The ground falls away beneath them, and seconds later it’s not ground but water, the deep navy of the Sound reflecting the sky and their shadow as Lucifer effortlessly carries them both over it. Where Pride’s air was hot and muggy until you got some altitude, the cool breeze seems to be ever-present here, smelling like salt and freshness. Up in the air, with the only noise the sound of the wind past their faces, humanity seems far away, and the only things that are real are Lucifer next to her and the Earth on every side. Charlie thinks this is what being a bird must feel like, this freedom and lightness, the sun’s rays on her face as they fly straight towards it.

Beneath them, islands and waterways pass in moments, the landscape silently slipping by, and Charlie watches in breathless, chilled awe as mountains rise up in front of them, still capped with snow despite how hot it was back in the city. Olympus was the home of the gods in an ancient religion, and Charlie sees why they consider these Olympian too; deep valleys carve through the landscape, little lakes and rivers glittering in the warm light of the sunset and others cast in deep shadow, and the mountains rise higher than any in Hell, higher than the Space Needle, higher than anything else that Charlie has ever seen.

Beautiful feels like too lame a word to describe it — it would be like calling a wildfire just a little bit warm. This is breathtaking, and Charlie shivers not from the wind or from the altitude but from the sheer glory of what’s in front of her: Earth, everything that it was meant to be.

Lucifer stops above the highest peak, further up in the air than Charlie’s ever been before. Beneath them, snowcaps sparkle on the sheer, rocky slopes, feeding little trails of water that thread like shining ribbons until they disappear into the forest. The air is thin, and cold, but Charlie takes a deep breath anyways and looks around herself, everything seeming touched with gold in the light of the setting sun.

“Do you want to keep going?” Lucifer asks, eyes fixed towards the sun, something in them that Charlie can’t quite place. “We could circle back after the sun sets, but I…”

It takes Charlie a moment to realize what she’s looking at, the horizon dazzling without the mountains to cut the sunlight, but then she recognizes that the flat expanse of brightness visible until it becomes the horizon can only be Earth’s ocean. “You want to go flying over the water?”

“If that’s okay,” Lucifer says. “I…really wanted to.”

Charlie nods, eager to give him this and herself fascinated by the idea of an ocean on Earth instead of the oil-slicked dark water that washes up on the rocky beaches of Greed. Lucifer takes off again, coasting down the valleys and using the air currents to his advantage as he follows the long snake of a river cutting a trail across the land.

The forests turn to farmlands, towns passing by beneath them, little places that look like miniature replicas from Charlie’s view, and the ocean seems to approach them rather than the other way around, rising to meet them as Lucifer pushes them just a little harder, a little faster, rushing towards that expanse of shining water with Charlie held securely in his arms.

Greed’s oceans stretch into infinity, so the vastness of it doesn’t surprise Charlie. But the colors of it certainly do. In Greed, the water disappears into darkness, smelling like tar and gasoline, but here, the sky seems to blend into the water like they become the same thing if you only go out far enough. Lucifer’s path takes them over a rocky outcropping, waves crashing far below, the red and gold sunset reflected below them to match the sky above, and then there’s nothing beneath them but water that feels endless.

Lucifer banks sharply to one side once they’ve gone out past the breakers, whitecaps foaming and disappearing beneath them in turns and the shore distant behind them as Lucifer turns to fly parallel along it, heading up towards where the land juts out towards the horizon as if trying to meet it. Beyond the cape is a small island, and Lucifer seems to have the same idea as Charlie does, because he heads for that, close enough to see the lighthouse resting on the jagged hillside. Lucifer circles it a few times before carefully setting them both down on the roof beneath the tower, the cliff dropping into the waves below them and the sun almost fully set on the horizon. This time, it’s Lucifer who sits first, guiding Charlie to join him, and she gladly huddles close to his warmth after realizing how much the windchill has seeped into her bones.

“Thank you,” Lucifer says softly, the screeching of sea birds and the waves the only other sounds. “I always wanted to do that. See the ocean from that perspective.”

Charlie just hums her acknowledgement, the exhaustion of the day suddenly hitting her as she blinks at the setting sun. There’s a brief crackle of magic, and then she feels a jacket being tucked around her shoulders, helping ease some of the chill. She leans her head on Lucifer’s shoulder, watching the final rays of light glimmer serenely over the water before, finally, they disappear altogether, leaving the horizon lit with dusky oranges as night begins to truly fall.

“We will be able to see the stars from here, right?” Charlie asks once the horizon begins to darken, suddenly worried. They can’t have come all this way to have some kind of bad view or have clouds roll in at the last second.

“Probably not with the lighthouse,” Lucifer says. “But I can take us back into the park. I think I saw some kind of observation point or something when we went over the first time. That should be far enough away from any lights.”

That settles some of the worry, and Charlie relaxes again, letting her eyes close and giving in to the comfortable, pleasant tiredness from the day she’s had. The ocean and Lucifer’s presence near her are soothing, leaving her content to rest here for a while until the sky darkens enough for them to see the stars.

It feels like mere moments later that Lucifer’s shaking her gently, and before she can open her eyes, she hears his voice.

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” Lucifer says softly. “Let me fly you to the viewpoint first. The lighthouse means it’s a little hard to see them where we are.”

Exhaustion forgotten in an instant and replaced entirely with eager, sparkling anticipation, Charlie nods her assent, feeling as he once more picks her up and the rush of air around them as he lifts off. It’s a little disorienting with her eyes closed — having no sense of balance and relying entirely on him makes her feel a little queasy until she manages to turn her head to the side and hide it in his shoulder, keeping her grip on him steady as he begins to lower in altitude.

Solid ground meets them a few moments later, and Charlie waits until Lucifer steadies her and steps back before she takes a deep breath, tips her head back, and opens her eyes.

“Oh,” Charlie whispers, voice broken, and she can’t even be ashamed this time of the tears that rise to her eyes.

Hundreds of thousands of pinpricks of light are splashed across a background the color of navy blue velvet, silver glitter across a dark tile floor or sequins on a dress of some celestial being greater even than God. Charlie blinks once, twice, and when she opens her eyes a third time, they’re still there, the stars, beautiful and bright and real. No more is it a poster above her bed or a picture from someone she knows — it’s right in front of her. She’s looking at it. She tips her head back further, looking up where Earth’s moon hangs against the spotted backdrop, a bright white crescent.

“I…” Charlie blinks again, the tears overflowing. “I…”

“It’s okay,” Lucifer says, and he takes her hand, squeezing gently. “I know. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Charlie nods a jerky agreement. Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cut it. It’s almost painful how much it is, the sight of them all above her, too many to count. Across the center of the sky, a band of stars runs like a river, a trail to follow to places that perhaps not even angels can go. Charlie can pick out constellations that she’s learned, name the stars she sees, but all of that seems so very unimportant now. What do mortal names for these great spinning masses of plasma crafted by hands older than time itself mean, anyways?

“You made some of these,” Charlie murmurs, half to herself. “Dad…”

“We all did,” Lucifer replies, his voice just as quiet. “It was a collaborative effort.”

“It’s perfect.” Charlie scrubs the tears away from her eyes so she can see the sky better. “It’s even better than what I imagined.”

She doesn’t know if she’s ever felt as happy as she does now — maybe as a child, maybe with Lucifer — and it’s making her feel giddy and almost delirious. This could tempt her to stay on Earth, she thinks, this sight right here, and she sees why so many devote their entire lives to the night sky. There are beautiful things in Hell, but not beautiful things like this.

The sound of voices draws Charlie from her reverie, and she turns down, blinking, to see a small group of humans gathered around a previously unnoticed building at the bottom of the hill that her and Lucifer are standing on. As she watches, one of them makes a note on a chart before the red of their light looks up towards their companions. Charlie has to listen a little closer to hear the words, but she edges a few paces down the hill and listens as what seems to be some kind guide for an astronomy meeting talks to their group.

“And that, of course, is Mercury — you can see it, yes, just there. Right next to the moon. Yes, look at that. Gorgeous view tonight. Above that is Leo, the lion, of course. Mercury — which was also known as Hermēs for how fast it moves across the night sky — is the smallest planet in our solar system, the closest to the sun, and oftentimes called our twin, despite the only thing shared with Earth being our sizes. It wouldn’t be a good habitat, I can say that for certain!”

Charlie follows where the person points, able to pick out the bright spot of what must be the planet Mercury just below the moon. Just below and to the right of it, nearly on the horizon, another bright spot sits, almost as bright as the moon itself.

“Right, and further down, it’s setting now, we see Venus — sometimes known as the evening star. Of course, as Venus rises in the mornings, in its morning star aspect, it was known to the Greeks as Phōsphoros, or light-bringer, and Hesperos in the evenings, as Western one.”

“Light-bringer,” Charlie echoes, almost silently. “The Morning Star.”

Venus shines in the darkness of space, a light so bright that Charlie understands why it’s a name shared with the most beautiful angel Creation has ever known. Charlie looks at Lucifer, just for a second, then back to the horizon, and silently agrees that the name fits.

The low voices of the astronomy group blend into the background, soft murmurs of humanity as Charlie keeps tight hold of Lucifer’s hand and lets the sight of the universe wash over her.

It could be minutes later or hours later that Charlie takes a deep breath, her body aching from the motion of tilting her head back for so long and a vague feeling of dizziness making the horizon tilt as she blinks a few times. Venus has sunk out of view, and the astronomy group has left, leaving Charlie and Lucifer alone. Charlie doesn’t really want to leave, but she knows they have to. The longer they’re here, the higher the chances that someone will notice their absence. Besides, if Charlie spends any longer looking at the stars, she might not find the strength to leave.

She reaches into her bag, the Asmodean Crystal right where she left it, and looks up to the sky again as she holds it in her hand. Lucifer takes it in, then gives her a curious look.

“Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, and she smiles at the moon one last time, not as sad as she thought she’d be to leave it behind. “I think so.”

This time, the portal sucking them into the light-sound-color whirlpool isn’t so unexpected, and the last thing Charlie sees before she’s blinking at the ceiling of the palace is the night sky twinkling cheerfully as if waving her goodbye and wishing her a speedy return.

Chapter Text

The days pass, as days tend to do. A printed out version of the photo of Charlie and Lucifer underneath the glass poppies appears on the bedside table that Charlie has silently claimed next to where she keeps the star in its metal frame. Without even realizing it, they both change their phone backgrounds to photos of each other — Charlie to one of Lucifer sitting in the middle of a rather large flock of pigeons they found while wandering around downtown Seattle, and Lucifer to one she didn’t even realize he had of her at the pier in front of the Sound.

Speaking of her claimed bedside table, she eventually bites the metaphorical bullet and just admits to herself that she might as well simply drag the rest of her stuff into Lucifer’s room. As expected, Lucifer has no complaints, and neatly splits his closet and wardrobe to allow her space. There’s still a few things that she needs to find a place for, but overall, she slips right back into Lucifer’s space as easily as she slipped back into his life.

It’s fitting, in an ironic way, that he’s beginning to once again fade out of hers.

She remembers this from her youth. Him in his workshop, keeping the doors closed in a silent request for solitude — a request that Charlie respects, but worries about nonetheless. The quiet that hangs around him like a physical thing. The feeling of his aura, now that Charlie can read it: not dark, but gray, like the color is slowly being leached out of him. He still tries to smile at her, and he holds her just as fiercely as he always has when they cuddle, but there’s something different, something off.

Charlie, having read every book she could find on the subject, has decided that the best path forward is to single-handedly revitalize the palace gardens.

It may sound like yet another of her cockamamie, starry-eyed ideas, but Charlie’s got several good reasons for it. Number one: Lucifer used to like them when she was younger, and she remembers him seeming especially bereft about their decline as she got older and his mood started worsening. Number two: Charlie knows from her reading that getting someone out and into nature is a good way to get them out of their head. It’s an undertaking, to be sure; the palace gardens are huge and varied, with greenhouses, plantings, fountains, and a million other random things that Charlie doesn’t even know how to begin to take care of. Nonetheless, Charlie throws herself into it with all of the foolish optimism she can muster. Which is, as anyone will tell you, a lot.

Other than that, she keeps trying to make sure that Lucifer still knows she’s in his life and has no plans on leaving. Sometimes he looks surprised to find her in bed when he finally leaves his workshop, standing there for a second like he’s half-sure she’s going to disappear if he moves. It’s times like those that Charlie remembers that he’s been as good as alone for most of her life. Perhaps the tightness with which he holds her is just as much for his benefit as for hers.

It’s one of those nights where she falls asleep feeling warm and safe in his arms that Charlie is jolted awake in what she knows is the time of night that’s either very late or very early. A long, disorienting second is spent wondering what woke her up, and then her hand finds Lucifer’s side of the bed, and more importantly, finds that it’s empty. Instantly, she’s sitting up, unsure of what she’s afraid of but feeling ten times better as soon as she sees the faint glow of Lucifer kneeling on the floor at the side of the bed, the sheet halfway tugged off and his wings hanging limp in a mess of white feathers behind him.

The relief doesn’t last long at the sight. Charlie doesn’t have to be a master of reading people to know that something’s wrong, and carefully, she scoots to his side of the bed and sits there at the edge, close enough to touch him but resisting the urge once she sees the way he’s shaking, head bowed.

“Dad…?” Charlie asks softly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer rasps, after a tense moment. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“I know you’re not.” Charlie waits another moment, then carefully gives in to the urge to touch him and reaches for his shoulder.

But Lucifer flinches away, his wings tucking tight against his back as he hunches a little further forward to try and get away from Charlie. Instantly, Charlie pulls her hand back, something feeling like it's squeezing her chest at the sight of his pain, and clasps her hands tightly in her lap to keep herself from trying to grab him again.

“I'm sorry, I…I didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn't…” Lucifer trails off, and Charlie hears the way he swallows drily, his shoulders still hunched. Then, very softly, every word sounding like it's being dragged out of his chest with a crowbar, he says, “They broke them. My wings. They…they broke them. Having people reach for them, sometimes…I…”

It’s a cascade of emotions at his words, the horror and outrage, the awful remembrance of the way he trembled the whole time she was setting the break in his wing, him saying that they’re stronger than they look. Each wing has several joints, looking so fragile, so hard to heal. Did Adam know that happened to him? Is that why he did it again? Because raping him wasn’t enough?

“It just reminds me,” Lucifer whispers, voice rough. “Sometimes. On— on bad days. Bad…nights.”

“Dad, I…I'm so sorry.” Charlie manages to hold her tears back — but only just. “I'm…I won't touch them. I just, um…can I put my hand on your shoulder?”

Lucifer nods, jerky and sudden, and Charlie feels the way he shudders when she carefully lays her hand on his shoulder, rubbing at it gently. He's still hunched over, and Charlie doesn't even know for sure what's wrong — his aura is swirling with bitter pain and fear, but she doesn't see any injuries. She guesses it was a nightmare…but with Lucifer, she doesn't ever really know.

“I promise I’m fine, Charlie.” Lucifer takes a shaky breath, raising one hand to cover his face. “I just— I just…”

“You’re not,” Charlie murmurs, her thumb reaching to carefully pet the soft blonde strands right at the nape of Lucifer’s neck. “I can see the way you’re shaking. Please, just let me help. You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but…” Charlie’s words trail off into nothing, the air of the bedroom cool and heavy around them, and eventually, she swallows, feeling her voice catch and having to even it out. “I love you, and it really hurts to see people I love in pain.”

“It was just a nightmare,” Lucifer says, though his dismissive tone feels hollow with the way another shudder runs through him. “Just…just bad memories. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

Charlie traces the line of his shoulder blade. “You’re safe.”

“I know.”

“I’m right here.”

“I know.”

Charlie wishes it were as easy as when she was young and all he had to do to make her feel better was pull her into his lap and kiss her forehead. Gently, she squeezes his shoulder.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Lucifer gasps, and Charlie hears him try to choke out a proper response, but then something seems to snap and he doubles over further, pulling free of Charlie’s loose grip as a tremor wracks his body, shoulders shaking and arms wrapped around himself. For a second, Charlie thinks the sounds he’s making are sobs — then she realizes he’s laughing, brittle and almost maniacal.

“Dad…”

Lucifer shakes his head, the laughter dying as quickly as it came and his wings rustling before disappearing back into their glamor. It leaves him looking suddenly small in just his pants and shirt with his head bowed like a supplicant to a god. “I know. This isn’t what you signed up for.”

Charlie’s heart sinks. “No, I—”

“You thought I’d just be a little sad, you thought— you thought I’d be someone nice to take care of, that it’d be sweet instead of pathetic, but this is it, this is— this is me. This is me. The nightmares came back, and now everything else is— is— is going to fall apart, and—” Lucifer grates out another laugh. “And it’ll be so fucking quiet in this place again.”

“Dad,” Charlie says, trying to keep her voice firm but gentle and not give in to the near-unbearable urge to join him on the floor and cry. “Just— just look at me. Come here. Please.”

She thinks Lucifer isn’t going to do it. Then he slowly picks himself up and shifts so that at least his body, if not his face, is towards her. He looks defeated, his shoulders slumped, his hands clenched into fists as he stares at the rug underneath him.

“It’s not going to fall apart.” Charlie starts to reach for him, reconsiders, and drops her hand to her lap awkwardly. “I’m not going to leave, I’m not going to stop loving you, I— I want to help. I want to… I will stay with you. Forever.”

“Forever is a really long time,” Lucifer whispers. “Lilith realized that in under ten thousand years, and she was cast out of Heaven for me.”

“I’m not her,” Charlie says, thinking of the portrait of Lucifer and Lilith hanging in the foyer, the tall, severe woman with lavender eyes and grand horns that Charlie thought would one day come back and claim her. “I can’t wait to spend eternity with you.”

Lucifer scoffs. “You don’t know what eternity means.”

The unbidden mental image that occurs to Charlie so strongly she can nearly see it is of a feral dog snapping at anyone who dares to show it affection, a person terrified of anything good because at any moment it could all get taken away. The books talked about this: sometimes, someone would rather burn all their bridges than let anyone cross them to offer help. Charlie isn’t going to let Lucifer do that.

“Not really,” she agrees, because he’s right — trying to comprehend the idea of eternity is a little brain-breaking, even for an immortal like her. “But that’s okay. I’ll have you.”

Finally, Lucifer looks up at her, tear tracks shining on his face. “Charlie…”

Charlie shakes her head gently, cutting him off. “Just listen to me. You told me that I’m stubborn. Well, I am. No matter how much you snarl or snap at me, I’m not going to walk away, because I don’t give up. And…I’ve set my mind to loving you, so…here I am. Here’s where I’ll always be.” She swallows, emotion threatening to choke her. “I signed up to be your partner. I don’t care if it’s not all sunshine and rainbows. I’m an optimist, not a child. Don’t ever think I didn’t know what I was walking into, okay?”

Lucifer blinks hard as more tears trace little tracks down his face. Then he sobs — sharp and broken — and drops his head into her lap. Charlie, unsure of what else she can do, carefully brings her free hand up to pet his hair, stroking across the soft blonde. He whimpers at the touch, but doesn’t pull away, and Charlie hums gently as she folds the strands back into order, reaching for the first song she can remember, a little lullaby whose Enochian words always escaped her but whose tune is stuck deep in her brain along with a distant, fuzzy memory of Lucifer’s arms around her.

Charlie’s still humming when Lucifer’s sobs finally fade and are replaced with quiet, shaky breaths. She’s still got her hand in his hair, too, and now she brushes a few strands back from his forehead as she gathers her thoughts.

“Do you…want to tell me about it?” Charlie asks eventually, keeping her voice soft.

Lucifer barely lets her finish. “No.”

“That’s okay.” Expecting anything else probably would have been foolish. Charlie carefully runs her thumb along the edge of one of his pointed ears. “If you ever do…”

“It’s not because I don’t trust you,” Lucifer says, after a long second of silence, face still mostly hidden in her pajama pants. “It’s just that…there are some things that you just don’t need to know, sweetie. Things that I…I just don’t want you worrying about.”

“I grew up in Hell. There’s not much that could really freak me out at this point,” Charlie counters.

Despite the truth of her statement, though, she still can’t help but wonder if maybe Lucifer has a point. She’s seen a lot of awful things. But what Adam’s done to Lucifer…that’s a special kind of awful, not least because it’s Lucifer it’s being done to. Charlie has to resist dragging him into a crushing hug at the memory of his broken wing.

“I suppose that’s true,” Lucifer murmurs. He doesn’t elaborate.

Charlie leans over to glance at Lucifer’s phone displaying the time — still early enough to make going back to bed a perfectly respectable option. “Do you think you could fall back asleep?”

“Not usually.” Lucifer raises his head, wiping the last of the wetness away from his eyes as he folds his arms up on Charlie’s knees and looks up at her tiredly. “I usually just… Well, I don’t go back to sleep.”

“Well, I’d…really like it if you could stay with me.” Charlie fights back the prickle of tears as she thinks about how many times he must have woken up shaking and terrified without anyone there to comfort him. “At least until I fall asleep.”

Some of the tension in Lucifer’s posture seems to ease a little bit. “Yeah. Yeah, of course I will, Charlie.”

He moves to sit up against the headboard as she settles back in bed, watching as she pulls the sheets back up to cover herself. Once she’s comfortable, Charlie adjusts to better face him, catching the way he smiles softly before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as he pulls away with a murmured goodnight. Charlie accepts the affection gratefully and tries not to think about fractured joints and someone’s hands holding Lucifer down, blinking instead up at those piercing golden eyes as she tries to regain her comfortable tiredness.

In the briefest moment before Charlie drifts off, she almost swears she can see a halo.

***

The nightmares do come back.

Charlie wakes up the next night to Lucifer shaking, and the next, she rolls over to find him perfectly still, eyes wide and staring at the canopy like he’s not even seeing it. She’s always unsure about reaching for him in times like those, not wanting to set off even more bad memories. The system they silently and wordlessly agree to is simple: if he reaches for her hand, or wrist, or arm, or anywhere else, and taps it once, he’d rather not have her touch him any more than she already is. Two taps, and she’s free to wrap herself around him and cling as much as she wants. The realization that they’ve so easily and seamlessly formed these kinds of little agreements is a bright spot in an otherwise depressing patch. Charlie wishes they didn’t have to do it like this, but at least they’re starting to learn each other. Well, really, Charlie’s starting to learn Lucifer — despite barely being around for at least a third of her life, Lucifer seems to know everything about her already.

I wonder why, Charlie thinks, rolling her eyes at her own bad joke as she sits on the floor next to the bed, plastic totes next to her as she sifts through her last few items that she still needs to find a place for in Lucifer’s room. Their…room. Their room. That they share.

That thought is still one of the ones that seems to trip her internal logic up. Maybe it’s the sheer domesticity of it? Having a torrid affair with your father is one thing, but moving back in to share a room with him is another… Not that she’d call her relationship with Lucifer torrid. Or an affair. Charlie shakes her head and pops the top off the nearest tote, reaching inside and pulling out a shimmering black dress that probably saw its last use about twenty years ago.

As she holds it up, scrutinizing it, Lucifer opens the bathroom door, the cool, humid air of a recent shower drifting out behind him as he spots Charlie and walks over to better peer at the dress. It’s the first time Charlie’s really seen him today — he was gone when she woke up, and in the shower when she came in here to start on sorting out the last of her stuff — and she welcomes his attention, smiling encouragingly up at him before turning her focus back to the dress.

“That’s kind of cute,” Lucifer says, reaching out to run his fingers over the fabric. “But you’re not really a dress kind of girl.”

Charlie shakes her head ruefully. “Not really. It is cute! I just…hate wearing it.”

“Well, get rid of it, then.” Lucifer crouches down next to her, idly looking over what she’s doing though it seems like his thoughts are somewhere else.

“I should…” Charlie shrugs. “But I feel bad. I bought this with Ozzie, and besides, I hate getting rid of clothing. I always…”

Lucifer raises a questioning eyebrow. “You always…?”

“I don’t know, I…I kind of feel…” Charlie bites her lip as she realizes how stupid she’s about to sound. “Like, what if…it’s sad…”

“...The clothing?” Lucifer asks after a second that makes it very clear how silly he thinks she’s being.

Something about the deadpan tone of his voice makes Charlie laugh, and she drops the dress down into a crumple of black fabric in her lap. “That was a really ridiculous thing to say, wasn’t it?”

“It was, and I love you for it.” Lucifer bumps his shoulder against hers before standing up to go grab his favorite silk robe. “Well, maybe you have a friend who would like it?”

“Yeah, maybe…” Charlie drops the dress back in the tote, wondering if it would fit Rienne.

She reaches for a few of the boxes underneath the bed, trying to see what’s under there so she’s not blocking anything important with whatever she puts in front of them, and pulls out a small crate filled with books Charlie remembers Lucifer reading to her as a child along with an unfamiliar, nondescript wooden box. It looks vaguely like something Charlie’s pretty sure Lucifer used to store pictures in, and so she reaches for the latch without thinking twice, flipping it up and starting to lift it open.

“Charlie, wait—”

Lucifer’s warning comes too late, and Charlie recognizes the unmistakable gleam of angelic steel before Lucifer’s hand lands on top of the box and slams it closed as he yanks it out of Charlie’s arms.

“You can’t just go opening random boxes you find under people’s beds, Charlie! Honestly, I thought I raised you better than that— I mean, really, I know you didn’t mean any harm, but you should think before you act, it could have been something—”

It almost happened too fast for Charlie to really process. Almost.

“Were those…angelic weapons?” Charlie asks, not even thinking of cutting him off, only able to imagine a knife to Lucifer’s throat and a man in an Exorcist’s mask holding a weapon high as fear chills her veins like her blood’s turned to ice water.

Lucifer falls silent, staring at her desperately. He’s ended up kneeling next to her, robe hanging halfway off his shoulders, and the box is clutched protectively to his chest. Slowly, Charlie turns to face him completely, digging her fingers into the rug to keep herself grounded as she stares at the innocent little box and imagines the gleam of weapons inside it.

Angelic weapons can’t kill me. Charlie hated to think of Adam trying, but this has dragged an equally unpleasant, gut-wrenchingly terrifying idea into the cold light of realization: what if it wasn’t Adam that tried?

“Dad,” Charlie starts, and it takes real strength to keep her voice even. “Why do you have those?”

“They can’t really hurt me,” Lucifer says. The non-answer is as good of confirmation as Charlie could ever ask for, and she barely hears him over the roar of blood in her ears as he continues, “The only weapons that could hurt me are the— the ones wielded by the Archangels, or by the other Seraphim, not— these can’t—”

“That’s not an answer!” Charlie hates herself for raising her voice, and she feels her claws threaten to tear the rug as she squeezes it tighter and bites back a sob. “I— Please. Please, Dad, please, tell me you’re not— tell me you haven’t—”

Lucifer meets her eyes, then drops his gaze down to the box, pulling it away from himself just enough to look at it. When it shifts, Charlie can hear metal on metal, sharp blades that could end even her immortal life kept in a little box underneath her father’s bed. She knew he was depressed, knew he hurt himself, knew that this was a possibility — but having it in front of her like this, made physical by the baleful glitter of angelic weapons, feels like she’s being smothered.

“It’s okay, Charlie…” Lucifer has set the box down in front of him, and he reaches for Charlie as if to show her something, his smile shaky. “See? I’m okay. I’m fine. After the first time, I knew they couldn’t kill me, and—”

“But there was a first time,” Charlie says, blinking away tears as she stares at Lucifer, begging him to tell her she’s wrong. “There was a time where you didn’t know that, and you tried. Right?”

Lucifer makes a move as if to reply, then stops, swallows, and drops his hands. “I…”

Charlie isn’t angry. At least, she’s not angry at him. She’s angry at Adam, and at the world, and at Heaven, and actually, maybe she is a little angry at him, but mostly she just wants to cry. She should have thought about it sooner, she should have known, but she didn’t think about it. Maybe she didn’t want to. She rubs her face with her sleeve and sniffles, taking a second to steady her voice before she speaks.

“How old was I?”

Lucifer doesn’t speak for so long that Charlie assumes he’s not going to answer. Then he sighs, his shoulders slumping, and turns so he’s sitting back against the bed. Charlie watches as he tips his head back and stares at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

“You were 161.”

Charlie narrowly manages to bite back her whimper. She was still being sent off to Sloth for Exterminations then, and the idea of coming back to find Lucifer dead frightens her even now, watching him sit in front of her perfectly alive and whole. Of course, that’s assuming it was during the Extermination. Would it be better if she had been in the palace the whole time, unknowing and uncaring of his silent struggles?

“I… It was just…it was a bad year,” Lucifer says haltingly. “It was…hard. And…you were gone, and…and I…I thought maybe I had found a way to— to make sure you would be safe even if I was dead and the deal was off, and Adam left and I— I just— I just wanted it to stop. I just wanted all of it to stop.”

Charlie tries to remember that year, but they all blur together in her mind, year after year of snapping at Lucifer whenever the Exterminations grew near out of frustration at her inability to change anything about them. What if he really had succeeded? Their last words were probably terse at best, knowing what their relationship was like back then. Charlie doesn’t think she’d ever have slept peacefully again if their last interaction had been an argument.

“I just wanted all of it to stop,” Lucifer repeats, and he pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his face into his arms. “It hurt so much. The binding magic was still on me, and…” He shakes his head. “I wanted it to be over. So I…I left…notes…explaining it. Explaining everything. To you, to Ozzie. Then I…”

The silence is crushing. Blades, it’s always blades; the angels don’t carry guns, they carry spears and swords and knives. She wonders how far down the scar tissue on Lucifer’s arms goes. She wonders how bathwater feels against knife slits. She wonders how she would have reacted if she had found him dead by his own hand. When she washed his hair after she found him, there was a tinge of gold in the bathwater, just enough to almost make it beautiful in another situation, but it wouldn’t have been anywhere near beautiful if the water had been molten gold from his lifeblood and he hadn’t woken up.

“But I woke up.” Lucifer sounds as if he’s halfway to a sob. “I woke up, and— and nothing had changed, and you were still gone, and— and I fucking hated myself. If I had— if I had done that to you, I— but I just wanted it to stop and I thought you’d be better off without me anyways—”

That’s the wound that severs Charlie’s self-control, and she practically throws herself on him to hug him, all of the terror at her own imaginary scenes of Lucifer dead making her squeeze him so tight it aches. Thankfully, Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind, because he turns into her embrace, and she closes her eyes and tries to focus like she did that night not long after she found him: his aura, his warmth, the presence of him alive and safe.

“There will never be a world where I’m better off without you,” Charlie says fiercely, voice quiet and strained to keep herself from breaking down in tears. “I want you in my life. I’ve always wanted you in my life.”

Lucifer shudders and whispers, hoarsely, “Charlie, I—”

“You mean so much to me.” Charlie can feel the way his aura ripples with acrid shame, and wraps her arms around him just a little more, pulling him against her body. “I care about you so much. You’re— you’re— I love you. Okay? I love you. I want you here. I want to be able to know that you’re always going to be here, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Charlie grew up knowing that Lucifer is immortal, so she always knew that whatever else happened, she wouldn't lose her dad. It was equal parts comforting and frustrating during the later years. The prospect of eternity with an estranged father who she thought didn't love her wasn't exactly a pleasant thought for a teenager, after all, and Charlie would often picture herself at 300, at 500, at 1,000, still only ever seen as Lucifer's daughter, never actually as Charlie Morningstar, a person in her own right, and never even knowing the man who raised her in the first place. She doesn’t feel like that now. Now, she wonders if eternity will really be enough time with him.

“I'm sorry,” Lucifer murmurs, face turned into Charlie's neck. “I am. I'm so sorry. I—”

“Just trust me,” Charlie replies. “Don't apologize, don’t— don't hate yourself. I don't hate you. I'm not angry at you. I just want you to trust me.”

Charlie Morningstar is a lot of things, but she's not a liar. She's always felt her emotions strongly, always been quick to anger and sadness and love, and Lucifer knows this just as well as she does, having been on the receiving end of basically all of them. When she tells someone she loves them, she means it. Especially now. Especially him.

“I know it’s hard. I know…I know you’ve been alone for a long time. But you have to trust me when I tell you that I love you and I want you around.” Charlie reaches up to put a hand at the back of his neck to steady him as she pulls away to rest their foreheads together. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“No,” Lucifer agrees, sounding like he’s trying to smile. “No, you wouldn’t.”

They stay like that for several long minutes, and when Charlie finally pulls away, wiping her face, the first thing she does is reach for the box. She registers Lucifer shifting uneasily next to her, pulling his robe tighter around himself and making a concerned little noise when she unlatches it and pushes it open again.

“Careful, Charlie, those are…sharp…”

Charlie’s never really seen angelic weapons up close. By the time she’s out after Exterminations, most of it has either been scavenged by arms dealers or taken by the retreating Exorcists. Besides that, she’s never wanted to get close to them — not when they’re the only thing that could permanently injure her or even end her life. They’re easily recognizable with their gleaming gold and silver accents, their blades etched with rays of light or shaped like artful, deadly wings, and Charlie blinks at them, realizing that their glitter is the same as the glitter of the collar that Lucifer had on when she found him. Gingerly, she reaches in and picks one up by its pommel, a thin, deceptively delicate dagger with a needlepoint tip, looking at it before dropping it back into the box.

The sound of the latch closing carries a certain sort of finality to it as she shuts the lid, and Charlie looks down at the innocuous simplicity of the box, knowing Lucifer’s still watching her. “I’m hiding this, and then I’m getting rid of it.”

“Charlie—”

“Don’t Charlie me,” Charlie says, giving him a firm look. “Do you have any more?”

Lucifer blinks at her, his cheeks blotchy gold, then he shakes his head.

“Are you lying?”

“No.” Lucifer tucks his arms around himself and turns his body away. “Really, there’s no need to kick a guy while he’s down…”

“I’m not doing this to humiliate you.” Charlie sets the box aside, folding her hands in her lap and facing Lucifer completely, trying to channel calm competence instead of the vaguely sickened panic at the thought that if he wasn’t as powerful as he is, she wouldn’t have a father anymore. “Nothing about this makes me think any less of you. I don’t look down on people who need help, no matter what kind of help they need.” The words hang in the air, and Charlie tries to take a deep, steadying breath. “But I can’t let you keep hurting yourself.”

She can only see part of Lucifer’s face, the edge of his expression that Charlie knows is brittle with anger just to cover shame. Humiliation isn’t her goal here, and she figured he wouldn’t take intervention laying down, but she can’t back off. Just because these weapons won’t kill him doesn’t mean no weapon will. Even if he was entirely invincible, is Charlie really supposed to let him practice suicide over and over? Rehearse his own death like a one-man circus act? For immortals, Charlie supposes, the line between self-harm and suicide attempts gets blurry pretty quickly. He said he knew he wouldn’t die after the first time — does he really think that doing it purely to cause himself pain is somehow more acceptable to her?

“If it matters,” Lucifer says, pulling Charlie from her thoughts, “Since you came back… It’s been…better. I’ve…felt better.”

Slowly, he pushes himself up, keeping his robe closed tightly around himself and his face turned away. His hoofsteps are a little unsteady at first, and then he pauses, his shoulders shuddering, and grabs the post of his bed. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet enough to make Charlie stop breathing in order to make sure she can hear it.

“I really wish it could last.”

He still thinks I’m going to leave. Charlie’s heart sinks. After all the times that I’ve promised him I won’t, he really still thinks I’m going to leave.

She can’t find words except for assurances that feel useless and desperate in the face of the fact that there was a time where Lucifer was pushed so far over the edge that he thought death would be better, and nobody saw. Her mind repeats it the same way it repeats Adam’s name if she lets herself think for too long: there was a time in her life where her own father thought that she would be better off with him dead. It feels like it hits her all over again, and Charlie feels such a flash of incandescent rage towards Aadm for doing this to him that she nearly sees red.

The sound of Lucifer’s steps on the floor has her jerking back to the present, and she sits up as she sees his retreating form in the doorway. “Dad, please don’t run away—”

It’s like she didn’t even speak before he’s out of sight.

***

Ozzie answers her phone call on the third ring. “Hey, hon, what’s up?”

Thank everything that is unholy for Ozzie. Charlie sighs. “I have, like, a really big favor to ask…”

“Ooh, okay, a favor, huh?” Ozzie’s voice goes quiet for a moment as he tells someone to shoo, then comes back. “Please don’t tell me you broke Luci’s heart. Or that you’re pregnant…”

Charlie’s too preoccupied to give him the reaction he’s surely looking for with his teasing. “I need you to keep some angelic weapons safe.”

“...Oh, right, that kind of favor,” Ozzie says. “Of course I will. Why do you need that favor again?”

“I just need them out of the palace.” Charlie paces across the bedroom, staring at the box of weapons sitting on the end of the bed. “I…It’s…”

Ozzie’s silent for a moment, which, from him, is a little concerning. Then he seems to sigh. “You know what? Why don’t I open a portal for you, and you bring them over and we can chat? Get out of that old palace, you know, a change of scenery. I’ll order something from Bee Eats if you want.”

Charlie pauses at the end of the bed, glancing towards the door where she’s sure Lucifer is holed up in his workshop and chewing her lip, then puts her head in her hand. “Yeah. Yeah, thank you, Ozzie. Just…yeah.”

“Uh-huh.” The line crackles, then goes dead.

Charlie drops her phone, takes her hand away from her face, and glares at the box. Things were going so well. Even if Lucifer’s mental state wasn’t perfect, at least Charlie had a plan. Now, she feels like she’s just floundering, trying to keep her head above water, trying to keep hold of Lucifer even as he tries as hard as he can to pull away. Well, Charlie’s not fucking letting him. Not this time.

The box feels heavier than it should in her arms as she picks it up just in time to turn and see Ozzie’s portal open, linking the rich reds and golds of Lucifer’s bedroom to Ozzie’s purples and blues, all thrown into sharp relief with the flickering light of soulfire. Charlie steps over the threshold just in time to see Ozzie give an affectionate kiss on the head to a little imp in a jester’s outfit before watching him leave and closing the door behind him once he’s out. That done, he turns to Charlie, clasping his hands in front of himself and striding towards her, his expression and goat faces pinched with worry.

“Hey, Charlie. Is everything okay?”

Charlie drops the box on the coffee table and accepts his hug, but pulls away a moment later, scrubbing her sleeve across her face as she sits down on one of the overstuffed sofas. She doesn’t feel good about talking about Lucifer’s problems without him present, but she knows she needs to tell someone, and since Lucifer obviously trusted Ozzie enough to tell him about Adam, Charlie hopes he’ll forgive her for this.

“I can’t let Dad keep these anywhere he can access them,” Charlie says, managing by some grace to keep her voice even as she looks down at the box. “It’s dangerous for him.”

Ozzie doesn’t reply to that. Then, as weary as Charlie has ever seen him, he sits down on one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table like he knows where this conversation is going to go.

“I wish I could say I was surprised.” Ozzie reaches for the box and pulls it a little closer, popping the lid and staring down at the weapons inside with some mixture of disapproval and resignation. “Lucifer…” Ozzie seems to falter for a second, then he shakes his head. “Lucifer’s been through a lot.”

“I know.” Charlie takes a deep breath. “He…told me everything. About— about Adam.”

Ozzie freezes for a moment, then gives her a sorrowful look. “Oh, honey…”

Ozzie’s concern makes all of the rage and stomach-churning nausea bubble back up to the surface, her throat feeling tight for a moment before she takes another deep breath and digs her claws into the plush couch beneath her, grounding herself. She can’t go back in time and change it. She can only move forward.

“I wanted to tell you,” Ozzie says softly, sounding a little regretful as he stares down at the weapons again. “I really did.”

Charlie shakes her head, not wanting to let it drag her down into the past when she has to focus on the future. “I understand why you didn’t. And I— I’ve forgiven Dad for lying to me. I probably would have done the same thing.”

Ozzie nods, seemingly understanding her unspoken request to let the matter be left in the past. “Yeah. But…even before all of that, before Adam… Lucifer wasn’t exactly the most well-adjusted. He Fell from Heaven, Charlie.”

“I know,” Charlie repeats, thinking again of a falling star, but Ozzie shakes his head.

“Nuh-uh. You weren’t there. You know, but you don’t know. That doesn’t mean you love him any less, but trust me, that’s something you have to see.”

Charlie swallows, but stays silent. She suddenly feels just as young as she really is having this conversation that’s so clearly meant for an older version of herself who would know how to respond and know what to do. The childhood vision of Lucifer as invincible, unbreakable, larger-than-life — all of that has fallen away, and Ozzie’s words sweep the last shards right out the door. Her father is just as breakable as anyone else, and Charlie just didn’t want to think about what caused the cracks. Broken wings and a city-sized crater. How long does it take for an angel to Fall?

Something dawns on Charlie, though, and she sits up, not liking the realization. “Wait. If you knew about his deal with Adam, then why weren’t you helping him after the Exterminations?”

Ozzie grimaces. “Because the last five years I tried, he all but chased me out of the palace with threats of obliteration. Belle tried, too. We both wanted to be there for him. We both wanted to help. But Lucifer…”

Charlie feels her shoulders slump, hating that she recognizes the truth in Ozzie’s unsaid statement. Were she as naive as she once was, she might have responded with anger and told him that they should have kept trying. But Charlie knows better now. Lucifer might be all bark and no bite towards her, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have teeth.

“The fact that Lucifer has let you in just goes to show how much he loves you,” Ozzie continues. “And really, Charlie, if anyone could help him… It’d be you. Come on, you think Belle or I know how to fix him? Us? A couple of Sins? Nah.”

“He thinks I’m going to leave,” Charlie says, resisting the urge to put her head in her hands. “He’s just… He’s convinced that I’m going to leave.”

“He wants you to leave,” Ozzie corrects. “I’m not saying that they were right to throw him out of Heaven, but they weren’t exaggerating about the whole Pride thing. He doesn’t want you to see him as weak.”

“But I don’t think he’s weak!” Charlie wants to tear her own hair out in frustration. “He’s gone through so much, and he’s still…” She sighs, closing her eyes and allowing herself a little smile at the thoughts that she calls to the front of her mind. “When he’s happy, when he’s in a good mood, he’s…”

“Practically radiant,” Ozzie says knowingly, and Charlie opens her eyes and nods. “But when he’s not?”

Charlie stares at the floor, still able to feel Lucifer shaking with his head in her lap or see him huddled against the side of the bed. It seems they both know the answer to that question.

“I just don’t know if I’m doing the right thing,” Charlie says, after a long silence has ticked by, her heart feeling uncomfortably twisted and heavy in her chest. “I only want to help. I— I want to see him happy again.”

Ozzie waits for a moment, then, as certain as she’s ever heard him, he says, “I can’t tell you for sure that you’re going to be able to help Lucifer get better, because I don’t know. But I think you’ve got a chance. A really good chance. Love doesn’t fix everything…but it’s a damn good foundation.”

Charlie looks up at Ozzie, sniffling and wiping back the tears that threaten to fall as she blinks, and Ozzie smiles kindly.

“And luckily for you and Lucifer, you’ve both got that in spades.”

***

With the weapons safely out of the palace, and Charlie choosing to feel optimistic and bolstered by Ozzie’s confidence in her, she approaches Lucifer’s workshop doors and deliberately does not let herself feel like she’s walking to an interrogation or execution. Instead, she takes a deep breath, raises her hand, and knocks.

Lucifer doesn’t say anything from inside, but a few moments later, the door silently swings open. Charlie carefully steps over the threshold, wrapping her arms around herself as she sees Lucifer laying on his back on the sofa, arms over his chest. None of the lights in the room are on. Charlie clears her throat and wills a bit of magic into one of the corner lamps just so she’s not having to rely entirely on her night vision. Lucifer doesn’t raise his head when she walks closer. In fact, were it not for the glowing gold of his eyes, Charlie would assume that he’s asleep.

He doesn’t even acknowledge her until she’s knelt down at his side, at which point he turns his head to look at her dully.

“You should come to bed,” Charlie says, and her voice is a lot weaker than she meant it to be at the sight of the flatness in his eyes. “It’s pretty late.”

Lucifer huffs out a sound that might have been a laugh in another universe and goes back to staring at the ceiling. “I thought I scared you away for good.”

He sounds disappointed that he didn’t. Charlie swallows, then takes a steadying breath and pictures him in flight, wings spread and eyes wild. Lucifer will be happy again. He can bristle and bark and shut himself away all he wants, but Charlie is going to see him happy again.

“Do you remember what you told me the morning after we kissed?” Charlie asks softly.

Lucifer blinks at the ceiling.

Charlie takes another breath and silently prays she’s saying the right thing before pressing on. “You said that there was nothing that I or anyone else could do to make you stop loving me. You said that’s what being a parent meant. Well, being your daughter means that there’s nothing you can say to make me stop loving you.”

“Charlie…” Lucifer tries, but Charlie shakes her head.

“I know it’s going to be hard. You told me so yourself. And— and okay, maybe I didn’t know how hard, at first. But I know better now, and I’m still here. I’ll always be here. Eternity, remember?” Charlie leans her head against his hip, trying to reach for the pulse of warmth she can feel beneath the dull gray that permeates his aura. “You’re my dad. The only one I’ve got. I’m not letting you hurt yourself and I’m not letting you push me away.”

It takes a second for Charlie to realize that he’s crying, tear tracks shining on his cheeks before he brings a hand up and scrubs at his face, seeming to grit his teeth for a moment before his chest shudders and he stops, his forearm over his eyes.

“I don’t deserve your love.”

“Do I really deserve yours, after what Adam did to you to make me?” Charlie asks, voice thick with a surge of choking emotion. “That’s the crazy, wonderful thing about love. You don’t get to choose whether or not you deserve it. You only get to choose whether or not to accept it. And whether you accept mine or not, I’m going to stay with you. I made the mistake of leaving once. I’m not making it again.”

“I’m mean,” Lucifer rasps, jaw still tight. “When— when I’m like this. I get mean.”

“I can take it,” Charlie replies. “And I’m not afraid to tell you to cut it out.”

Lucifer’s laugh is a little closer to a laugh this time. “I’m no fun in bed.”

“I’ll live.” Charlie tries to smile at him. “You raised a stubborn optimist, Dad. I’m staying right where I am.”

Finally, Lucifer looks at her again, blinking away tears. “Do you promise?”

Charlie can taste salt when she takes his hand and presses a soft kiss to it, his tears on her lips as she whispers, meaning it with everything she has, “I promise.”

Chapter Text

Whoever said that difficult things are best done one step at a time was right — but that doesn’t mean that Charlie likes it.

Patience has never been one of Charlie’s noted virtues, which isn’t good, because it turns out that helping someone claw their way out of severe depression requires lots and lots of patience. Patience towards Lucifer himself is easy for Charlie to find, but patience at his progress? Not so much. Charlie wishes she could just clap her hands and make him better, or that she could find some magic spell that would make everything nice and neat and simple and okay again.

That’s not how the world works, though, so Charlie just grits her teeth, tells herself that it’s probably ten times worse for him than it is for her, and forces herself to reach down deep inside herself and either find patience or make it, because she is not fucking this up now.

The changes she makes are simple, at least on the surface. First, every morning, she makes Lucifer sit down with her for a meal. The definition of meal is loose, here, since he doesn’t need to eat and frequently isn’t hungry: it could be a cup of coffee or a few sliced apples. The important thing is that it sets a schedule, and it reminds him that she’s going to be there that day (and every day after). Lucifer rolls his eyes about it at first and says something uncharitable about forced marches and shoving things down his throat, but he quiets down after a while, and after a few misses and some well-placed daughterly disappointment, he’s there every morning, right at the agreed-upon time.

The second thing she does is…not quite as well received: Lucifer, upon hearing Charlie’s idea that maybe he should actually talk to her about what’s causing him so much pain, flatly refuses.

“No, Charlie,” Lucifer says, sitting at the table during their morning meal and staring down into his coffee. “No. You’re not— you don’t need to know about—”

“Then start a journal,” Charlie replies. “Write it on a scrap of paper and burn it. It doesn’t matter how you do it, just get those things out of your head.”

“I’m not going to keep a diary.” Lucifer sounds as incredulous as he does venomous, like even the mere idea of not repressing everything and bottling all of it up is unbelievable.

Charlie braced herself for resistance, so now she just puts on her best not-mad-but-disappointed face and gives Lucifer a firm look. “You need to tell someone. Even if that someone is just empty air.”

“That sentence doesn’t actually make sense, you know,” Lucifer says.

“Dad,” Charlie says gently. “Please, listen to me. At least try. If it doesn’t help, then we can figure out something else. You can say whatever you want, or make bullet points, or draw a picture, just…just stop making yourself carry all of it. You have to set it down.”

Lucifer doesn’t look convinced, and after a second, he mutters, “I hate it when you parent me.”

“I do it because I love you,” Charlie says, and then, considering, “It’s not hard.”

“What, parenting me?” Lucifer directs the question into his coffee.

“No.” Charlie waits until he looks up at her, waiting for a response, and then smiles. “Loving you. You’re easy to love.”

Lucifer’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of gold, and he looks away, hunching his shoulders in that way he does that usually means he’d rather crawl under his sheets and hide than continue to listen to Charlie speak kindly of him.

“Fine,” Lucifer mumbles, glaring at the edge of the table like it’s personally offended him. “I’ll try it.”

Charlie considers that a success, though in hindsight, her gift to him a few days later of a notebook printed with rubber ducks in varying shades of yellow and a pack of multicolored ballpoint pens might have been a little much. Still, progress is progress, and there is progress. A week or so later, they’re having their morning meal — apple pie cookies and Charlie’s favorite green chai, made in Gluttony from the toothy sunflowers that are cultivated by the gardeners there — and talking about their trip to Earth, and Charlie looks up, and Lucifer is smiling, easy and wide like he’s never thought about any other expression. The sight of it makes her stop, her heart thudding in her chest, before she smiles, too, feeling for once like she’s actually done something.

Is it easy? No. But it’s hard in a way like pulling weeds from a garden is hard. It’s exhausting, and stressful, but you can step back and look over the cleared space and know that you did that and the ground will be all the better for it.

Speaking of gardens, Charlie’s making good progress on the ones at the palace. Good progress, in this case, is…getting one fountain and two of the greenhouses cleared out. Charlie isn’t the handiest demon around, but she feels strangely protective of this palace now — perhaps more so the person inside it — and besides, it’s her responsibility anyways as the princess, so she just rolls up her sleeves and gets to work sealing the greenhouses back up and reading the old books in the library to hopefully do at least a decent job of it. She thinks that having Lucifer help her pick out plants to put back in them might be good for him, too; it requires getting him out of the palace, but they’ll cross that bridge when they come to it.

That’s where Lucifer finds her one day, Pride’s muggy warmth feeling even more oppressive as she scrapes out a different fountain down the path from the first one. She looks up at the prickle across the back of her neck, shielding her eyes from the red sky and the light of Heaven to look towards the balcony where she and Lucifer kissed that first time. She can make him out standing at the railing, leaning over it and looking at her, and she lifts one muck-covered arm in a hopeful greeting. The moment stretches out…and then Lucifer turns and walks back inside. Charlie slumps, staring dejectedly at the railing for a second before shaking herself, pushing her hair back with her forearm, and getting back to work.

The sound of gravel crunching makes her jump a few moments later, though, and she jerks her head up to see Lucifer approaching out of thin air carrying a glass of ice water. The broad smile that she finds herself giving him probably looks entirely too much like a puppy to really be at all mature or serious.

“Oh, don’t, I’m all gross.” Charlie laughs as she tries to gently shove him away when he leans in to kiss her cheek. “Disgusting. There’s probably muck all over me.”

“Yet you wear it so well,” Lucifer says, and he hands her the water when she tugs her gloves off and reaches for it. “I thought you might like this.”

Charlie accepts it gratefully. “Ugh, yes. It’s so hot.”

Lucifer raises one eyebrow as if silently asking, You do know where we are, right?

“Do you need something?” Charlie asks, once she’s taken a few ungraceful but very welcome gulps of the water. “Oh, I didn’t forget something, did I? Please don’t tell me we had something planned—”

“You didn’t forget anything,” Lucifer soothes. “I just thought you might like some water, that’s all.” He turns to sit on the edge of the fountain and look out over the rest of the gardens. “...I’m sorry about this place. I should have taken better care of it.”

Charlie can read between the lines and hear what he’s not saying — I should have taken better care of you. But she just shakes her head, turning as well to join him and taking his hand as she follows his gaze across the overgrown grounds.

“We’ve talked about this. What’s most important is to focus on what you can do now, not what you should have done then. Not even you can go back in time.”

“No,” Lucifer agrees, voice distant and eyes a million miles away. “Not even I can do that.”

Charlie links their fingers together and squeezes gently. There’s not a lot of breeze, as is typical for Pride, and the muggy air seems to muffle the background noises of the city somewhat, the gardens further sheltered by the palace on one side and the first rings of spikes that lead out into the badlands on the opposite one. Blood crows caw and wheel above them, or perch in the still, heavy branches of the elms that line the path as it winds further into the grounds as they tilt their heads, staring at Lucifer and Charlie with their three unblinking eyes. Nearby, one of Hell’s rare songbirds perches on a bulky, spiny bramble of berry bushes, flashing its talons before lifting its head and letting out a warbling song.

Lucifer whistles a few notes back, watching as the songbird flutters closer, repeating its song, examining Lucifer as he whistles again before it takes off and disappears into the overgrown flower beds with a flurry of chirping.

“I thought I was the princess that’s supposed to talk to all the animals,” Charlie says with a grin, bumping her arm against Lucifer’s gently.

Lucifer huffs out a laugh. “Remind me again who made Razzle and Dazzle?” Under his breath, he adds, “Mostly to stop you from dragging another jackalope into the palace and begging to keep it as a pet…”

Charlie laughs at the memory, not ashamed at all of her youthful tendency to catch anything that would stay still long enough to let a demon princess throw herself on it and wrestle it under control and then excitedly show Lucifer what she was always convinced would be her next pet. What can she say? She loves animals.

“Are you just doing this today?” Lucifer asks, turning to look at the fountain where Charlie is diligently scraping out the layer of grime and decomposing plant material.

“This section.” Charlie points as she lays out her plan. “That path there and then that hedge are my boundaries for today. So this fountain, those three flower beds, and all of those brambles on the path.”

Lucifer blinks at the wild mess of briars and overgrown and dead plants that Charlie’s planning on wading into. “Do you want some help?”

“You’re offering?” Charlie blinks at him, a little surprised.

Lucifer shrugs awkwardly. “Focus on what I can do, right?”

Progress. It’s a step forward, a step heading out of the past and in the right direction, a step towards a future where Lucifer is happy. Charlie beams and squeezes his hand again.

“Right. I’d love some help. With magic, we could probably get a lot more done than if it was just me! Okay, you see those old thorny lilacs over there? I read that you should trim them down if they get wild and crazy like that, but it’s going to look like we’re killing them…”

***

“You’ve been quiet,” Charlie says, setting down her mug on the coffee table next to her plate with the last crumbs of what was once a poppyseed muffin. “Is everything okay?”

Lucifer pauses, then sighs, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “It’s… Yeah. Mostly.”

Ups and downs, Charlie reminds herself. Every road to a better situation has its ups and downs. Just because he was in a good mood a couple days ago doesn’t mean he’s magically better.

The parlor is quiet as Charlie and Lucifer sit next to each other on the couch. In lieu of having sunlight to bask in, KeeKee is lounging in front of the fireplace where a low fire gives off heat that apparently only magical cat-like creatures can feel. It rained last night, and now outside the windows, Pentagram City gleams in acid-washed metal and neons, the clouds having thickened until the halo of Heaven’s embassy disappears into fog the color of faded red fabric.

After a moment, she clears her throat softly. “Your nightmare last night seemed pretty bad.”

Bad might be an understatement. Charlie woke up to him struggling for breath on the floor, halfway propped up by the bed as he coughed like he was barely avoiding puking. She reached for him, but he pulled away and waved her off, stumbling to the bathroom and closing the door behind him. After a long while of quiet, there was the sound of the faucet running, and then Lucifer returned, hair damp at the temples and face drawn. Charlie was about to try to settle back down, assuming it would be a night where he didn’t want to be suffocated by her clinginess, but Lucifer got back in bed and crawled into her arms like he was trying to hide inside her ribcage.

It was at least an hour before he finally stopped shaking.

Lucifer hums noncommittally as if waking up crying so hard he can barely breathe is a normal occurrence. “You being there helps.”

“Oh. Well…that’s good,” Charlie says, but she can’t help but feel like she’s not really there. She wants to do more for him. She wants to…

“Can I show you something?” Lucifer asks, startling her from her train of thought.

The abrupt change of subject makes her slow to respond. “...Yeah, of course you can. What…?”

“You’ll see,” Lucifer says, sounding very much like he wishes she wasn’t going to, and then he stands. “Stay here. It’s…I’ll be right back.”

Charlie watches as he walks away, the way his hands are clenched into fists and every one of his steps is taken as if he’s seconds away from turning and running in the opposite direction. She almost gets up and follows him, wanting to see where he’s going if only to assuage the dread that’s starting to weigh in her stomach like a pile of rocks. Is Lucifer going to bring out another box of angelic weapons? Was he lying after all?

Don’t think like that, Charlie scolds herself, turning her head so she can’t see Heaven’s clock tower out of the corner of her eye and taking a deep breath as she folds her hands on her lap. You asked him to trust you. The least you can do in return is trust him.

Lucifer isn’t gone for long. His hoofsteps click on the marble a few moments later, and Charlie looks up to see him in the doorway, hesitating as he stares down at what he’s carrying, a bundle of cloth smudged with what looks like soot and ash. Even from where she’s sitting, Charlie can see the way he swallows, then tightens his jaw, levels his shoulders, and slowly walks back to join Charlie on the couch.

Charlie can see the fabric better as he sits down. She thought it was just a wrapping at first, but now she thinks she recognizes it as a cloak, made of iridescent, pearly-white fabric with edging the same impossibly rich gold as Lucifer’s blood. The edges are ragged and charred, holes singed into it, and Charlie watches as a few pieces of ash flutter down when Lucifer carefully unfolds it with all the careful steadiness of someone who has no other choice.

“I’ve wanted to show you this for a long time,” Lucifer says, voice like still water hiding an undertow beneath. “...Just like I wanted to tell you about Adam for a long time.”

“It’s beautiful,” Charlie murmurs. She doesn’t really know what else to say. She feels like she should recognize it, but she doesn’t — it’s just a cloak. It could be one of many that Lucifer owns or has owned over her lifetime. “Is it yours?”

“It was.” Lucifer blinks at the cloak. “Once.”

Once. Charlie reaches out to touch it, unable to stop herself at the sight of fabric that looks like it should feel like seafoam or molten silver. Her fingers meet the cool, slick threads, flashing like gems, and—

—light and noise and color rushing past so fast it’s blinding—

—falling, falling, Falling—

—and Charlie yanks her hand back as if she’s been burned, the phantom ache of broken wings that don’t exist making her gasp as she presses herself back into the arm of the couch. Once, Charlie realizes, and she knows now why she should recognize this: it belonged to whatever version of her father existed before the Fall. Touching it felt like getting a spear shoved up through the base of her skull, like she was being unmade, like everything that made her Charlie was being carved away by gravity’s blunt knife. Is that what it felt like? Is that how it feels when an angel Falls?

“Charlie!” Lucifer’s voice feels very far away, and Charlie watches as cloak slips from his lap to puddle in a sparkling, soot-stained pile on the floor as he reaches for her hands and pulls her attention back to him. “Charlie?! I’m sorry, sweetie, I didn’t— are you okay?”

Meeting his eyes feels like she’s being thrown back into her own body, her back still aching in sympathy as she puts a hand on her chest just to feel herself breathe. The feeling is already fading, the unreal, agonizing sensation of trying to find anything to hold on to as your entire world rushes past in a blur of Creation, but she can still feel the lurching terror of freefall if she thinks about it too hard. Lucifer swears and pulls her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her and muttering out curses towards himself.

“That was so fucking stupid of me, Charlie, I’m sorry, sweetheart, are you okay? You’re okay, right? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it would do that, I—I didn’t know it would have that effect. I’ve got you, you’re okay…”

Yes. Charlie is okay, because Charlie has a father who loves her, who didn’t throw her from Heaven, who didn’t make her just to abandon her. Her next breath is shuddering, and she tangles her fingers in the soft fabric of Lucifer’s shirt and just lets herself breathe for a moment.

Eventually, she finds her voice, keeping it steady by some miracle as she says, “That was yours when— before you Fell.”

“Yes,” Lucifer whispers after a pause that feels like an eternity, quiet enough for Charlie to think that she doesn’t hear it so much as she feels it. “I…”

The silence that follows his words is brittle like something that’s been frozen down to the core. Slowly, Charlie pushes herself up and leans down to pick up the cloak, bracing herself for another shock of magic but feeling only a faint tremor that tingles through her fingers as she spreads the burnt pearl across her lap.

“I wasn’t wearing it when…they brought us in. But afterwards, after…after they—” Lucifer cuts himself off with the sound of a strangled consonant, and Charlie is about to tell him that he doesn’t have to tell her this if he’s not ready until he swallows, his throat working, and continues, “Someone came and wrapped it around me.”

It’s almost comforting, for a moment. Charlie isn’t any less horrified at what they did to him, but she feels a bittersweet ache at the thought that even then, someone loved him. But then Lucifer continues, and the bittersweetness turns to awful, terrible realization.

“No angel had ever Fallen before.” Lucifer closes his eyes. “They didn’t know what would happen. They thought…they thought that if— if anything other than their weapons could kill an angel, it would be Falling.”

This wasn’t a cloak.

It was a shroud.

“I don’t know who it was. I couldn’t make out their face. It— It might have been Michael, maybe, or— I don’t know.”

Charlie thinks she can hear something breaking in the silence, but she doesn’t know what it is. She doesn’t have much time to wonder, because Lucifer keeps talking, his voice going disturbingly flat.

“They came and knelt next to me, but I couldn’t see through the tears. And they wrapped it around me… And they kissed me.” Faintly, as if controlled by an unseen puppeteer, Lucifer raises his hand and touches the top of his forehead right where a few strands of blonde always seem to escape his slicked-back style. “Right here. Just…gentle. And then they put their hand over my face, and…they prayed.”

It was never meant to be a source of comfort for him, Charlie thinks, sick to her stomach and dizzy with sudden tears. It was a comfort for them. It was meant to be a goodbye. It was meant to be a funeral.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” Lucifer murmurs, a perfect, shining tear trailing down his perfect cheek, “Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever.”

The parlor feels impossibly still, like someone’s caught them both in glass and everything is frozen. Charlie’s cheeks feel wet, and she wonders when she started crying.

Lucifer breathes out, still perfectly, awfully placid, and whispers, “Amen.”

Charlie tries to open her mouth and say something — anything — but all she can manage is a wordless whimper that might, at one point, have sounded like Dad.

“I thought Lilith was dead.” Lucifer opens his eyes again, looking out the windows, his face bathed in faded red light, flattening his features until he looks ghostlike. “I thought the Fall killed her. And I hoped it would kill me, too.”

They made him watch them throw the woman he loved out of Heaven, Charlie’s subconscious whispers, and the nausea feels so acute she worries she might actually throw up as she thinks of Heaven’s gleaming tower in the middle of the city. Right over where Lucifer fell.

“I keep telling myself that I should just get rid of it,” Lucifer says, seeming to break out of whatever trance he was in and looking down at the cloak on Charlie’s lap. “I should just burn it, or— or something. But I can’t. I…”

He sounds like he’s trying to say something else, but after a while he just trails off, shoulders sagging and making him look impossibly tired. He doubles over, putting his head in his hands.

“I dreamed about it last night. That’s why… That’s why I’ve been quiet. Because I dreamed about it. But it— it wasn’t me. It was you. It was you, and I was the one who— who— and you kept crying and begging for me to stop, and I couldn’t—”

“I’m okay, Dad,” is the first thing that Charlie hears herself say, and she reaches for him again, pulling him against her until she can feel the way faint tremors still leave him shivering for a few moments at a time before he seems to wrestle himself back under control. “I’m safe. We’re safe. You’ve never hurt me, you— you wouldn’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“And if I do—?”

“I’ll tell you,” Charlie assures him. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m fine, Dad. I’m safe, and so are you.”

That seems to soothe him somewhat, because the tremors lessen, his head falling against her shoulder. He seems amazingly small like this in a way that Charlie never thought he would be until she found him on the floor, and it makes her want to protect him with everything she has, a sensation both ferocious and tender. Ozzie said that Lucifer wasn’t well-adjusted before Adam — so why did Charlie never see it? Why didn’t she notice? Why didn’t she realize?

“You can have it,” Lucifer says eventually, bringing a hand up to scrub at his face. “Do— do whatever you want with it. Destroy it, keep it, use it as a blanket, I don’t care.”

Charlie watches him pull away, sitting back up and wiping away the last of the moisture from his eyes. He’s not looking at her, but Charlie recognizes this for the step forward that it is: he actually told her something.

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking down at the cloak and picking a piece of it up, the same tingling tremor of magic flashing through her hand as she examines the play of the light from outside on the damaged, shimmering fabric.

“Yeah. I don’t want it hanging over my head anymore.” Lucifer clears his throat. “I’ve got enough of those things. It’s yours.”

It feels like being handed a treasure and a weapon of mass destruction all at once. Lucifer’s held on to it for ten thousand years, and…now he’s just giving it to her? What even could Charlie do with this aside from shove it somewhere deep in her clothing drawers and try not to think about it too hard? She rubs the fabric between two fingers distractedly, watching Lucifer get up.

“I’m…I’m going to go.” Lucifer still won’t look at her, his face blotchy with gold like he’s embarrassed. “I…”

He probably needs time to gather himself, Charlie thinks. She’d rather have him stay, but out loud, she says, “That’s okay. I’ll see you later? You promised you’d watch another episode with me.”

Lucifer huffs out a weak laugh. “Yeah.”

“Thank you,” Charlie says, just as Lucifer reaches the door, and the cloak feels like water slipping through her fingers as she meets his eyes. “For telling me.”

After a heartbeat or two, his expression doing a complicated thing, Lucifer just nods. Then he turns, and Charlie lets him leave.

***

Charlie piles the last of the gardening tools in the shed, pulling her gloves off last and locking the door with the ornate key before starting up the path back towards the palace. She hasn’t stopped thinking of Heaven since Lucifer showed her that cloak, like a bruise you can’t stop pressing on or a wound that just won’t stop bleeding. She knew that Lucifer Fell from Heaven, she knew that it wasn’t pretty, and she knew that other angels had to have been okay with that, but she keeps hearing Lucifer’s voice in her head, repeating that prayer — a prayer that someone who had accepted that he was going to die and it would be their fault had whispered so gently to him. Should she really be surprised that Adam is still up there, then? Should she really be surprised that even if they did know about the deal, they wouldn’t do anything to stop it?

It makes her mood sour, her aura practically fizzing with barely-bottled anger, and Razzle and Dazzle both skitter out of her way when she stalks to the bedroom and heads into the bathroom to clean herself up. There’s still no mirror to stare at herself in, and she can only keep thinking of Heaven as she washes her hands and face and changes into fresh clothes, imagining what it must look like and then imagining Adam laughing and talking and living knowing all the while what he’s done and what he’s planning to do again. Charlie’s not entirely a stranger to people who are unrepentant for the terrible things they’ve done, but Adam…

Adam feels different. It all feels different, especially when she thinks about Lucifer shaking in her arms.

Part of it, Charlie thinks, is that she doesn’t even know Adam. She doesn’t even know what he looks like. Is he tall? Broad or skinny? What color is his hair? His eyes? What does he do for fun aside from torturing Lucifer and slaughtering human souls? Why can’t he let it go? Why can’t he just let Lucifer go?

Charlie’s phone is charging where she left it on her bedside table, and she sits down on the edge of the bed as she opens it to check her messages. Mari sent her a screenshot — apparently the notes Charlie loaned her got her a high mark on her assignment. Charlie sends a heart in response, swiping away quickly to go to her inbox and tapping on Lucifer’s contact, Dad, with a little rubber duck as the profile picture. It takes a few swipes to scroll up to the messages that started it all, by now several pages back in their history.

Dad
hey sweetie? could you come by?
I have something really important to show you, but I think you’ll wanna see it in person ❤️

Knowing that it was Adam’s hands who sent those messages makes her feel a little sick to her stomach. There was so much she didn’t know when she looked down at her phone after the Extermination and saw that innocuous little notification. She thought Lucifer hated her, or that he hated being her father. She still thought that Lilith was her mother. The sheer speed at which her life has turned around is dizzying if she thinks about it too long.

The previous texts are several months before that, and the exchange consisted only of Lucifer wishing her a happy birthday (with many heart emojis) and Charlie replying, Thanks 🙂. She didn’t even call him Dad.

They could have been— well, maybe not what they are now, but they could have been something, father and daughter or some kind of family, or friends, or people who at least spent time with each other, but they weren’t, all because Charlie was too fucking stubborn and prideful to extend even the smallest olive branch. She hates herself for never wondering why her birthday is almost exactly nine months after Extermination Day, and she hates herself for not telling Lucifer she loved him enough, and she hates herself for not figuring it out and stopping it before it got this bad even though there was nothing she could have done because she was a child, Adam’s child, Adam’s child that he forced Lucifer to have—

Charlie only realizes that she’s crying when she realizes that she can’t breathe. She sniffles and wipes her face, glancing at the doorway to make sure Lucifer isn’t there. He’s got an almost preternatural ability to tell when she’s upset, but Charlie doesn’t want to talk to him about this. What she wants is to fix it. She’s not a child anymore. She’s an adult with a partner who deserves to be free of all of the terrible things that have been done to him. Charlie can’t turn back time and make it so he never Fell, but what she can do is demand answers from Adam. Charlie doesn’t care what Lucifer says, either: there must be a way to break his deal.

And if there isn’t one, then Charlie will make one.

***

It turns out that getting an appointment with the Embassy of Heaven is easier said than done. Charlie tilts her phone towards her as she skirts around her side of the bed, dropping it with a sigh when she doesn’t find any new messages or voicemails.

Not like she really needs an appointment — sure, they say you do on the website they have that looks like it hasn’t been updated in approximately fifteen years, but she’s the Princess of Hell. She would have every right to just walk in there and demand an audience with whoever she wants!

…She thinks. She’s not actually entirely sure about that. Either way, she should probably at least try to go through the proper channels before walking in there, parking her ass in the lobby, and telling them that she’s not leaving until she gets an audience with Adam. Now, what, exactly, she’s going to say to Adam is another question entirely…

Lucifer joins her in bed a few moments later, having gotten better at not keeping himself locked away in his workshop until the wee hours of the morning, and Charlie turns onto her side, putting her hands underneath her head to look at him. She finds herself doing that a lot now. Watching him. Taking him in. The word she can’t stop thinking of is captivating, like the protagonist of a fantasy novel, or staring at a star. He’s beautiful, yes, but there’s something else about Lucifer, like he has his very own gravity.

Does Adam think that, too?

Charlie has to resist a shudder. She’s obsessed with Lucifer because she loves him, but Adam’s obsessed with him, too, just in a different way. He’s still angry, even after ten thousand years, and every Extermination is payback for it. Would he ever stop, even if Charlie did confront him?

“Charlie?”

Charlie startles at the sound of Lucifer’s voice, and she comes back to herself, pulled from thoughts of trying to figure out what to say to Adam and finding Lucifer looking at her, his brow furrowed.

“There you are, space cadet,” Lucifer says, the corner of his mouth turning up in one of those gentle, slanted smiles.

“I haven’t heard that nickname in a while,” Charlie manages after a moment, but she finds herself smiling, too. “You used to call me Major—”

Lucifer looks back up at the ceiling. “—Major Charlie, yes. Ground control to Major Charlie. Because you’d get this look on your face, your eyes would go huge, and you’d just stare off into space with this silly little expression like you were a million miles away.”

“I had a lot of thoughts.” Charlie sighs fondly. “There’s a lot to think about in this world.”

“Sometimes I agree,” Lucifer says, “but sometimes I think it’s a lot simpler than we like to give it credit for.” He glances in her direction, the gold of his eyes glowing like the windows of a suburban street in the evening twilight. “What are you thinking of now, Major?”

Charlie shouldn’t ruin the moment. She should lie and tell him that she’s thinking of how she’s almost done with school, or tell him that she’s planning out the garden in her head, or tell him that she’s horny and wants to have sex again. Anything except what she is thinking of.

But Charlie’s never been very good at lying, and she’s even worse at keeping her mouth shut, so she says, after a pause, “Adam.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem surprised. “You shouldn’t. Think about him, I mean. He’s not worth worrying about.”

“You are, though,” Charlie replies softly.

Lucifer blinks at the ceiling, but doesn’t say anything to that. Charlie sighs again and closes her eyes for a moment. Should she tell Lucifer about her plan? Even just calling it a plan is being pretty generous. Besides, if she told him, he’d probably just forbid her from doing it, and if there’s one thing that Charlie hates more than keeping her mouth shut or lying, it’s disappointing Lucifer. She chews on her lip, opening her eyes as Lucifer speaks again, his voice hushed as if telling a secret.

“Do you think it’s fucked up that I don’t even really want him dead?”

…Well, that’s not where Charlie expected this to go. She blinks, having to collect her thoughts before she asks, feeling like she’s treading on uneven ground, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t want to kill Adam. Not…really.” Lucifer’s jaw tightens for a second. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about it. But I…I don’t really want to. I would, if I had to, but I don’t want to.” A pause. “I just don’t want to have to think about him ever again. I…I want him to be nothing to me.”

Charlie doesn’t consider herself particularly bloodthirsty, but the more she learns about Adam, the more there’s a part of her who wants to see him dead at her feet. It makes hearing this surprising, at the very least, especially coming from Lucifer — he’s not exactly known for his restraint. If Charlie was in his place… Well, she doesn’t like thinking about ending people’s lives, but…would anyone blame her if she did?

“If I killed him…” Lucifer trails off, then brings his hands up to scrub at his face. “Nevermind. It’s not important. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Because you need to tell someone,” Charlie says, and she reaches for one of his hands as he brings it down, lacing their fingers together and holding tight. “I’m right here. You can tell me anything. I’ll listen.”

Charlie is beginning to think he changed his mind. Then he tilts his head just enough to look beyond her, towards where the blinds are open enough to see the lights of the city and the pentagram above it.

“I don’t want his blood on my hands.” In the glowing wash of neons and magic, Lucifer looks just as ghostlike as he did in the parlor, his eyes seeming impossibly, endlessly gold. “I don’t want…to be connected to him anymore. I don’t want anyone to associate me with him, whether as his victim or his enemy or his killer. I want— I want to just forget about him and never think of him ever again.”

What can Charlie say to that? She keeps finding that words are useless in situations like this, that words don’t really say all that much when your life has become as twisted and complicated as hers. Does she tell Lucifer that it’s okay? How could she when they both know it isn’t? Does she tell him she understands, even though she really doesn’t?

Lucifer’s breath is shuddering, and he finally drops his eyes to hers, managing the smallest smile as he reaches up to press the back of her hand to his cheek.

“And you’re not his, Charlie. Don’t ever think you are. You’re my daughter. Not Adam’s, not Lilith’s. You’re mine.”

It sounds possessive in the worst way, and had Charlie been a few years younger, she might have loathed even the suggestion. But she knows what he means now, knows where it comes from, and she closes the distance between them to rest her forehead against Lucifer’s, pressing their faces together, feeling comforted instead of suffocated. Yes, she’s his, she’s Charlie Morningstar, not Charlie, Daughter of the First Man; she shares her face and her eyes and her hair with Lucifer, and it’s Lucifer that she kisses on the cheek and closes her eyes next to. Whether Adam’s magic runs through her veins or not, whether she ever magically sprouts a pair of wings to match his, whether she ever wakes up to find a halo over her head — Lucifer is the one who raised her, and Lucifer is the one she loves.

“I love you, Dad,” Charlie whispers, and their auras fit so seamlessly together when she reaches out her attention to them, bittersweet affection like charred heavenly fabric and a bitten apple falling to the ground.

Lucifer turns just enough that Charlie’s lips are pressed against his forehead right where the angel must have kissed him all those years ago, and whispers, “I love you too, Charlie.”

***

The Embassy of Heaven, Charlie observes, is silent.

Not a good silence, either: it’s silent like a tomb, silent like the air before a storm when the pressure is building and building and building and you can feel the electricity in your veins. Charlie thinks she can feel it now, walking through the gleaming, surgically pristine lobby. She’s never been in here before, and she doesn't know if she should have expected this or not, the glittering pastels and immaculate marble tiles that line every surface. There’s seating, little benches upholstered in pretty shades of blue, and at the back of the room is a small, unmanned desk with a bell on it.

Charlie’s got a plan. Kind of. Okay, so she’s got notecards, really, but that’s like a plan, and she woke up this morning and saw Lucifer sleeping so peacefully next to her and the thought of Adam hurting him made her so angry that she couldn’t wait any longer. Lucifer wants to never think about Adam again. Charlie will make that possible.

Each step shatters the silence and cascades into fragmented echoes, and Charlie tries not to cringe down and make herself smaller like she wants to do, feeling too exposed under the high, vaulted ceiling and the light that’s neither sunlight nor the red light of Pride. She’s not weak. She’s the Princess, and she’s here to protect Lucifer. Charlie grits her teeth, walks up to the desk, and taps the bell.

The chime is clear and short, and within a half-second, a piece of paper unrolls itself into existence in front of Charlie, making her jerk back before she realizes what it is. A feather quill pops into existence next to it — just to add insult to injury. Huffing, tugging her jacket back into order self-consciously, Charlie grabs the feather quill and reads the paper asking her to acknowledge that she is in the jurisdiction of Heaven and is therefore subject to their rules, expectations, and governance.

Charlie’s no expert in contracts (despite being the daughter of the Devil, she’s remarkably bad at writing them), but this one looks fairly boilerplate, so she signs without too much hesitation and watches as the paper disappears into the ether. The last little sparkle of magic disappears with a quiet pop, and then Charlie’s left alone in the silence.

“Huh,” Charlie says out loud, and she has to stop herself from wrapping her arms around her body.

Well, she might have to wait a little while for them to notice her. That’s okay. She can wait. She’s willing to wait as long as it takes. Charlie clears her throat, turning around to look back towards the entry doors. The room is long, with a walkway up to the desk and the seating on either side of it, almost like what she imagines a church to look like. Charlie’s never been in one of those, either, for obvious reasons.

“Hi!”

“Holy fuck!” Charlie jumps about a mile in the air, whirling around and coming face to face with an angel who looks as though she’s just murdered their mother, kicked their dog, and then took a crap on their floor.

“Goodness,” the angel says, giving her a dirty look from all six of their eyes. “Language, please, miss. Anyways, I don’t see any appointments on the schedule for today. Are you Miss Charlie…?” They look down at their paper in their hands, six pupils following the line of what must be her signature before Charlie senses their aura go bright with shock. “...Oh.”

“I need to speak with Adam,” Charlie says, before she can lose her nerve. “I— As soon as possible. Right now, actually. I want an audience with Adam. The First Man.”

The angel blinks at her. Underneath the halo of eyes, they’ve got mousy brown hair and ethereal, pretty features, with small, compact wings in shades of soft brown and pale peach. A name tag on their simple gold robe reads Even. It’s a bit startling for Charlie to realize that this is the first angel other than Lucifer that she’s met. They look… Honestly, they look like some of the demons she’s met, just dressed in different colors and a lot cleaner. It’s strange, feeling an aura other than Lucifer’s — Charlie’s glad she knows how to pull hers back now so they don’t feel the way it’s buzzing with apprehension and anger.

“Adam is a very busy man,” the angel says, somewhat loftily, but they wince when Charlie narrows her eyes at them. “But, um, I can definitely call him and see if he’s available. What’s the nature of your business?”

“Just tell him that Charlie Morningstar’s here to see him,” Charlie says, and she’s sure the angel hears the bitterness in her voice. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Doubtful,” Even mutters under their breath, almost too fast for her to hear it, and then they scribble something down on a pad of paper and disappear with another squeaky little pop.

This waiting is almost worse than before. Charlie stands at the desk, awkwardly shifting her weight and hoping there’s no secret cameras to catch her being nervous, for what must be several minutes before she eventually has to start wandering to avoid chewing her own hand off. She trails through the lobby, examining the seats that look like they’ve never been sat on, the aesthetically pleasing but bland decor, the way her footsteps echo in the quiet. By the time she gets back to the desk, she’s regretting not bringing a book or something.

Not that she really thinks she could focus on anything else. It feels like something inside her is boiling over, like her skin isn’t big enough for her body, and Charlie feels such a sudden urge to shake herself like a dog shaking off water that it’s nearly absurd. This might be the most important thing she’s done in her life. She has to do it right.

“Alright, Miss Morningstar, if you’ll follow me back here,” Even’s voice calls, and Charlie’s broken from her reverie to see the angel standing at a door that was most definitely not open before. “Adam will be down shortly. Normally he’d use our projection technology, but he said he wanted to see you in person, so it may take him a little longer to get ready.”

Projection technology? Charlie wonders silently. They’re fine with coming down here to obliterate human souls, but don’t even bother being in the same room when they’re having meetings all safe and cozy in their own embassy?

Nevertheless, she follows Even through the door, following the angel’s slight glow and their folded wings as they lead her down a hall that’s just as beautiful and sterile as the lobby was. They pass by more doors shut tight, labels unreadable — Enochian, Charlie realizes with a start. It’s not far down that Even pulls open one of those doors and motions her into a midsized room with a narrow table along one wall and a large oval table in the center.

“Can I get you anything? Water?” Even asks.

Charlie shakes her head, not quite trusting her voice.

“Suit yourself,” Even says, sounding like they don’t actually really care either way, and they leave, shutting the door behind them.

Charlie stands at the threshold like an awkward fool for a second, then she clears her throat and brushes a hand over her hair as she walks to the end of the table and takes a seat facing the doors. The chair creaks with that new-furniture feeling when she settles her weight in it. Charlie has to wonder how often they actually use this place…

She pulls out her phone to check the time.

Yeah, she definitely should have brought a book.

***

The third time that Even comes in to check on her in as many hours, Charlie snaps.

The sound of her palms hitting the table as she leans forward and glares in the direction of the angel receptionist sounds like a gunshot in the dead silence of the Embassy. “Is Adam coming or not?”

Three hours. Three hours she’s been waiting here, sitting at this stupid table in this stupid room, running her phone battery down or staring at the walls, and she’s just about had enough of it.

Even gives her a cool look. If Charlie didn’t have a classmate at the Academy with six eyes, she might consider it intimidating. As it is, though, she just stands up and jabs a finger in Even’s direction.

“If Adam doesn’t come to me, then I’ll go to him. I’m finding a way to talk to him even if I have to break into Heaven to do it.”

Nevermind that Charlie doesn’t actually know of any way to get to Heaven. She’s not really bluffing — she would find a way, if it came to it — but she’s certainly talking a bigger game than she really means. Still, it seems to work as intended, because Even turns and stalks out the door, closing it behind themselves.

As soon as Charlie’s alone once again, she groans, collapsing back into the chair and dragging her hands down her face. God, what is she doing? What can she even say to Adam? Does she think that he’s going to stop if she just asks him nicely and says please and thank you? Lucifer doesn’t even know where she is right now. He probably thinks she’s in class or with a friend. He told her that he doesn’t even want her in the same realm as Adam, and now she’s meeting with him on his own territory. But Adam wouldn’t hurt her, right? He has no reason to. Then again…is his reason for hurting Lucifer really so good?

If I don’t do this, no one will, Charlie tells herself, and she shoves herself up from the chair and crosses her arms tight over her chest as she starts to pace, staring at the floor. I’m the only one left who’s willing to fight for Dad. So I’m going to fucking fight for him.

She’s not the King of Hell or a ruthless Exorcist, but she is the last person that Lucifer’s got. And after 200 years of no one ever bothering to stand up for Lucifer and him thinking that he’s unable to do it for himself, Charlie’s going to push back. Adam has slaughtered her people for years, tortured her father for years, and he might think he’s invincible, but Charlie’s got a pitchfork and she’s not afraid to use it, Heaven’s turf be damned. She turns on her heel and paces in the other direction, the marble underneath her feet so polished she can see her reflection in it.

I have to do this for him. Even if I’m not really sure what I’m doing. Charlie hugs her arms around herself a little tighter. He deserves that.

The sound of the doorknob sends her turning on her heel again, prepared to snap at Even that she means what she’s said, but the words die in her throat as she sees the two figures standing in the doorway.

In front is a slender Exorcist dressed in their typical black and gray uniform, wearing a mask with swept back horns that curl at the ends. The crackling white glow of the magic that forms her expression feels like it sends a chill down to Charlie’s bones, her mind filled with the violence that lines the streets after Exterminations, the things the Exorcists are capable of. There’s a sword sheathed at the angel’s hip, and she glances over the room with a disinterested, arrogant gleam of her mask before she steps aside and allows the man behind her to follow her over the threshold.

The other angel is broad and taller than Charlie, his mask plain black with sharp golden tips on the angled horns that extend back like spikes on some monstrous beast underneath a shining golden halo. He carries no weapon, but there’s that same arrogance on his golden expression as he walks in, a certain swagger in each step. His wings gleam the same gold as his halo, tucked underneath his arms, and Charlie feels a sudden, unexplainable tug underneath her ribs as she looks up at his face again and meets that glowing, sharp-toothed grin.

Charlie swallows. “I’m here to talk to—”

“Adam. Yeah, babe, I know.” The man kicks a chair out and throws himself down in it, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Well, you’ve got me, so start talking.”

No.

This is him? This is Adam? This is the man who did all those things to Lucifer? Who hurt him? Who broke the wing that Charlie set? Who fastened that collar around his throat? This is the man who Lilith left? This is the man that Charlie’s related to, no matter how she refuses to call herself his daughter? This tall, smirking angel, his robes shimmering like the cloak now carefully folded in the bottom of her half of the wardrobe?

“You’re Adam?” Charlie croaks eventually, and she hates how weak her voice has gotten, all the fight draining from her until Adam rolls his eyes and it all comes slamming back as a battering ram to the chest as he pulls one hand from behind his head to examine the golden claws at the end of each of his leather-clad fingers like she’s not even worth looking at.

“Yeah, I’m Adam.” Adam drops his arms and leans forward, finally fixing the full force of that terrible, cold gaze on her, his grin going sharp and cruel, “And I can’t fucking wait to hear what Lucifer’s little accident has to say to me.”

Chapter Text

This is him.

Charlie’s chest feels tight, and Adam’s voice seems to be reaching her ears like she’s underwater, like there’s a million miles between them and she’s staring down a very long hallway at that golden expression and golden halo and golden, shining aura.

This is the man who…

“Devil got your tongue?” Adam says, grinning like it’s the funniest fucking thing he’s ever heard, then he relaxes back in his chair again, sprawling gracelessly, seeming to take up more space than he should. “I wondered if you got my text.”

“You motherfucker,” Charlie hisses, and she starts forward, thinking only of tearing that mask off his smug fucking face so she can—

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Hellspawn,” snarls a female voice, and Charlie is brought up short by the frigid burn of angelic steel at her throat before she makes it more than a few steps.

Charlie turns her head to the side just enough to find the mask of the Exorcist who walked in with Adam. She sneers back at Charlie, her sword held perfectly even to slice Charlie’s neck open if she moves more than an inch.

Dead man’s switch. Charlie’s lip curls and she feels the red bleed into her eyes as she remembers that night in the library. This must be Lute — but Charlie can’t do anything right now without finding out exactly how much angelic steel hurts, so she swallows and steps back, Adam’s golden gaze following her as she crosses her arms tightly and watches Lute return to an at-ease stance next to him.

“Yeah, you know, I’m wondering…” Adam spins idly from side to side in the chair. “Why exactly are you here? Because if you’re here, then I can only assume that your old man told you about our little arrangement, and I certainly hope you’re not stupid enough to think that a deal with the Devil can be broken.”

“It can be broken.” Charlie digs her claws into her arm to keep herself from leaping across the table and strangling Adam, Lute’s angelic steel be damned. “Every deal can be broken.”

“Oh, right, sure. Yeah, I’ll just do that.” Adam spreads his hands, and Charlie can’t even feel surprised before he drops them and glares at her. “How fucking naive are you? You think I’m just going to drop it because you threw a little tantrum?”

“I think you’re going to drop it because—” Charlie’s voice catches on an ugly, sharp part of her behind her ribs, a part of her that wants to see Adam bleed like Lucifer has. “Because I’m the Princess of Hell, and—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, babe,” Adam says, holding a hand up. “Whatever authority you think you have? That’s even more worthless here than it is in Hell. I’ll tell you what you are: a little brat that Lucifer should have gotten rid of like he wanted to.”

Charlie can’t react fast enough to keep her eyes from going wide. Adam’s words aren’t a surprise — she thought about it, of course she did — but that doesn’t make them any less gutting, sharp and hollow like her heart’s been torn out. She doesn’t know why it hurts so much, not when she would have thought the same were she in his place, not when she would never have blamed him for it if she had been around to know, but she’s too late in clawing back her control and Adam’s face splits into an awful, delighted smile.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did he never tell you about that?” He laughs loud and uncaring like it’s a comedy routine. “Oops. It did take a bit of coaxing to get out of him. Told me all about how he agonized over it for weeks. How close he got. But he’s too fucking soft-hearted, and he ended up keeping you — and now look at you. Spitting image.”

“You tortured him,” Charlie whispers, because it’s that or screaming.

“He doomed me and the rest of humanity to the fucking miserable existence that’s life on Earth,” Adam snarls right back. “Fair’s fair, little girl. Payback’s a bitch.”

“No.” Charlie feels her tail lash behind her, rage making her shake as she forces her words steady and strong, imagining Lucifer on the floor covered by nothing except his own injured wings. “No, you’re wrong. This is personal. You’re—”

Adam scoffs. “Personal? Of course it’s fucking personal. So he got Lilith — fine. Take the bitch. Obviously he regretted that when she left him, too. But Eve and I? We never asked for free will.”

“Speak for yourself,” Charlie spits. “You just liked having someone to order around.”

“Hah!” Adam throws his head back. “I still have someone to order around, isn’t that right, danger tits?”

He reaches a hand back, and Lute, without taking her eyes off Charlie, gives him a fist bump.

“You want to know what else I order around now?” Adam pushes himself up, amusement and laughter gone in a second, and stalks towards Charlie with all the gleaming anger of an angelic spear. “All of Heaven’s armies. And if you don’t want me to bring them back a few months early and raze this shithole to the fucking ground, you’ll get your little sunshine and rainbows bullshit out of my fucking sight.”

Charlie has to stop herself from backing away — Adam stands over a head taller than her, and despite not carrying a weapon, she can tell the robe he wears hides broad strength. But she stands her ground, glaring up at him as her tail lashes from side to side behind her.

“I’m not leaving,” Charlie says, constricting her voice into something hard and perfectly even, “until you promise that you’re never going to touch Lucifer ever again.”

“So you’re really keeping it up, huh?” Adam’s mask bathes her in harsh golden light, and she wonders what he looks like underneath it, if he’s as monstrous as he seems. “Gonna try to keep fighting for your daddy’s honor? You know where babies come from, right? You think that after 200 years of that, he doesn’t like it just a little bit?”

“How dare you—”

“Oh, save your breath,” Adam sneers. “Half the time, he begs me for more.” His grin only widens as he leans in and pitches his voice in a sickening approximation of Lucifer’s. “‘Please, Adam, please fuck me, I’m so lonely, I want someone to touch me, I want you to get me pregnant again—’”

Charlie yells, not realizing she’s moving until her hand is flashing out to try and claw Adam’s mask off, only focused on seeing the man underneath so she can look him in the eyes before she shatters the marble floor with his skull, lunging for him with her teeth bared and her horns crowning her head like a vicious reminder of whose daughter she really is.

There’s a flash of gold, and Charlie doesn’t feel the pain until she’s slamming into the wall, a sickening thud and her body exploding with sharp, bright heat as she slides to the floor, her face feeling wet. It’s too fast to really process until she looks up and sees Adam striding towards her, the expression of his mask twisted in anger and the gold details on the back of one of his gloves dripping with red where they sliced into Charlie’s cheek from the force of his backhand. Her back and shoulders and hips all feel like they’ve been locked in place, nerves firing nothing but pain signals as she tries to push herself up from the few pieces of shattered marble that have dropped around her from the crater the force of her impact left in the wall.

“Don’t worry about Lucifer when you’re dead,” Adam growls, his voice warping and making him sound more demonic than Lucifer ever has. “I’ll give him another daughter. Maybe this one will be smarter.”

Adam takes another step, Lute one step behind him.

They’ll kill you, something inside Charlie screams, and she knows she has to get away but she can barely push herself onto her hands and knees, a sudden burst of nausea making the room spin before it settles into a jagged ache between her shoulder blades where she must have smashed into the marble. The air feels thick, tense, Adam’s aura crackling with fury and Lute’s gleeful, and then—

From around them comes a bone-shattering rumble, like the very fabric of Creation is tearing apart at every one of its tenuously held seams. It rolls through Charlie’s body the same way a storm does, aching and twisting and heavy, and she feels something that’s everywhere and nowhere all at once splinter and then break clean in two as blood drips down her cheek and her body finally, finally starts responding again.

Lute’s sword gleams as she and Adam exchange a glance. “What the fuck was that?”

Charlie finds her balance, getting herself up on her knees as the ache that’s been pulling somewhere underneath her ribs and between her shoulder blades finally wrenches itself free and she feels something — two somethings — unfurl from her back and give her enough momentum to haul herself to a standing position, the change in her center of gravity causing her to stumble before she steadies herself and feels the things spread wide.

“That,” Charlie says, breathless, and though she doesn’t know how she knows, she knows, “was the sound of a deal with the Devil breaking.”

Adam just gapes at her, seemingly having forgotten entirely about trying to kill her. “You have fucking wings—?”

That’s all he gets out.

The blur of red and white that appears in a shower of gold moves too fast for Charlie to make out, but she knows it’s Lucifer before Adam does — mostly because Adam has created a new doorway in the wall. Lute’s reaction is laughably slow compared to Lucifer, who whirls on her and makes a motion with his hand as if to shove her away, not even having to connect to send her flying in the opposite direction, her enraged yell covered by the sound of the table splintering as she crashes into it hard. Lucifer doesn’t even check to see if she’s getting back up before he disappears and reappears in a blink in front of Charlie, his hands going to her face, eyes red like brimstone underneath his horns as his mouth moves with words that Charlie can’t really hear.

We really do look just like each other, Charlie thinks, and then, Oh, fuck. I’m in shock, aren’t I?

“Do I have wings?” Charlie asks, and it sounds very far away.

“Charlie, are you okay?” Lucifer asks, his voice snapping her back into the present, the echoing marble around them and the sound of Adam swearing from the hallway. “Charlie! Charlie, look at me. Look at me. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Even as floaty and slow as Charlie feels, she recognizes what Lucifer is really asking, and she shakes her head, something behind her fluttering as she tries to pull herself back into her body from the floaty, adrenaline-bright feeling that took over her as she watched Adam approach with every intent to kill. Wings. Adam asked if she had wings. Charlie cranes her neck back, looking behind herself, and—

“Oh,” she says faintly, because, yeah, those are wings.

“Charlie!” Lucifer’s hands are on her face again, and he forces her to look him in the eyes, red meeting red. “Sweetheart, focus on me, okay?”

“I’m fine,” Charlie says, because Lute’s starting to clamber up and the floatiness is settling back into sharp-edged awareness, her heartbeat white noise in her ears. “Dad—”

“Lucifer!”

Adam might have been human once, but he doesn’t sound human now, the roar of Lucifer’s name echoing like a gunshot. Charlie and Lucifer turn as one to watch as he staggers back through the hole in the wall, his mask shattered right off his face to reveal a man, just a man, not a monster, with fluffy brown hair that sticks to his forehead and a short, scruffy beard. His eyes are the only divine thing about his face — they’re bright, angel-blood gold, and right now, they’re fixed entirely on Lucifer.

“You fucking cunt,” Adam seethes, blood dripping down his face from his nose in a trail of molten shimmer. “You can't—!”

Charlie tries to grab for Lucifer, seeing Lute tugging her wing free of the last tangle of splintered table from the corner of her eye, but he pulls free and walks towards Adam casually, easily, like he knows he's the most powerful person in the room. She expects him to say something: an insult, a threat. But he’s just silent, his eyes glowing hotter than the hellfire that burns between his horns. Charlie sees the moment that Adam realizes how fucked he is, the way his eyes widen and his pupils contract into pinpricks at the sight of Lucifer coming towards him, and she also sees Lute heft her sword and lunge.

“Dad!”

Before Lute’s weapon can impale Lucifer straight through the torso, all six of his wings appear and spread wide and Lute is sent sprawling again as she’s buffeted by crackling golden magic, her sword skittering away to land in front of Charlie’s hooves and her body landing against the wall with a thud that shakes the building. Unlike Charlie, when she slides to the floor, she doesn’t get back up.

Adam doesn’t even react to his second-in-command being thrown across the room. He hasn’t stopped staring at Lucifer, and as Lucifer stares back, not smiling, not moving, just staring, the shock on Adam’s face twists into rage.

“You’re not allowed to touch me.” Adam’s hand lowers to his side and Charlie watches as threads of light weave a guitar into existence in his fist, the wing-shaped edges of the body sharp and bright with magic as he wipes the blood from his face with his other sleeve. “That’s the fucking deal. Unless you need a reminder—”

“You broke the deal,” Lucifer says. “You hurt Charlie.”

Despite his voice never rising above his normal speaking volume, Charlie feels it in her bones, the fragile, bird-hollow wings on her back shuddering and sending tremors through her at Lucifer’s seven short words. You hurt Charlie, like that explains everything. It’s so easy for Lucifer, Charlie realizes in this moment; this is what he meant when he said that the world was simpler than everyone likes to give it credit for. To Lucifer, Charlie now understands, there is a line dividing everything, a line with her name on it, and to cross that line is to forfeit everything up to and including your life.

“She attacked me,” Adam sneers. “I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a child who didn’t know the truth.”

Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change, but the fire between his horns sputters, and Charlie only now notices how short he is compared to Adam, how thin his waist is, how one of Adam’s hands could fit all the way around his neck. Nothing about Lucifer is large. Nothing about Lucifer is made for a man like Adam.

Adam’s grin is like the bared teeth of a snarling dog, all blunt rawness and ferocity. “I told her what you told me. About how you wished you could cut yourself open and pull it out. Remember that?”

Lucifer must, because Adam doesn’t get a chance to say another word — between one heartbeat and the next, Lucifer’s launching himself at him, wings flared with searing red crimson feathers that flash like oil ready for a lit match. Despite his size, Adam topples over the same way a cardboard standee would, too slow to respond as Lucifer’s claws, manifested long and red and razor sharp, dig into his wrist until the guitar-axe drops with a clatter onto the marble. Lucifer’s kneeling over his chest, his wings beating at the air and his tail lashing from side to side, hands diving for Adam’s throat.

The weight in Charlie’s chest feels sudden and sickening, something dragging her down and rooting her to the floor. She is not supposed to be seeing this, she is not supposed to watch this—

Lucifer’s hands are wrapped around Adam’s neck and there’s something wild and half-crazed in his expression—

Charlie should not be the one to bear witness to this—

I want him to be nothing to me.

“You will never threaten her again,” Lucifer snarls, and over his head a collapsing star flares bright—

Adam chokes, clawing at the angel made of starlight and rage, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tries to thrash and shove Lucifer off him, and for a moment he meets Charlie’s eyes and she sees the human beneath, the imperfect sin of everything he’s done, and part of her wants to see the light leave him but the other part of her can’t bear to watch.

Nothing is unsalvageable, she told Lucifer once. You just have to find the good.

Is there any good to find in Adam? Is there anything of the beauty of humanity that they saw on Earth underneath that golden halo? Is there anything worth redeeming? Is there anything worth saving? She could let Lucifer kill him. Doesn’t he deserve it?

Charlie can’t seem to get her voice to work, and she can’t move, either, hooves frozen to the floor, and Adam’s sounds are getting quieter and quieter—

Lucifer looks up.

Charlie barely recognizes him.

She can’t tell him to stop. She can’t deny him this. She has no right to tell him not to end the life of the man who caused him so much pain.

But Lucifer blinks, the shine of gold returning to his eyes as he meets Charlie’s unblinking gaze, and though she can’t say anything out loud, she still hears her own voice as if she’s spoken.

If you end his life, will he ever stop being something to you?

A tear rolls down Lucifer’s cheek. Charlie thinks he’s not going to let go. Adam is barely twitching now, fingers scraping uselessly at the marble. It would only be a few more seconds. Adam deserves death, and Lucifer deserves to be the one to give it to him.

Lucifer lets go.

Adam reacts as fast as he must be able to, wheezing in a great gasp of air and clawing his way free of Lucifer, movements slow and sluggish as Lucifer pushes himself up and staggers back. It doesn’t neutralize the threat, and Adam and Lucifer both know that — but the distance brings some of the father that Charlie knows back into Lucifer’s eyes. He stares down at Adam, chest heaving, hands shaking at his sides.

“You don’t want me to kill him.”

No. Yes. No. Maybe. No, but I would love you if you did. Yes, I do. No, but I understand why you want to. Yes, I think you should kill him, and I think you should make it hurt.

Charlie’s mouth feels dry and she can taste blood and marble when she swallows. “It’s not for me to decide.”

Adam coughs, trying to push himself up and failing. Charlie can see blood dripping down his neck where Lucifer’s claws must have dug into him. There’s no good answer to the question of whether or not they should kill him, even if the answer to the question of whether he deserves it is an easy, unhesitant yes. Whatever Lucifer decides, Charlie will stand by him.

“I don’t want him to be anything to me,” Lucifer whispers, and for the first time, Charlie hears something in his voice, something that feels like yearning too huge to be acknowledged, not the elephant in the room but the room itself. “But he’s a danger to you. I can’t— I can’t let anything happen to you, Charlie.”

Charlie carefully steps closer, feeling the drag of air against wings that don’t quite feel like a part of herself yet. She reaches for her weapon the same way Adam does, she realizes, the threads of light pulling together to form her trident, sharp and deadly, and Adam’s face is full of hatred as he looks up at her.

Charlie meets those golden eyes, and she doesn’t see anything of herself in them.

“I’ll make a deal with you.”

Adam’s eyes narrow and Lucifer makes a strangled noise as he reaches for her. Charlie holds up one hand and he stops in his tracks, never taking her gaze off Adam.

“We let you live,” Charlie says, words sticking in her throat because part of her still desperately wants to let Lucifer obliterate him into a fine golden mist. “We let you live, but you never come back, you and Lute never tell Heaven about what happened here or anything leading up to it, and neither of you ever touch any Hellborn, or Lucifer, again.”

“I’ll tell Heaven about Lilith,” Adam snarls, voice broken and hoarse. “I’ll tell them all about that bitch—”

“Tell them whatever you want about Lilith.” Charlie hears Lucifer start to protest, but she cuts him off. “I’m sure she can take care of herself. What I care about is you never coming anywhere near my dad for the rest of eternity.”

Adam just curls his lip, starting to push himself up again, but Charlie shoves the gleaming points of her trident against his neck. She hates the sensation of resistance against the weapon, but she hates Adam even more.

“Take the deal, or we kill you.” Charlie doesn’t know if she’s bluffing. Could she do it? Could she look a man on the ground in the eyes and kill him? Does it matter, as long as Adam thinks she will?

They cast Lucifer out for pride. For the heavy heartbeats that it takes for Adam to process her words, staring up at her the entire time, Charlie thinks that he’ll make the same mistake. Then he snarls out a guttural growl and drops his head.

“Deal.”

Charlie feels it — like something’s been shot into her and is reeling her closer, magic making the air smell like ozone and burning things as strings that shouldn’t exist weave their futures together. She’s never made a deal before, and she realizes that it feels like something has scraped her insides raw, like something’s been torn out of her and then shoved back in wrong. The magic swells, foreign in her chest, in her throat, and then crashes into nothingness as the light and wind and ozone fade, something inside her plummeting and making her sway dangerously on her hooves.

She staggers back, focused only on getting away from Adam, her trident hitting the floor and then disappearing. Charlie only realizes she’s falling when she feels Lucifer catch her, her wings sinking into her back with a stinging, tearing ache that fades into the throbbing of an old bruise before disappearing entirely.

“Dad?” Charlie asks, and her voice sounds very, very small. The room swims, the world tilting on its axis until she feels like she might fall into the ceiling.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” Lucifer whispers against her forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

Charlie can feel him shaking. She reaches for something to hold on to and her fingers find his shirt, tangling into the fabric comfortingly as she blinks back a sudden wave of tears. There’s movement from the corner of her vision and she nearly leaps right out of Lucifer’s arms, but it’s just Adam, stumbling over to Lute, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder before turning to give them one last hateful glare before he disappears into a blurry portal that seems shaky and only half real.

“It’s over.” Lucifer’s voice wavers, and his claws are digging into Charlie’s body where he’s holding her so tight it hurts. “It’s over.”

Adam is gone, and he’s never coming back. A new wave of exhaustion crashes over her, bringing with it aches and pains that she forgot she had, her cheek stinging underneath the blood starting to dry on it, her back and shoulders stiff and bruised. The wings bite at the edge of her consciousness, like her horns and tail but rawer, newer, a puzzle piece that she had grown used to missing. Charlie turns her face into Lucifer’s chest and breathes in deep, turning away from the world, from the cracks in the marble, from the craters in the walls. She wants it to be over, she wants to be home, but doing anything except hiding against Lucifer seems like an impossible task that she’ll never have the strength for again.

She’s being lifted up a moment later, Lucifer’s balance unsteady for just a moment until he takes a deep breath and steps forward, the staticky prickle of a portal washing over her as the air changes from the cold sterility of the embassy to what she recognizes without even having to open her eyes as their bedroom. It feels like it’s been years since she’s been here, even though she climbed out of bed just this morning, mere hours ago, and got dressed in the bathroom, brushing her hair and tying it back, not knowing what she was walking into.

“Can I clean you up?” Lucifer asks, his chest rumbling against Charlie’s cheek and his hands never leaving her as she hears the bathtub faucet turn on.

Charlie nods, making no move to let go of him. She doesn’t want him to leave her side, not right now, not while all she can think about is Adam’s golden, toxic eyes. He shifts her weight, and Charlie feels herself being sat down on the edge of the shelf around the tub just like she did to him that day so many weeks ago.

The light of the bathroom feels painfully bright when she finally blinks, and the first thing she sees is Lucifer’s face, his hair tousled and his eyes rimmed with gold. He’s unbuttoning her shirt, Charlie realizes, and she finally connects the faucet to his request to clean her up, a hopeless surge of affection making her ache even more at the thought of his concern for her even after what he just went through.

“Dad,” Charlie murmurs, and her voice cracks, hoarser than she meant it to be.

Lucifer looks up at her. “Yes?”

Are you okay? Charlie can’t get herself to say it. Of course he isn’t. He just let the man who’s been raping him every year for over 200 years walk away. Charlie opens her mouth, then closes it again, unsure of what she wants to ask and just staring at Lucifer helplessly.

“Let me do this,” Lucifer says, seeming to understand Charlie’s silent struggle. “I just…need to do this.”

Charlie thinks she understands that, and she nods, watching him as he unbuttons her shirt, unlaces her shoes and pulls them off, carefully helps her out of her pants, undoes her bra. There’s bruises starting to bloom along parts of her body where she hit the wall, and Lucifer traces his fingers over them gently, pressing one warm palm over the areas and murmuring something in Enochian, light flickering over his head as warmth seeps into Charlie’s skin and the bruises shift and fade with nothing more than the ghostly memory of their ache.

Lucifer helps her climb into the tub, summoning a washcloth to his hand and dipping it into the water before raising it to her face and starting to wipe the blood away from where Adam’s jewelry sliced open her cheek.

He answers her question before she asks it. “I can heal it, but I want to clean it first.”

Charlie nods again, letting him tilt her face away from him, one hand on her jaw and the other so carefully washing away the evidence of Adam’s touch. Did he try to do the same thing? Did he find himself sinking into the warm water like she is? She can still see Adam walking towards her, huge and dangerous and angry. Her cheek smarts when Lucifer’s fingers trace along the wound, carefully sealing it up and turning the pain into a dull throb. Adam did that to her. What did he do to Lucifer?

I told her what you told me. About how you wished you could cut yourself open and pull it out.

Charlie doesn’t blame Lucifer for it. In fact, it only makes her angrier at Adam to think of what he must have done to Lucifer to get him to tell him that. Of course Lucifer wished that — Charlie wishes she could pull out every part of herself that comes from Adam, too. What kind of person would use that against someone?

As if responding to her turmoil, her wings twitch in their invisibility, feathers rustling almost imperceptibly against the edges of her mind. She barely saw them before, despite looking right at them, so she can’t even remember what color they are. Lucifer’s crimson? Adam’s bright gold? There’s only two, and Lucifer has six, so do they look more like Adam’s? Charlie hesitates to reach for them, unable to bear the thought of bringing them back out so soon and proving her worst fears right, but she can feel them, their magic woven into her along with her demonic traits inherited from Lucifer.

Lucifer’s hands in her hair bring her back to herself. He’s not wearing a tie or vest, just his plain button-up with his gloves off and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he’s washing her hair with painstaking focus, combing out little pieces of shattered stone that had gotten caught in her ponytail.

“I can’t believe it’s over,” Charlie whispers, mostly to herself. “I…”

Lucifer’s silence makes her shudder, and she hunches her shoulders as sudden goosebumps rise across her skin despite the warmth of the water and Lucifer’s hands. Is he angry at her? She didn’t tell him anything of what she was doing. Adam shouldn’t have been her fight. Why did she even think she could do anything in the first place? Why’d she give him a deal? She doesn’t know anything about how to make a deal. What if she fucked up the wording of it? What if she left a loophole for Adam to use? What if—?

“Charlie,” Lucifer says, and his voice feels like an anchor, like a jagged linchpin stabbed right through her heart, pulling her back from the cliff edge and holding her firmly to the ground. “Charlie, look at me.”

Charlie does, blinking away tears. Lucifer reaches up to stroke a few strands of damp hair away from her face, his aura welling up in her chest with love and protective ferocity as he pulls her close enough to kiss her forehead.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Lucifer whispers. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

“What if he comes back?” Charlie’s eyes sting, and the little sob that slips through the strangled, too-hot feeling in her throat is quiet and broken. “What if I did it wrong, what if he comes back, what if he tells—?”

“I don’t care.” Lucifer pulls her into a hug and apparently doesn’t care about the way it means she’s getting water all over him as he holds her tight enough for her breaths to come short and strained. “I don’t care about him as long as I have you. Whatever he does, whatever Heaven tries to do, I won’t let anything happen to us.”

Us. They’re an us. Charlie’s happy to bury her face in his shoulder, the pressure of his arms around her as the physical manifestation of security and safety. She’ll never let anything happen to them, either, and she thinks of the fact that even if something does go wrong, Lucifer will never again have to count down the days until the next Extermination.

Lucifer pulls away eventually and finishes washing her hair, helping her out of the tub afterwards and wrapping her in a towel as a pile of folded clothes appear next to him. Charlie lets him dress her, each touch of his hands on her like another gentle tug back to solid ground. There’s little splatters of gold blood all over him, Charlie notices, little drops stained into his shirt, and she reaches out to touch them without really meaning to. Lucifer looks down at himself, following her touch, and grimaces when he sees the blood. A snap of his fingers and his shirt is as clean as the day it was made, but Charlie can still see golden afterimages on the back of her eyelids, Adam’s eyes and flashes of light and metal and pain.

“Can you walk?” Lucifer asks, pushing himself up and offering her a hand.

Charlie shakes herself and looks at his hand, then his face, slow to find her words but eventually managing to reach up and place her hand in his as she pulls herself to her hooves. “Yeah, I’m— I’m fine, really, I—”

The sudden movement after sitting above the still-steaming bathwater makes her dizzy, her sense of balance tilting precariously, and as natural as using her tail to steady herself, the burnishing ache of wings bursts into dazzling existence between her shoulder blades. They make her skin feel too tight, her center of gravity thrown out of whack after 200 years getting used to it like she’s sprouted a second pair of arms. She stumbles, feeling Lucifer steady her, and very deliberately does not look back at the still-foreign presence behind her, freezing as she feels them rustle a few times before stilling except for the subtle rise and fall of her breathing.

“Right,” Lucifer says, sounding like he’s talking more to himself than to her. “Wings.”

“What color are they?” The words spill from Charlie’s mouth without much input from her brain, and only once she’s heard how it sounds out loud does she wince, worrying Lucifer will read it as vanity instead of paralyzing fear that she’s going to turn her head and see the bright gold of angelic blood.

Lucifer just hums. “The outsides are white like mine. Unfold them so I can see the inner feathers.”

Charlie does try. It’s not as natural as her tail, unfamiliar muscles twinging as she tries to unfold one wing and extend it out so Lucifer will be able to see the undersides, but she only gets halfway before both wings are shaking with exertion and are starting to tingle like a limb that’s fallen asleep.

“Is it okay if I touch them?” Lucifer asks, obviously seeing her silent struggle.

“Yeah,” Charlie says, squeezing her eyes shut tight, and she feels Lucifer’s hand carefully pinch the top edge of one and pull, guiding her to extend the wing further.

It makes it easier to do the same with the other one, like guiding someone to dance or play an instrument, and the ache starts to fade as she flexes them a few times before extending them both as far as they can go, feeling the strange sensation of air against splayed feathers. It is a little bit like a second pair of arms, really, moving in ways that are similar enough for her to start to feel less like she needs to start having a panic attack.

“They’re red up here,” Lucifer says, and his fingers press carefully against the inside portion just below the top line of the wing. “A little brighter than mine.” His touch leaves and returns to the lower feathers. “And they fade to sort of a gold down here. They’re pretty, Charlie.”

Charlie opens her eyes and folds one over so she can see it, taking in exactly what Lucifer described: red like pomegranate seeds up towards the top and fading down into rich, vibrant rose gold as the feathers transition to the long primaries. They’re not quite as slender as Lucifer’s, but they’re not as big and bulky as Adam’s looked, either. Silently, Charlie thanks whoever might still be listening to a demon princess’ prayers that despite the gold coloring, they don’t look much like Adam’s at all.

“I don’t know how…” Charlie folds them back up, trying to stop thinking about the weight of them on her back. “It’s like…they were just there all of a sudden. I didn’t…”

Lucifer shrugs, inclining his head in the direction of the door and leading Charlie to the bed when she nods. “I don’t know if anyone could say why they appeared when they did. I’ve had mine since I was created, and Adam got his when he ascended to Heaven, I assume. It’s possible they’ve been there the whole time.”

Maybe they have been there the entire time, and the only reason they showed up in that second was because she saw Adam walking towards her and knew, in that moment, that she had to escape. Maybe the deal breaking shook the foundations of the magic enough to finally unleash them. Maybe it was just sheer coincidence. Charlie can’t really find the energy or wherewithal to think too hard about it right now.

She sits on the edge of the bed, soothed by the familiar feeling of the silk sheets under her hands. “I don’t know how to take care of them… Could you…?”

Lucifer is the only one she’s ever been close to that has wings, but she remembers how he used to preen them, doing it by hand instead of with magic to keep the muscle memory of it. Sometimes Charlie would provide her version of help, which at that age mostly consisted of petting the soft feathers, enamored with their silky texture and the way they shimmered in the light.

“If— if you’re, um, if you don’t mind—” Charlie hurries to add, because she suddenly hates herself for taxing Lucifer further after what happened with Adam, but Lucifer just smiles and nods, settling himself behind her on the bed. Charlie stares at the wall and bites her lip. “I’m…sorry.”

“Even if you did have something to apologize for, I’d tell you to wait,” Lucifer says, gentle but no less matter-of-fact. “Your wings are going to be incredibly sensitive. It might feel like how it feels to touch your tail. If it hurts, or starts to get too uncomfortable, just tell me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie says, trying to keep up with the change in subject, and she opens her mouth to insist but then thinks better of it. “Thank you.”

Lucifer hums softly in response, and Charlie just barely manages not to jump when his warm, careful hands land on the outside edge of one of her wings. He’s right, it does feel sensitive, that overstimulated, too-much feeling like when she overdoes the caffeine or gets a little too into whatever idea she’s planning. The brush of his fingers between the feathers makes her squirm, and he stops, but she manages to choke out that it’s fine and that he should just keep going so she gets used to it. He hesitates for a moment, then he smooths the feathers back with his palm and continues.

“These are the primaries, and these are the secondaries,” he says softly, touching each set of feathers with each word, like he’s drawing a map. “These are the coverts, one set for the primaries and one for the secondaries. These are the marginal coverts, up at the top here. Then the alula at the outer edge.”

“Like birds,” Charlie murmurs, talking mostly to herself and thinking of the carefully labeled drawings of ducks and other birds she used to see in Lucifer’s workshop when she was a child.

“Like birds,” Lucifer agrees, and then, fondly, “Lilith used to call me an overgrown pigeon when she was annoyed with me.”

It startles a giggle out of Charlie, the visual of Lucifer with a set of fluffy pigeon wings sitting amongst a flock of the rotund little birds too funny to let pass by. It’s the first time she’s really laughed today, and even just that makes her feel like she’s gotten drugged with how instant the relief is. She can still laugh. They can still laugh. Maybe things will be okay.

She lets the silence stretch out after that, trying to breathe through the feeling of Lucifer’s hands in her feathers and letting the oversensitive, prickly feeling wash over her until it eventually starts to settle as he finishes with one wing and moves to the other one. Sometimes he’ll move just right and send it spiking again, her fingers twisting in the sheets as she fights the urge to shake her wings and shove him off, but mostly, she just focuses on the wash of comfort that radiates over her, some newly awoken part of her brain soothed by the feeling of his unfailingly gentle touches.

“You’ll show me how to fly, right?” Charlie asks, after a while of just the sound of feathers rustling. Her voice sounds unbearably loud in the near-silence.

“Of course,” Lucifer promises, as easy and casual as can be, as if Adam isn’t hanging over them like a guillotine ready to drop. “Some other time, I’ll take you flying. I’m sure you’ll be a natural.”

Something catches in Charlie’s throat, her eyes prickling, and before she can even really figure out why she wants to cry again, she feels Lucifer’s arms wrap around her midsection and pull her back against his chest.

“We’re okay, Charlie,” Lucifer murmurs. “We’re okay. Everything is going to be alright.”

Charlie bites her lip hard, and when that doesn’t do enough to stave off the tears, she buries her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I just— I just wanted to help. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”

“Oh, Charlie.” Lucifer squeezes a little tighter, his touch once again reeling her back to solid ground as anxiety threatens to send her careening off into empty space. “My sweet, wonderful Charlie. I’m not angry at you, I promise.” He pauses for a moment, and Charlie feels him lean his head against her shoulder, breaths ruffling the feathers of her wings. “When you were a little girl — you couldn’t have been more than 50 — you found a songbird in the gardens that must have been attacked by something, and you snuck it into the palace and hid it in a box in your room trying to nurse it back to health. You had a little water dish for it, and you found some oats from the cabinet, and you used a pair of your own pajamas in the box for a little bed, and you tried to hide it because you were afraid that I’d tell you to put it back outside, where you knew it would die. Do you remember that?”

Charlie’s throat feels tight when she swallows. “No.”

“You were young. I’m not surprised.” Lucifer huffs out a fond laugh. “And it was just a little songbird, but you cried and begged me to fix it, because you couldn’t bear the thought of it suffering. And I healed it, and I let you carry it outside, and we let it go in the gardens.”

Tears are running hot down Charlie’s face, and she reaches up to scrub her cheek with her sleeve. She doesn’t remember that, but she remembers Lucifer back then: the most powerful person she knew, not just because he was the king, but because he was her dad.

“You have always wanted to help, Charlie,” Lucifer whispers against her back. “Always. Everything and everyone. That’s all you want to do: make things better. Even if that thing is just one little songbird.”

“Are you the songbird?” Charlie asks, just as softly, the last word breaking as she thinks of Lucifer collapsed on the floor with that horrible emptiness in his eyes.

Lucifer waits, the silence stretching out, and then, haltingly, he says, “I think maybe we’re both the songbird.”

Charlie reaches down and covers his hands with one of her own, turning her head and leaning back until he can kiss her cheek and press his forehead to her temple. Her wings fold out of existence as, after a long, heavy moment, Lucifer pulls her to lay down next to him, keeping himself stubbornly wrapped around her. It’s rare that he takes the big spoon position, but Charlie sinks into it gratefully, the adrenaline long having passed and the exhaustion of overstimulation making her weary. Lucifer is safe, and the sheets and pillows smell like him, that mix of apples and smoke and starlight, and Charlie keeps hold of his hand as she closes her eyes and tries to forget the gleam of golden halos.

***

Lucifer’s not there when Charlie wakes up.

He’s not on the balcony when she sits up and looks outside, and he’s not out in the living areas, either, the kitchen and parlor both sitting empty. His workshop is the same. Charlie trails back into the bedroom after checking everywhere she can think of, some strange sense of dread overtaking her, but then she looks out at the balcony again, her wings still a fresh suture at the edge of her consciousness, and something occurs to her.

A few minutes later finds her climbing the spiral staircase up to the high spire that her and Lucifer took off from when they went flying together, each step ringing as she ascends higher and higher until she finally pushes the door open and steps out onto the little balcony. Her hunch is proved right: Lucifer is sitting with his legs through the railing, arms wrapped around the wrought iron bars as he stares out at the city beneath them.

“Hey,” Charlie says, and her voice sounds small.

“Hey.” Lucifer turns to look at her with a wan smile. “I’m sorry I left. I just needed some air.”

“It’s alright.” Charlie sits down next to him, mirroring his position and putting her legs through the bars while keeping her weight firmly on the balcony. Just because she has wings doesn’t mean she’s particularly eager to test them out just yet. “I…”

I was worried. I got scared. I missed you. I wanted to be near you.

Charlie wants to say all of them, so she says none of them, words failing her for once as she trails off into silence, Pentagram City stretching out in front of her and Pride surrounding it on all sides. Lucifer turns his head back towards the landscape and blinks against the red sky, bright in the afternoon. It hasn’t even been a full day since Adam. The light hasn’t even started to fade. On the clock tower, the countdown to the next Extermination seems to shimmer strangely as if it can’t quite make up its mind about when it’s going to be.

“What Adam said…” Lucifer stops, swallows, and starts again. “I never wanted you to hear that.”

Charlie doesn’t have to ask what he means. She knows well enough, still able to picture the sneering, cruel grin on Adam’s face. You wished you could cut yourself open and pull it out.

“I didn’t want you to…” Lucifer’s voice catches. “I don’t regret having you.”

“I know,” Charlie says, leaning against him.

“I— You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and when— when I figured it out I was angry, and— and—”

“I know, Dad…”

“—I was just so scared because I knew that I wasn’t made to raise a child and I wanted— I wanted it to have been different, but I haven’t regretted it, not once—”

“Dad,” Charlie whispers, staring at him until he meets her eyes. “I know.”

Lucifer blinks, his jaw tight and his hands wrapped around the iron balcony so tight the welded portions of it creak.

“You never should have had to make that decision,” Charlie continues. “But even if you had chosen differently… It wouldn’t have been wrong. Okay?”

Lucifer hesitates, then he nods and ducks his head, scrubbing at his face. “Most of the time, I…I tried not to think about it. But sometimes— sometimes it just got so bad…”

Charlie leans into him again, putting her head on his shoulder, knowing that nothing she can say will make the memories hurt any less. She can’t imagine going through what he went through, and trying just makes her nauseous, only knowing how violated she’d feel, like her body wasn’t her own anymore. Learning she was related to Adam was bad enough. Is bad enough, even now. What happened to Lucifer is something that no one should have to go through.

And we let Adam live.

“But I’m so glad I had you.” The last word breaks, coming out as a sob as Lucifer wraps an arm around Charlie and pulls her close, turning his head to press a fierce kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

There were years where she did think that. Years where she convinced herself that no matter what Lucifer had said when she was young, he had never wanted a daughter, never wanted her. Where she had hated that out of all the fathers she could have gotten, she got him, the one that used to look right through her like she didn’t even exist.

“I don’t,” Charlie promises, and then after a heavy pause, she says, “I’m sorry about Lilith.”

She never wanted to throw Lilith under the bus. If Lucifer tells Charlie that she deserves protection, then Charlie will trust him on that; she doesn’t want to put the woman he obviously cares so much for in danger. But Lilith and Charlie are just two strangers now. No more, no less. Charlie still would like to meet her, to know her, but Lucifer’s protection matters more. The way that Lucifer doesn’t respond for several long, tense moments makes Charlie pretty certain that he wouldn’t agree with that. Then, all at once, he sighs heavily and shakes his head.

“Maybe it’s time for me to stop trying to protect her. I gave her a 200 year head start. I love her, and if she needs my help, she has it, but…maybe it’s time to let her go.” There’s another silence, and Charlie feels the way his next exhale shudders through his chest. “She just gave up so much for me.”

“And you’ve given more than enough for her,” Charlie replies softly. “She would understand.”

Lucifer’s throat clicks. “Yes. I think she would.”

Charlie lifts her head up enough to look at him, her hand finding his cheek as if it’s the most natural thing ever, and when she pulls him in to kiss him, he goes willingly. It’s soft and chaste and everything that Charlie has wanted, and she pulls away to find him smiling.

“I’m really grateful you’re my dad,” Charlie says, hand still on his cheek, thumb tracing the perfect line of his cheekbone.

Lucifer reaches up and links their fingers together, leaning into her touch as his eyes go impossibly soft, all sweet and paternal. “And I’m grateful you’re my daughter.”

***

The next evening, Charlie walks into the bathroom to get ready for bed, turns the light on, and promptly jumps so hard her wings spring into existence with a crackle of magic.

“Fuck!”

In the corner where the ledge that surrounds the large tub meets the wall, Lucifer sits, his knees pulled up to his chest. He looks up at Charlie’s exclamation, eyes wide and surprised with a hint of guilt that instantly makes Charlie’s heart drop like lead to her stomach, worried that he’s hurt himself. She shoves her wings back into their glamor and shakes herself as she takes a careful step closer.

“Dad?” Charlie asks, expecting to see the glitter of golden blood or a weapon at any second. “I thought you were in your workshop…”

“I was.” Lucifer shifts his arm, reaching up to rub his face with the back of one hand and exposing a forearm that is blessedly free of any new wounds. “But I… I just needed…”

Charlie waits for a moment, then sits down on the ledge next to where he’s huddled. “Are you okay?”

Stupid question, Charlie. The answer to that is most likely resoundingly and solidly negative. Still, she thinks Lucifer knows what she means.

Lucifer opens his mouth, then closes it, then tries again. “I just needed a moment. Are you— do you want to take a bath? I can leave—”

“No, no, I was— it’s fine. I can just brush my teeth.” Charlie clears her throat. “How long have you been in here?”

Lucifer looks around himself as if only now realizing where he is. “...A few hours, I guess.”

Charlie purses her lips, nodding silently, and Lucifer must feel the bitter tinge of worry in her aura because he quickly looks back up to her and reaches up to put a hand on her knee, giving a weak smile.

“I’m okay, Charlie, I promise. I’m not— I just wanted to be in here for a little while.” He clears his throat and pats her knee gently. “I…this was…this is where I was when I figured it out. When I realized I was pregnant with you. I thought that maybe I was just stressed at first, but…” His shrug is resigned. “I knew. After a little bit, I just knew.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Charlie asks softly, a tinge of guilt making her heart squeeze. She’s been trying to get better about letting him have his space.

“No, sweetheart.” Lucifer leans his head back against the wall. “It’s alright. I think I’m better now.”

Charlie can’t think of anything good to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything at all. Yesterday evening, after they came down from the balcony, they watched old episodes of Charlie’s favorite shows in bed together until they both fell asleep. Lucifer got up before she did this morning, disappearing into the bathroom and then reappearing to kiss her on the cheek and say that he’d be in his workshop if she needed him. He still made it to their daily meal, but left as soon as it was done, his aura like a slow, writhing creature, some mix of helplessness and fear and joy that made Charlie feel unbalanced and unsure of what to do. She went to his workshop to find the door closed and figured that he probably needed time to himself.

“I wanted kids, you know,” Lucifer says, pulling Charlie’s attention back to him. “Ever since I realized that was something that my chosen body could do.” He looks over at Charlie. “Seraphim aren’t supposed to be able to have kids like that. We’re supposed to take a hands-off approach to creating. But then I Fell, and I realized that I could. I would have, if Lilith had wanted them. She told me I could, if I found someone, but…I didn’t want to do that to her. This palace was her home too. I wasn’t going to bring a child into it, not when she didn’t want anything to do with children that she couldn’t walk away from at the end of the day. And after she left…I was really too upset to think about it seriously.”

And then Adam came along, Charlie finishes for him in her head, stomach twisting as she thinks of the First Man with his golden eyes and sneering grin. Lucifer trails off into silence again, staring into space like he’s staring through the years.

Eventually, he shifts, and Charlie meets his eyes to see a dreadful sort of desperation there. It’s so acute that she nearly tears up, staring down into those searching golden eyes like he’s praying to her and her alone.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Lucifer whispers, voice cracking dangerously. “200 years. Over 200 years I had that deal. I had Adam, even if I hated him. And now…”

“Now you have me,” Charlie says. “Now you have us.” At Lucifer’s unconvinced glance, she adds, “And one day, you’ll have yourself, too.”

Lucifer scoffs and wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand again. “Nobody wants to live for me, including me.”

“That’s why I said one day,” Charlie reprimands gently, lightly tapping his knuckles with two fingers. “Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow. But one day. What was it that you said? I don’t know what eternity means? What eternity means is that we’ve got time. You’ve got time.” She moves her hand down to his wrist, picking it up and turning it over so she can see the scars again, the long-healed ones and the recent ones. “Besides, if you were gone…I don’t know what I’d do. I need you, Dad. Don’t ever think that I don’t.”

Lucifer just watches her, letting her run her fingers across the scars. It still grips her with icy terror if she thinks about it for too long — what if it had worked? What if Lucifer had succeeded?

“Thank you,” Lucifer says, after a long silence. When Charlie gives him a curious look, he adds, “For stopping me.”

It’s not what Charlie expected. She expected Lucifer to be a little angry at her for staying his hand with Adam — it really wasn’t her decision to make, and he would have been fully justified in choking the life out of the First Man once and for all. She must not hide her shock very well, because Lucifer laughs wearily, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I didn’t want him to be Heaven’s martyr, and I certainly didn’t want to be the one who gave him the chance to be that. I just wanted him gone, and now he is. I don’t think your deal left any loopholes. I don’t even know if he can bitch and moan to Sera about it, since you forbade him from talking about it.” Lucifer stares at the opposite wall, shifting like he’s fighting the urge to tuck his shoulders in and make himself smaller. “You kept me from doing something I would have regretted.”

“He would have deserved it,” Charlie whispers, not realizing she’s spoken aloud until Lucifer huffs in wry agreement.

“He would have.”

The bathroom door is still open, revealing the darkened bedroom beyond where the light of the star shines against the headboard of the bed, casting shifting patterns, and that’s what Charlie focuses on. Adam is alive, and Lucifer will have to live with that — but he seems to think that living with that will be easier than living with his death on his shoulders for the rest of time. Who is Charlie to disagree?

“You need to learn how to use those wings of yours,” Lucifer says, breaking her from her reverie, and the thought seems to stir him, because he sits up a little straighter. “We should—”

“Some other day,” Charlie interrupts, and she huffs out a laugh at the look he gives her. “Dad, please. I’m brushing my teeth, taking a bath, and going to bed. It’s been…a day. There was a nest of crawlers in the planter I cleared out earlier.”

Lucifer’s expression goes from affronted to revolted. “Oh. Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.”

“That’s what I thought.” Charlie leans over to turn the water on. “You know, if you wanted to stay, I wouldn’t mind.” Then, worried he might take it the wrong way, “Not because I want anything. Just a bath. But it’s alright if you don’t want to.”

Lucifer hesitates, then pushes himself up with an easy shrug. “That might be nice. You’re good to lay on.”

“And you’re good for keeping the water at the perfect temperature, so who’s the real winner here?” Charlie asks, and she dodges the shirt he throws at her. “I will splash you.”

Lucifer grins, bright like the sun and ten times as warm, and Charlie knows right in that moment that they’ll be okay.

***

“Dad?”

Charlie peers into the bedroom doorway, having been looking for Lucifer for a solid five minutes now, the piece of paper she wants to ask him about still held in her hand but wholly forgotten. She likes the palace, and she won’t ever take it for granted, but sometimes it is quite literally just too damn big. Lucifer does not take up this much space — rubber ducks notwithstanding, obviously.

She’s glad, then, to see his figure on the balcony, sitting out at the little table. The doors are ajar, so she just nudges one open as she walks out into the warm morning air, looking down at the paper she’s holding.

“Hey, so I know… Well, I know you haven’t done anything really…in public, lately, but I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to this party. Er, dance. It’s a dance. Like a gala. Anyways, I can bring a plus one, and even if I couldn’t I doubt they’d say no to…” Charlie trails off when she sees that Lucifer hasn’t even looked up at her, that now-familiar distant look on his face. She clears her throat. “Dad?”

Lucifer jumps and finally seems to notice her, looking up and reaching as if to push his hair back before dropping his hand and pulling the robe he’s wearing over his t-shirt tighter over his chest. “Fuck, Charlie, you scared me. What’s up?”

It was like this when she was younger, sometimes: she’d have whole one-sided conversations with Lucifer where he didn’t even realize she was in the room until she was walking away. The reminder is sour on the back of her tongue, and she remembers how resentful she used to feel about it, how she told herself that there’s no way he could ever have a good reason for ignoring his own child.

Her request once again forgotten, Charlie sits down in the chair on the other side of the table. “I’ll ask later. How are you doing?”

It’s a better question than asking if he’s okay. How he’s doing is more concrete — he’s still not sleeping through most nights without a nightmare, he’s still staring off into space, he still sometimes stops and freezes and gets a look like he’s a deer in the headlights when he remembers. But he’s not panicking, either, and he’s back to helping her in the garden sometimes, and yesterday he even got up and made a full breakfast for them both seemingly just because he wanted to. With each day that passes without the legions of Heaven descending upon them or Adam storming their gates, something in Charlie seems to relax more and more. She imagines that Lucifer feels the same.

Lucifer’s shoulders slump in a weary sigh, and he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment and shaking his head. “I’ve been worse. But then again, my bar is being thrown out of Heaven, so…”

Charlie wishes she could laugh at that. Instead, she just finds herself frowning, unconsciously glancing up towards the glowing, white-winged orb hovering in the sky.

Lucifer clears his throat from next to her, and he waits until she meets his eyes to say, “There’s one more thing I have to show you.”

The worry that leaps into her throat tastes like blood and angelic steel. She tries to shove it away and think of the cloak, or of the bathroom. It doesn’t have to be bad. Lucifer tells her things now. Charlie can still hear her own voice in her ears: You have to set it down. It took time, but Lucifer feels like he can talk to her now, and she shouldn’t automatically jump to the worst assumptions.

Lucifer continues, very soft, “But you have to promise me something.”

The full force of those golden eyes on her makes Charlie feel hypnotized, but she knows she’s telling the truth when she nods. “Anything.”

“Don’t pity me,” Lucifer says. “Don’t look at me differently, don’t pity me. Do you promise?”

Charlie’s mouth feels dry. She nods again.

Lucifer finally drops his gaze, and Charlie doesn’t even get a moment to gather herself before he’s pushing himself up from his chair and walking back into the bedroom. After a second, she realizes she’s supposed to follow him, and as soon as she’s inside, he shuts the doors and pulls the curtains closed all the way until the only light is the light given off by the star on Charlie’s bedside table.

Despite her attempt to stay positive, Charlie still finds herself shifting her weight, wondering what bomb Lucifer is going to drop on her now. One last thing, he said, and he thinks it’ll make her look at him differently.

Charlie’s stomach clenches unpleasantly at an abrupt realization. Oh, no. Is he going to tell me that I almost had a sibling…?

Lucifer nods towards the bed. “Sit down.”

Fuck. Charlie has to choke back a sudden rise of heat in her throat. He is, isn’t he?

Obediently, she sits, settling on the end of the bed and watching as Lucifer comes to stand a few steps in front of her.

“Close your eyes.”

That breaks Charlie from her sudden spiral into fresh aches about how Lucifer really must feel like his body no longer belongs to him. She blinks at him for a second, caught off-guard and mind suddenly blank, but then she shakes herself and does as he says. She supposes he did say show, but she didn’t actually really expect that to be literal…

She hears Lucifer take a deep breath. Whatever he does isn’t dramatic — there’s no thundercrack or earthquake. But Charlie still feels something change, some gentle, aching tug at her aura, a hollow feeling in her stomach that fades as Lucifer makes a small, pained noise before sighing out a slow, heavy exhale.

Silence.

Through her closed eyelids, Charlie senses a bright glow.

“You can open your eyes,” Lucifer murmurs.

It takes real strength to do so, Charlie unsure what she’s going to see when she blinks her eyes open and finds Lucifer still standing in front of her. For the most part, he’s just the same…except for the bright, nearly-blinding light around his head. It’s the same light as the star he gave her except brighter in every way, pure, unfiltered divinity, giving off a glow that gilds everything in blue-gold. It’s so beautiful that, for a moment, Charlie forgets anything was wrong. Then Lucifer winces, turning his head slightly, and the illusion cracks like a ruined window and falls in glittering pieces around them.

Lucifer’s halo is broken. Not just broken; shattered, splinters of light hanging around his head like cosmic debris. The shape of it is still just barely visible: Charlie can make out the echo of the slender, delicate ring that formed the main part of it, then what must have been little spheres or star shapes that hung around it like beads, a larger one in the front and then smaller ones mirrored on either side. It must have been beautiful. It is beautiful, Charlie amends, but it also looks…

“They thought the Fall might kill me, and the ones who didn’t think that guessed that my halo would just disappear.” Lucifer stares at the floor, his eyes free of tears but no less agonized. “But it didn’t. It just…broke.”

Charlie’s tongue feels leaden in her mouth, and she scoots a little further onto the edge of the bed, wanting to be as close as possible to Lucifer. “Does it hurt?”

Lucifer shrugs. “Not as badly as it used to.”

Yes, is what that means, and Charlie bites the inside of her cheek. He’s been living with this for as long as he’s been in Hell, and it hurts. Why is it that everything about Lucifer’s life seems to want to cause him pain?

Heaven washed their hands of him, she thinks miserably, but of course he didn’t get the same luxury.

“I don’t want anyone else to know,” Lucifer says, finally meeting her eyes. “Tell everyone everything else about me if you really must, but please, don’t…don’t tell them about this.”

Charlie wishes she could feel offended at the implication — that might feel better than the crushing outrage towards the ones who would hurt him like that. It would take something serious for her to even consider telling anyone any of Lucifer’s sensitive information, like how she told Ozzie about the weapons, and even then, she wouldn’t go spilling his secrets to— what? The gossip magazines? Lucifer trusts her, and she’s not going to give him any reason to doubt that trust or feel like he needs to take it away.

“I would never do that, Dad, I promise, I…” Charlie swallows, trying to smile. “I know I was really fucking awful at keeping my mouth shut when I was a kid, and…well, I’m still not great at it. But I wouldn’t do that.”

Lucifer huffs out a soft breath that almost sounds like a laugh. After a moment, he closes the distance between them and settles down on his knees next to Charlie. The movement brings the halo closer, and Charlie can’t help but stare at it, visually tracing the shine of the broken pieces hanging still and silent in the air.

“You can touch it,” Lucifer says, leaning his head against her knee and closing his eyes. He sits at her feet like a supplicant, not like a king. “It won’t hurt if you’re gentle.”

“I can— Are you sure?” Charlie does want to touch it, the same way she wants to touch every other part of him, but it looks painful even to her and the last thing she wants is to hurt him any more.

“I’m sure.” He tilts his head just enough to give her a better angle. “Just be careful.”

Feeling like she’s touching a live explosive, Charlie reaches for his head, carefully slipping her hand beneath the glow of the halo and smoothing his hair down with a few soft strokes over the tousled blonde. Then she brings her hand up and cautiously touches the very tips of her fingers to one of the larger pieces. It’s like putting her hand against pure static, and she can barely feel the burning, pulsing warmth underneath.

Lucifer hisses out a soft breath and Charlie yanks her hand away, her face feeling hot. There’s a certain feeling that she shouldn’t be seeing this, that she should be more careful, like this is something too profound for her to witness. There’s been sex that feels less intimate than this. It feels like…she’s touching his soul, and it frightens Charlie as much as it reminds her of how much she loves him.

“I’m sorry,” she stammers out, her hand still tingling with the magic. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Lucifer shakes his head. “No, you didn’t— you didn’t hurt me. You were fine. But that’s… That’s me. That’s…you know. Everything I am.” A heavy silence. “Everything I’ll never be again.”

It’s like something clicks into place, and even if Charlie got it before, now she gets it. Lucifer looks at himself and this is all he sees — a broken halo, all his failures, everything he’s ever done wrong. Lucifer sees himself as a collage of regrets and mistakes, and the things that he doesn’t regret, he thinks his very presence will taint them. He’s only prideful, Charlie realizes, when he’s scared that someone will see all the cracks. Carefully, she steadies Lucifer’s head with a hand and puts aside her apprehension to lean down to press a soft kiss to what must have once been the front star on his halo. It leaves her lips tingling.

“I already know everything you are,” Charlie whispers, staying bent down near him and closing her eyes against the burning luminescence. “Everything you are is someone that I love. You’re an inventor, and a craftsman, and you love birds. You love cooking breakfast foods. Specifically breakfast foods. You don’t mind making other things, but those are your favorite.”

She hears Lucifer laugh, weak and soft, and the sound feels like a soothing touch to somewhere inside her that aches whenever she remembers what’s been done to him.

“You’re a great singer, and you can ballroom dance, too. You’re really, really good at styling hair, even without magic.” Charlie’s thumb traces the point of his ear, feeling the subtle pulse of divine magic against her aura if she concentrates. “You’re creative, and kind, and selfless. You love people so completely that it’s hard to wrap my head around sometimes.” She kisses the broken piece again, ozone and static making her tongue feel a little numb. “That’s what you are. I don’t see the Fall when I look at you. I see my dad, and I love him.”

Lucifer Morningstar, the one who handed humanity free will and damned them in the process. The one who created Hell. The one who, upon being given a choice between himself and the safety of those he loves, will choose to sacrifice himself every time.

“I used to think you were invincible,” Charlie murmurs. She smiles wryly when he scoffs, then continues, “But I grew up and I realized that you don’t have to be invincible. Not all the time. You just have to be willing to let someone help you when you’re not.”

“Even when you have to drag me into it?” Lucifer asks, and he looks up at her, his eyes gleaming in the glow that spills over the lines of his face, turning the familiar into something new but no less beautiful.

Charlie’s aura feels so soft that it’s a wonder it hasn’t melted into a magical puddle around her by now, and she nods knowingly. “Especially when I have to drag you into it.”

In the light of the halo, Lucifer looks more ethereal than he ever has before, like if Charlie tried to touch him, he’d disappear into mist. “How many times will we have this conversation?”

The smile that Charlie finds herself giving him is equal parts wry and hopeful. “As many times as we need to.”

The words have scarcely fallen from her lips before Lucifer pushes himself up on his knees, tangling one hand into the front of her shirt and pulling her down to meet him in a kiss that feels desperate enough to hurt. Lucifer kisses her like he thinks she’s going to get torn away at any second, claws buried in her shirt and his aura burning hot and bright with fear and love and that ever-present ferocious protectiveness that makes Charlie’s heart feel tight and too fast behind her ribs.

By the time Charlie pulls away, she feels like she’s run a lap around the city, the glow of Lucifer’s halo still bathing them both in the ethereal light until it fades before flickering out completely. The darkness is disorienting for a long minute or two before her eyes adjust, finding the glow of Lucifer’s in the dim room and moving her hand to carefully pet his hair back as he looks up at her as if she’s the only thing that matters.

“Thank you,” Charlie says, once her heart’s slowed down and the smell of ozone has faded. “For showing me that.”

“You deserved to see it.” Lucifer pulls himself up onto the bed properly, flopping down on his stomach next to her like KeeKee in front of the fire. “You were asking me something out on the balcony, weren’t you?”

“Huh?” Charlie tries to remember that — it was mere minutes ago, but feels more like hours now, the afterimages of glowing shards of divinity still filling her head. “Oh, right. There was just…it was something I was hoping you’d want to do, but we can talk later…”

“No, it’s alright.” Lucifer shifts to put his head in Charlie’s lap, settling comfortably against her thigh. “I’m alright. What was it?”

Charlie chews her lip, trying not to feel nervous. She didn’t feel nervous before, so why does she now? Didn’t Lucifer ask her not to look at him differently?

“Well, there’s a gala that’s held every year at the Academy. It’s…you know, it’s a dance. A social thing. Like Hell prom, kind of, but for grown-ups. Everyone dresses up nice and there’s music and dancing.” Charlie clears her throat. “I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

Lucifer seems to consider this for a moment. “Bringing me as a plus one might send a certain message.”

Charlie thought of that, and she’s decided at this point that she doesn’t care. She shrugs one shoulder. “There’s worse messages to send.”

Lucifer hums in what seems to be agreement with her point. The silence stretches out again, not as tense as Charlie feared, and when she reaches down to card her fingers through his hair, he smiles and closes his eyes.

“Can I think about it?”

“Yeah,” Charlie says, and she thinks she might have fallen in love with him no matter what when she’s looking at him like this, relaxed and smiling in her lap. “Yeah. Think about it.”

***

“Remember: you’re just letting yourself learn how it feels. And don’t worry, you won’t be able to pull me off course.”

Charlie nuzzles her face into Lucifer’s hair, nodding at his words as she peers over the railing into the empty air beneath them. Evening has started to fall over Pride, the light slowly dimming as the pentagram moon rises, and the faintest hint of a cool breeze plays with Charlie’s braided hair as she holds Lucifer tight. It’s as good of an evening as any to learn to fly, she supposes, though a part of her brain still isn’t on board with the idea of ever jumping off this balcony without Lucifer right next to her.

Her feathers rustle in the breeze, the sensation having dulled the longer she feels it — now, Lucifer brushing his hands over them doesn’t feel like getting a raw nerve grabbed. They’re still sensitive, like her tail and the base of her horns, but it’s settled into something far more manageable than what it was when she first had them out.

“Are you ready?” Lucifer asks gently. “If you’re not ready, we can—”

“No, I’m ready.” Charlie swallows back her apprehension and gives him a firm look. “Countdown?”

“Of course,” Lucifer says, and then there’s a soft whisper of feathers shifting and his own wings appear, shining red in the fading light. “Three…”

When they flew together here those weeks ago, Charlie didn’t think they’d be in a situation like this. Their relationship was still new — well, newer — and Adam was still wrapped around Lucifer’s throat as surely as any binding collar was. Charlie tightens her hold on him, the nervous flex of her wings involuntary.

“Two…”

He won’t let me fall.

“One.”

Freefall.

But this time, something instinctive and half-buried deep inside Charlie’s chest jerks itself awake with a panicked screech and she feels her wings start to flap frantically, her claws tearing into Lucifer’s shirt in her panic as she wobbles precariously in his hold and every part of her brain demands that she start flying right fucking now.

The panic is about to turn into full-fledged terror, and then, like magic, Lucifer pulls her closer so their chests are pressed together instead of holding Charlie at his side, crushing her so close to him that Charlie wheezes, her wings falling into confused half-beats that send pieces of hair that escaped her braid flying around her face in little eddies of wind.

“—okay, okay, hey, Charlie, it’s alright.” Lucifer’s talking, rushed and soft in that tone of voice that people always use when they’re trying to calm down scared children and animals. “You’re safe, I promise. I’ve got you. Are you okay, sweetheart? Do you want to land?”

Charlie still hasn’t released her death grip on him, and she does that with a rush of sheepish embarrassment as she sees the gold on the tips of her claws from where they went through his shirt and into his skin. “No, I’m fine up here, we can stay, I— I’m sorry, I just— it’s like— like I knew I needed to do it but…”

She doesn’t know how to describe it. It didn’t feel like when he’s gone flying with her before and the freefall was like a rollercoaster, that stomach-lurching jolt that nonetheless sent her whooping with glee as everything rushed past. It felt like…like she needed to claw for something that wasn’t there. The second-hand memory that she got when she touched Lucifer’s old cloak, the terrifying sensation of Falling, swims to the forefront of her mind, and she can’t hide a shudder.

“It’s alright,” Lucifer says, and with a soft blur of magic, his shirt is fixed. “Maybe…maybe it’s a little bit like swimming. Do you remember learning to swim?”

Charlie remembers liking swimming, though the actual act of learning to do it is pretty fuzzy. There used to be a pool in the palace — she wonders, abruptly, what happened to it. “Not really…”

“Your brain knows that you need to keep your head above water, and your body knows that you need to keep your head above water, but you don’t actually know how to do that at first. They don’t really know how to work together.” Lucifer must take the look she gives him as confusion, because he flushes gold. “What? I read parenting books. I was scared of accidentally traumatizing you.”

The giggle that escapes her is only a little squeaky, and she leans in to kiss him, overtaken by a sudden, gooey feeling of fondness that chases away the last of the panic. It’s brief but bolstering, and she pulls away and steadies her wings as she takes a short, sharp breath.

“Alright. Okay. What should I do?”

“Spread them out completely.” Lucifer’s own wings are beating slowly and effortlessly behind him, each set with their own rhythm that all keep time with each other, almost hypnotic in their coordination. “Flap them slowly, not fast like that.”

Charlie obeys, breathing deep as she focuses enough to spread them out and follow the timing of Lucifer’s top set. Matching it with his feels like trying to match someone else’s breathing, but after a few seconds she finds a pattern that seems right, something seeming to relax inside her.

“It’s okay if you don’t get it tonight,” Lucifer says, nonetheless looking approvingly at her wings over her shoulder. “You’re doing good, though. You’re on the right track.”

“Now what?” Charlie asks, trying not to think about her wings too hard like how she can’t think too hard about walking or she’ll trip and fall on her own face.

Despite knowing that Lucifer wouldn’t let anything happen to her, Charlie’s still acutely aware that they’re very high above the ground. Actually, now that she’s thinking about it, she suddenly feels more aware than she did before, like there’s some kind of fucked up magical gyroscopic positioning that only kicked in once her mind realized she’d have to keep track of where she is in midair, too.

Lucifer’s hold on her tightens reassuringly. “Just try to follow along. Like dancing with someone.”

The careful, controlled dive into an easy coast is gentle enough to keep Charlie from panicking, and Lucifer turns them over so his back is towards the spiky ground far beneath them. Charlie’s wings instinctually start to beat again, and she wrestles them into the same rhythm that she found earlier. She can feel something that isn’t Lucifer, something that tugs her along, something that buoys her like an inflatable pool toy holding a struggling swimmer up. She knows how to do this, somewhere deep inside her. It’s not scary, it’s not unnatural — she was made to fly just as surely as Lucifer was.

“Good job,” Lucifer says, and she looks down at him to find him smiling in that proud way that makes her willing to do just about anything for him, effortlessly holding her above him with his wings out like she weighs nothing. “Look at you. You’re a natural.”

His smile is infectious, and Charlie feels herself grin, too. Every second that passes, she feels more and more confident, her wings and the new muscles that control them finding the tempo that makes her feel like she could float right up into the atmosphere and never stop. Lucifer’s still the one holding her weight, but if she closes her eyes and focuses, she swears she can feel her own lift, tugging her up higher.

Lucifer coasts for a few more minutes, the only motions of his wings occasional, powerful beats that propel them across the landscape. It’s a strange sensation — if Charlie ignores his warmth close to her, she can easily imagine it’s just her, like when she was a kid and they’d do this so she could pretend she was flying.

Well, younger me would be thrilled now, Charlie thinks, only a little wistfully. …Maybe.

Lucifer’s voice breaks her from her thoughts considering whether her younger self would actually approve of literally any of this. “We can go back whenever you’re ready, you know. You don’t have to—”

Charlie’s shaking her head before she even realizes it, the wind across her face setting something inside her alight with the urge to feel it for herself. “No. Let me go.”

“What?” Lucifer pulls them up again so the ground appears tiny and distant beneath their hooves. “Charlie, are you sure?”

Charlie’s not sure about a lot of things, this included. But she is sure that even if he lets her go and she drops like a rock towards the ground, she’ll never be in any danger. Lucifer is here, and that means that she’s safe.

“It’s okay,” Charlie says. “Let me go, Dad.”

She sees the apprehension, the way he glances down below them as if suddenly realizing how high up they are, but then she feels him brace himself and set his shoulders against the rhythm of his wings.

Lucifer lets go.

There’s a moment of weightlessness that seems to stretch out for hours, caught between the spikes of Pride and the endless red sky and the glowing sigil and the moon.

Then Charlie feels it in her chest, that hook that grabs her and hauls her back as her wings are forced to beat harder to lift her up. But they are lifting her up, even if her balance is shaky and her flight a little lopsided as she precariously hovers in place. Charlie holds her breath, expecting at any second to plummet into thin air, whatever miracle she’s working failing as soon as she realizes she’s done it like a cartoon character who doesn’t fall until they look down. But one second passes, and then two, and then three, and then Charlie laughs, glee bubbling up inside her and making her wobble as the breeze catches under her wings and sends her heart soaring.

“Fuck yes!” Charlie whoops, tilting to one side and managing to flap furiously to straighten herself out again before she feels Lucifer catch her arm to steady her. “I did it!”

Lucifer’s grinning like he hasn’t in days, pulling her into another hug and spinning them around as Charlie giggles. “You did so well! Good job, Charlie, I’m so proud of you.”

It was only a few brief seconds, less time than it takes to walk across their bedroom, less time than it takes to kiss — but she did it. She clings to Lucifer, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt as he hugs her tight. Up here, it feels like Adam can’t get them, like nothing she’s ever been afraid of or worried about can touch them. Up here, it’s just her and Lucifer.

She accepts Lucifer’s kiss gratefully, one arm around his neck, everything going warm and euphoric and right when they’ve got each other in their arms like this. Against the darkening sky, in the high-altitude cold evening air, Lucifer’s warmth feels like holding a star against her chest.

“I love you,” Lucifer whispers as he pulls away, and she opens her eyes to find him looking back at her with a devotion that would be frightening coming from anyone else. “My girl. My wonderful, perfect Charlie.”

“I love you too.” Charlie presses their foreheads together, bathed in Lucifer’s warm glow and willing to stay right here for all of eternity, and her thoughts are so far away from Adam that for a moment, she forgets the face that belongs to that name. “More than anything.”