Chapter Text
It was the first meeting He had attended since the first fall. He could pretend that he didn't know why he had stopped. He could ponder endless reasons, excuses, call it what you will, but he knows why. Perhaps, He felt as though Heaven didn't need Him anymore, as the Seraphim were governing well and they had His Children to fall back on should they fumble. Perhaps, He couldn't stand to see an empty seat at His table. A seat now devoid of His light bringer, His morning star, His Son. He knew which of them was true.
That only served to make His choice to attend this particular meeting all the more... fitting? Ironic? Self-flagellating? He had chosen the meeting that would subject Him to the consequences of His actions, of His pride. Would he even have the ability to look at his son and punish him again? Because right now all he wanted was to hold His Youngest in His Arms and protect him from anyone who would do him harm.
He took his seat at the head of His table: amongst His Children. All His Children but one. He knew that His Children mourned their little brother. They too had been absent from meetings, even if it was only the ones that concerned Hell that they avoided. They all kept up an indifferent front, they had a reputation to uphold amongst the heavenly masses, but he knew that this meeting would hurt them as much as it would him.
The room had turned silent at his arrival. The faces of angels old and young, each crafted by his hands, were facing him, trepidation clear on their features. They had expectations regarding the outcome of this meeting. Expectations of having the King of Hell beg for forgiveness; expectations of seeing the King of Hell leave with his tail between his legs; expectations of once again prevailing over the evil they felt he represented. He might have prayed that none of that would come to pass but he didn't have anyone to pray to.
The person who entered couldn't have been Lucifer, something was wrong with the picture he presented. He had long pointed horns and a spiny tail ending in a sharp point, both appearing to have been soaked in blood alongside his wings. His hair lay flat beneath a black crown adorned with spines. He surveyed the room coldly as he was marched into the center by the two guards escorting him.
Something was wrong with what he was seeing. He watched as the head seraphim cut into His Son, bladed words tearing into his flawless skin. He felt like he was looking at a lie. It felt familiar in a bad way, like seeing a childhood game be scorned. A childhood game... He felt His Children tense slightly with the same realisation.
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Lucifer felt his family's eyes on him more than he saw them. He kept staring nonchalantly at Sera as she tore into him, the very definition of aloof. He couldn't fight back. That meant admitting to himself that their words did affect him. It meant admitting to himself that he wasn't really the high and mighty monster they wanted him to be.
Sera suddenly froze.
He knew her rant word for word: it was ingrained into his very being. She was about to start ranting about Charlie and he wasn't sure that he could keep his rebuttal to himself. He was tired and he was stressed. The thinness this brought to his illusion wouldn't have been a problem if it was just the usual witnesses to his torment - even whilst barely keeping his wits about him his power far surpassed theirs - but his siblings were here and they had only ever fallen for his more powerful illusions. Even worse, his Father could always sense his illusions. Hopefully, the constant use he made of this particular illusion would work in his favour.
"Lucifer, why do you wear an illusion?"
He tensed, the action invisible to anyone but his Father and siblings. He turned slowly, trying to appear aloof but fearing that he only came off as nervous. Sure enough, his Father stood mere steps behind him, towering over Lucifer's far smaller frame. He refused to look his Father in the eyes. He felt that the moment he did, his notorious silver tongue would tie itself into knots out of desperation for His approval. Miraculously, he found his voice.
"Of what illusion do you speak?" It was an avoidance more so than a lie. Even now he struggled to outright lie to his Father. He spoke formally, trying to keep his voice from shaking. To have his voice shake would be a weakness and he would not bare his throat to the bleached vultures that surrounded him.
"Do not play games with me, child." He wasn't sure if he was imagining it but his Father's tone was closer to that of a father than that of an executioner. He couldn't be sure that he wasn't deluding himself.
He didn't dignify the accusation with a reply; no matter what he said, it would hurt someone: be it himself or his family. He could hear the angels around him whispering, having finally recovered from the shock of his Father's intervention. Some were confused, some were angry - at him, not his Father... It was always him they were angry at.
His siblings' eyes drilled into his back but he couldn't look at them. He didn't want the memories of their closeness to be tainted by seeing the anger and disgust of the other angels reflected on their faces.
"Remove your illusion, child."
"You don't want me to do that."
Angry muttering broke out at his audacity. Sera, who before now had been content to see Lucifer be questioned by The Almighty, spoke up from her seat. "How dare you attempt command The Lord!"
Many things could have lead to Lucifer's unwillingness to just play the punching bag at this moment: being inspired by his daughter, being worn out by the aftermath of the battle against Adam, being in his family's presence for the first time since he Fell.
He looked into Sera's eyes, the silver eyes of a falcon waiting for a chance to take its next meal, searching for a reason to spare them the realisation that the villain of their story was a lie. Finding nothing but hatred, he gave a small sad smile and tossed his cane into the air with a twirl.
He snatched the grip of the ornate angelic steel rapier out of the air. He gave it a few experimental swishes, clearly familiar with the weapon, before sliding it into the holster that had formed at his hip. The engraved Amaryllises and lilacs on the guard and knuckle bow glittered in the soft golden light that shone from the shattered halo that circled Lucifer's head at eye-level.
His once limp blonde hair had taken on a golden quality to it and was now curling gently around porcelain-coloured pointed ears. He appeared younger - early twenties as opposed to the late thirties he usually appeared as. His red cheeks appeared more natural, less drawn on but were partially hidden by the trail of gold-tinted scars that ran down his cheeks like tear tracks. Similar golden scars decorated every visible piece of doll-like flesh.
Lucifer was a supernova: beautiful and deadly. A heavenly soul shattered into stardust and recrafted by its own hands.
He waited patiently for the grave-like silence of the courtroom to be broken.
Then he felt arms wrap around him, followed by wings that obscured his true form from the view of the angels.
"My precious Son."