Castaway

Going Home

Chapter Note :

Chapter title credit goes to Cosmic Gate feat. Emma Hewitt. Thank you so much for the feedback, everybody!

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The handcuffs rest like a garish centerpiece on the little table by the window. The swirling red runes that were present when the cuffs were locked are fully dormant, now, leaving behind only the strangely gleaming "steel" that's like no earth metal Chloe's ever glimpsed.

"I locked them," Lucifer says, wincing as Maze pushes the curtains open for the first time, and daylight unfurls into the dark room. "What the bloody hell do you mean, I locked them?"

Chloe begins, "Azrael said—"

"Azrael!"

Wincing at Lucifer's dark, seething look, Chloe sits on the edge of the bed by his hip. He lies on top of the blankets with his back pressed against the headboard, his legs crossed. They watched television all day while he rested, nodding off against her shoulder at uneven intervals. Until he snapped awake with a panicked yelp and said, "The cuffs. What happened to the bloody handcuffs?"

And Maze said, "Yeah, what are we gonna do about those, anyway?"

Which prompted a whole big be-kind-rewind-athon, starting from when Maze had felt a searing, stabbing pain through her bond with Lucifer several days ago. When he'd drained himself to the point of collapse to set the woods ablaze. Or so they guess, based on the loose timing of events.

Chloe puts her hand on his knee. "Lucifer, are you ... okay?"

"You've spoken to my sister," he snaps. "Which means you bloody well died." His fingers clench into fists as he shakes his head. "No, I'm not bloody 'okay.' I'd hoped ...."

"Hoped ... what?"

He gives her a troubled look. "Hoped that ... perhaps ... I—" A sigh heaves through his frame, and his shoulders wilt as he shifts his attention to his lap. To futzing with his cuticles. "—well, that I hallucinated that bit."

She gives him a sheepish look. "Ditto," she says, curling up beside him. "If it makes you feel any better, I mean."

"Trust you to find the humor," he grumbles without looking up. The dark, puffy smudges hugging his eyes seem darker, and he seems old. And beaten. And worn out. His words are quiet when he adds, "I'm ... deeply sorry to have dragged you into yet another supernatural omnishambles."

"You didn't drag me anywhere," she says. "Asmodeus did." She presses her lips to his cheek. "And I think, all things considered, that it turned out pretty well. Don't you?"

"Yes, well." He looks away.

With a sigh, she lets the emotional distance stretch between them, not willing, yet, to force a discussion he doesn't seem ready to have. She leans back against the headboard. "So, I guess the question is ... now, what?"

"Meaning?" he says, meeting her eyes again.

"Meaning, we have to explain where we've been."

He shrugs. "I think honesty is best."

Of course, he does. "You really wanna go with, 'A demon held us hostage and tried to cut off my wings?' I mean, you might not care what people think of your sanity, but I'd like to keep my job. And I don't think demonic kidnapping is gonna fly as a valid A.W.O.L. excuse."