Lucifer's head felt like it had been split open with a rusty axe, then stitched back together by a drunk tailor. The sun was rising over Paradise City, painting the sky in colors that reminded him of a whore's cheap makeup.
He sat on a chunk of concrete that used to be someone's living room, trying to decide if he was more nauseous from the night's events or the smell of burning... everything.
"Oi, fallen one," came a voice that grated on his last nerve. "Drink this before you fall over and make an even bigger mess."
He looked up to see Ezra holding out a chipped mug of something that smelled vaguely like coffee and strongly like desperation. Where she'd found it in this clusterfuck of destruction, he didn't want to know.
"Cheers," he muttered, taking the mug. The liquid inside was hot enough to scald his tongue and bitter enough to make him wonder if she'd brewed it with gunpowder. Perfect.
"How's our holy rollin' friend?" Lucifer asked, nodding towards the heap of bloody bandages and righteous indignation that was Xavier Hawthorne.
Ezra's lip curled in a way that made Lucifer's stomach do a little flip. Or maybe that was just the coffee. "Still breathing, more's the pity. Doubt he'll be swinging that overcompensating butter knife of his anytime soon, though."
Lucifer grunted, a tangle of emotions churning in his gut like a nest of particularly pissed-off vipers. Relief at closing the rift warred with guilt over Xavier's condition, all of it overshadowed by a bone-deep weariness that made him want to curl up in a ball and sleep for the next century.
"You look like hammered shit," Ezra observed, plopping down next to him with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. "Spill it, Lucy. What's eating you?"
Lucifer barked out a laugh that sounded more like a dying animal. "Oh, you know, just your average 'I-tapped-into-cosmic-powers-and-maybe-doomed-us-all' existential crisis."
Ezra's hand found his, her fingers surprisingly gentle for someone who could bisect a demon with a flick of her wrist. The touch sent a jolt through Lucifer.
"You saved everyone's arse, you daft bastard," she said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. "That's got to count for something."
Lucifer shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. "Did I? Take a look around, sweetheart. This place looks like Hell had explosive diarrhea all over it. People died. And that power..." He trailed off, swallowing hard. "It wasn't me. Not really. It was him. The Morningstar. The cosmic dickhead I used to be."
Ezra was quiet for a moment, her thumb tracing small circles on his hand that were far too distracting for Lucifer's peace of mind. When she spoke, her words were careful, measured. "Maybe it was. But you chose what to do with it. The old you wouldn't have pissed on these humans if they were on fire, let alone risk everything to save them."
Lucifer finally looked up, meeting her gaze. What he saw there – a mix of admiration, trust, and something deeper that scared the ever-loving shit out of him – nearly knocked him on his celestial arse.
"Couldn't have done it without you," he said softly, the words feeling like they were being dragged out of him with rusty pliers. "You keep me... human. Or whatever the fuck I am now."
A small smile tugged at Ezra's lips. "Someone's got to keep your demonic arse in line. Might as well be me."
Before Lucifer could come up with a suitably snarky response, a commotion erupted nearby. A group of humans were gathered around something, their voices raised in panic.
"Bollocks," Lucifer sighed, hauling himself to his feet. "What fresh hell is this?"
Ezra was already moving, her hand on her sword hilt. "Let's find out, shall we?"
As they approached, the crowd parted like the Red Sea, if the Red Sea had been made of unwashed, terrified civilians. In the center lay a young woman, pinned beneath a fallen streetlight. Blood pooled around her, and her breathing was shallow and labored.
"Please," begged an older man who looked like he'd aged a decade in the past hour. "Can you help her? The medics are swamped, said it'd be an age before they could get here."
Lucifer felt his stomach drop. This woman didn't have an age. She barely had minutes. He knelt beside her, assessing the damage with eyes that had seen more carnage than he cared to remember. It was bad – internal bleeding, crushed limbs, the works. Even if they could get her out from under that chunk of metal, her chances were slimmer than a succubus's waistline.
"Lucifer," Ezra said quietly, an odd note in her voice. "Your power... could you...?"
He looked up at her, realization dawning like a sucker punch to the gut. "Heal her? Fuck me sideways, I don't know. I've never tried anything like that before."
"But you could try," Ezra pressed. "You've got the power of creation itself sloshing around in there. If anyone could save her, it's you."
Lucifer hesitated, fear gnawing at him. What if he cocked it up? What if tapping into it again unleashed something he couldn't control? Though he was certain about one thing - he could feel it after the previous channeling ordeal.
But then his eyes met those of the injured woman. He saw the pain there, the fear... and the faintest glimmer of hope. In that moment, he knew he was well and truly fucked.
"Right," he said, taking a deep breath. "Everyone back off. This might get a bit... weird."
As the crowd retreated, Lucifer placed his hands on the woman's shoulders. He closed his eyes, reaching deep within himself for that wellspring of power. It was there, vast and terrifying as a cosmic abyss, but this time he approached it differently. Not with the desperation of battle, but with a focused intent to heal, to mend, to create rather than destroy.
Light began to emanate from his hands, spreading over the woman's body in a soft, golden glow. Lucifer felt the power flow through him, guided by his will. He sensed shattered bones knitting back together, ruptured organs healing, life-giving blood returning to where it belonged.
The effort was immense. Sweat beaded on Lucifer's brow, and he felt as if he was being drained, the very essence of his being poured into this act of creation. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity compressed into a handful of heartbeats, Lucifer felt the last of the woman's injuries heal. He opened his eyes, the glow fading from his hands, to find her staring up at him in awe.
"How..." she whispered. "How did you...?"
Lucifer managed a weak smile that felt more like a grimace. "Let's just say I've got some connections upstairs. And downstairs. It's complicated."
As the woman's family rushed to embrace her, showering Lucifer with tearful thanks, he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him like a tsunami of pure fatigue. He swayed on his feet, only to find Ezra's steady presence at his side, supporting him.
"That," she said, her voice filled with a mixture of awe and something that sounded dangerously close to pride, "was fucking incredible."
Lucifer leaned into her, too tired to even try to maintain his usual air of devilish nonchalance. "Yeah, well... don't expect me to make a habit of it. I'm not running a cosmic healthcare service here."
Ezra snorted, the sound oddly comforting. "Of course not."
As they made their way back through the debris-strewn streets, Lucifer found his mind drifting. The battles, the revelations, the moments with Ezra... it all swirled together in an array of experiences that were reshaping his very identity. And wasn't that just fucking terrifying?
"Hey, Ezra?" he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious.
She looked at him questioningly. "Hmm?"
"About that coffee... I think I'm ready to cash in on that rain check. If you're still interested, that is."
Ezra's smile was like the sun breaking through clouds. "I thought you'd never ask."
***