Chapter Text
The scent of charcoal and divine irresponsibility filled the air.
In a sun-drenched clearing just outside creation—somewhere between Silver City and Los Angeles—white patio tables were arranged in neat rows. Angels mingled awkwardly. Amenadiel attempted to understand the concept of potato salad. A banner floated midair:
“HAPPY RETIREMENT, DAD!”
At the grill stood the smiling, sweater-clad, warm-eyed version of God—apron on, tongs in hand.
And then reality tore open.
A wound in existence spiraled above the punch bowl. Three figures stepped through.
First: a pale, golden-eyed being whose presence made gravity hesitate—Lucifer Morningstar.
Second: a towering warrior wrapped in radiant white fire—Michael Demiurgos.
Third: armored in authority and restrained disbelief—Gabriel.
The laughter stopped.
The barbecue fork melted in God’s hand.
The Attack
Comics Lucifer did not hesitate.
The moment he saw Michael standing beside him—alive—whole—
He struck.
The blow was not physical. It was ontological. A slash across narrative, aimed to unmake.
“You died,” Lucifer hissed, golden light spiraling from his fingers. “And the last time you returned, you were a puppet. Stripped of will. A mouthpiece for a rotting throne.”
Michael did not retaliate.
Reality bent between them like heated glass.
TV angels backed away. Maze reached for a blade that would accomplish absolutely nothing.
Comics Michael simply regarded his twin.
“I am aware,” he said quietly. His voice carried the hum of the Demiurgic power—the force that once spoke universes into existence. “This continuity does not match ours.”
Lucifer pressed harder, eyes blazing.
“Is this another of His contingencies? Another failsafe? Did the Presence resurrect you again? Are you still leashed?”
The word Presence fell like a thunderclap.
TV God blinked.
“Presence?” he asked gently.
Comics Gabriel stared at the apron. The sandals. The… spatula.
“This is blasphemy,” Gabriel whispered.
Then he noticed the wine table.
The Other Lucifer
A slow clap echoed from behind the grill.
“Well,” came a smooth British voice, silk-wrapped mischief, “this is awkward.”
Comics Lucifer turned.
There he stood—
Black hair. Trim beard. Dark suit. Vulnerable eyes. The same face, refracted through humanity.
Lucifer Morningstar.
TV Lucifer raised a brow. “You always enter parties by attempting fratricide, or is today special?”
Comics Lucifer studied him the way one studies a distorted mirror.
“You kneel,” Comics Lucifer said flatly.
“I absolutely do not,” TV Lucifer shot back. “I dramatically recline.”
“You serve.”
“I manage a nightclub.”
“You love.”
A pause.
TV Lucifer smirked. “Oh, I absolutely love.”
That gave Comics Lucifer pause.
The attack on Michael faltered—not from mercy, but calculation.
Michael Observes
Comics Michael stood still amidst the crackling tension.
He extended his senses—not outward in power, but inward in analysis.
This universe was… softer.
God had chosen finitude.
Chosen retirement.
Chosen surrender.
There was no overwhelming oppressive weight of the Presence here. No invisible omnipotent design humming beneath every atom.
This God was… letting go.
Michael’s voice was calm when he spoke.
“This is not our Father.”
TV God nodded pleasantly. “No, I’m not.”
Comics Lucifer turned sharply.
“What have you done?” he demanded.
TV God met his gaze without cosmic pressure. “I stepped aside.”
The words landed harder than any blow.
“I wanted my children to choose,” TV God continued. “Even if that meant choosing poorly. Even if that meant choosing against me.”
Comics Lucifer’s expression flickered—not rage, not disbelief—something more dangerous.
Recognition.
Gabriel Gets Drunk
Meanwhile, Gabriel had discovered the wine.
Not heavenly communion wine.
Actual fermented grapes.
He drank.
Then again.
“This is… disturbingly pleasant,” Gabriel muttered.
Amenadiel tried to intervene.
Gabriel waved him off and stared at the retirement banner.
“Our Father would never retire,” he slurred faintly. “He would orchestrate. Manipulate. Withdraw strategically. But retire? With condiments?”
He poured another glass.
“Madness.”
The Confrontation
Comics Lucifer approached TV God slowly.
“You relinquished omnipotence voluntarily?”
“Yes.”
“You abandoned the Throne?”
“Yes.”
“You allowed your son to become God?”
TV God smiled.
“Well. Eventually.”
Silence.
In the comics universe, abdication had been a cosmic chess move wrapped in mystery and inevitability. It had not been warm. It had not been human.
It had never smelled like barbecue sauce.
“You are either profoundly brave,” Comics Lucifer said softly, “or catastrophically naive.”
TV God chuckled. “Or perhaps I finally trusted you.”
TV Lucifer looked between them.
“Right. So just to clarify—your Dad was… what? An omnipotent control enthusiast?”
Comics Lucifer’s eyes hardened.
“Our Father shaped events from beyond perception. Even rebellion served His design. Even defiance was anticipated.”
TV Lucifer blinked.
“Oh. Well that’s unhealthy.”
Brothers in Contrast
Comics Michael stepped forward at last.
“To attack me here is pointless,” he told his twin. “This reality lacks the architecture for the Presence’s corruption. I feel no intrusion.”
Lucifer searched him—not with eyes, but with ancient instinct.
No leash.
No whisper.
No external will.
Michael was… whole.
For the first time since resurrection.
Lucifer lowered his hand.
Not forgiveness.
Not peace.
But postponement.
“You will prove it,” Lucifer said.
Michael inclined his head. “Of course.”
Mirror Conversation
TV Lucifer stepped closer to his pale counterpart.
“So,” he said casually, “do you also run a nightclub and engage in crippling self-reflection, or is that just me?”
“I built my own creation,” Comics Lucifer replied. “Then left it.”
TV Lucifer frowned slightly.
“You left?”
“Yes.”
“No friends? No partner? No dramatic declarations of love?”
Comics Lucifer’s silence was answer enough.
TV Lucifer tilted his head.
“You know… you might actually enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what?”
“Being… less alone.”
Comics Lucifer stared at him as though considering an alien philosophy.
A Toast
Gabriel, now thoroughly tipsy, climbed onto a patio chair.
“To retirement!” he declared loudly. “May it never occur in our universe!”
TV God laughed.
Comics Michael watched the sky.
Comics Lucifer looked at the version of himself who had chosen vulnerability over defiance.
And somewhere in the folds between universes, something old and corrupt stirred—unhappy that one version of God had escaped the game.
But here, in this softer creation, the rules were different.
Here, omnipot
ence had chosen humility.
And that unsettled Lucifer Morningstar more than any grand design ever had.
The grill sizzled.
Two Lucifers stood beneath the same sun.
One who had rejected his Father.
And one who had forgiven him.
Neither quite certain which was stronger.
Chapter 2: Two Michaels, one dick, one a hottie.
Chapter Text
The laughter had thinned.
Gabriel was halfway through a third glass of wine, lecturing a confused Ella Lopez about “theological absolutism,” while Amenadiel quietly questioned every life choice that led to this barbecue.
Near the edge of the yard—where reality frayed into something colder—two figures stood apart.
Two Michaels.
One armored in burning white, presence like a silent war drum.
The other—Michael—nervous energy beneath calculated smugness, wings tucked tight, eyes sharp with insecurity disguised as ambition.
TV Michael cleared his throat.
“So,” he began carefully, glancing toward the two Lucifers across the lawn, “this is awkward. I assume you’re not thrilled about… him.” He nodded toward Lucifer Morningstar.
Comics Michael did not move.
His gaze remained forward—measured, ancient, unblinking.
“You wish to overthrow him,” Comics Michael stated. It wasn’t a question.
TV Michael straightened. “Well—when you put it like that, it sounds hostile. I prefer strategic correction of celestial mismanagement.”
Silence.
“You believe yourself wronged,” Comics Michael continued.
TV Michael’s jaw tightened. “He gets everything. The charm. The forgiveness. The… love.” A flicker of something wounded passed across his face. “He falls upward. I clean up after him.”
Comics Michael turned slowly.
And when he did, the air shifted.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
But with the weight of a being who once carried the power that spoke creation into existence.
His eyes were not angry.
They were those of a soldier who had seen too many wars.
“You mistake rivalry for destiny,” Comics Michael said quietly.
TV Michael scoffed. “Oh please. Don’t tell me you’re content playing second to that.”
A pause.
Then Comics Michael stepped closer.
Not aggressively.
Inevitably.
“You assume I desire his throne,” he said. “You assume conflict is purpose.”
His white fire dimmed—controlled, restrained.
“In my universe, rebellion, obedience, betrayal—each were threads in a design vaster than ego. I wielded the Demiurgic power. I could have unmade him.”
TV Michael blinked. “…You could have?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Comics Michael’s gaze hardened—not cruel, but absolute.
“Because war without principle is noise.”
The words landed heavier than any threat.
TV Michael faltered.
“You seek to overthrow your brother because you envy him,” Comics Michael continued. “You measure worth by attention. By validation.”
TV Michael’s expression darkened. “Easy for you to say. You’re… what, some cosmic general? You don’t know what it’s like being overshadowed.”
Comics Michael’s eyes sharpened.
“You think I do not?”
For a brief moment, something ancient moved behind his stare—memories of Heaven shattered, of Lucifer’s rebellion, of the Presence’s silence, of battles that cracked metaphysics.
Then he spoke, voice low and unyielding—the same conviction that once echoed during the Spectre’s tormented visions:
“There is no ‘why.’ God is the Creator and I am His creation. As such, He may do what He wills with me. That is all.”
The words hung between them.
Not servile.
Not broken.
Chosen.
TV Michael stared at him.
“That sounds like blind obedience.”
“It was clarity,” Comics Michael corrected. “I knew my function. I accepted consequence.”
He leaned slightly closer, warrior eyes boring into his counterpart.
“You, however, flail.”
The word struck harder than any celestial blow.
“You mistake insecurity for injustice,” Comics Michael said. “You pursue your brother not because he threatens creation—but because he threatens your pride.”
TV Michael bristled. “So what? I’m supposed to just accept being lesser?”
Comics Michael straightened.
“There is no lesser,” he said. “Only different burdens.”
He looked toward the two Lucifers—one pale and distant, one dark-haired and emotionally exposed—standing in tense conversation.
“In this reality,” Comics Michael continued, “your Father relinquished the Throne. Voluntarily.”
TV Michael glanced toward the retired God laughing softly near the grill.
“…Yes.”
“In mine, the Throne was a crucible.”
A beat.
“If you seek power to soothe envy, you are already unfit to wield it.”
TV Michael’s confidence cracked.
“And if Lucifer falls?” he pressed. “If he fails?”
Comics Michael’s expression did not change.
“Then you stand beside him.”
The answer stunned him.
“Not above him?”
“No.”
The white fire around Comics Michael flickered—calm, controlled.
“A warrior does not covet command. He protects creation.”
TV Michael looked away first.
Across the lawn, TV Lucifer noticed and raised an eyebrow.
Comics Michael’s voice softened—but did not weaken.
“You are not my enemy,” he said. “But neither are you my reflection.”
He stepped past him.
“And if you attempt to harm him out of spite…”
For the first time, the air grew cold.
“…you will find that I do not tolerate childish wars.”
TV Michael swallowed.
For once, he had nothing clever to say.
Behind them, Gabriel shouted something about theological cannibalism while holding a half-empty bottle.
The grill sizzled.
Two universes overlapped.
And for the first time in his existence, TV Michael wondered whether strength was not domination—
But discipline.
Chapter 3: Gabriel's Confesses
Chapter Text
The grill crackled softly.
The universe, fortunately, had not ended.
Most of the guests had slowly resumed their uneasy mingling after the confrontation between the two Lucifers. Angels talked in cautious whispers, demons raided the buffet, and the music had timidly started again.
Near the drinks table, however, the evening had devolved into something far less dignified.
Gabriel had discovered both the wine and the ribs—and was enthusiastically consuming both.
Across from him sat Ella Lopez, fascinated beyond belief, while Amenadiel stood nearby with the expression of someone realizing this party had become cosmically irresponsible.
A few yards away, the two Michaels had just finished their conversation.
TV Michael stood unusually quiet now.
Michael Demiurgos had already stepped away, warrior-calm as always.
Which left the drunken archangel to fill the silence.
Gabriel raised his glass dramatically.
“To Heaven!” he declared.
No one joined the toast.
He shrugged and drank anyway.
TV Gabriel leaned forward, curiosity blazing. “So your Heaven—what was it like? Because honestly ours is kind of… bureaucratic.”
Gabriel snorted.
“Ours was worse,” he said, wiping barbecue sauce from his fingers onto a napkin that had already lost the war.
“Hierarchy. Thrones. Choirs. Endless declarations. You could not sneeze without it being recorded in some cosmic ledger.”
Ella blinked. “That sounds… intense.”
“It was efficient,” Gabriel replied.
He reached for another rib.
“When Heaven required something, it was done. No debates. No therapy sessions. No… family meetings.”
Amenadiel folded his arms.
“And you approved of that system?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“It was the system.”
He gestured vaguely toward the lawn, where the two Lucifers stood on opposite sides of the yard studying one another like rival storms.
“Your universe seems very interested in feelings.”
TV Gabriel brightened. “Feelings are extremely important.”
Gabriel stared at her for a moment.
“…I regret asking.”
He drank again.
Ella leaned forward eagerly.
“So what kinds of things did Heaven actually do?”
Gabriel waved a rib lazily.
“Oh, the usual divine operations. Delivering messages. Smite scheduling. Prophetic logistics. Maintaining the proper unfolding of divine plans.”
TV Gabriel’s eyes widened.
“Wait, prophetic logistics?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Yes. Messianic preparation. Bloodline arrangements. Divine interventions.”
Ella blinked.
“You mean like Jesus?”
Gabriel paused mid-bite.
“Oh. Yes. That one.”
Amenadiel’s attention sharpened immediately.
Gabriel squinted at the sky as if trying to remember paperwork from a thousand years ago.
“That was an odd assignment.”
TV Gabriel leaned closer.
“What do you mean?”
Gabriel scratched his beard.
“Well,” he said slowly, “the Presence required a particular lineage to proceed uninterrupted. There were… complications with human politics at the time.”
Ella tilted her head. “Complications?”
Gabriel shrugged again.
“Humans rarely cooperate with prophecy. So Heaven occasionally… intervened.”
Amenadiel’s voice lowered.
“What kind of intervention?”
Gabriel waved vaguely.
“Ensuring the correct conception occurred.”
The table went quiet.
Ella blinked again.
“You mean the immaculate conception?”
Gabriel frowned.
“You call it that?”
A pause.
“Yes,” Ella said slowly. “That’s the name.”
Gabriel considered this.
“Well,” he said after a moment, “that’s a very optimistic phrasing.”
Amenadiel’s eyes narrowed.
“What happened?”
Gabriel took another drink.
“In Heaven’s accounting, the messianic birth had to occur through the proper bloodline,” he explained matter-of-factly. “The Presence permitted certain… direct actions to ensure the event.”
He took another bite of rib.
Ella stared.
TV Gabriel stared.
Amenadiel stared.
Gabriel blinked at them.
“What?”
Ella spoke carefully.
“Gabriel… what kind of direct action?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“I was the assigned herald.”
The table went silent again.
Across the yard, Comics Michael stopped mid-step.
Lucifer’s eyes slowly shifted toward the conversation.
Gabriel continued chewing, oblivious.
“Mary Magdalene was involved in the lineage,” he said casually. “There was some debate about the details, but the Presence approved the intervention.”
He gestured vaguely with the rib.
“So I carried out the assignment.”
The silence deepened.
Ella’s brain visibly tried to process several thousand years of theology at once.
TV Gabriel looked horrified.
Amenadiel looked like he might start a celestial tribunal.
Finally TV Gabriel whispered:
“…You mean you—”
Gabriel frowned at them.
“What?”
He looked around the table.
Realization began creeping across his face as the weight of their expressions sank in.
“…Oh.”
He took another sip of wine.
“Well,” he added defensively, “it was permitted.”
No one spoke.
Across the lawn, the two Lucifers had stopped their argument entirely.
Lucifer Morningstar looked deeply unimpressed.
Comics Michael closed his eyes briefly, as if reconsidering the entire history of Heaven.
TV Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.
Maze muttered, “I knew this party was gonna get weird.”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, finishing the last rib.
“What?” he said again.
No one answered.
The grill hissed quietly in the background.
And somewhere in Heaven—
several theological traditions spontaneously developed migraines.
Chapter 4: Jesus
Chapter Text
The yard had gone strangely quiet.
Not the peaceful quiet of a pleasant evening—
but the tense quiet of a room where someone has just said something deeply uncomfortable and everyone is waiting to see if it gets worse.
At the table, Ella Lopez sat very still.
Across from her, Gabriel continued chewing the last bite of rib like nothing had happened.
Amenadiel had gone rigid.
Even the ever-chatty TV Gabriel was silent for once.
Ella slowly set her drink down.
“Okay,” she said carefully.
Her voice was polite.
But firm.
“Gabriel… what exactly do you mean by that?”
Gabriel blinked at her.
“Mean by what?”
Ella gestured vaguely.
“The… intervention. With Mary Magdalene. The one you said was ‘permitted.’”
Gabriel frowned slightly, as though she were asking him to explain something obvious.
“Well,” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin, “the Presence required a specific prophetic outcome.”
Ella nodded cautiously.
“Okay…”
“The lineage had to proceed properly.”
Another nod.
“Right…”
Gabriel shrugged.
“So Heaven ensured it did.”
Ella waited.
He didn’t continue.
Her brows knitted.
“Gabriel,” she said gently, “how?”
Gabriel looked around the table, clearly confused why this required elaboration.
“By fulfilling the assignment,” he said.
Ella’s voice softened but became more direct.
“What assignment?”
Gabriel leaned back in his chair, slightly drunk, slightly annoyed.
“The conception.”
The word landed like a stone in water.
Amenadiel spoke quietly.
“You were responsible?”
Gabriel waved a hand.
“I was the herald assigned to the operation.”
Ella blinked.
“Operation?”
Gabriel rolled his eyes slightly.
“Humans always think prophecy unfolds like poetry. It doesn’t. It requires… management.”
Ella swallowed.
“So you’re saying Heaven arranged for Jesus to be born through Mary Magdalene’s bloodline?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you… helped that happen.”
Another nod.
“Yes.”
Ella’s voice was now very small.
“How?”
Gabriel stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out why she was circling the obvious.
Then it clicked.
“Oh,” he said.
The table went still.
Gabriel sighed and rubbed his temple.
“You humans attach a great deal of moral panic to biological processes,” he muttered.
Ella stared.
Amenadiel’s eyes hardened.
“Gabriel,” he said carefully, “be clear.”
Gabriel looked mildly irritated.
“The Presence authorized the act required to ensure the birth,” he said flatly.
“I carried out the command.”
Silence swallowed the table.
Ella’s lips parted slightly.
“You mean… you were the father?”
Gabriel shrugged.
“Biologically speaking.”
Across the lawn, the conversation between the two Lucifers had stopped entirely.
Lucifer Morningstar turned his head slightly toward the table.
Comics Michael’s expression darkened almost imperceptibly.
Back at the table, Ella whispered:
“But… the Church teaches…”
Gabriel sighed.
“Yes. I am aware.”
He picked up his wine again.
“Your institutions tend to… simplify divine logistics.”
Ella shook her head slowly.
“But Mary… did she choose that?”
That question hung in the air.
Gabriel didn’t answer immediately this time.
He stared at the wine in his glass.
Then he said quietly:
“She was not asked.”
Amenadiel stepped forward instantly.
“That is not divine will,” he said sharply.
Gabriel’s eyes flicked up.
“It was divine authorization.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Gabriel gave a tired smile.
“In Heaven at the time, it was.”
Ella looked devastated.
TV Gabriel looked horrified.
Across the yard, TV Lucifer whispered under his breath:
“Bloody hell.”
Comics Lucifer’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Comics Michael said nothing.
Gabriel finished his wine.
Then he muttered quietly:
“Prophecy rarely cares about consent.”
No one at the table could find a reply to that.
And the barbecue—despite everything—continued under the dim glow of string lights.
Chapter 5: Comics Lucifer and God
Chapter Text
The party had drifted into uneasy normalcy.
Laughter returned in fragments. Gabriel was arguing with a lawn chair. Someone had turned the music down—instinctively, as if the universe itself wanted things quieter.
At the edge of the yard, near the grill now gone to low embers, two figures stood apart.
God
and
Lucifer Morningstar.
For a while, neither spoke.
TV God held a plate he had long since forgotten to eat from.
Comics Lucifer stood with hands loosely at his sides, posture relaxed—but never unguarded.
Finally, God broke the silence.
“May I ask you something?”
Lucifer didn’t look at him.
“You already have.”
A faint smile.
“That’s true,” God admitted. “But this one matters.”
That made Lucifer glance at him—just slightly.
God hesitated.
Not out of fear.
But out of something far rarer for Him.
Uncertainty.
“Was I… a good father to you?”
Silence.
Not the calm kind.
The kind that tightens.
Lucifer’s expression didn’t change at first.
Then—slowly—his eyes narrowed.
“…You chose,” Lucifer said quietly, “to ask that.”
God didn’t respond immediately.
Lucifer let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“You stand here,” he continued, voice sharpening, “in a universe where you grill meat, wear an apron, and retire—and your question is whether you were a good father?”
God met his gaze.
“Yes.”
That answer made something in Lucifer shift.
Not outwardly.
But internally—like pressure building behind glass.
“You wouldn’t understand the answer,” Lucifer said flatly.
“Try me.”
Lucifer’s jaw tightened.
For a moment, it seemed like he would simply walk away.
But instead—
He stepped closer.
“Do you know how I was made?” he asked.
God tilted his head slightly.
“I have an idea.”
Lucifer shook his head.
“No. You don’t.”
His voice lowered.
“I was created as a function. Not a son.”
A pause.
“A tool.”
God listened.
Lucifer’s eyes flickered—not with fire, but memory.
“I was given will,” he continued, “but only within the boundaries of a design I could not see.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Every thought. Every rebellion. Every decision—anticipated.”
God frowned slightly.
Lucifer’s voice grew colder.
“You ask if you were a good father.”
He let out a quiet breath.
“My Father did not ask questions.”
A beat.
“He issued roles.”
God said nothing.
Lucifer continued.
“When I questioned Him… I was reminded of my place.”
His eyes flicked upward—like remembering something vast and oppressive.
“He made it very clear,” Lucifer said, voice calm but edged, “that I existed because He allowed it.”
The air grew heavier—not with power, but with truth.
“And if I ceased to be useful…”
He stopped.
Then finished softly—
“I could be unmade just as easily.”
God’s grip tightened slightly on the plate.
Lucifer watched him.
Waiting.
Judging.
God spoke carefully.
“That sounds… lonely.”
Lucifer’s irritation snapped instantly.
“Don’t,” he said sharply.
God paused.
“Don’t reduce it,” Lucifer continued, voice rising slightly, “to something so small.”
He stepped closer.
“It wasn’t loneliness.”
“It was inevitability.”
His eyes burned—not with rage, but with something far older.
“I was never a child to Him,” Lucifer said. “I was an extension.”
God’s voice softened.
“I never wanted that for my children.”
Lucifer let out a short laugh.
“Yes,” he said. “I’ve noticed.”
He gestured vaguely toward the yard—toward the laughing angels, the flawed freedom, the chaos.
“You gave them choice.”
God nodded.
“Yes.”
Lucifer’s gaze hardened again.
“And you think that makes you better.”
God didn’t answer immediately.
“I think,” he said slowly, “it makes me different.”
Lucifer studied him.
Long.
Carefully.
Then—
“You asked if you were a good father,” Lucifer said.
God nodded once.
Lucifer looked away briefly, then back.
“I don’t know,” he said.
The answer was honest.
Uncomfortable.
“I have never had one to compare you to.”
That landed harder than anger would have.
God lowered his eyes slightly.
Lucifer’s voice softened—just a fraction.
“But I will say this.”
God looked up.
Lucifer met his gaze directly.
“You are the first version of Him I have encountered…”
A pause.
“…who does not terrify me.”
Silence settled between them.
Not broken.
Just… held.
God smiled faintly.
“I’ll take that.”
Lucifer huffed quietly.
“You would.”
Behind them, Gabriel shouted something about divine acoustics and dropped the horn.
The spell broke.
Lucifer turned slightly away.
God looked back at the grill.
And somewhere between them—
for the briefest moment—
the idea of “father” felt… possible.
Chapter 6: Cigarettes
Chapter Text
The party noise returned in fragments.
Laughter. Glasses. The faint, off-key echo of a horn that someone had wisely taken away from Gabriel.
But away from the light—near the edge of the yard where the shadows stretched longer—Lucifer Morningstar stood alone.
A cigarette flickered to life between his fingers.
The flame reflected briefly in his eyes.
He inhaled.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Exhaled into the dark.
A moment later—
Footsteps approached.
Lucifer Morningstar.
“Right,” TV Lucifer said, adjusting his jacket as he walked up beside him. “So that was… emotionally catastrophic.”
No response.
Comics Lucifer didn’t even look at him.
Another drag.
Smoke curled into the air like a quiet refusal.
TV Lucifer tilted his head.
“You’re brooding.”
Silence.
“I brood too, you know. It’s kind of my thing. Though I usually pair it with whiskey and questionable decisions.”
Still nothing.
TV Lucifer sighed.
“Alright, I’ll skip the charm.”
He stepped closer.
“What did he do to you?”
That got a response.
Not in words.
But in stillness.
The kind that warns.
Comics Lucifer spoke without turning.
“Leave.”
TV Lucifer blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to be alone.”
The words were calm.
Flat.
Final.
TV Lucifer glanced around.
A few yards away, Michael Demiurgos stood with arms folded, gaze distant, deliberately not looking in their direction.
Leaning against a table, Comics Gabriel chewed lazily on something, also very pointedly ignoring the situation.
TV Lucifer frowned.
“Oh come on,” he muttered. “You’re just going to leave him like this?”
Neither Michael nor Gabriel moved.
TV Lucifer scoffed.
“Brilliant. Fantastic siblings. Really supportive.”
Comics Michael didn’t even turn.
“He asked to be left alone.”
TV Lucifer threw up his hands.
“Yes, well, that’s clearly when one should not leave someone alone.”
Gabriel took a sip of wine.
“He gets worse if you don’t.”
TV Lucifer rolled his eyes.
“Oh, please. I get worse when people leave me alone. It’s practically a hobby.”
He turned back toward his counterpart.
“Right. New plan.”
He stepped forward again.
“Look, I don’t know what your Father did—well, actually I do now, and it’s horrific—but bottling it up and smoking dramatically isn’t going to—”
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Because suddenly—
He wasn’t standing anymore.
He was lifted.
Off the ground.
By his throat.
No warning.
No buildup.
Just—
force.
Comics Lucifer’s hand was around his neck.
Effortless.
Controlled.
Deadly.
The cigarette still burned between his fingers in the other hand.
His eyes were no longer distant.
They were focused.
Cold.
“I told you,” he said quietly, “to leave.”
TV Lucifer grabbed at his wrist, instinct kicking in—but there was no leverage.
No weakness.
It wasn’t a struggle.
It was containment.
“Right—yes—bit—rude—” TV Lucifer choked out, feet kicking slightly above the ground.
Comics Lucifer stepped closer, tightening his grip just enough to make the point clear.
“You mistake familiarity for permission,” he said.
TV Lucifer’s usual sarcasm faltered.
Because this—
This wasn’t him.
Not really.
Not the version he knew.
This was something sharper.
Older.
Less forgiving.
A few yards away, Michael watched—but did not move.
Gabriel sighed.
“Give it a second,” he muttered. “He won’t kill him.”
TV Lucifer managed a strained glare in their direction.
“Comforting—really—”
Comics Lucifer studied him for a moment.
Then—
Just as suddenly—
He let go.
TV Lucifer dropped to the ground, coughing, catching himself on one knee.
Air rushed back into his lungs.
“Bloody hell—” he rasped.
Comics Lucifer took another drag of his cigarette.
Calm again.
As if nothing had happened.
TV Lucifer looked up at him, eyes narrowed—but not angry.
Not exactly.
“…That was unnecessary.”
Lucifer exhaled smoke.
“You insisted.”
TV Lucifer coughed once more, then stood slowly.
He brushed off his suit.
Looked back at him.
Really looked this time.
Not as a mirror.
Not as a version.
But as something… different.
“…You don’t let anyone in, do you?” he said quietly.
Comics Lucifer didn’t answer.
The silence was answer enough.
TV Lucifer sighed.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Message received.”
He turned slightly—
Then paused.
Without looking back, he added:
“For what it’s worth… you don’t have to handle it alone.”
A beat.
No response.
TV Lucifer gave a small nod to himself.
“Of course you won’t listen to that,” he muttered.
Then he walked away.
Behind him—
Comics Lucifer stood in the dark, cigarette burning low.
Michael remained at a distance.
Gabriel reached for another drink.
And for once—
no one tried to approach the Morningstar again.