Found
It’s been three weeks since a shooting star split the sky above Enigma. Three weeks since Gabriel had disappeared. He learned a lot of tricks since he’d left Heaven. How to stay hidden, how to keep out of sight. Even as a mortal, those tricks still served him well. He kept to out of the way bars, lived in abandoned houses for a few days at a time before moving on. Living as a mortal wasn’t that hard; he knew about eating and sleeping. It was the nightmares he forgot about. Nightmares that woke him every night, leaving him aching and hollowed out.
After a particularly bad one, exhausted and heartsick, he staggered onto the dilapidated porch, resting his head against a ragged beam and gulping in huge draughts of cool air. Lucifer. His brother. Hanging from the cathedral, bloody and broken. His brother. He …
Shit.
The air stirred around him. It wasn’t a prayer, but it had been loud enough to get his attention.
Lucifer was used to hearing his name in prayers. Prayers for protection against him; guard us, o' Heavenly Father, from the temptations of Lucifer, your fallen son. He wasn't used to being referred to as brother in those prayers, though.
He didn't recognize the mind praying - it wasn't quite the whispered tendril of communication his siblings usually used - but there was something familiar about it.
He took wing, and when he landed the air shifted and rippled around him. His eyes sought out the mortal who'd prayed to him, and his brow furrowed. The soul was strange - one he felt like he'd seen, but at the same time knew he hadn't - and the body was... familiar.
It took him longer than he'd ever admit to before he recognized his brother. His brother who he had thought was dead; back in their universe, murdered at his hand. He let out a surprised noise, something like a cry around which his true voice slipped, and didn't hesitate to step forward and pull Gabriel into a tight, relieved, heartbroken hug.
"What have you done?" whispered into his hair, voice cracking.
Gabriel’s not sure what’s taking Lucifer so long. Maybe he’s just staring because of what he’d done. Cutting out one's grace isn't exactly a clean job. The slip of his brother’s true voice makes him cringe, the high, tight sound a bit too much even for what was left of his vessel.
He wants to fight; he wants to pull away when Lucifer hugs him. He can’t. Slowly, his arms come around the solid form of his brother. Lucifer, who is alive and no longer trapped in his own mind. Lucifer, who belonged with Sam. Happy.
There might be a flip response somewhere, but he’s too damned tired, too damned heartsick to even attempt one. “It's better this way.”
After a particularly bad one, exhausted and heartsick, he staggered onto the dilapidated porch, resting his head against a ragged beam and gulping in huge draughts of cool air. Lucifer. His brother. Hanging from the cathedral, bloody and broken. His brother. He …
Shit.
The air stirred around him. It wasn’t a prayer, but it had been loud enough to get his attention.
Lucifer was used to hearing his name in prayers. Prayers for protection against him; guard us, o' Heavenly Father, from the temptations of Lucifer, your fallen son. He wasn't used to being referred to as brother in those prayers, though.
He didn't recognize the mind praying - it wasn't quite the whispered tendril of communication his siblings usually used - but there was something familiar about it.
He took wing, and when he landed the air shifted and rippled around him. His eyes sought out the mortal who'd prayed to him, and his brow furrowed. The soul was strange - one he felt like he'd seen, but at the same time knew he hadn't - and the body was... familiar.
It took him longer than he'd ever admit to before he recognized his brother. His brother who he had thought was dead; back in their universe, murdered at his hand. He let out a surprised noise, something like a cry around which his true voice slipped, and didn't hesitate to step forward and pull Gabriel into a tight, relieved, heartbroken hug.
"What have you done?" whispered into his hair, voice cracking.
Gabriel’s not sure what’s taking Lucifer so long. Maybe he’s just staring because of what he’d done. Cutting out one's grace isn't exactly a clean job. The slip of his brother’s true voice makes him cringe, the high, tight sound a bit too much even for what was left of his vessel.
He wants to fight; he wants to pull away when Lucifer hugs him. He can’t. Slowly, his arms come around the solid form of his brother. Lucifer, who is alive and no longer trapped in his own mind. Lucifer, who belonged with Sam. Happy.
There might be a flip response somewhere, but he’s too damned tired, too damned heartsick to even attempt one. “It's better this way.”