Chapter Text
There are certain incidents that happen in your life, and then everything just changes. The way you live your life, the way you see things, and the way you feel emotions around you. Being a cop, Dan wants to say that he sees these kinds of things almost daily. A brutal murder here, child abuse there, there is no lack of crimes in the City of Angels. But then again, he has developed a thick skin over the years. The crimes don’t exactly affect him the way they used to, before when he was still a rookie. The mandatory therapy sessions after each hard case feel like something he just does - for polite compulsion by his job, rather than needing it. There are cases, of course, which hits a little too close to home. A child murdered, and he just sees Trixie in the victim - those are the cases hardest for him. Where he pretends to be the strong one and consoles Chloe, ashen face, teary-eyed, and fighting for composition. Where he pretends that his own heart is not breaking into a million pieces.
But that’s just his job. So, yes. Dan has grown used to it. Grown used to handling things like a mature, composed Detective, separating his emotions from his analytical skills. But then…
Then Charlotte happened.
And just like everything, his life just changed after that. His thick skin is still there, but along with that, there is the crushing agony and hollowness wrapped around him like the darkest shadow to ever exist. The images of the love of his life limp in his arms as he cries and cries and cries, keep him awake at night.
The thought of what if…
She died there alone and he wasn’t there. He wasn’t there.
On those nights, when he just can’t stop the tears from coming, he bites his knuckles to stay silent, clutching the waffle bracelet in his other hand. The other nights he just stays numb. Numb as he serves, eats the same greasy pizza, and watches Body Bags for god knows how many times. But that’s okay too, he has grown used to it.
He is mourning they say.
But doesn’t mourning also mean that he ought to get better? Doesn’t time heal everything?
Then why doesn’t it? Why does it always, always feel like he just can’t breathe?
Nights spent writhing, twisting, and turning from the grief-induced nightmares, and the morning spent trying to act normal. He doesn’t have many people to pretend for though. Chloe is gone. Along with their daughter. Took an impromptu visit to Europe, only informing him at the last minute. He had been too tired to even argue, so he just let them go.
That was three weeks ago.
Ella is the same as him, so it’s not really pretending, is it? They do their ‘ I am fine but actually I am not’ game quite well. And Lucifer… Well, that’s been a whole story. He hates the man with every cell of his being. He is the reason Charlotte died. He knew everything and yet chose to keep quiet. There’s not a bigger crime than that. Daniel has told as much to the self-proclaimed Devil, when he sauntered into the precinct two weeks ago, looking for Chloe.
He reeks of alcohol and sweat as he sweeps past Dan’s desk. One look at Lucifer, and the horrifying inferno of rage that had been bubbling inside him since the love of his life had been snatched away from him. A delicious satisfaction curdles in his stomach as sees the consultant’s face fall, clearly noticing the absence of his ex-wife.
“What in God’s name are you doing here?!” Dan doesn’t even bother keeping his voice down. Lucifer flinches, turning around and only then he notices how pale the man is. Lucifer’s lips have gathered a bluish tint, sunken eyes with huge purple bags, and a sheen of sweat shimmering on his forehead. Well, it’s not Dan’s problem that Lucifer looks like he is getting off a huge bender.
Lucifer actually sniffles at that but doesn’t bother to reply, his eyes still searching for Chloe. “Is the Detective here?” His voice is weak which should have concerned Dan, but all he feels at the tone is more anger. Anger and disgust.
“She isn’t. Get out of here, now.”
“I…” Lucifer swallows, “Please, Daniel. I want to talk to her. Once. Before-” He cuts off the sentence abruptly. “Please, it’s of importance.”
In any other time, Dan might have been taken aback. Because Lucifer Morningstar and the word ‘please’ never goes in a single sentence, but here they are. Lucifer pleading with Dan of all people. But this is not another time, and the red veil of anger is still clouding Dan’s vision. He cackles then, and he thinks he should wonder how such a cruel sound could ever cross his lips. “Can’t you take a fucking hint? Chloe has told everyone here not to let you contact her. She is running away from you because she has finally seen you for what you are. A monster! Leave us the fuck alone, now! You have already ruined lives, mine, hers, and our daughters'! What more do you want?! You’ve murdered Charlotte, for God’s sake!”
Lucifer has taken two steps back as if the words hurt him physically, his eyes have gone distant but watery. “I…” He swallows, then he nods to himself. “Point taken, Daniel.”
Dan turns back, not interested in further conversation with the man, but then Lucifer says something that Dan knows will haunt him for the next few days.
“I just came to wish my final goodbyes… Well, goodbye, Daniel.”
Without waiting for a reply, Lucifer Morningstar paces out of the precinct and that’s the last of him Dan had seen.
That had been two weeks ago.
Two weeks from today. Charlotte’s memorial.
He has invited everyone Charlotte knew. Except for Lucifer. He can’t, won’t. Not when that man is the fucking reason everything happened.. He wishes Chloe and Trixie would have been here too, just to support him mentally, giving him the strength to not dissolve into tears every second. But they aren’t here yet. Still in Europe. But that’s okay too. He has Ella, Maze, Amenadiel…
Except, Amenadiel had side-eyed constantly throughout the entire ceremony as if contemplating whether to say something or not. Dan hadn’t understood then. Only when the memorial is over, and every guest had left, does he know. And that too after Ella’s consolation.
“Dan… why hadn’t you invited Lucifer?” Ella asks, sniffing.
Dan clenches his jaw, wishing his face shows his displeasure at the notion. “It’s his fault-”
“NO!” Ella snaps, then. A fierce determination passes through her face. “It is not his fault, Dan, you know that as well as I do. And… did you even consider what he might be going through right now?”
He snorts at that, “I am pretty sure he is fucking and drinking his day through, just like he always does.”
Ella reels back, her jaw hangs open and Dan doesn’t like it. Why is she looking at him like that? He just lost his love, and she is thinking about lucifer? Seriously? “Do you really think that?”
He is just about to answer yes when Ella cuts him off…
“Dan… do you have any idea what he is going through? He was forced to kill a guy after getting open-fired, and he is a civilian - God knows, if I ever kill someone even in self-defense, I would break - he just lost his job, you know, after he resigned from LAPD, he lost his best friend Chloe… And he lost his mother too.”
Everything stops for a moment.
His mother.
Charlotte had been Lucifer’s mother… And… and he has just lost her.
Oh god… Dan stumbles back as the realization punches the air out of his gut.
He has forgotten. He had completely forgotten about Lucifer’s relationship with Charlotte, and even that he is Amenadiel’s brother.
And today, he had invited Amenadiel but not Lucifer. Had given the platform to Amenadiel to grieve his mother’s loss but to not Lucifer.
“Oh god..” His voice shakes as a wave of nausea overwhelms him. Every word, every hurt, and every ounce of anger that he had been feeling for the man vanishes in a second. Because as much as Dan wants to make this about him, he knows now that Lucifer has gone through the same trauma as him, if not more. He has the right to grieve too.
He stumbles on his own feet in his haste to the car, guilt, and grief strangling his throat. But with that, there is another feeling threatening to break through his carefully built barrier. Self-loathing. He isn’t alien to the feeling, no, not by a long shot. He was filled with it during Palmetto, during his jail time…
Jail time which got reduced because of Lucifer’s attorney…
Fuck his life.
Why even after everything, every insult, every fault, and every mistake, Dan can still point out the good things Lucifer has done for him and everyone else in the precinct? The guy is a total enigma, and of course not to mention a buttheaded asshole and a motherf- …. but he is good at heart.
God knows he is good at heart.
Deep down, Dan knows that it’s not Lucifer he blames. Never him. How will he, who is drowning in his own sorry delusions, can do anything to stop a criminal mastermind? Of course, he will associate him with Cain, the first murderer. Dan knows that. No, so he doesn’t blame Lucifer. It is only that the self-proclaimed Devil has always been the easiest target to put the blame on. Really living up to his namesake, he seems. The scapegoat of all other’s sins. But essentially yes. Daniel’s own sins. Because by the end of the day, it’s true isn’t it?
He blames himself.
Not being there with Charlotte. To let her die alone . To not have more time with her. Time for their love, for their relationship. For wasting so much time on second and third thoughts… If only he could be there with her a little longer…. If only…
So much of it. So many possibilities.
He had been digging on Lucifer since the first day… But he didn’t deem it necessary to dig on Pierce. The very person he found sketchy since the moment Pierce stepped into the precinct. Why hadn’t he looked into him?
Dan shakes his head, forcibly stopping his mind from going in that particular direction. It won’t do him good, to dwell on his past mistakes. The list seems to be fucking endless and if he thinks about it for another bloody second, he sure will have an existential crisis. Or a panic attack. Or he might break something.
He doesn’t even realize that he has reached his destination, lost in his own thoughts and driving in complete instinct unless he pulls into his usual parking spot beneath Lux (of course, Lucifer has also designated him his very own VIP parking spot. Another stupidly kind thing that asshole did.)
The bouncers don’t even bat an eye when he breaches past the club’s gates. Either Lucifer needs to change his security people or the bouncers know his identity. The club is thriving with joy and music, pulsing with people’s palpable desires, sweat, and sex. Devil’s den indeed. Except, one single scan through the club tells Dan that the required Devil is nowhere to be seen. He expected as much, but seeing now is different. It is weird to see Lux without Lucifer, like some kind of light is missing, plunging the place into an invisible darkness one cannot fathom.
Not seeing Lucifer, stabs a sudden concern in his heart that he does his best to squash down or probably replace with anger. But, even that seems highly inadequate. He enters the private elevator, seeing no point in dallying at the club when Lucifer is probably up in his penthouse, and pushes the required button, only to be blared with a red alarm and a password-protected dial-pad. Damn, since when had Lucifer cared about securing his penthouse? This definitely wasn’t there when he last visited the penthouse ( although, it had been months since he came here) Without thinking, he types 8008, spelled ‘boobs’ because that is exactly something shallow that a person like Lucifer might come up with, and hoping that the elevator abides. But unfortunately, the steel carriers don’t provide him the same courtesy.
Well, too bad that Dan has made up his mind about seeing the club owner. He types 1234, just in case.
Wrong.
1981, Chloe’s birth year.
Wrong.
6666, Devil’s number.
Wrong.
Damn it! Dan cycles a breath. He just needs to think. Lucifer can be an ass, but he is also overly sentimental. But then again, his does enigmatic stuff all the time just hiding behind his armor. So, the password will most likely be something close to his heart but hard to guess. He cracks his fingers, wets his lips, and takes the chance. If he is not wrong…
4983, the last four digits of Chloe’s badge.
The elevator jars to life, taking Dan to his desired destination. Ha! Take that Morningstar, what did you say about not being a good detective?
His victory is relatively short-termed and soon evaporates like methanol, the moment the doors slide open to reveal a desolated penthouse. This is not what Dan expected when he thought of Lucifer coping unhealthily. Dan had thought he would find the penthouse trashed, or with empty bottles strewn across all surfaces, illicit substances piled everywhere up,
But this?
An extremely clean penthouse? Nope.
It blares Klaxons in his mind, because this amount of cleanliness doesn’t mean neat, but means that the house hasn’t been lived in. He walks slowly around the penthouse, taking in everything. There’s not a single glass sitting on top of the bar, indicating life. A thin layer of dust gathers on Lucifer’s beloved piano - and that more than anything else points to the lifelessness of the penthouse because no matter what Lucifer would never allow this amount of negligence to his instrument.
A sudden thought lurches his stomach.
I just came to say my final goodbyes….
And with that, comes the unbridled memory of Chloe, disappointed and worried, the two weeks when Lucifer left for Vegas…
Has he left? Ran away again like a coward?
“Lucifer?!” Dan shouts the word echoing around jarringly, grating his nerves and temper. He swears to God if Lucifer left again-
He halts to the sound of a rather loud flushing of the toilet. He is here. Dan exhales a breath of relief, though he doesn’t really know why he is relieved in the first place. Climbing the three stairs to Lucifer’s bedroom, he sees the wrinkled bed, sheets thrown askew as if someone just got out of the bed to relieve himself. That doesn’t really point to any signs of grief, except for maybe the large, overwhelming wet spot on the pillow and the bedsheet. One has to sweat a lot to make that kind of mark on the bed. The thought itself makes him uncomfortable.
Dan waits in the bedroom, waiting for Lucifer to appear after doing his business. Except that he doesn’t. Even after several long minutes of waiting when Lucifer doesn’t walk out of his washroom, Dan loses his patience.
“God, Morningstar, what the fuck are you doing?” He trots towards the washroom - thanks, to his prior knowledge during his impromptu penthouse night stay on Chloe’s birthday - preparing a good speech about giving Lucifer a piece of mind, only to stop short.
The bathroom door is wide open, allowing Dan to a full-blown sight of Lucifer clad in his black boxers, crouched against the toilet, his forehead resting on the cold porcelain, his back turned towards the other man. Cold sweat breaks out on his forehead as Dan notices several things at once. And Lucifer doesn’t look good. He absolutely doesn’t look good.
For one, Dan has never seen Lucifer this pale. He is technically bone white, horribly reminding him of one of the corpses he sees daily in his work. Secondly, he has lost so much weight. Lucifer had always been noodly, but he is well-built, with fine and tough muscles and ripped abs and the strength of an elephant, but this Lucifer, crouched miserably next to the toilet, is not just noodly, he is malnutritioned. Dan can literally count the number of ribs underneath his skin. His skin is shining with the sheen of sweat, but he is shivering. No, shivering is an understatement. Lucifer Morningstar is trembling like a lone leaf in the winter, windy evening. Ragged, uneven wheezing fills the stilted silence, obviously coming from the consultant.
“Holy shit!” Dan curses, immediately rushing to Lucifer’s side, wrapping his arms around the man, and detaching him from the toilet. Lucifer is strangely compliant, melting in the other man’s almost embrace. His head lolls sideways until it falls on Dan’s shoulders. His skin feels clammy and ice cold .
And Lucifer’s gaze is clouded, distant, seeming to take nothing in front of him. He doesn’t even seem to realize Dan’s presence, or how he is basically leaning on him at the moment.
“Fuck.” Panic strikes him hot and fast, like coal burning in a furnace. “Lucifer, is this a bad trip? You’re not gonna OD, are you?” Immediately, Dan pulls his hands, exposing the skin on his forearms, searching for any kind of needle marks, anything to make sense of his condition. But all he finds is clear, unblemished skin. Okay, no needles then.
Flashing his phone torchlight into his eyes, Dan notes that his pupils are pinpricked, not blown, with enough pupillary reflexes. Lucifer is reeking of sweat and sickness, but not booze or substances. This is not from a bender.
Which means….
Lucifer is sick. Like really sick.
A lump forms in his throat. And now he just feels terrible. All this time he had been blaming and parading against the club owner while he had been really sick. They might not be friends, and they probably never were, but this is a question of basic humanity and decency. Even Dan is not that cruel to kick a man when he is down. And technically for Lucifer, he is not sure there is a further down he can be.
Dan can point out the exact moment Lucifer gets his bearings somewhat and realizes he is not alone. His eyes narrow in suspicion and near disbelief as he gazes at Dan for a long moment, before he scoffs and pushes at him weakly, trying to get away from him as far as possible.
“Bloody fucking hell.” Lucifer mumbles, trying and failing to stand now, “As if this wasn’t enough, I am now hallucinating.” He stumbles thrice on his way out, swaying dangerously and leaving Dan on his haunches before his mind catches up and he follows Lucifer as well.
Dan observes how Lucifer gets on his bed, promptly collapsing on the wet, stinky spot, shaking, and then curling into a fetal position. Holy shit, the amount of vulnerability he just portrayed…
Dan’s stomach lurches at the sight. Lucifer is all alone; there is absolutely no one to take care of him or to even change the sheets as well. He is weak, struggling for some unknown reason and he has no one by his side.
Just like Charlotte had no one when she…
When his mind returns to the present, Lucifer is looking at him blearily, distrust and disgust painted all over his face.
“Why are you still here?” The venom in his raspy voice surprises Dan. Lucifer might be weak, but he can still yield power if wants to.
“Lucifer what did you take? What happened to you?” He forces his voice to be calm and even. There is no point for a shouting match now.
Lucifer scoffs, “Aren’t you supposed to bloody know…. Given you are my imagination. My mind conjuring the Douche in my final days… Truly the worst way to go.” His face scrunches as if the very idea displeases him.
Wait… Wait a damn minute…
“What do you mean your final days?” Dan is pretty sure he squeaks. “What the fuck happened to you man?”
“What do you care?” Lucifer snaps, glaring at him.
And Daniel’s patience runs thin. “What do I- Fine, if you are gonna be like it, I am leaving. God knows why I bother. Overdose yourself all you like. That’s what happened to you, isn’t it? Something drug related.”
Lucifer snorts at that, and the sound is not a happy one. More like a resigned pained snort that stabs right at his heart. “Of course, you would think that, wouldn’t you?” Lucifer curls in him more, as if diminishing himself, “Delusional Lucifer Morningstar, a junkie, addict, root of all evil…monster. Seems like my mind agrees with you a lot. So a great job, Douche.”
“Lucifer-”
“Leave if you like. That’s all people do, don’t they? Good for them, I suppose. I didn’t ask of you, I didn’t ask of anyone, go on, go ahead with your lives, feelings, and people. No need to bother for me, not that you care, but I am fine staying alone, quite used to it actually. So bugger off.” Lucifer doesn’t even try to hide the quiver in his voice, or how it breaks at the last note.
Realization hits Dan like tons of bricks thrown on his face. A. Lucifer is allowing himself to be this vulnerable because he thinks it’s his hallucination. That he isn’t real. B. Lucifer is so incredibly lonely and hurt, that he doesn’t even expect people to be around him anymore. And C. He is in dire need of help. And support.
Because at this rate, he is pretty sure, loneliness will crush the man.
“Lucifer I am not your hallucination.”
“No? Could’ve fooled me.” Lucifer closes his eyes.
“Why would you think you are hallucinating if you aren’t on drugs?”
Lucifer opens his eyes to glare at him, “Because, my dear Douche, the real Daniel is the least of all people who would be coming up here to check on me. Besides, you abhor me, why would you torture yourself by coming anywhere near me? Last I heard, you weren’t a masochist.”
“The only one torturing himself is you, and I swear to God, Morningstar if you don’t tell me right fucking now what is wrong with you, I will-”
“I am dying.” Just a rasp.
Everything just stills for a moment. Blood rushes to Dan’s ears; suddenly everything feels very suffocating. “What?” he asks faintly. Did he hear it right?
“Dying? Sinking fast? Biting the dust? Bidding adios? Really Douche, I don’t how clearly I can explain…” Lucifer shifts on the bed, pulling his limbs closer, to stave off the cold. But if anything his trembling just worsens. He sighs.
Like he didn’t just drop a bomb on Dan. Like he didn’t just say that he is dying.. What the fuck?
But any question that he tries to ask again gets out of his mind when he sees Lucifer’s eyelids drooping, body going limp. Terror grips him, as he rushes to check his vitals only to find a weak but steady thump thump of his heartbeat. Still alive, but unconscious.
Dan should now go out of the penthouse, Lucifer’s sickness is not his bother and besides, he hates the man. Lucifer is right. He should leave him alone. But then again, without him, Lucifer is going to be all alone especially when he thinks he is dying… which can’t be true? Can it? It’s probably delirium and delusion. Right?
So, yeah Dan should leave.
And yeah, he also knows that he is not going to do that. He will be right there in the penthouse until Lucifer gets a bit better, and have someone to take care of him. Because nobody deserves to go through this alone without a single company or mental support.
He sighs, looking at Lucifer’s limp form. He looks terrible, exhausted. Chapped bluish lips, gaunt cheeks, matted hair stuck to his forehead and bruise-like eyebags under sunken eyes… God, he does look like he is dying.
This is going to be a long night…