Chapter Text
Lucifer is throwing a silent tantrum about going to therapy, and Chloe doesn’t know what to do.
He was grumpy waking up after his nap in the car on their way home from the beach, and his mood has not improved since then. Both of them changed out of their beach clothes; Lucifer into black pants and yet another dinosaur shirt, although this one is a print of a dinosaur being abducted by a flying saucer, and Chloe into jeans, a top, and her brown suede jacket.
She helped him clean his hair and wings with a damp wash towel to get the dried salt from the sea breeze out of the feathers. The baby feathers that drifted free were snapped out of the air by Fluffy, the Hellhound bounding around excitedly and pinning them under her paws.
Lunch cheered him up a little, mostly because she gave him an extra couple of chocolate chip cookies, but as soon as Chloe started leading him out towards the car, Lucifer started digging in his heels. Trying to delay their leaving. First, he needed the toilet. Then they couldn’t leave without Marsh the allosaur. Then he wanted to change his shoes. Fluffy sat by the car the entire time, watching them parade back and forth with a confused expression.
Finally, Chloe called him out for holding them up and told him they needed to leave now if they were going to make it to Linda’s office on time. He finally gave in and started listening to her, but sulked in the car the whole ride there. Fluffy licked at his face to try and cheer him up, but the fledgling only scowled and pushed her away.
They’ve been sitting in the waiting room outside of Linda’s office for about five minutes when the therapist pokes her head out. Lucifer doesn’t spot her immediately because he’s crossed his arms annoyedly and is busy kicking his legs back and forth as they dangle off his chair, so Fluffy gently nips at his calf to get his attention.
“Hi, Chlo’. Oh, there’s Fluffy. Hello, Lucifer,” Linda greets them both, stepping aside so that they can shuffle into her office. When the fledgling merely huffs unhappily in response, Linda quirks an eyebrow and comments under her breath to Chloe, “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Wrong side of the car, just before lunch, actually,” Chloe responds quietly with a sigh. “We had a wonderful time at the beach this morning with Fluffy, Trixie, and Dan - his flight feathers have come in so he even got to fly a bit. So I don’t think therapy rates on the same scale of fun.”
Linda shrugs, closing and locking the door behind them. Lucifer spins around with narrowed, suspicious eyes, his gaze flickering between Linda, Chloe, and the locked door. There’s a sharp glint of panic in his mahogany eyes, his shoulders tensing, and it doesn’t take Chloe long to figure out why he’s suddenly so on edge; he hates the door being locked because it makes him feel trapped, like a small animal being enclosed in a crush cage.
She very deliberately shows him how easy it is for him to reach and unlock the door, Linda observing carefully, and then Lucifer calms down, transforming within seconds back into a slightly irritated but still curious child who begins casing the office from top to bottom, running his fingers along the spines of books and poking at plants. The whole time, he clutches Marsh the allosaur tightly to his chest, much like he was doing with his blanket earlier on in the week. Once Fluffy seems content that he’s settled, she lies down in front of the door and rests her head on her paws, obviously trying to keep out of the way.
“Doesn’t like enclosed spaces?” Linda murmurs to Chloe under her breath.
“Unless he’s the one hiding himself there,” she whispers back.
Linda nods, and then calls out loudly, “Lucifer, would you like to pour three glasses of water for you, Chloe, and I? And then maybe a bowl of water for Fluffy, if she wants any?” When Chloe releases a faintly worried noise, Linda reassures her, “Plastic jug and glasses.”
He nods, crossing the room determinedly to complete his task. Chloe honestly finds it concerning how he always seems to relax when he’s given orders or asked to do something; it’s clearly an ingrained, taught behavior left over from his time living in Heaven that’s rearing its head now those childhood memories are closer to the surface. Lucifer despised being treated like a soldier and a tool by his parents, but it was so commonplace in Heaven that it was normalized for him, to the point where he slips back into that mindset when he’s nervous, and only gets more anxious if he’s not being told what to do. It hasn’t escaped Linda’s notice either, and she makes a quick note on a clipboard on her desk, which she picks up before taking her usual seat in front of the couch.
Chloe sits on the couch, making sure she doesn’t take up Lucifer’s favorite place, because after having attended therapy with him a few times now, she’s noticed that he always prefers the left-hand side, furthest from the door. Fishing out the bag of emoticon tokens and Lucifer’s folder of drawings, she rests them on the cushions in preparation for the session. Marsh the allosaur also ends up being propped on the table while the fledgling busies himself with his tasks.
“Anything crop up you’d like me to address?” Linda whispers, while Lucifer is distracted by pouring water in a little dish for Fluffy and stroking the Hellhound’s muzzle, crooning to her sweetly.
Chloe digs a folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket, passing it over to the therapist as inconspicuously as possible. She anticipated Linda would ask this question and noted down some of the more disturbing things she’s learned about and Lucifer has done recently.
At the top of the list are concerns about God wanting him to stay a toddler, his severe panic attack after smashing the glass, the knife stealing incident, his freak-out in the penthouse after God played ‘Uriel’s song’ on the piano, and his general tendency to shut down and become non-verbal when he’s upset. At the very bottom, she’s just written HELL and FALL in capitals and circled them.
Bobbing her head in a nod, Linda slips the piece of paper into her notes. “We’ll see how much we can cover in the next hour. Just warning you, I might have to push him a bit to talk at times, because he can be slippery when it comes to avoiding the difficult topics,” she replies, her voice low. “And I’ll just tell you now, I’m not going to talk about -” She quickly checks to make sure Lucifer isn’t eavesdropping, “U-R-I-E-L, because I promised him as an adult that I would never discuss it without warning him at least a week in advance. He needs to be in the right headspace for that and today he is definitely not.”
“Probably better to have that conversation with him when he’s an adult, anyway,” Chloe nods. Knowing now from what Amenadiel vaguely told her that Lucifer killed his little brother in self-defense and defense of others, and how utterly traumatic it was for him, it wouldn’t be at all appropriate to remind toddler Lucifer of that event. “Do you already have an idea of what you’re going to talk to him about?”
“A little bit. To be honest, I was planning on letting him lead the session and then prod him for answers,” Linda explains. “I asked for some advice from my child psychologist colleagues and they said that when it comes to the first session with a kid, it’s better to ease them in and make sure they’re comfortable, so they feel safe enough to start slowly talking. Then you can start leading them. Kids are typically much more emotionally open than adults but they’re not mature enough to properly understand or process their experiences.”
Chloe exhales, muttering under her breath, “Right, a lot of the time when the LAPD find kids in abusive home situations, they completely downplay the abuse they’ve suffered through because they don’t understand how serious it is.”
And often their brains will deliberately construct amnesiac walls as a survival mechanism, sometimes even going as far as forcing dissociation. It’s how dissociative identity disorder develops after long-term childhood abuse; Chloe remembers some of the unis and other detectives in the homicide department actually theorizing that Lucifer had DID and his ‘Devil stuff’ was actually an alter, when he first started working with them. It was disproven rather quickly, but Chloe does suspect that he has another kind of dissociative disorder because of how he sometimes completely spaces out, especially when put under stress.
“I don’t think Lucifer has ever actively used the word ‘abuse’ to describe what his family did to him, so I think we’ve got a crusade ahead of us,” Linda murmurs, glancing cautiously over at the toddler. He’s rubbing his back up against the wall with a frustrated expression, like a bear desperately trying to scratch an itch against a tree. Raising the volume of her voice, Linda tells him kindly, “You can let your wings out if you want, Lucifer. Why don’t you come and sit next to Chloe and we can get started?”
Wings exploding out of his back with a flutter of snowy feathers, Lucifer clambers up onto the couch next to Chloe with a graceful flap, wings flared out and resting against the cushions. The one closest to Chloe mantles her shoulders. What remains of his fluffy down feathers tickle the back of her neck, making her squirm. This possessive action doesn’t escape Linda’s attention, and Chloe spots her making a note of it subtly.
“How are you feeling today, Lucifer?” the therapist asks kindly. “Had a lot of fun this morning at the beach with Trixie and Dan, I hear. And you’re flighted now - it must have been exciting to get back into the air!”
The fledgling just shrugs sulkily, kicking his feet. He stubbornly refuses to talk. After about one minute of time has elapsed, Chloe nudges him in his side encouragingly, but he utters a quiet warning growl like a predator who’s having their space encroached upon. Withdrawing, Chloe tries not to feel too stung. Fluffy issues a quiet reprimanding growl of her own, a parent scolding their pup, and Lucifer crosses his arms over his chest sullenly.
“Not feeling up to talking today?” Linda raises an eyebrow, her gaze flashing to Chloe questioningly. She shakes her head; he’s been perfectly verbal all day up until this point. “Or just irritated because you’re at therapy when you could be doing things that are more fun?”
“Don’t see point in this,” Lucifer mutters, glaring down at his shoes. “Not going to help anything.” His Enochian accent is a lot milder than usual, his English clearer, even a hint of his usual British lurking below the surface - Chloe is a little bit surprised it’s improved so much in just the last day. Perhaps it’s being surrounded by American-accented English speakers.
“Maybe so,” Linda replies. “But it’s still important to provide you a safe place to express whatever opinions or feelings you may have about your current situation. Why don’t we start with that, hmm? Let’s talk about this de-aging problem. You must be feeling very frustrated and angry about what’s happened to you.”
His eyes so dark they’re almost black, in a shockingly nasty, mocking response, he snaps, “What, not making me use the emotion tokens?”
Chloe jolts, taken back and leaning slightly away from him in her astonishment. Where the hell is this…. rage coming from?
Linda doesn’t bat an eyelid. “We used those when you were overwhelmed and non-verbal,” she replies calmly. “We can use them again, but I thought you would much prefer talking. Of course, this will be a very short conversation if you’re going to be rude, disrespectful, and childish.”
“Not a child!” Lucifer snarls, his feathers sharpening into blades. Chloe has to scoot forward to avoid accidentally getting sliced by one of them, and of course, Lucifer notices. Instantly his wings flop, feathers losing their honed edges, and he looks devastatingly apologetic and guilty. “Sorry, Detective.”
When Chloe opens her mouth to reassure him that it’s okay, Linda holds her hand out to stop her. Turning back to the fledgling, she says in a stern tone, “Lucifer, I’m going to tell you something that you don’t want to hear. But it’s the truth, no matter whether or not you accept it. Alright?” He nods warily. “Right now, you are a child. I know you have all the memories of your adult self, I know that sometimes you feel like your adult self too. But that doesn’t change the fact that you are, physically, and developmentally, a child right now. And I know, we all know, that it must be frightening for you. You don’t need to hide that from us.”
Lucifer’s jaw is square with tension, and his whole body is stiff, like an electric current is being run through it. “Yes I do.”
“Why?” Linda prods. “Why do you need to suppress your emotions? Both Chloe and I have noticed that you tend to shut down whenever you begin feeling something big or overwhelming.” He glares at her. “Was it frowned upon when you were younger for showing emotion?”
That triggers a response. “Can’t be weak,” Lucifer spits out. “Can’t be burden.” It sounds rehearsed, parroted, like he’s repeating something he’s been told himself over and over again by members of his family.
“You’re not a burden because you’re a child, Lucifer, and you’re definitely not one because you feel emotion. I know you want to be independent because of your adult memories, but you’re the size of a human three-year-old; you need adults to take care of you,” the therapist explains. “That’s going to make you understandably angry. And you’re going to feel vulnerable and small and helpless too, because that’s what all children feel like sometimes, and that’s okay. It’s okay to express your feelings; it helps us better understand what you need and how to care for you. Emotions are a big part of how humans connect on a deeper level and build meaningful relationships, and we know it’s the same for angels.”
Hugging himself, the fledgling grumbles, “Want to be adult again. Don’t like being so small and sensitive.”
Linda softens her voice. “You’ve never been a child before, have you? That’s what you and God were arguing about that caused this situation.”
His shoulders and wings slump, and he responds with a small nod, fiddling with his hands.
“From what I understand, angels in Heaven are treated more like soldiers and tools than individuals,” Linda continues gently. “I know you were never physically a child, but we’ve established before that angels are capable of emotional and mental maturity, which they gain through experiences and time. Which means that you were young once. Did your mother and father ever treat you like you were their son?”
“At first,” the fledgling murmurs. “Before big projects started. Used to do… family things. Mum and Dad and all archangels together. But then things… changed.” He sniffs, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
Nodding encouragingly, Linda comments, “They changed because your father needed you to act as the Lightbringer and as the Will, when he started crafting the Universe. Amenadiel told me that that’s when the arguments between your mother and father started.” She pauses and then hesitantly adds, “That’s when they started fighting about you, is that right?”
Chloe winces when Lucifer yanks his legs up onto the couch and hugs them, hiding his face in his knees with a quiet, miserable whine. Fortunately, he doesn’t flinch at her touch this time when she reaches out to comfort him, leaning heavily against her.
“Lucifer, we can move on to something else if you’re getting upset. We don’t have to talk about this,” Linda reassures him, clearly getting upset herself at the sight of him so distressed. Chloe knows the feeling; her heart is being struck with pangs of pain every time she hears one of those whimpers erupt from his mouth.
“Same argument,” he mutters.
“What was that?”
“Mum n’ Dad had same argument… same as one me n’ Dad had,” Lucifer whispers. Her eyes widening, Chloe glances over at Linda, whose brow has furrowed pensively upon hearing his words.
“Your mother and father used to fight about… how you were never a child,” Linda says slowly, and Chloe can see the puzzle pieces snapping into place in her mind. “About how you were never allowed to be a child. Because God had you and Michael acting as the Demiurge to help him Create the Universe. Because… your mother didn’t want God to use you for your powers?” she deduces.
“She just wanted you to be her son,” Chloe finishes, realization dawning. “But she was so caught up in all her fighting with your dad over you and your siblings fulfilling the roles he set out for that she didn’t notice that she was neglecting you. So she never actually ended up treating you like her child… because by then it was too late. Your dad Cast you out.”
“Yes,” Lucifer confirms, barely audible.
“Is that why when you had that nightmare the other night, you wanted your mom rather than your dad?” Chloe questions delicately. Linda doesn’t seem to mind her asking a couple of things in the middle of their session; in fact, she seems interested in what the answer will be. “You instinctively wanted her because you thought she might be more receptive than your father and comfort you?”
“Mum always better with fledglings. Dad too busy with projects to spend time with us. But now Mum’s gone and I’m a baby and Dad -” He cuts himself off, bitter anguish flitting over his face.
“You’re worried God might not turn you back into an adult,” Linda states. “Because you’re worried that he might want to start over and raise you again.” Uttering a growl under his breath, Lucifer jerks his head in a single nod. “You know that Chloe, Amenadiel, and I would never let that happen to you, right?”
“Wouldn’ be able t’stop him,” Lucifer scowls.
“Your dad’s powers are out of control,” Linda reminds him, tapping her pen against her notebook. “I think we could put up a good fight. And Lucifer, you have to remember, you’re not entirely helpless here either. You held your own against Maze.”
“But lost ‘gainst Michael,” he counters.
“Because you were caught by surprise and unarmed. And from what I hear, even though you have Fluffy to protect you know, you’re very determined not to let that happen again.”
Lucifer narrows his eyes confusedly and then, casting a quick, wounded glance Chloe’s way, seems to recognize what Linda is talking about. “You told her about the knife!?” he says, sounding distraught.
“I had to, Lucifer,” Chloe sighs. “I know you apologized and I forgave you for the whole incident, but it’s important for Linda to know, as your therapist, what kind of state your mind is in.”
“I’m fine!” he insists, and her heart breaks when she sees the tears brimming in his eyes. Fluffy raises her head from where it’s resting on her paws, tilting it concernedly at his raised voice. The fledgling wipes his face angrily. “Why you have to tell her I’m bad?”
Linda shoots Chloe a loaded look and she shakes her head hopelessly. “Lucifer, Chloe didn’t say anything to me about you being bad,” she reassures him. “She didn’t even use the word ‘bad’ at all. Why would you think you’ve been bad?”
The fledgling withdraws his wing from where it’s wrapped around Chloe’s back to cocoon himself, trembling fingers starting to absentmindedly pluck at his coverts. Chloe keeps a close eye on him, because at the moment, he mostly seems to be picking out the baby down fluff left over from molting his flight feathers, but she knows that it could turn to actual feather plucking if his anxiety overwhelms him.
“‘Cus I am bad,” he finally admits, ashamed.
Chloe so badly wants to jump in and argue to shut that idea down, but begrudgingly keeps her mouth shut when the therapist glances over at her quickly with a pointed look to stay quiet.
“No person is inherently good or bad. Even actions themselves aren’t good or bad - they’re merely judged on what the consequences of them are and how they affect the people around you,” Linda says calmly. “You took the knife because you were scared and you wanted to be able to protect yourself and Chloe, but then when you understood it was dangerous for you to have it, you gave it back. So while you made an initially poor decision, you realized your mistake, corrected yourself, and made a good choice. Nothing bad about that at all.”
Lucifer blinks, bewildered. “But I stole in first place.”
“Yes, but you had good intentions. You didn’t want to hurt anybody, you wanted to defend yourself and Chloe.”
“But…” The fledgling seems lost for words. “Knew it was dangerous before I took it.”
“Yes, but you were scared,” the therapist reminds him softly. “It’s scientific fact that our mental processing pathways become biochemically altered in response to fear; perception, action planning, attention, and memory are all affected. Fear drives us to do a lot of crazy, illogical things. All of us know that.”
“Me especially,” Chloe cuts in. “You think I was thinking logically when I took the first available flight to Rome after the showdown with Pierce, and threw my hat in with Kinley?”
Lucifer shrugs, not meeting her eyes. His trepidation is like an injection of pure ice through her veins. This whole time, has he been thinking that Chloe was completely in her right mind when she was dragged into Kinley’s plan to send him to Hell? She tried to explain to him by telling him how terrified she was, how her entire world had just turned upside down and she lost her sense of what was real and what wasn’t, so she felt like she couldn’t trust anything she knew. Her fear made her second guess every interaction she ever had with him and whether she even knew who he really was. But… maybe she didn’t explain well enough.
Chloe sets her hand tenderly on his knee. “Lucifer, I’m not making excuses for myself, I promise. I fully accept that what I did was wrong - just like how you’ve fully accepted that you taking the knife without permission was wrong.”
“S’different.” Lucifer still avoids looking at her, but the strained pain in his voice makes her flinch. “When I’m scared, I want to protect you. When you scared, you want to hurt me.”
Chloe squeezes her eyes closed, breath hitching in her chest. “I know. I know, and that was terrible of me. But Lucifer, I - this is going to sound so stupid. But I didn’t make that connection between sending you to Hell and hurting you. I wasn’t thinking straight. In my mind, you were the Devil, and the Devil belonged in Hell, and Kinley managed to convince me that you would be better off there. I couldn’t have been more wrong. I don’t blame you at all for still being hurt by what I nearly did to you - for betraying you. I know I’ve apologized before, but I will continue to apologize because I truly am sorry. And Lucifer -” She gently turns his head towards her with her finger, her stomach lurching at the brimming tears in his sad eyes. “You are one hundred percent worth my guilt. You’ve said you’ve forgiven me, but I have to forgive myself too, and I’m not sure if I can do that yet.” She manages a small smile and a weak shrug. “That’s the thing about fear - it can trigger all sorts of irrational thoughts which direct you into making stupid choices you later regret for the rest of your life.”
“Regret,” he echoes in a whisper. “Because… you hurt me.”
“Because I hurt you, and because I made the choices that ended up causing you pain,” Chloe nods. “I’m so sorry.”
Lucifer’s lips twitch up into a tiny, hesitant smile of his own and he climbs onto her lap to throw his arms around her neck, hugging her. “Thank you. Forgive you. Love you,” he murmurs.
“I love you too,” she responds, so overwhelmed with emotion that her voice comes out as a croak. She embraces him tightly, her fingers skimming down his silky soft scapular feathers as she rubs up and down his back.
When Lucifer pulls back, sliding back onto the cushions beside her, he turns to Linda, questioning, “What are - irrational thoughts?” He stumbles over the pronunciation, his Enochian accent making it difficult to say the ‘shon’ sound. “Bad?”
“Patterns of thinking that aren’t logical, or based on evidence. A lot of the time, they’re caused by what we call a ‘distorted reality’, where a person has a different idea in their head of how an event occurred compared to what actually happened, or they believe in something that’s not true. Irrational thoughts are very common for people who have… problems with heightened anxiety,” Linda adds.
She tactfully avoids using the term ‘anxiety disorders’ because she must assume, Chloe muses, that Lucifer might freak out at the implication that he has a ‘disorder’. She just knows that the fledgling would automatically think that it means he’s broken.
“Irrational thoughts themselves aren’t ‘bad’; everybody experiences them from time to time, and they’re generally harmless as long as the person doesn’t act on them. But when they start to build up and interrupt the person’s day-to-day life, upsetting and distressing them, they can be dangerous. Having them does not mean you’re bad.”
“Can make you do… bad things,” Lucifer extrapolates from that explanation, looking vaguely ill. “Violent things?”
“Yes, sometimes they can influence you in that manner.” Linda scrutinizes him perplexedly. “Why do you ask?”
The fledgling swallows, gritting his teeth for a moment before admitting. “I threw a glass,” and cringing, as if he expects to be yelled at.
But Linda doesn’t shout at all. “Because you were angry,” Linda responds matter-of-factly. “Although anger and fear are different emotions, both do the same thing to your brain and alter how you think and your ability to make rational decisions. Did you apologize for throwing the glass?”
“Yes,” he mumbles. “Knew was wrong.”
“Then I don’t see any issue. Next time you have a thought like that,, I want you to count to ten in your head slowly, and then think about it again. If you practice, eventually you’ll start to realize that what you’re thinking of doing doesn’t make sense and you’ll be able to stop yourself.” The therapist smiles at him fondly, eyes shining, before her expression switches back to cool professional. “Lucifer, can I ask you a difficult question?” When he nervously nods his assent, she asks, “Why are you so afraid of being perceived as bad?”
Lucifer’s expression instantly shutters, wings tightening around himself. Head bowed, he gives a particularly vicious tug on his feathers. Linda’s eyebrows shoot up in shock; she obviously wasn’t expecting such a violent reaction from him. Wincing in sympathy, Chloe reaches over to clasp his hands and push them down into his lap. A bemused, annoyed chirrup accompanies him cocking his head sideways at her.
“Don’t hurt yourself, please,” she says softly. “You don’t have to answer Linda if you’re not comfortable.”
A couple of feathers have come free, and there must be traces of blood on the quill tips that the Hellhound can smell, because Fluffy ambles over and rests her huge heavy head on Lucifer’s thigh, blinking up at him dolefully. The tension in his frame appears to leach out of him as he pets over her silky white fur, mussing the tufts between her ears. Quiet scribbling indicates that Linda is noting this down, watching the pair in interest.
Finally, Lucifer seems calm enough to scrounge up a response. He speaks slowly, his voice strained with the sort of creeping gravitas that’s unsettling to hear from a kid. It reminds Chloe that the little angel sitting next to her on the couch is not just a winged toddler who has a fondness for dinosaurs - he’s an eternal, ancient being and perhaps the second most powerful creature in the Universe.
“All through history. Always scapegoat. Blamed by everyone for everything. Called evil and monster.” He shakes his head determinedly, asserting, “Don’t want to be bad.”
Linda inclines her head thoughtfully. “Yes, that makes sense. But I think that’s only part of it. Am I right?” When the fledgling simply eyes her shrewdly, she sighs and sets her notebook and pen aside, regarding him seriously. “Lucifer, I think you’re afraid of being seen as bad because you think it means you’ll be punished. And it’s the punishment that you’re really scared of, isn’t it?”
Chloe stiffens, shooting Lucifer a worried look. He’s always reacted incredibly negatively to the word ‘punishment’ before, and just as she expected, he’s tensing up, wings bristling and dark eyes narrowing as he glowers stormily at Linda. The aura radiating off him is gloomy and stifling, and makes her want to lean away from him.
He completely ignores Fluffy’s quiet whining and nudging, and hisses through his teeth, “Shut up.”
“Lucifer, don’t be rude,” Chloe automatically admonishes him.
But it must be all too overwhelming for Lucifer, because he hides his face in his hands with a keening, distressed noise, mumbling, “Doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” as he starts to rock back and forth, his wing cocoon trembling.
She glances over at the therapist nervously. “Linda…” Chloe can tell that Lucifer is very, very close to breaking down.
“It’s okay, Chloe,” Linda tells her, her calm a stark contrast to the fledgling’s rising panic. “I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I, Lucifer? You’re terrified of being seen as ‘bad’ and being punished. You’re used to punishments being physical in nature, you’re used to them hurting. As an adult, you can argue, you can fight back, you don’t have to just submit to it. You have the power to defend yourself or walk away, and if it comes to it, you can withstand the pain. But as a child, who’s reliant on other people to take care of you, you’re smaller and weaker than usual, which means that you can’t fight back or cope with the trauma as well. If your dad tries to punish you, you don’t feel like you’ll be able to protect yourself or endure the pain.”
Lucifer is shivering all over and desperately shaking his head, but Linda pushes on, sliding forward on her chair.
“And the last time your dad punished you, he sent you to Hell, which was constant torture for you. You were on the edge of death and having your light snuffed out for millennia, because of what he put you through. So you’re petrified of what the next punishment might be. You don’t feel like you could survive it. But at the same time, you feel like you deserve it, that you might not want to survive it.”
And Lucifer snaps.
“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” he howls, sounding more like an animal in severe pain or a banshee than human. He leaps to his feet, standing on wobbly legs on the couch with his wings flaring out to full span, flight feathers sharpened into deadly blades.
Chloe instantly ducks for cover and dives out of the way to avoid accidentally getting decapitated; Linda, meanwhile, has turned ashen, her eyes wide in alarm, obviously not anticipating Lucifer to just flip out on them. Fluffy whips around with her ears flipped back, poised in front of Chloe where she’s lying on the floor as if guarding her, watching Lucifer cautiously, as if she’s conflicted because he’s her charge, but also a present threat.
The fledgling’s eyes are ablaze with Hellfire, crimson flames flickering and swallowing up his mahogany irises. The room feels like it’s risen in temperature a good dozen degrees, enough that it’s caused Chloe to break out into a sweat. And his wings - well, his feathers are bladed, but they’re fading in and out as if they’re glitching, flashes of leathery dark maroon skin replacing them.
More troubling is the way that the entire office shakes, like a minor earthquake is rippling through the building. Chloe and Linda exchange startled looks. Is Lucifer the one doing this?
Almost as quickly as Lucifer’s rage overtook him, it drains out of him like a plug has been yanked. His eyelids flutter as the Hellfire smothers itself out to leave warm brown behind, and his expression flattens out, anger disappearing. His feathers soften as his wings flop and sag like limp weights on his back.
And he drops.
Blood pounding in her ears, Chloe lunges to catch him. Despite him being light in weight, her knees buckle beneath her as his body slams into hers, and the only reason she doesn’t collapse herself is Fluffy pressing up against her from behind, supporting her. Linda flits forward to help her lower the fledgling onto his side into the recovery position on the floor, grabbing a pillow to cushion his head while Chloe arranges his wings so they’re folded comfortably behind him.
Lucifer’s face is pale, his gaze glassy, and his breathing rapid and shallow, approaching close to hyperventilation. He’s barely responsive to their touch. It’s exactly like the panic attack he had when he hid in the closet after shattering the glass.
“Lucifer, can you hear me?” Linda murmurs. A single twitch. She glances up at Chloe, and her distraught expression does nothing to reassure her.
Chloe tries the trick that worked before to get him to respond, calling, “Luciftias,” but this time, Lucifer is lost to them, trapped inside his mind.
The therapist smoothes the fledgling’s unruly black curls away from his face and out of his eyes, checking his forehead temperature. “Cold and clammy,” she notes concernedly, and quickly snags a folded-up blanket to drape it over him. A chill runs down Chloe’s spine; is this panic attack so serious that Lucifer’s at risk of going into shock? “Chloe, can you get his wings to furl? We need to lie him on his back.”
Baffled, because shouldn’t they be keeping Lucifer in the recovery position, she manages a nod and very gently begins to prod and maneuver the fledgling’s wings, applying pressure until they disappear with a whumph of displaced air. They carefully roll Lucifer onto his back, adjusting his pillow so that his head doesn’t hit the floor.
“Fluffy, come here,” Linda orders the Hellhound, and her ears perk up upon hearing the command. “Lie on top of Lucifer’s legs. Your weight will ground him through the panic attack. He’s starting to dissociate in response to the stress he’s experiencing.”
Fluffy obeys all too eagerly, gently lowering herself down so that her front half is resting on top of Lucifer’s thighs. The fledgling wriggles with a light frown on his face. Linda shakes out the blanket to lay it over him, and the way it falls with a thump enlightens her to the fact that it’s weighted. Maybe she should ask Linda if she can borrow it until Lucifer turns back into an adult, Chloe muses.
“Chloe, hold his hand. We’re going to ease him through this panic attack slowly.” The both of them sit cross-legged next to Lucifer’s supine form, Chloe grasping his hand lightly. “Lucifer, if you can hear me, I want you to squeeze Chloe’s hand.” She feels his cold fingers contract around her own, and her heart skips a beat. She gives Linda a short nod, and the therapist looks relieved that Lucifer is finally responding to them. “Good. Now I’m going to teach you how to control and count your breathing.”
It takes about ten minutes for Lucifer to calm down and his panic attack to end, with Linda guiding him through breathing exercises and Chloe and Fluffy grounding him the whole time. Inhale for five seconds, hold for five seconds, exhale out for five seconds. His breathing gradually begins to steady out and deepen, his chest rising and falling evenly. Blinking slowly, his eyes begin to clear, losing their glazed over quality.
Chloe tightens her hold on the fledgling’s hand until he turns his head minutely towards her, murmuring in a tentative, slurred voice, “Detective?”
Sighing in relief, she rubs his shoulder, reassuring him, “I’m here. I’m here, starlight, I’m not going anywhere. Linda’s here too,” she adds, quickly glancing over at the therapist.
A trembling hand rises from where it’s flopped on the floor to stroke over Fluffy’s shoulder. The Hellhound immediately leaps up and starts enthusiastically licking over his face; Lucifer’s expression screws up as he sits up and pushes her away, wiping doggy slobber from his cheeks.
“You’re back with us?” Linda checks in.
“Hmm,” he hums with a distant nod.
“Good,” she smiles shakily, but then her expression twists with remorse. “Lucifer, I am so sorry I upset you… it was wrong to push you like that. I forgot how triggering some of these things can be for you, and how your brain is going to handle the trauma differently because you’re a child. And I’ll be honest, I got caught up in my own evaluation there without thinking about what I was saying aloud and how it would affect you. I promise I won’t do or say anything like that again. Can you forgive me?”
Lucifer sniffs almost haughtily, staring down at his hands as he plays with Fluffy’s fur. “Suppose. I’ll think ‘bout it,” he mutters in a moody tone, and Chloe grins. There’s the Lucifer she knows,
It also makes Linda break into a smile, but she also advises, “Maybe we should end the session here for today.”
The fledgling’s head whips up. He shakes his head stubbornly. “No.”
“Lucifer, you’re exhausted,” Chloe comments, rubbing his back. “We can come back another day.”
He pouts, staggering to his feet. Without his wings to balance him, he stumbles a bit, used to having their weight on his back, but Fluffy helps stabilize him, nosing him affectionately before lying down against the side of the coffee table. He jabs his fingers down on the folder. “But my drawings…”
Tossing Chloe a frustrated but rather defeated look, Linda glances over at her clock and then raises a questioning eyebrow at Chloe. She checks the time herself; there are twenty minutes left of their session. While Lucifer is super tired and no doubt emotionally wrung out, he seems extremely intent on showing the therapist his drawings, probably because he spent so much valuable time on them last night with Trixie. So she responds with a resigned nod, at the same time plastering on an expression that she hopes warns Linda not to press him again.
“Okay, we’ll discuss your drawings. But not for very long, okay? I don’t want you getting even more stressed out,” Linda agrees, and the fledgling beams at her - his mood utterly different comapred to how it was mere minutes ago. Chloe has to admit she’s impressed; the resilience of kids and their ability to bounce back, especially Lucifer’s, is something she doesn’t think she’ll ever quite get used to. “Now, if I remember correctly, I asked you to draw one representing how you felt before you were de-aged, one about how you feel right now, and one about how you want to feel after you’re changed back.”
Fishing the sketchpad containing the three drawings out of the protective folder, Lucifer flips it open to the first drawing, turning it so Linda can see. Chloe takes a seat back on the couch, having to crane her neck in order to catch a glimpse of the sketch upside down. It’s a crude stick figure drawing of adult Lucifer wearing his favorite purple shirt and black suit with big white wings, holding hands with a figure that’s probably meant to be Chloe, judging by the jeans, leather jacket, and badge on her belt. They’re both smiling widely. The drawing of a desk in the background is likely meant to represent the precinct.
“You and Chloe working together on cases for the LAPD,” Linda guesses. “One of the things you enjoy the most.” Lucifer nods, and the grin on his face turns slightly more wistful as he trails his fingers over the paper. “You miss it, don’t you? Because you can’t work with Chloe while you’re like this, and have to fool everybody into thinking you’re ‘Lucifer’s nephew Sam’.”
“Helped yesterday with cold case,” he shrugs, trying to act impassive about it, but Chloe can see the tangible sadness in his eyes. He really has been missing working with her as an equal.
“You did,” Chloe confirms. “But Lucifer, it’s okay to miss our usual work together. I miss it. It’s not the same solving cases without you.” Ducking his head shyly, Lucifer offers her a timid but warm smile. She lifts her leg to give him a little poke in his side with the end of her shoe. “Partners, always, alright?”
“Partners, always.” His eyes twinkle.
“It’s fantastic that you find so much fulfillment out of your work with Chloe, Lucifer,” Linda praises him. “Having a routine like a regular job helps keep your life well balanced, and your partnership is remarkably strong and something you can always rely upon. It makes sense that this is what you connected to the most when I asked you to draw about before you were turned into a child. Let’s move on to the next one, shall we? How about… your drawing for after you’re turned back?”
Lucifer’s grin broadens and he flicks to the next page. This drawing is similar to the first one, only Lucifer and Chloe aren’t alone. There are other stick drawings of people. Chloe spots representations of Maze holding two demon blades, Fluffy, Amenadiel with his grey wings, and Linda carrying a baby with grey wings - baby Charlie - on Lucifer’s side, and then Trixie, Dan, and Ella wearing a t-shirt with symbols that must be some Enochian pun, on Chloe’s.
Family, she remembers Lucifer saying to himself in utter awe earlier. Even though his past family has caused him so much pain, essentially traumatized him permanently, Lucifer has always wanted a family. And he’s found one, here on Earth, with them.
“Oh, this is a wonderful drawing, Lucifer,” Linda remarks, and the fledgling preens. “You and all your family and friends, yes?”
“Everybody I care about. Family,” Lucifer asserts. “Want everything back to normal, but keep closer with family.”
Linda looks up at him sharply. “Closer than before?” When the fledgling doesn’t reply, she prods gently, “Do you feel like you’ve gotten closer to people than before while being a child? Obviously you’ve been spending more time with Chloe, so I can see how that would be the case. But is there anybody else in particular that comes to mind?”
He nods, but averts his gaze. “Amenadiel. Think he finally understands… how bad my past was.”
“Yes, I think that’s true,” Linda replies quietly. “Amenadiel has always struggled to understand how much your family Casting you out and your time in Hell have impacted you. I think that being a relatively new father, caring and loving Charlie, has given him perspective on what a healthy family dynamic is meant to be… and I think he’s been forced to confront that he hasn’t treated you so well in the past. It might be why his fledgling-nurturing instincts are so strong.”
“Still kissing Dad’s arse though,” Lucifer mutters under his breath, making Chloe snort.
“Your dad isn’t drawn here,” Linda notes, which makes the fledgling deflate. “Even though he’s come down to Earth to try and reconnect with you and Amenadiel.”
“Come down to Earth to meddle,” Lucifer spits. “Hel’copter… control freak…”
Chloe can’t help but feel shocked at how harsh he’s suddenly being. “You really hate him, huh.”
“I don’t hate him, he’s my dad,” he immediately argues, and then blinks in surprise, as if he can’t believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Chloe is also surprised; Lucifer has always claimed to despise his father. “Just…” he trails off, face angled towards the floor. His cheeks look aflame, burning red as he shifts uncomfortably on his heels.
“He scares you,” Linda says simply. “You don’t hate your father, you hate being afraid of him. You hate that he’s given you reasons to be afraid of him.”
The fledgling clenches his jaw and jerks his head in a single, reluctant nod.
“I’m going to say something that you’re probably not going to expect,” the therapist begins, “And that’s… if you do truly feel threatened by your father being here and truly can’t forgive him for everything he’s put you through - and I wouldn’t blame you, because what he’s done to you has been awful - then you’re under no obligation to make space for him in your life. Cutting off toxic relationships can sometimes be like amputating a diseased limb. It will hurt and feel wrong at first, and take a very long time to adjust to, but in the long term… you’re ensuring your own survival and bettering your health. In this case, your mental health.”
The fledgling looks entranced by her words. Chloe is as well. She’s never heard that analogy before, but it makes a lot of sense.
“Look, I can imagine what Amenadiel has been saying to you. ‘You’re his son’, ‘he’s your dad’, ‘he’s trying’, ‘be the bigger person’ - it’s all bullshit if you're forcing yourself to interact with your past abuser but you’re not ready for it,” Linda carries on, and the way her expression twinges with faint disdain speaks to how she must have heard Amenadiel say these things herself, and disagreed with his opinion. “You don’t owe anything to God, Lucifer, no matter what anybody says, even your brother - he doesn’t know your perspective and it’s easy for him to say those things when he hasn’t been through what you have. You don’t need to forgive and let go in order to move on and heal. You need to do what’s best for you.”
“And we’ll continue to support and love you whatever you decide that is,” Chloe assures him, reaching out to grab hold of and squeeze his hand lovingly. “Whether that’s deciding to let your father back into your life, or cutting him off for good.” When he nods back, somber in expression, she adds, “Plus, I’m still super set on punching God in the face at least once for being such a lousy parent to you,” and Lucifer bursts into amused giggles. “Want to show Linda your last drawing?”
Lucifer flips to the very front page of the sketchbook, to what must be the second drawing meant to represent how this de-aging situation is making him feel, and immediately, an unsettling coldness blankets the room. The three of them stare down at the disturbing black, white, and red image of a child with blood-stained white wings in the middle, surrounded by dark scribbles, face scratched out with cross-crossed red lines.
Before, when she first saw it, Chloe thought it was meant to represent Lucifer’s life in Hell. To know this represents what he’s feeling right now makes it even more devastating - and worse, makes her feel like she’s failed him.
To Linda’s credit, she maintains a spectacular poker face despite her perturbation. “Why don’t you walk me through this one, Lucifer?” He stares at her wordlessly. Inhaling, Linda prompts, “Okay. I’ll start with a question, then. This is you?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. He sways in place alarmingly, and leans up against Fluffy when the Hellhound snuffles at him to make sure he doesn’t dissociate or have a panic attack again.
Linda stands and very carefully guides Lucifer over to the couch so he can sit next to Chloe again. He snuggles up to her instantly, and she hugs him lightly, not wanting to smother him. “You’re alone, surrounded by these dark scribbles. Are they meant to represent something?” she asks.
Tapping his forehead, he mumbles, “Bad thoughts.”
Chloe’s lungs feel like they’re being constricted in her chest. “What kind of bad thoughts, starlight? Like the irrational thoughts we were talking about before?” Lucifer has always had particularly low self-esteem and she’s aware that he suffers from intrusive thoughts, but the idea of him suffering from them as a child is even more painful.
He shakes his head, refusing to elaborate beyond whispering, sounding and looking haunted with a rather vacant glint in his eyes, “Dark and alone. Like… before.”
“‘Before’?” Linda echoes. “You mean ‘before’ as in, when you were a ‘child’ before… in Heaven? In Hell?”
“Memories all messed up in head,” the fledgling says, his voice containing a hint of a whine. He rubs at his eyes tiredly with a silent sniffle, prompting Chloe to embrace him tighter.
“I can imagine it must be confusing for you, having your old memories and new ones clash. Especially with all those overwhelming, conflicting emotions,” Linda replies sympathetically. “You’ve been alone a lot in your life, haven’t you? Mostly alone in Hell?” she prompts.
“Cast out,” he mumbles. “No flock. Had to survive… on my own.”
Linda looks troubled. “Angels aren’t meant to be alone, are they? You’re sort of like pack animals. If a member is driven out, they can survive by themself, but they struggle to thrive. They’re more vulnerable to starvation and other predators. They slip down lower in the food chain.”
Shooting her an injured, aggrieved look, the fledgling spits back, “No, I was at top. I fought, I was King!”
“But you didn’t really want to be, did you?” Linda points out, and he huffs in reluctant acknowledgment. “You became King of Hell out of necessity, because you would never survive as an angel amongst demons if you weren’t at the top of the hierarchy in Hell. Feared and respected. You took care of yourself because there was nobody else to take care of you. So… what about when you were even younger than that?”
“Wasn’t alone,” Lucifer retorts, frowning in bemusement.
“I’m not sure that’s true. You’ve told me before that your mother and father were absent a lot and didn’t spend a lot of time with you once you finished making all the stars, and that they would fight a lot in front of you. About you, as well, and a lot of your siblings ostracised you because they blamed you. So if you looked after yourself in Hell, who looked after you when your mom and dad and siblings weren’t there?”
His brows furrowing, Lucifer appears deep in thought for a moment, vague bemusement flitting over his face before he answers, “Chloe,” but not sounding too sure about it.
A beat later, Linda frowns, obviously thinking he’s just getting his memories mixed up or didn’t understand what she was asking, even though Chloe’s heart is already sinking in dread. “No, I mean in Heaven. Before Earth, before Hell - before you met Chloe. Was it Amenadiel? You and Michael were thick as thieves back then, from what he’s told me. Did you and Michael take care of each other? Or did you have to learn how to take care of yourself out of necessity even then, when you were meant to be safe and looked after by your family, your flock, in the Silver City?”
She’s clearly trying to push him towards admitting to being isolated from the very start, about being forced to mature too soon and how his ‘childhood’ was snatched away from him because of needing to be self-sufficient, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to be picking that up. It’s disturbing to think that Lucifer might have needed to learn how to be independent, even when God didn’t want angels to have Free Will, just to survive - and then he was punished and thrown out because of it.
But Lucifer shakes his head firmly, growing more confident as he mutters, “No. No, it was - Chloe. Always been Chloe.”
What the actual fuck? Chloe stares at him in astounded disbelief. He can’t actually believe that, right? He must just be tired and confused. But Lucifer’s wide, innocent eyes tell her that he actually does believe what he’s saying… and it’s incredibly disturbing.
Why is he starting to confuse his past with his present? He’s never struggled with that before except when dissociating or having panic attacks. But he’s clear-headed now, so… why is he getting muddled up?
Linda must spot the panic on her face, because she requests calmly, “Chloe, could you step outside the office for a couple of minutes, please? I just need to ask Lucifer a few questions by himself.” When she nods numbly and starts to stand, she’s stopped by the fledgling growling and hanging onto her possessively. “Don’t worry, she’ll be right outside that door; she’s not going to leave without you,” the therapist reassures him. “How about Fluffy sits next to you?”
The Hellhound jumps eagerly up onto the cushions in the space Chloe has just vacated, settling her head on her charge’s lap. Lucifer still appears uncertain, and glances up at Chloe worriedly. Trying to ignore how her hand shakes, she strokes over his hair comfortingly. “I’ll be right outside. You can call for me if you need me, okay?”
The next ten minutes are ridiculously stressful for Chloe as she paces back and forth in the waiting room, so lost in thought that she smacks her shins on the coffee table multiple times and almost accidentally falls over and destroys a potted plant. She feels like she’s drowning in her concern, trying to frantically regulate her breathing so she doesn’t end up spiraling into a panic attack herself. She has to fight the urge to try and eavesdrop through what is an undoubtedly soundproofed door, desperate to know what Lucifer and Linda are discussing. So many questions are dancing on her mind.
When Linda finally emerges from the office, looking grim-faced and flustered, Chloe rushes up to her, demanding, “What’s going on?”
The therapist ducks her head around the door to check on Lucifer one more time before clicking it closed softly. “We have a problem,” she says seriously. “We need to contact God and Raphael and get them down here quickly. Can you call Amenadiel while I pray?”
Alarm bells immediately start ringing in Chloe’s head. Holding one hand up, Chloe protests, “Linda, slow down. What are you talking about, what - what’s wrong? Is Lucifer okay?” She attempts to step past the therapist and re-enter her office, but Linda extends an arm to stop her.
“He’s fine. Currently sitting with Fluffy and playing with a 3D puzzle cube.” Pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh, the therapist draws her over to the waiting room couch. Chloe begrudgingly takes a seat, watching on warily as Linda herself begins to pace. “You know when Lucifer was first de-aged, and I said that it would be a good thing that you’re the one taking care of him, because it will allow him to form new, happy childhood memories? Happy childhood memories that would help him heal from his past trauma?”
Chloe swallows anxiously. “Yeah.” And she’s been trying to do that for him, as much as possible - that was what their whole morning at the beach with Dan and Trixie was about. Giving Lucifer the opportunity to be a part of a reasonably healthy and functional family; remind him that it’s okay to rely on adults he trusts not to hurt him, and have a positive relationship and friendship with another kid.
Entwining her fingers and flexing her hands, Linda regards her with a rather brittle grimace. “So that theory was contingent on the fact that those new memories would assimilate with his current ones. Not overwrite them, but just slot into place alongside them, give him a sort of… dual perspective,” she explains.
Her tentative tone gets Chloe’s hackles up straight away. “What are you saying?” She narrows her eyes, heart thudding. “Are they not doing that?”
“It’s hard to tell definitively after just one therapy session, but the signs so far are concerning,” Linda confesses. “Lucifer’s new happy childhood memories are so powerful that they’re asserting themselves over his old ones. It could be that his toddler brain has categorized all of his adult memories as too traumatic and overwhelming for him to handle, so as a trauma response, he’s… well. I don’t know whether his old memories are fading, or being repressed, or even being rewritten entirely, but whatever is going on, they’re disappearing.”
“So Lucifer was answering your question truthfully earlier,” Chloe murmurs. She’s suddenly very grateful that she’s sitting down, because she feels both sick to her stomach and weak at the thought of Lucifer’s bafflement from earlier being genuine. There is something actually wrong with how his brain is processing everything, and she might have unknowingly been contributing to it.
Linda inclines her head in an uneasy nod. “He remembers you looking after him the most because those memories of you caring for him have… taken over his previous ones of Amenadiel and Michael in Heaven,” she elaborates.
“But if he’s losing his memories of Heaven…” Chloe thinks she might throw up, horror spreading through her veins like a sharp injection of ice. “He could eventually lose his memories of Hell. His memories of Earth.” His memories of her. “Everything remaining of his adult self…”
“Could be completely lost, yes,” Linda finishes dismally. “It seems to be a slow, gradual process. It’s been a week and it’s only just started happening. Only his earliest memories appear to be affected, and he is billions of years old. But without knowing how aggressive the new memory assertion is, I can’t say how long we have before he starts to lose formative memories.”
“Explain,” Chloe commands, trying not to allow her panic to overwhelm her. She can’t lose Lucifer. She just can’t. She almost succumbed to depression before when he was forced to leave and return to Hell after the demon attack on baby Charlie, but she thinks that losing him this time, after everything they’ve suffered through in order to finally just be together, earning the freedom to love each other, she might not survive it.
With all the patience of a Saint, Linda clarifies slowly, “Think of them like ‘core memories’ of events that shaped Lucifer’s personality and the trajectory of his life. Sometimes in CBT, we ask our patients to look back on their formative memories using a retrieval process to imagine a new perspective, to challenge a belief they have concerning their self-esteem, or early development. Those core memories never change entirely, though - if they did, the patient could ultimately change the fundamental aspects of their personality.”
Changing fundamental aspects of their personality… losing those aspects in the process, is what Linda implies, but doesn’t say. Chloe stares at the therapist with gut-wrenching dread. “Without his core memories, would Lucifer even BE Lucifer anymore?” she whispers.
Has she been slowly losing Lucifer this whole time while he’s been a child, without even realizing it? Without any of them realizing it? She suddenly feels terrible about how lax they’ve been when it comes to pressuring God to find a way to turn Lucifer back into his normal self.
“A great philosophical question that I, unfortunately, don’t have the answer to, Chloe,” Linda responds with an earnest yet doleful shrug. “But the one thing I do know for sure is that we’re on a clock now. God needs to figure out a way to reverse whatever he did to Lucifer and turn him back into an adult. Fast.”
That's an understatement and a half. It sounds like what he's suffering from is terrifyingly similar to a slowly creeping dementia. Amnesia, sort of - wiping out his former memories and replacing his new ones - leaving him open and vulnerable to all sorts of manipulation by God, if he were to get his hands on the fledgling in an attempt to re-raise him. Lucifer would not only lose all memories of his friends and his prior life in Hell and on Earth... he would lose everything that has defined him as a person. If Lucifer loses those important early memories, even the ones in which he suffered abuse and neglect by his family, he will fundamentally change in personality.
And even if Lucifer does remain safe and away from his father's potential strategies, his memories changing will mean that he regards Chloe in a completely different way - probably as more of a maternal figure than his partner. Chloe doesn't know if she would be able to cope with that. She has no idea what she would do. All of his relationships with everybody would be altered. Yes, he could get closer to Amenadiel if he forgets about how his brother tormented him by dragging him back to Hell - but he could end up despising Maze, a demon who, as an angel, he could see as an enemy if he forgets their shared experiences and pain from Hell.
They could lose the Lucifer that they know and love, and a whole new person could take his place.
That marks the end of Lucifer’s therapy session. Linda ends up being the one to call Amenadiel and he is understandably furious and freaked out, judging by his shouting on the other end of the line. Neither God nor Raphael responds to Linda’s prayers, so Amenadiel decides to fly up to the Silver City to find and inform them of today’s revelations as soon as Linda comes home and is able to take care of Charlie. Part of Chloe can't help but feel suspicious about God and Raphael not answering, dark whispers at the back of her mind suggesting that maybe this is a manipulation of their doing, that they're entirely aware of what's going on. She shakes her head, exhaling forcefully. She'll interrogate them about it next time she sees them.
They’ll probably end up meeting tomorrow to discuss everything, so for now, all Chloe can do is take Lucifer home and keep a very careful eye on him. His memories are remarkably precious, and they can’t afford for him to lose any more of them.
“This might sound very strange, but you should keep an eye on Fluffy too,” Linda advises. “I know she’s meant to be your guard dog, but she seems to be acutely attuned to Lucifer on a deeper level, almost like an emotional support animal. If you watch her reactions and the way she acts around Lucifer, she might be able to give you some cues to how he’s feeling when he’s not up to talking.”
The fledgling is quiet in the car on the way back to her apartment, curled up into a ball in the backseat and leaning against Fluffy as he hugs his dinosaur plushy to his chest as if its a lifeline. His wings remain furled away, and he doesn’t whine once about keeping them tucked in during the car ride. Chloe doesn’t even attempt to make conversation with him, her voice constantly getting caught behind the lump in her throat, so she elects to play one of her playlists with Lucifer’s favorite music on it, in hopes of cheering him up.
When they arrive at her apartment, Chloe has just unlocked the door when she hears a crash from inside. Freezing, she takes a fearful step back. Somebody’s broken into her apartment? She wouldn’t usually be afraid if it were a human intruder, but there’s a high chance it's a celestial one - it could be Michael. Her gun won’t do anything to deter him - or any other angel. Fluffy instantaneously begins snarling, with her ears flipped back onto her skull, her fangs bared, and her red eyes afire. She pushes in front of Chloe as Lucifer hides behind her legs
“Fluffy, search the apartment. Whoever’s in there, incapacitate them but don’t kill them,” Chloe orders. This is exactly why they have a Hellhound guard dog now.
The Hellhound slinks through the cracked-open door as if she’s on a hunt, her paws barely making a sound as she creeps inside. Preparing to run just in case a fight breaks out between Fluffy and the intruder, Chloe scoops the fledgling up onto her hip. He scowls at her, but doesn’t complain. Yes, Lucifer’s wings are flightworthy now so he can flee by himself if need be, but he can’t properly fly yet, just mostly glide on wind currents. The fastest way to get him out of here would be to run while carrying him, no matter how much he hates it.
A thunderous growl echoes out of the apartment, causing Chloe to jolt, adrenaline flooding her body. But that growl quickly tapers off, leaving her baffled, because - she honestly expected Fluffy to have started barking at this point.
She takes a risky step inside the apartment, just sticking her head around the corner.
“Who’s an adorable murder puppy? Yes, yes, you are!” she hears a woman’s voice gushing gleefully. Then the person sneezes, which pretty much proves that it must be an angel, since they’re allergic to Hellhounds. “Such a big bad cutiepie murder puppy. Do you want to tear my face off? Do you want to tear my face off? Yessss, sweetie, yes you do!”
Fluffy barks - but it’s not a vicious, ferocious sound at all. Instead, it sounds playful, like an actual puppy who’s getting excited upon receiving attention. If it were somebody hostile who’s a danger to Lucifer, surely Fluffy would have attacked them by now? Which suggests that whoever is paying them a visit is either neutral, or an ally.
Bewildered, Chloe shuffles through the door, leaving it open a smidge. Lucifer squirms in her arms, so she carefully lowers him to the floor, herding him behind her so she’s shielding him as they cautiously walk further into the apartment.
They’re greeted with the sight of a short, young, female angel, her black hair in an ear-length bob and her tawny brown wings folded behind her. She’s dressed in black skinny jeans and a red plaid top with a black Pokémon sweater and Doc Martens, rather than any Silver City style clothes. Kneeling on the floor, she’s scratching Fluffy’s belly, as the Hellhound has rolled onto her back with her tongue blissfully lolling out of her mouth. Upon seeing her, Fluffy lifts her head with a sheepish look, although her tail continues to thump against the floorboards.
The angel’s head shoots up. “Oh em gee, you must be Chloe!” she says joyfully. “I’ve heard so much about you, it’s such a pleasure and honor to finally met you in person! Kinda glad it’s taken so long for us for me to introduce myself to you, though - a couple of close calls there in the past, huh. My brother has been trying so hard to stop us from ever meeting.” She laughs, clambering to her feet but almost tripping over her own shoes clumsily, having to extend and flap a wing to balance herself.
Taken back by the angel’s blatant enthusiasm, Chloe stammers, “Uh… sorry, who are you?”
Lucifer answers that question for her, peeking out from behind her and saying hopefully, “Rae-Rae?” Chloe tries to snag his arm to hold him back, but he slips her grasp, running towards the angel.
The angel brightens and beams at him, her wings fluttering. “Heya, Lu! Aw, look at you, you’re even tinier and cuter than everybody is saying!” She pinches one of his little cheeks and then ruffles his curls, and although Lucifer knocks her hands away, he giggles, and continues giggling as she lifts him up in the air and swings him around. His own snowy wings unfurl, giving a hearty flap as she sets him back down. “Rocking those new flight feathers, big bro. Oh, I guess it’s little bro now, right? That’s gonna take some getting used to. I’m so used to being the baby of the family and now you’re the actual baby!”
“Wait, Rae-Rae?” Chloe repeats, and then the name triggers recognition. “As in, Azrael?” Lucifer’s favorite little sister? Who also happens to be the -
“Yep, that’s me!” The Angel of Death waves happily. “Hi!”