my_own_advocate | Lucifer's Loft, Los Angeles, Saturday

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Lucifer's Loft, Los Angeles, Saturday

Yesterday had been a ~~still being played out~~ day full of musical numbers and Dad and a woman murdering her judgemental referee husband for entirely understandable reasons. Lucifer had gone to bed entirely wiped, tired, too exhausted to remember he shouldn't be naked with Duke and Octavia.

He was still in that bed, sleeping more comfortably than he had in a week.

Unaware of the man hovering by the edge of the bed with a large tray full of breakfast foods in his hands.

[[ for those two and once again taken from Lucifer 5x10! ]]

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"Well, how can I not be?" Lucifer said.

Exhausted. "No one but hypothetically the people who've been staying here with me can hurt me," he said. "If that even still holds, after everything. For all I know I'm now forever invulnerable, completely unscathed forever, totally dandy and nothing for you to worry about."

A frown.

"I definitely believe this is one of those times you're saying one thing and mean another."

Lucifer pressed his hands to the counter, leaned over and stared at the scotch on his wall. He let out a huff, not quite a laugh.

"You know, it was bad enough, rejecting me, forcing me down to Hell," he said.

He pulled away from the bar. "But I had a life here," he said, as he turned to face his Father. "I had a good thing!"

He'd had a good thing.

(Damn it all. There were the tears again, threatening to break through. He wouldn't let them.)

"First there was the Detective, she made me vulnerable, but it was--" He let out a shuddering breath. "It was terrifying, but it was amazing. And, and then when Your machinations pushed her away, I found-- I found a new home with these incredible people, and-- for the first time in my long-- hopeless life--"

(His voice was breaking again.)

"I, I," he managed, sucking down shallow breaths as he pushed the tears back. (Tried. Maybe failed.) "I felt something."

Another breath.

"And then You just turn up and You... You-- You ruin it! You throw it all away!"

A sob lurched out of him.

"Why?"

There were no answers. When were there ever answers? Father just... Looked at him, like He was sad but also inscrutable, like He'd always--

The lights shifted from the apartment's cold blue to a warm orange.

He could hear music.

Of course. Dad couldn't just let him speak as he wished, He had to tear the words out of him, force them into a shape He found pleasing. And, as always, there was no point in fighting it.

"I dreamed a dream in times gone by; When hope was high and life worth living," he sang, striding through the room. All he could do now was-- keep those threatening tears at bay, couldn't he? The one bit of control left to him. "I dreamed that love would never die, I dreamed that God would be forgiving..."

He sucked in a breath.

"But I was young and unafraid.
And dreams were made And used and wasted.
There was no ransom to be paid--
No song unsung, no wine untasted."

Edited 2021-07-10 20:23 (UTC)

Oh, Samael.

"But the tigers come at night," God's voice boomed. "With their voices soft as thunder; as they tear your hope apart..."

Lucifer turned 'round to look at his Father, helpless to stop his voice from joining, harmonizing. "As they turn your dream to shame...!"

They drew out the last word, God's face a frown, Lucifer's-- resigned.

Angry.

He shook his head with disgust and slipped past Father. Walking towards the bar, feet quicker, voice quicker.

"And still I dream they'll come to me.
That we will live the years together."

With Father in pursuit. As always.

God raised his arms, wide and suffocating. Or was that Lucifer's imagination? "But there are dreams that cannot be, and there are storms we cannot weather."

Lucifer faced Him, in all His overbearing glory.

He was angry. He was sad. He was a strange and fluctuating mixture of both.

But it was easier to project the rage than the rest of it, each word a snap of fury.

"I had a dream my life would be,
So different from this Hell I’m living,
So different now from what it seems..."

Except fury was finite, where the sorrow was not. He loathed these moments, where his expression broke, his voice cracked, because after all this time the mask kept slipping through his fingers.

"Now life has..." His gaze dropped from Father's face. "Killed--" he forced out, short, an off staccato beat. "...the dream..."

He thought of Octavia, begging him to stay. Duke's dogged pursuit. The look in Chloe's eyes.

Long years of ash drifting in silence.

He collapsed in his chair with jagged, imprecise motions, as if each part of his body gave in to gravity separately, uncoordinated. "...I dreamed."

He was crying again. He leaned forward and pressed his fingertips to his eyes so Father couldn't see, a useless gesture, done because it was all he knew.

Edited 2021-07-11 12:12 (UTC)

"Oh, my son, the Lightbringer," God said softly.

He settled His hand on Samael's back, between his shoulder blades. He hoped His son would take it as the comfort He intended it to be.

"So full of light that it blinds even you sometimes."

What?

Lucifer sat up, sucking in a wet breath that was too-loud to his ears. "What does that mean?"

He couldn't resist being cryptic even now, could He?

"It means that I understand... that you're angry at me," God said, His own sadness in His eyes. "And I'm so very sorry about that."

Had Lucifer ever heard Him sound like that before? He could almost believe for just a second that Dad actually cared.

But the Devil was always in the details.

"So, You’re sorry for me, but You’re not sorry for what You’ve done," he concluded flatly.

"I didn't say that."

God sounded almost desperate.

"But I will say that I cannot fix you, Lucifer..."

Lucifer stared at Him through wet eyes. "But You're God."

He wasn't proud of how small and young he sounded. And he hated the silence that followed even worse. Eventually he took another sad, damp breath and wiped some of the snot and the tears from his face.

"Okay, fine," he said. Forced himself to his feet, to find some bloody dignity. "If You can't fix me, Dad, at least-- stop trying to control me."

The bar. A drink. Get yourself together.

There they went again. "How do I control you?" God asked, and yes, that was definite desperation there.

He really didn't see it, did He? Lucifer whirled back around to face Him. "You just made me sing! Again!" He just. He just. "I mean it has to stop, Dad!"

And he was crying. Again.

"Actually, I... I don't think that's possible," God said quietly.

Were those... tears sliding down Dad's cheek? No. Impossible.

"Right, well, if you’re not gonna try," he sighed, waving a hand as if to cast that thought aside. "I don't know why I should even bother."

No more of this.

Just. Drinks.

"It's not that I won't."

Now the crack was in God's voice, instead.

"It's that I don't think that I can," He sobbed, voice twisting.

What... what was He saying? For the first time, the feeling at Lucifer's core wasn't anger or hurt, it was... dread. Fear. He looked over his shoulder, searching Dad's bizarrely grief-stricken face, and said, "W-what does that mean?"

"My powers, son," God said. Helpless terror filled His face. "I, I, I think I'm losing control of them."

Time seemed to stop.

(Dad was... Dad. Dad was forever. Always there, always in control, always around...)

Impossible.

Couldn't be.

It was Dad.

What did that mean?

It couldn't mean what he thought it meant.

Why did he feel eight days old again?

Dad was forever.

"Dad?"

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Lucifer's Loft, Los Angeles, Saturday

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