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Chapter Text

Frank studies the broken angel sitting opposite him. This is the closest he's gotten to him so far and while Michael seems to be content to just ignore him, he feels ready to try something new.

He lifts his black cassock and kneels beside the bucket. Grabbing Michael's abandoned brush he starts scrubbing. Gently humming under his breath as he meticulously cleans between the stones lining the floor. Scrubbing away ages worth of ashes even though it won't help any.

A broken gasp fractures the silence between them, but he doesn't pause in his work.

“What are you doing?!” Michael's voice sounds rough from disuse and Frank knows this is already more than he has said in the past few hundred years.

“Cleaning,” he says, simple as that.

Michael looks at him wide-eyed before slapping the brush from his hands. “Stop that!”

“Why?” Frank sits up to gauge the angel’s mood.

“It’s my punishment,” Michael says it as if it’s the only answer that makes sense.

“Is it?” He asks though he can tell Michael doesn't understand the question. His face goes slack, his eyes haunted as he glances down at his hands. The only clean thing on his body.

“This is Hell, isn't it? It's what they do.”

“Have you asked them?”

Michael ducks his head, edging away from the questions that hurt him.

“It is what I deserve?”

Frank recovers the brush from where it had fallen and starts scrubbing again. “Is it?”

Michael remains silent after that.

Chapter Text

Father, do you think death would have been mercy?”

The devil looks pained, though he doesn't shy away from his possible answer.

“I don't know.” Frank sighs. One would hope their father had planned for this eventuality, and the more he studies the twins, the more he is convinced that God still has work for him.

They look at Michael, scrubbing away at the floors. On his knees, barefooted and filthy. With his wounds barely healed. Not reacting to anyone or anything.

It had only become apparent how terribly unhinged Michael had become when he had been left freewheeling on earth. He had started to drink heavily, trying to goad detective Decker into shooting him. He had shaken off any and every sibling that came for him, and far too soon the situation had become untenable. The danger to Chloe and her unborn child had been too great. He had to be put away or put down.

In Hell, he had gotten even worse. At first, he had raged fiercely. He had screamed and fought and battered his fists into black basalt until his hands bled.

The sight of his own blood had cracked him further still. He had cried long keening howls until the demons finally had enough of his screaming, and threw an old bucket at him.

After that, he had fallen blessedly silent.

Michael had started scrubbing and hasn’t stopped yet. For thousands of years, he has kept this up. Not sleeping, not eating. Just endlessly scrubbing

Chapter Text

He had been watching Michael work. Day in day out. The same hollowed-out face, the same dead dark eyes. Scrubbing until his fingers were raw and then some more.

Frank had resigned himself to staying just within sight. Not talking, not moving. And he's already dead anyway so what's day or two, or even a hundred years?

He drags on his unlit cigarette, deep in thought. Initially, he had tried to approach Michael directly. To talk to him, touch him even, but that had backfired magnificently. Now he knows why Lucifer put a "no talking" order on his "prisoner", and he realises he had been woefully unprepared for his self-appointed task. But he’s sure that all he needs is time and time he has in spades.

Every day he had sat there, unmoving, from noon until the cast iron bells of Hell tolled for Vespers.

Every day he had inched his way closer. Watching the tiny feathers on Michael's back for movement. To gauge his reaction, knowing from experience that Michael could get aggressive if he felt cornered.

Up until now, he had not reacted to his presence at all.

Up until now, he hadn’t even looked up.

Up until now, his hands had never been idle.

Michael's hand is hovering over the floor. His pale fingers clutching the brush in a death grip. Frozen... His whole body shakes with the stress that comes with change.

Frank remains seated. Progress is always hard-won. Michael can wait, and so can he.

Chapter Text

“I'm a bad son.” Michael sounds rough, strangled as he lays bare his biggest insecurity. He remains quiet for a while after his out of the blue statement. Still not used to speaking on a regular basis. 

“What makes you say that?” Frank sits up, curious where this sudden confession came from. He watches the angel curl up into himself as Michael realises, he had spoken out loud. He huffs one breath, two, three before he speaks again. 

“I’m not Lucifer. I’ve never been as good as Lucifer,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “And he's the freaking devil...” Michael chokes on a laugh. “How much lower can you get?”

Michael pulls up his knees and digs his fingers into his hair. He stares into the distance as if the answer lies just beyond the edges of the universe, and maybe it does. 

“Dad he-, he just left. He didn't even...” He falls silent with a shuddering sigh. Frank watches as Michael's shoulders jerk up in a barely hidden sob. He digs the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, wiping away his tears almost like a child would. And suddenly the archangel Michael looks no different than any other orphan that he had helped over the years. 

“I just wanted him to love me too.”

Frank sighs and picks up the brush Michael abandoned. He keeps on scrubbing while Michael silently weeps. Hiding his face behind trembling hands. With far too much weight on uneven shoulders. 

Chapter Text

“So, what? Should I provide him with a burning bush or something? So, he can bloody well whip himself silly with it?” Lucifer sounds scathing though Frank can see the way his hand trembles when he pours them a drink. 

“Do you think he needs one?” A risky comment, especially with how high strung the devil seems to be now. 

“No!” Lucifer slams the bottle down. “I don’t think he needs one, he thinks he needs one! I’m just here to provide a service.” Lucifer’s eyes glitter in the low lighting. “Nobody asks me what I need, do they. That’s how it’s always been.” He downs the first glass in one go before reaching for the second one. “It’s what he deserves! It’s what they all deserve!” His voice rises with every word until all the glassware on the mock-up of Lucifer’s penthouse bar rattles.

“And what do you deserve?”

Lucifer makes a choking sound and turns away from him. He remains quiet for a while, though Frank knows he can’t stay quiet forever. It’s not in his nature. Much like his twin, he needs to talk. Needs to put his thoughts out in the open. 

“I don’t want this... I never wanted this.” He sounds strangled now. With all anger evaporated, grief comes rushing back in. 

“I just... want Dad to come back and, and...”

Frank waits for Lucifer to gather himself. To struggle through his words at his own pace. 

“I just need him to make it better...”

Chapter Text

He finds that he has gotten too close to the angel and apparently, that’s not without its dangers.

“What do you fear?” Michael looks at him with glittering eyes. Smiling, no, grinning like a predator that just scented blood. Sharp white teeth bared in a filthy face. Eyes looking for an opening. Searching for an easy angle of attack that would leave him wrecked upon the holy wrath of the Archangel.

“Hmmm, Father? Go on, you can tell me.” Michael cocks his head to the side, trying his best to look disarming though it does little to hide the manic glint in his eyes. “Do you fear me?”

He edges closer, slowly herding him until his back hits the wall and he can go no further.

“Well, do you?” Michael leans in close enough that he can feel his breath on his face. “Do you?”

A slightly desperate edge creeps into his voice and Frank realises that Michael can't tell. He can't tell what makes him afraid and it fills Michael with more fear than he could ever hope to understand.

“Why would I?

Michael titters, his grin becoming tight enough that Frank starts fearing for his sanity again.

“Everybody does...” he exhales sharply, and his eyes lose their edge. He backs away, his frame even more lopsided than usual. “And I mean, everybody...”

“I don't fear you, Michael.”

Michael stifles another slightly more hysterical giggle in his hand before turning to him with a pained face.

“Maybe you should.”

Chapter Text

They’ve spent days upon days of cleaning in silence before he speaks again. The bucket is full of fresh suds and the brush is laying beside it. Ready to be used, ready to be tainted by the grey ashes that continuously flutter down around them. 

“I have no purpose.” Michael smiles grimly and Frank frowns. The angel sounds normal enough though something much darker burns behind his eyes today. Insanity...

“A new kingdom has come. Evil has been slain.” He waves his hands as if explaining the weather. “There’s no need for me anymore.”

The bucket and brush remain untouched and now Frank understands why. Michael has reached a plateau of false acceptance. Question is, does he want to punch through it or let Michael slide out of it under his own power. 

“Were you? Needed?”

Michael chokes on a pained gasp. He glances down at his hands. One always curled into a cramped-up fist, the other just not as dextrous as his right probably used to be. 

“No, no... Dad, he...” He scoffs darkly. “I guess Dad never really needed me. He's got Amenadiel, doesn't he? And Lucifer...” He sighs. “And I... I've always been... useless.” He gestures at his lame right side, shrugging unevenly.

Michael gently kicks the already bent bucket and Frank makes his choice. ‘Punching through it is...’

“Your bucket is still useful.”

Michael’s eyes flash with sudden anger. “Well, I'm not a tool, now, am I?!”

‘Aren't you?’; "It's damaged but still needed.”

“Stop this!"

Chapter Text

“You still haven't given up on him then?” Lucifer looks at him over his glass of scotch. 

“No, I haven't. And neither should you.” Frank refuses the glass Lucifer shoves in his direction. He has not given up before and he's not going to start now.

Michael still hasn't spoken but he hasn't attacked either. He just paused in his scrubbing, glancing up every once in a while, to check if he's still there. Like a dog that has been kicked one too many times, the angel kept expecting him to go. To leave him to his fate and not come back. 

Michael spent seconds, minutes, hours just staring at him confusedly before resuming his scrubbing with a vengeance. For months they danced this dance until he finally dropped the brush and just sat there. Unmoving, with his head down, waiting for whatever punishment was going to come his way next. 

As always, he left at the bell of six, and as always, he returned when it struck noon. 

“You have more patience for it than I do, Father,” Lucifer admits it quietly. The rage and aggression he knows how to deal with, but this broken-down version of his twin brings out the worst in him. Frank knows Lucifer doesn't like looking into the shattered mirror image that is his brother because, despite their differences in personality, their insecurities remain the same. 

Michael is just not ready yet, but he will be. And when he is, Lucifer will be too.

Chapter Text

“Stop asking questions!” he roars, throwing the bucket, sending soapy suds everywhere. It clatters against the black basalt with a deafening crack before crashing to the floor.

The sound seems to shock him from his blind rage and Michael wavers on his feet for a moment, breathing heavily and listing more and more to the left. Filthy water runs in between the cracks of the basalt floor, wetting his bare feet before moving on. Left and right and back again. Around the hexagonal tiles and beyond.

Michael shakes himself from his stupor, eyes wide and fearful as he quickly moves to retrieve his bucket. Staring at it as if he doesn't understand what happened to it.

“Please work...” he says shaking the bucket. Its bent metal handle clangs against its broken metal body mournfully. “Please!”

Frank winces at the childlike tones in the archangel's voice. He can tell Michael is heading for a major relapse.

“Michael?” he calls out, but Michael doesn't seem to hear him.

Michael shakes it again. “Please...?” he begs, but it’s no use. It's too banged up to hold any water anymore.

Broken...

Useless...

Just like him...

Michael sinks down onto his knees, hugging the battered bucket to his chest and cries. He is lost far beyond words and Frank knows better than to touch him, though he wishes he could. Long ragged wails bounce between dark columns as Michael curls himself protectively around his own broken remains.  

It’s truly a sad day when angels cry.

Chapter Text

He had noticed that Michael tended to cry silently. Never hesitating in performing his self-imposed punishment. Every muscle trembling with the effort to suppress any outward signs of grief.

These days are worse than when he rages and screams his anger at the murky skies for he knows that Michael is utterly exhausted. Too tired to think. Too tired to work on his issues.

Too tired to keep his tears at bay.

Though the flat affect persists, they wash clear streaks over Michael's filthy face before they drop to the floor where they are scrubbed away by far too clean hands.

Frank longs to just touch him, to pull the archangel into his arms like he did Connor when his grief used to overwhelm him, but he knows he can't. Michael would not welcome it.

He glances up at the devil looking at them from a distance. Frank knows Lucifer understands his desire for providing comfort. And Lucifer too reflects the pain of his inability to do so.

So, he remains seated well within touching range until he notices Michael start to subconsciously lean into him. Far too soon though the iron bell tolls and Frank sighs. Pushing his hands against his knees to get up and try again tomorrow.

“Please don't leave...” It's little more than a whisper though he hears it as clearly as if Michael had shouted it.

“Of course not, son.”

Michael gasps softly at the accidental endearment and Frank braces for impact.

“Thank you... Frank...”

Chapter Text

“And they sent a priest? Puh-lease! How's that going to help? Dad’s gone and your whole religion is a sham!” Michael paces back and forth agitatedly. “So, what? You're helping me because you think it's right, huh?! Or did you make a deal with the devil? Save my worthless soul to save your own?” he laughs sharply, attempting to run his fingers through his matted curls. “Did ya diddle the kiddies and now you're on the self-help brigade?”

Frank just lets him rage until he runs out of steam. It's nothing he hadn’t already heard from Lucifer before anyway. He refills the bucket Michael had kicked over and starts scrubbing again.

“Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?”

He knows Michael is itching for a fight. To receive the punishment, he's so adamant on receiving.

“Because I believe you can be saved.”

Michael pauses at that, panting, feathers raised.

“But what's the point?!” he exclaims hotly.

“I'm sure God has a plan.”

Michael makes a disbelieving sound at the back of his throat.

“How about this then, Priest?” Michael leans into his personal space, eyes pained. “My Dad, your freaking GOD has left us all to rot! How's that for a father, hmmm? How does that fit your religious narrative?”

He ignores Michael's posturing.

“He knew we would fight...”

It’s fuelled by grief, not by anger.

“I killed-...” Michael keens softly. “You don't have to stay, Father.” A hopeless grimace graces Michael's features. “There’s no saving me.”

Chapter Text

Just as the bell tolls noon, he reaches the dark corner into which Michael has hidden himself since his breakdown.

The angel doesn't react. He’s barely even breathing. And if not for the slow blinking of his eyes, Frank would have believed him dead. He's still clutching the old bucket to his chest. Silently holding on to his broken companion. The only thing that has kept him sane throughout the ages. He's obviously tried to mend it, though it looks like he only managed to make things worse. Good thing he thought to bring his own bucket this time. A brand-new shiny red one.

Freshly scented suds slosh carelessly over the rim of the bucket as he puts it down. He had an idea and he hopes Michael will let him.

Frank wrings out a brightly coloured washcloth. He shows it to Michael before reaching out, touching him for the very first time.

Dark eyes glitter brokenly as he gently washes aeons worth of grime from Michael's face, slowly revealing his pale skin and the scar hiding underneath. Nothing can be done for the hair right now, but this seems to be enough already.

Michael leans into him tiredly. Hiding little sobs against his shoulder as Frank works his way down his filthy arms and chest. Not out of pity, but out of care. Something he suspects Michael has never experienced before.

No words are needed.

He is a servant of the Lord.

And Michael just needs someone to care.

Chapter Text

“Why are you here?”

Michael has stopped scrubbing for a moment to study him. Frank sighs. At least the angel is regaining a bit of his natural-born curiosity. Frank keeps on working, scrubbing between the stones, letting his mind drift until Michael breaks the silence once more.

“Guilt is a strange thing.” He bends down on hands and knees again. Dark eyes staring at the slowly dissipating suds between clean fingers. “I never thought I would feel it.” He continues his monologue. “That if I just followed orders, I would never regret it.” He huffs a sad laugh. “How wrong I was.” He drops his head between his shoulders and a shiver runs up his spine. “I was wrong about so many things.”

Frank remains quiet. He had gone to Heaven. He had seen his little girl waiting there for him. Seen her perfect little face light up in joy. He had been unable to make himself set foot over the threshold. Unable to push through. His guilt had run too deep.

The grey-winged angel at the gate had seemed regretful. It had been in the patterns he had said almost apologetically. Frank hadn't understood it back then, but now, here in Hell, helping God's darkest angel find himself again he knows he's on the mend too.

Once he had willingly turned away from the light and towards eternal torment.

“You are right.” Frank smiles and Michael looks up, puzzled. “A strange thing indeed.”

And now he’s choosing to stay.                          

Chapter Text

“Stop pretending you care.”

“Why?” Frank raises his eyebrow, not quite prepared for the words thrown his way so carelessly.

“I'm evil.”

Frank opens his mouth to deny Michael's statement, but Michael is on his feet in a flash, towering over him like an avenging angel.

“No-no. There is no need for your profound platitudes, Father. I know I am. I am evil!” He giggles hysterically.

“You are not evil.” Frank doesn't like where this is going. Michael had been doing so much better, but it seems like both twins insist on doing things the hard way.

“No, see, that is just it! I have been thinking. Dad must have made me wrong!”

More laughter bursts forth from the angel though it sounds frightfully strangled.

“It must be that! I-, I killed a-, a hu-human. I didn’t mind, I didn't! I...” he whines, his eyes strangely alight... “I killed my own s-sister! My sister! She, I... I didn't mean to. But I did! Only evil things kill their little sisters, don't they? So, so, it all fits!” He throws his hands out like a magician after performing a trick. “I deserve to be here.”

“Michael!”

“Don't worry about it, F-father. Everything is as it should be.”

Michael's chest is heaving in silent sobs though the smile on his face is bright enough to blind him.

“That's good, isn't it?” he chokes, “Now you don't have to stay.”

Frank can only watch in horror as Michael descends into madness once more.

Chapter Text

Michael had been walking around like a ghost these past few days and Frank had been torn between taking a seat at their usual spot and following Michael around like a shepherd tending to his flock when Michael surprises him by seeking him out.

“Fath-…” He shakes his head, “Frank.”

He’s standing in the corridor, listing so heavily to the left that he has to lean against the wall just to stay upright.

“I don’t feel well.”

Frank rushes forward, catching him when his knees buckle, preventing him from crashing face-first onto the floor. He’s not sure whether to feel ecstatic that Michael had reached out to him or be appalled at how bad he looks. The shoulder looks painfully swollen and his wing stumps are inflamed.

“What happened?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it…” he mumbles tiredly, “is jus’… self-actualisation.” Michael takes care to really pronounce the last word although the rest is slurred together. “…’s not real…”

“Looks real to me, son!” Frank sinks to the floor, taking Michael with him, tucking him safely under his chin.

Michael’s soft laugh gets smothered by his cassock. “Thank you…” His breath starts to even out and Frank is suddenly faced with an armful of sleeping angel.

He aches to reach out and pet those little feathers dusting Michael’s back. Proof of the divine.

“…’s okay… You can touch ‘em…”

Frank chuckles and pulls Michael in tighter. “Just sleep for now, Michael.” The exhausted angel just snores in reply.

“And thank you too.”

Chapter Text

Frank decided to leave Michael more stuff. Shampoo, a plastic comb as plastic seems to hold up the longest here, and a mirror. Though he quickly found the mirror strewn in millions of tiny shards across one of Hell's corridors.

Silver coated glass crunches underneath the devil's shoes as he makes his way to where Frank is staring at the glittering carnage Michael left behind.

“I guess that's a firm ‘no’ to mirrors then?” he inquires airily. Frank looks up, noticing the pained expression that flashes across Lucifer's face before he clamps down on it forcefully.

Frank smiles wryly and shakes his head. They will have to wait for Michael to make the first move. Shoving his twin into his face will probably do more damage than it will ever heal.

He regards Lucifer as he scuffs his feet along the floor, kicking up shards before grinding them to dust. He had been doing quite well as of late. Lucifer had thrown himself headfirst into being Hell's very own therapist and while he had floundered at first, Frank can tell Lucifer has grown into his own.

He wishes he could tell him it would all be alright, but frankly there's no real way of knowing.

Michael had changed too, slowly. After years of bouncing between grief and full-blown insanity, he's now looking cleaner, healthier, though the hurt remains. He can only hope Michael will find his way onto Lucifer's couch somehow. And he can only hope that Lucifer will listen.

Chapter Text

Today is going to be a rough day. The iron bells are tolling. Michael is curled up into a quivering ball. Hell churns and squeals its displeasure. And Frank’s heart bleeds for the devil wrapped up in deep despair.

When he reaches the shivering angel he's shocked to hear him praying under his breath. Whispered pleas for forgiveness, and broken apologies. The few black feathers scattered around his shoulder blades are raised, but they offer little protection from the sudden cold. 

“Michael.” He calls his name softly, carefully reaching for a shaking shoulder. “Michael?”

“Fath'r F-ffran-nk.” Michael’s teeth are chattering. “Y' sh’d g-get ‘way... L-Lu- cif'r is...” He curls back up, his arms coming up to protect his head. “...’m sorry...”

“I know, son. But this is beyond your responsibility.” He sighs and squeezes Michael’s shoulder gently. “Your brother is hurting.” He folds out a soft fleece blanket and wraps it around the freezing angel. “Today marks the day his daughter is born.”

“Oh...” Michael’s teeth are still chattering, though the shivering is starting to die down a bit and Frank recognizes it for what it is. Fear. He rubs his hands over Michael's back, hoping to warm him until Michael stirs under his hands.

“Is he... Is h-he going t-to be, oh-okay?”

“Why don't you go and ask him?”

Michael laughs breathlessly and shakes his head. “I've l-lost that right.”

“Have you?”

Michael looks up and for the first time, Frank sees something new shining in his eyes.

Hope.

Chapter Text

“I really believed I was right, you know.”

Michael has climbed to the top of the maze where Frank finds him lounging with his bare feet dangling over the edge. Michael stares up at the throne so high above them all. Dark, menacing, unoccupied.

“I really believed he hadn't changed. That he still was the selfish asshole I remembered him to be.” He continues his monologue and Frank knows this is another one of Michael’s confessions.

“I know I get most of what happened shoved into my corner and that's fine. I wanted them to.” He laughs, his voice sounding suspiciously rough. “I thought they would finally see me. Michael the Archangel. Not Lucifer's unwanted twin. The spare, ha!.Dad had been going senile, or at least, I believed he was.” He chuckles again. “I believed so much, once.” Michael turns to him with a wistful look on his scarred face. “That's the trouble with belief, isn't it? It blinds you to what's truly going on.”

He turns back to the empty throne. “I believed that out of the two of us, I would be the obvious choice. I never even looked beyond that. I never saw what it did to me. Dad did though...” He chokes up and Frank sighs.

He sits down beside the archangel and lends him his shoulder, allowing him his tears. Michael keeps twisting himself around his father and the only one who would even remotely understand is sitting alone in his therapist’s office.

Shame...

Chapter Text

“Do you have any brothers?” Lucifer is playing with one of those desk toys that you can almost universally find in every office. His dark eyes are glued to the metal balls tapping back and forth and his fingers tap against each other in the same rhythm. It’s a shame they can’t have a piano here, but after personally experiencing what Hell does to his beloved Soul, he believes he’s better off without one.

“Why do you ask?”

Lucifer huffs, annoyed by his diversion tactic. “Come on now, Padre. I’m sure you have stories to tell, legends to share even!” He waves his hands, trying to draw out something, anything to distract him from the brother on his mind.

Frank can only smile. Michael had asked him the same question and his answer had been the same. Their suffering is so similar it’s painful to see. He was once a father too…

So, he speaks about his family and the life they had in Philadelphia, and after some prodding, Lucifer opens up about his life in the Silver City. About his siblings, and the way he used to chafe at the rules and sterile environment. Eventually, he even talks about his twin.

“You know, he’s here. You are not alone.”

Lucifer shakes his head in denial. “I’ve never been able to talk to him, Father. Not about the things that mattered.”

“Have you ever listened to him?”

Lucifer looks up sharply and suddenly, he seems lost. “No... No, I haven’t…”

Chapter Text

Lucifer gets pulled from his thoughts by a tentative knock on his door. He sighs wearily. Therapizing souls is a lot of hard work and he really had been looking forward to a quiet evening by himself. Alone... Lonely... He leans into his chair, dropping his head back to stare up at the imitation of the ceiling at Dr Linda’s office. Maybe he can wait a bit longer before turning in. It's not like he has anyone to turn to.

He calls in his visitor. Not looking up from his files he waits for the soul to come in, sit down and start wailing about this or that.

“Hey...”

He looks up so quickly he's sure he just pulled a muscle.

“Michael!” he's already halfway out of his chair before it even registered that he moved.

Michael hovers just outside the door, waiting for him to... invite him in? The silence between them stretches into eternity and it’s Michael who decides to break it.

“I... I could...” Michael gestures over his shoulder with his thumb before looking down self-consciously. He shrugs, cocking his head to the side in a way that's almost painfully familiar.

“I'm sorry...” He turns to leave without looking up again and Lucifer finds himself scrambling to stop him.

“Michael, wait!”

His brother freezes with his hand on the door handle. Poised to leave him to his loneliness. Ready to step back into his own Hell.

“Come in... please.” Their eyes meet and he swallows thickly. “Stay...”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Frank... Do you think I could have another, eh... mirror?”

Michael had looked at him sheepishly and Frank had agreed though it had turned out to be easier said than done. After the mirror ‘incident’, Lucifer had banned all mirrors because the devil does nothing halfway, does he? But after a bit of haggling with Belios, Frank had eventually gotten his hands on a little pocket mirror.

It looks ridiculously small and feminine in Michael's hands but that doesn't stop the angel from staring into it, mesmerised by his own mirror image.

“Did you know Lucifer and I are mirror twins,” he speaks softly. “I'm the left to his right. The darkness to his light.” Michael caresses the cold hard surface of the mirror, his dark eyes filled with longing.

“I've never...” he hesitates and that's when Frank sees the first sign of tears.

“I’ve only ever seen Lucifer’s face in the mirror and I could never understand...” Michael touches his own cheek, poking it as if to check its authenticity. “We have the same face, but...” He chuckles, looking like he's about to shatter as the first mirror did. “I'm real, right? You see me?” Michael's eyes are gleaming, and his breath catches on a sob. He lightly traces the scar with his fingers, “I’ve never seen myself.”

He snaps the mirror shut and wipes his eyes. “They never wanted me, Father. I'm exactly the same and nobody wanted me...”

He looks down. “And I never knew why.”

Chapter Text

Frank sighs and turns his gaze upwards in a silent plea for strength. Clothed in his black cassock and white collar he suddenly resembles all those wood-carved saints that used to populate old churches.

Another day, another screaming match between the twins. It would have had him worried if he didn't know they also spent quite a lot of time together in blissful silence. He can't help but feel an inkling of empathy towards their father who’s had to deal with them for billions of years.

He smiles and glances at the red bucket, forgotten in some dusty corner. If Michael has enough energy to fight with Lucifer then he's really on the mend. They have quite a bit of healing to do still. But with Michael wingless and Lucifer King of Hell, they are both equally trapped. In the end, the only thing they will need is time and time is something they have an abundance of.

“Father.” Lucifer sidles up to him sporting a black eye and a split lip. He doesn't look angry though. Frank would even go as far as saying that he actually looks happy.

“So, who won the argument this time?” He asks though he knows the answer already. He had seen Michael storm off with an equally black eye and a scowl sharp enough to cut stone.

“Does it really matter?” Lucifer stuffs his scuffed up hands in his pockets and bounces on the balls of his feet. “It is what he desires.”

Chapter Text

“You wanted to see me?”

Michael sounds awfully sullen today. ‘And here I thought you had finally lost that stick up your arse.’ Lucifer sighs. Or perhaps he’s just itching for another round of therapeutic fisticuffs. ‘Oh, joy...’ Lucifer fiddles with his cufflinks.

“Yes, well... Do come in, brother. I have prepared a gift of sorts for you.” Lucifer fights the urge to babble inanely while he leads his brother inside. “Photographs don’t stick around here, but this, brother, is the next best thing!” With a flourish, he removes the fabric covering a polished silver  mirror.

Michael stumbles back, looking away before he can catch his own reflection.

“No, no, brother, this won't do. Look at it!” Lucifer grabs him by the head and forces his twin to face the mirror. “The only way is through, Mikey, you know this.” He feels the tremors running through his brother, knows his desire to run.

Michael's eyes open wide; shock clear to see on his face. His bottom lip trembles as he voices his question. “H-how?”

“It's a cursed mirror, Michael.” He moves to stand beside it knowing it makes their differences even more glaring. “It allows you to see yourself.”

Michael’s eyes dart between Lucifer and his own image, a trembling hand reaching out to touch the metal. “We’re not the same...” Michael chokes out and suddenly Lucifer feels the incredible need to just hold him.

“No, we're not. We never were.”

“I'm so sorry, Lucifer.”

Tears fall silently.

“I know...”

Chapter Text

“I've been angry at the wrong person.”

Lucifer sighs. They had been having more civil conversations than beat the crap out of each other ones lately, but he had been unprepared for how it would affect himself. They share so many skeletons in their combined closets, it's frightening, it’s exhausting. It had been much easier when he was just plain angry at his brother. His life had made sense then, but now...

“I blamed you. For being… better than me. Brighter…” Michael looks down into the abyss and Lucifer is treated to a full view of Michael’s back. “I guess I was angry at myself...”

Without thinking, Lucifer reaches out to caress the black feathers dusting Michael's shoulders. His twin never had been much for manscaping and somehow it makes him glad that Michael hadn't truly changed.

He almost touches the base of Michael's wings, or rather what's left of them, when Michael shies away from him. “Please don't.” He looks up, eyes filled with ancient pain. “I deserved it.”

Lucifer sighs again. “Yes, you did. But...” he hesitates, “I'm not without guilt either.” Lucifer gestures at the scar on his brother’s face. The one he gave him in a fit of rage. “I guess I have been angry at the wrong person too.”

Michael huffs and nods. “Yeah...”

Suddenly, Michael leans into him and damn him if that doesn't feel like home.

“I’ve really missed you...”

And Lucifer is startled to find that he had really missed him too.

Chapter Text

Watching the twins interacting is like watching a foreign soap opera without subtitles. They fight and make up. Angelic playtime turning into something infinitely more vicious before moving back into quieter waters again. They are forces of nature. Divine perfection wrapped in imperfect bodies and imbued with sometimes questionable morals. He smiles wryly to himself. But what can you expect from the devil and his twin?

They had been so wrapped up in their slowly reforming twin bond that they didn't even notice the world around them. And that's when Frank decided it was time for him to go home. To hold his little girl in his arms and never let go.

“Have you told him?” Lucifer stands beside him, overlooking the maze with a keen eye.

Frank shakes his head. He didn't need to. Michael had looked at him like a lost child. Big dark eyes glittering in a too pale face. Dressed in a massively oversized shirt to not aggravate his healing injuries. With untold agony bearing down on uneven shoulders.

Michael had disappeared and Frank hadn’t been able to find him since. He has no illusions about this. Michael knows.

“Go home, Father.” Lucifer smiles sadly.

Frank knows Michael is deeply hurt by this perceived abandonment. 

“He'll get over it. We always do.” 

Still, he can no longer stay. 

The devil turns away and leaves him to his thoughts. 

Frank hopes that deep down, Michael understands that Frank has been healed too.

That he finally found salvation.

Chapter Text

“You know he cannot stay indefinitely, right?” He feels like an idiot. Standing in the open hallway, demons trying to pass by him without being noticed, talking to what looks like a wall. Trust his twin to find the smallest crevice Hell has to offer and cram himself into it.

“Fuck off, Lucifer. We both know this is how it always ends.

Lucifer sighs and rubs his face in frustration. “Mike...”

“No, don't Mike me!” Lucifer hears his brother gasp when his healing back scrapes against the rough stone. “They are all the same. Mom, Dad, they didn't even...” Michael falls silent for a while. “Dad never told me anything, Lucifer! I woke up one day and he was just... gone.”

“Frank is not Dad.”

“I know that!”

“Then why are you like this?”

“I don't know, Lucifer.” Michael sounds rough, “If Dad had just...”

“Dad’s gone, Mike!” Lucifer explodes. “Dad’s gone and if you didn't get it before, you sure as Hell aren't going to get it now!”

He hears Michael suck in a breath, and he silently curses himself.

He leans against the black basalt before sliding down, knocking his head back against the stone. “I'm here Michael. I won't leave.” Lucifer peers into the crack.

“You can't leave...” His brother grumbles and Lucifer smiles.

“But you can.” Michael remains silent. “Frank is leaving because he knows you are capable.”

Michael gasps softly, “You think so?”

Lucifer chuckles, “You may be a dick, Michael. But you are capable.”

Chapter Text

“Hey, Frank. Ready to go back up?” An olive branch.

Frank turns around to greet Michael who looks so much better now than the last time he saw him. Though dressed for comfort rather than fashion he still looks as handsome as his brother and not even his crooked frame takes away from that.

“Are you okay?” he asks. He's grown quite attached to the archangel. It will be agony to leave him.

“Yeah...” Michael turns away from him to look out over the dark hellscape. He opens his mouth a few times before finally pushing through. “I'm gonna miss you.”

Frank steps up beside Michael and leans his shoulder against Michael's to provide some comfort. “What will you do now?”

Michael sighs, the sound slightly shaky. “I, eh... I think I'm going to stay here. With Lucifer.” He shrugs. “There’s not much else out there for me.”

Frank nods. That’s something Michael will need to figure out for himself.

“So, how does this work? Am I just going to poof up there?” he asks genuinely curious. To his surprise, Michael laughs.

“How ‘bout a ride?” he rolls his shoulders and two pitch-black, perfectly even wings unfurl with a snap.

‘How...? When?’ Frank is feeling overwhelmed at the sight of the once broken archangel showing off his new wings. ‘I'm so proud of you.'

“Y-yeah, I'd like that.”

Michael hugs him tightly, a deep sigh shaking his body.

“Goodbye, Father.” And just like that, he's gone, and Frank knows Heaven.

Chapter Text

Lucifer looks at his brother passed out on his fake couch. Even after all these aeons in Hell, he still can't conjure up something better, more real. Oh well, it is what it is. Michael's wings are draped over the back and spilling onto the ground. Perfectly even, black as tar and shimmering in the low light.

The flight up to Heaven must have taken more out of his brother than either of them anticipated. Michael had shown up after, already drunk off his arse and maudlin. They had screamed and fought and Michael had passed out halfway through. Lucifer huffs a laugh. Lightweight...

Lucifer doesn’t know exactly when the wings had popped back into existence, but he's sure they had been restored for a while now. Michael had just been too scared to check.

‘Will he leave?’

Michael's right wing twitches violently, almost knocking his fake horse from its equally fake pedestal, and Lucifer feels drawn back in time. To when they still shared their eyrie. Just Michael and Samael. Whole and inseparable. But then Dad pulled back from the Host... And something broke between them.

Michael mumbles fearfully and his fingers twitch against the fake leather.

Is that when he decided to seize the opportunity and kick his shinier twin from their nest like a cuckoo?

“Lucifer...” Michael moans softly, trembling fingers searching for his presence.

Had it been jealousy?

“I'm here.”

Or had it been something much deeper?

“...'m sorry...”

“I know, brother.”

Loneliness...

‘I'm sorry too...’

Chapter Text

“Uncle Mike!”

Michael gets startled from his thoughts by the boisterous voice of his niece. He hadn’t really known when she was due back, but he had stayed in the area just to be sure. Staring out over the river. Waiting...

“Michael?”

Hearing his name like that rattles something loose. A memory long forgotten. One he hadn’t even been sure was real at all.

Rory moves beside him and mimics his posture. Elbows leaning on the bannister, shoulders bent as of carrying the weight of the world. Lucifer’s angel daughter. So different from himself, so very the same.

“Why did you lie to me?”

Michael glances at her, bracing himself against her anger. “It worked, didn’t it?” He grouses, though there’s no fire behind his words. He had agreed with Lucifer to set things into motion. His memories of her in Hell had been hazy at best, so it didn’t really bother him to trick her. He didn't know her.

He stares at his hands. It had been in his own interests, hadn't it? He subconsciously leans away from her, pulling up his shoulder as he goes. Good thing they had a useless angel with a broken moral compass just laying around, right?

“For what it’s worth, I'm really sorry, Rory.”

He expects her to hit him, attack him with those wickedly sharp wings, but she does neither.

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

Silence reigns once more. He can offer her nothing so he doesn't. She accepts it without question.

Chapter Text

When Amenadiel lets her go, Chloe finds herself in Hell. Lucifer looks shattered for a moment, and her heart cries for him. All those years alone. So many missed moments. Lost to them forever...

“I thought you could use a partner...”

The sound of wings tears them from their reunion, and she’s confronted with the one angel she hoped to never see again holding a box of pastries.

“Ah, Michael. Thank you.” Lucifer takes the box from his frozen twin before noticing the label. “Or I should rather say, merci Michel.” He smacks his brother on the arm before turning to Chloe, holding out his hand. “Shall we?”

Chloe squeezes his fingers before shaking her head. “I'll be in soon. I just need...” she glances at Michael and Lucifer smiles mournfully.

“Of course... Take your time.”

Lucifer looks like he wants to say more, but eventually turns away. The door closes with a definitive click, and they are left alone in suffocating silence. Alone with her murderer...

Michael starts to tremble. She can see it in his body, hear it in his feathers. She takes a deep breath, but Michael cuts her off.

“I'm really sorry, Chloe.”

She exhales sharply.

“I know.”

She stares him down and he flinches. He murmurs another apology, but she is already at the door.

“Don't hurt him again, Michael.”

They both know that this is already more than he deserves.

“I won't...” he whispers.

Far more than she ever thought herself capable of doing.

Chapter Text

One angry and hurt young angel had moved Heaven and Earth and Time itself to confront her father.

“So, you wanna go see them?” he asks holding out his hand.

Rory eyes it wearily. “Why should I trust you?”

One archangel had been lost far beyond the edges of his sanity and still would be if she hadn’t.

Michael rolls his eyes and grabs her by the scruff of her neck. “Because I’m your uncle.” He unfurls his wings and shifts without warning making her scream in fright. “Hey Lucifer,” he singsongs when they reappear, “got a present for you,”

“Asshole!”

“Rory!”

One family has been reunited.

Chloe and Lucifer rush towards their daughter. “Mom, Dad!” They hug and laugh, and tears flow freely.

Michael glances up at the murky sky.

One human soul has found salvation.

He imagines Frank being bowled over by his beloved daughter. No more grief weighing down his soul. No more guilt being carried upon black-clad shoulders.

His feathers rustle softly as he hovers nearby. Not quite hated, but not quite welcome either. He hugs himself. Silently trying to provide himself some comfort. What will he do now?

Lucifer reaches out to squeeze his arm in thanks. “Go see him.”

Two brothers are learning to live with the scars they have given each other.

“You don't mind?”

“Nah...” Lucifer claps a hand to his shoulder. “I know you want to.”

One Devil has found his purpose. “I’ll be fine.”

He now knows what to do.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

Frank looks up, surprised to hear his voice.

“Michael!” he quickly puts down his scroll and gets up from his spot underneath the big red maple tree. “What are you doing here?” he pulls Michael in for a hug, “Not that I'm complaining.”

Frank holds Michael at arm's length to look him over. He looks well. Dressed to the nines in a dark grey tweed and jeans combo, with his black wings folded neatly to his back, long primaries almost touching the ground.

“I… I kind of missed you, Father.” Michael shrugs, the movement still uneven even though his shoulders look much straighter now.

“You don't have to call me that.” Frank squeezes his arm and smiles. “We're friends, you know.”

“Well, you are one, aren't you?” Michael winces and looks away self-consciously, the feathers on his wings puffing up before laying flat again. “I mean, it wouldn't be weird or anything... right?”

The raw vulnerability on Michael's scarred face makes his heart soar. “Of course not, son. Come, sit with me if you have the time. I found this scroll and I'd like your opinion on it.”

Michael points to himself, looking confused. Frank laughs and waves him over. “This is your handwriting, isn't it?”

Michael takes the scroll looking way too serious. “How?”

“Your sister has been very helpful.”

Michael rolls his eyes and huffs an annoyed ‘Gabriel’ under his breath.

“Come, humour me.”

Michael glances wistfully at the city before smiling. “Okay… I can do that.”

Chapter Text

Frank never expected to “live” to see the day that Michael the Archangel, Prince of the Heavenly Host would voluntarily sit down with a human woman and listen to her. Well, he says listen, but by the slightly vacant look in Michael's eyes, he can see that that's a bit of an overstatement. He had been strangely absent these past few weeks and it had taken him several days to actually find the angel.

The golden bells of Heaven toll noon and Michael’s eyes regain a bit of their focus. He interrupts the woman gently and gets up, putting a hand on her head as if to bless her and turns to leave.

“Michael.” He calls out and he watches a smile break out on that far too serious face.

“Frank!” Michael practically skips towards him, beaming with pride. “Did you see that? She talked!”

“I saw. Well done?” he hadn’t meant to make it sound like a question but here they are and Michael closes himself off in the blink of an eye.

“I'm not doing it right then.” He glances at the woman who had curled back into herself. “I thought... you helped me and I...” He stutters before shrugging sadly. “She reminded me of... me and I...”

“And you wanted to help her.” Michael nods and Frank feels like his heart is going to explode. “I'm so proud of you, son.” He puts his hands on Michael's shoulders and watches a watery smile appear. “Never doubt that.”

Chapter Text

Frank mindlessly runs his fingers through thick dark curls as he stares into the distance. He found out early on that Michael doesn't sleep when left to his own devices. Prone to overthink, he had wandered Hell alone. Cold. Miserable...

Dappled sunlight plays over Michael's face, and it sets even his dark hair alight.

Apparently, this hasn't changed in Heaven. Though Michael looks much better, he still wanders the city alone. Always on the move. Aimlessly walking until he very nearly collapses.

For Michael's sanity and by extension his own he had taken to cornering the archangel when he started to slip. When his answers became terse or fraught with unnatural giggles.

From the corner of his eye, he spots one of the few siblings that cares about the sleeping angel. Frank lifts his finger to his lips, and Gabriel nods. She sits down, leaning into her big brother for comfort and that's when the fuzzy edges of Heaven become visible. Where they had been lounging on thick luscious grass, Michael is now lying on a soft bench with enough room for their wings to relax. They look so peaceful together; God's golden angels.

Frank feels sadness bubble up in his chest. How the cold, hard environment of Hell must have been a shock to them.

Michael's fingers twitch and Gabriel pushes a stray curl behind his ear.

“He's still not okay, is he?”

It had left deep marks on the archangel.

“No,” Frank smiles encouragingly, “but he will be.”

Chapter Text

Turns out that grief-stricken souls are a bigger problem than anyone could have imagined. They wander around the Heavens, alone. Empty but for the crippling sadness that keeps them from their loved ones, from salvation. People who lived and died alone, mothers who’d lost children, men who had survived war and had to live with the result. Before, Uriel would send them down to Hell, hoping that they would find peace there in torment. But after his brother had died, nobody had cared enough about them to see them. Nobody had noticed their pain.

Michael had seen the young woman, crying by the river.

Day in day out she sat there and didn't move, didn't rock the bundle in her arms, didn't wipe away her tears. Day in day out he had sat with her, from the early morning until the bell struck noon. Shading her with his wings, trying to make her talk. Finally, at the end of his patience, he had asked her about her fears and suddenly it all became clear to him.

Grief and guilt are not the same thing.

Not the guilt over losing children had caused her such pain and suffering, but grief over their loss of her, their mother.

“How could Dad have let it all get so bad, brother?” Michael turns to his brother now turned God, his hands balled into tight fists.

Amenadiel sighs wearily. “I don't know. Maybe he was just as clueless as we were.”

“Were?”

Amenadiel nods. “Were.”

Chapter Text

Frank had kind of been expecting this. With every new skill learned there will be the inevitable failure and he knows that this is something Michael has never experienced before. He was made fear, he breathes it. But this, tackling grief... He had tried to help another human soul and it had exploded into his face. It had ripped his wounds wide open and he wouldn't have known about it at all if Gabriel hadn't rushed to find him. Tears in her eyes, hands shaking with barely suppressed Fear with a capital F.

Turns out Gabriel had found Michael hurting. She had pushed too hard and he had defended himself. Michael style... Frank sighs. He rounds the last corner and that's when he spots it. A dark warping of the ever present Heavenly light.

“Michael.” He calls out softly, not really expecting an answer.

Black feathers are quivering, cocooning the curled up archangel in darkness and memories of Hell suddenly superimpose themselves on the scene. Viciously, painfully...

Frank sits down next to him. Not touching, not speaking until the wings open up a bit and he can see a little inside.

“She’s going to hate me now, isn't she?”

Frank looks up at Gabriel hovering nearby, wringing her hands nervously. “Why don't you ask her?”

The wings twitch before opening up further, showing more strength than he has ever shown before.

“Gabe?”

Gabriel wiggles her way inside and hugs him.

“Of course not, dork. You have always been my favourite.”

Chapter Text

“Fear is... pure, divine even.” He swallows, “Grief is...” He tries to talk around the tightness in his chest, around the lump of something unnamed that somehow got stuck in his throat. “I don't know... messy.” he finishes lamely and shrugs, unable to continue. He couldn't explain it even if he tried. He doesn't dare look up. He shouldn't have come here in the first place.

He winces, pushing himself deeper into the couch as if that would somehow hide him from her gaze. Having a soul blow up so spectacularly had really shaken him. It had screamed at him, hurled insults at him, and somehow knew how to push all of his buttons, as if it knew each of his own slowly healing wounds intimately. And he had just been trying to help!

He thought he knew grief, but this soul reeked of guilt and fear and the remnants of stale desire. He realised he had bitten off more than he could chew and that's how he found himself here. On the couch of the woman whose fears he had gleefully exploited. Whose child he had used to push his brother over the edge. Asking for advice.

“I’ll help you. On one condition.”

He huffs an anxious sigh through his nose and nods. The only way is through, isn't it?

“You will come to me for therapy.”

He swallows thickly, ‘Oh hell’.

“And you'll refrain from punching holes through my walls.”

At least that part will be easy.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

“That's not how it works!” He tries to ignore the dark tendrils of failure and regret that remain wrapped around his heart even though he's no longer bound to Hell. He shouldn’t feel them. Because if he is... “I can't feel guilty. I'm here, aren't I?”, and he just said too much...

Linda crosses her legs and leans forward, and he idly wonders what she used to be like with Lucifer. “But you do feel it, don't you?”

He wants to deny it, but she leaves him no time to think, no time to breathe.

“You wanted to be loved. To step out of the shadows.”

He barely holds back the giggle that threatens to choke him when she throws his words at dinner back at him. His skin feels too tight and he forces down the twisted grin about to break out on his face.

“And you never could.”

“I hated him so much,” he whispers bitterly.

She looks at him with those bright blue eyes and he feels fragile like glass. “I think that’s the only lie you believed yourself.” He tries to edge away from her words, from their cutting edges. “I believe you missed him.”

"No, I tried to-..." he chokes on a sob, “...-destroy him.”

“It’s okay to grieve what you never had.” She hands him a box of tissues and he's shocked to find himself crying.

"Please stop..."

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” She smiles softly, “Even you, Michael.”

"It's not right!"

"Isn't it?"

Chapter Text

He hadn’t expected to stumble into his brother, sitting on the floor, staring into eternity.

“Michael, what are you doing here?”

Michael remains silent, deep in thought before nodding at the far wall. “I never made a difference.”

Lucifer glances at the floor, covered in a thick layer of ashes and he recognizes the spot where Michael spent millennia scrubbing his fingers raw and he worries about the ghost of insanity he sees reflected in Michael’s eyes, the still largely untamed wilderness of grief and pain.

“Did you know grief and guilt are not the same?” Michael asks suddenly and Lucifer just doesn't know how to answer that. He had punished the guilty, he never even thought about grieving...

“I miss them...” Michael sighs, “Dad knows they never wanted me, but I still miss them.” He looks up, eyes brimming with tears and a soft smile on his face. “And that's fine. We're allowed to miss them. Having guilt doesn't mean we aren't allowed to grieve.”

And just like that, it all makes sense. The war, the rebellion, fighting his purpose, turning himself into a monster. Wanting, no, needing that final ‘I love you’ from Dad even though he knew it would be a mere illusion.

He never made any difference either.

“How did you get so wise?”

Michael chuckles and shrugs. “Therapy?”

He looks down at Michael shaking his head in mirth, feeling strangely whole. “Lets do this together, brother.”

Michael leans into him. “A new purpose...”

“Ours...”

“Ours.”

Chapter Text

Amenadiel finds Michael slumped over a desk, fast asleep, snoring softly.

If Michael isn’t wandering around, or talking to souls they most often find him working. ‘If only the day had more hours...’ Amenadiel chuckles softly to himself. Who is he kidding. Michael would find ways to fill even those extra hours with more work. Some things just never change.

He looks remarkably peaceful, with one arm curled protectively over his head, his deep even breathing causing the scattered paperwork to flutter.

Amenadiel can't really remember the last time he saw his brother sleep. Michael probably never felt safe enough to do so and Amenadiel knows he carries some of the blame for that too.

He moves to shake Michael awake, fighting back the ungodly giggle at the sleepdrunk look on his face and the scroll sticking to it.

“You, eh, you got a little something...” He gestures to his own cheek. Michael snatches the paper from his face and slams it onto the desk, looking embarrassed.

“Wa'daya want...” he asks, still wobbly from his unplanned nap.

“Nothing brother, your one pm is here.”

Michael looks dazed for a bit before his eyes light up. “Oh, right!” He quickly gathers his paperwork and dashes off into the afternoon.

“You’re welcome!” he calls out after his brother, but as usual, he gets no reply. ‘Asshole.’

Amenadiel picks up an unsurprisingly familiar book. ‘Oh, Linda...’ He shakes his head, smiling wryly. Michael and Lucifer, twin therapists to lost souls. ‘Who would've thought ...’

Chapter Text

Bursting into his office, Michael's eye is immediately drawn to his twin tapping the glass on his gold framed therapist’s licence. Lucifer glances his way, looking sceptical as hell and Michael smirks. He can't help it that their father left him with the big brains. As if reading his mind Lucifer rolls his hips suggestively and Michael rolls his eyes. Yeah, yeah, you got a big ‘brain.’ too, brother.

Frank coughs not so subtly and they whirl around, grinning sheepishly.

They stand to attention like two schoolboys who got caught doing something naughty. Michael glances at Lucifer and smiles, happy to see Lucifer wink in return. Some archangels they are, being cowed by a human.

It had been Frank who had come up with the idea of creating an actual Purgatory. A realm of gentle love and understanding in which lost souls can rest and heal until they are ready to move on. And they are the angels in charge of that healing whether it's in Heaven or in Hell. Guilt or grief.

Some souls though, need a little more than just time. They need a little celestial jump-start.

“So, are you ready?” Lucifer touches him briefly, gently, and he allows himself a moment of weakness. After all, he's safe here. With Frank... And with Lucifer. Dark eyes meet eyes darker still and they speak the words that will cement their path to salvation.

“What do you need?”

 The soul flares to life, taking the form of a greasy looking human.

“Jimmy!” Lucifer calls out jovially, “long time no speak.”

“Oh Hell no!” The man's face turns ashen. “There's two of you!”

“Yes, and would you believe that I'm actually the nice one?”

Michael groans, this will take some getting used to.

“Let me outta here!”

But they’ll get there.

Chapter Text

“So...”

“So...” Michael glances at the human dressed in a worn denim jacket and an old shirt.

“Only after the credits rolled, huh?

Michael shrugs, “I'm not writing this story. Can't blame me.”

The human sighs and bumps his shoulder against his. “You know, after getting me killed I would have expected to get a bit more screen time but noooo. Oh, hey Charlie.” He greets the no longer Mini-diel with a wave and a grin. “On your way to visit your mom?”

“Hey Dan, uncle Mike.” Charlie greets them both with a smile and Michael is suddenly confronted with a memory of young Amenadiel doing the same. Before the rebellion, before he grew crooked and bitter. Well, we can't have that! Amenadiel was insufferable back then.

“Chucky!" He greets his nephew with a wicked grin that only grows wider when the boy rolls his eyes in annoyance. Michael rolls his shoulders happily when he gets flipped off for his efforts. At least the boy got a bit more fire in him than Amenagod does. Surely he must take after his mother.

“Don't be a dick.” Dan grumbles though there's a smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

Michael huffs a laugh, but doesn't speak. He thinks about Dan and the life he could have led had he not stumbled into their lives, hell bent on revenge.

“Stop doing that... We both did our time,” Dan stuffs his hands in his pockets. “For the record I'm glad you're doing okay.”

“What?” Michael frowns and turns to Dan, “Why?”

“I... used to pray, to you.” Dal looks away sheepishly, shuffling his feet. “You know, patron of police force... so, ehm... yeah...”

Michael winces in sympathy, “Thanks, I guess... for praying too.” He adds as an afterthought.

Dan chuckles, “You’re welcome.”