The cathedral was a thing of beauty, really: all white marble and vibrant stained glass to set it off. The high arches and tapered lines of the architecture all drew attention to the altar at the front. It was adorned with a variety of candles, burnt down to different lengths, but none of them were lit, not today.
Lucifer found that strange.
He walked to the front of the room and sat down on one of the benches, hands laced in his lap. However many people might laugh at the idea of Satan finding comfort in a church, it didn’t matter to him. He knew very well that God favored humans; he knew it better than anybody, quite frankly, and in light of that, he figured that the places humans constructed for divine communion, God’s houses on Earth, was an ideal place to seek Him out.
“Hello, Father,” he whispered to the quiet.
There was no answer, but then again, there never was.
Lucifer pursed his lips and looked up, casting his eyes towards the theoretical Heavens. “It’s quiet here today,” he mumbled, looking down again. “I did not expect that.”
He closed his eyes and went through what he knew about humanity and its celebrations. The only reason he knew the date at all was simply because he’d come across a newspaper the day before, and something about the front page had sent Nick into borderline hysterics inside of him. It had taken Lucifer hours, the better part of the entire day, to coax the broken and battered soul hiding deep within his grace into explaining the sudden rush of grief. Father’s Day, Nick had explained. This weekend was Father’s Day. Lucifer had naturally assumed that such was a religious holiday intended to honor God, and that had been puzzling enough since one should pay some sort of homage every day, but he was even more confused when he found out it was a day in which humans celebrated their sires with things like finger paintings, coffee mugs, bad ties, or rare phone calls, depending on the age of the child and the relationship to the father. Still, he figured that God would demand some sort of acknowledgment on this day. He had seen the humans’ religious texts. They said “Heavenly Father”. Lucifer liked that, just a little.
“I was prepared, you know,” he said, straightening up in his seat. “I was prepared to come here amidst however many humans had gathered to worship you. I was prepared to share this space with them for nothing more than the opportunity to talk to you… to feel you.”
More silence passed, and Lucifer swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat.
“I came all this way. I marked the date and counted the sunrises so I could be here on time. ...Are you not going to acknowledge me at all?”
Lucifer was used to being ignored. God had ignored him for the past few hundred thousand years. It had been much longer for Lucifer, perhaps a billion, a small eternity of screaming out for his Father, begging for some kind of mercy or at least the smallest measure of comfort in the most horrible place in all of Creation. He received nothing, but somehow, God’s scorn here was more bruising. Lucifer had been ready to forgive, ready to pay the appropriate devotion once more, ready to go back to being a family, and here he was, shamefully submissive in his plea for attention, raw and open and exposed in the worst sort of way, with salty dampness burning his eyes, and God still afforded him nothing in return.
“I came all this way,” he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks. “I came all this way just to be near you. I just wanted to see you. I just wanted…”
Lucifer faltered. The truth sounded stupid, even inside his own head.
I wanted you to see me.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep any more tears from falling from his vessel’s already red eyes. It hardly made sense to want God to see him like this: confined to this frail body, skin bloody and peeling, muscles aching with the strain of grace, bones stretched to break, and throat constantly slicked with the sticky red of demon blood. For a moment, he felt filthy and ashamed, sitting in God’s beautiful house that humans had built for him.
“Father…” Lucifer’s voice broke. There was too much to say.
Look at me. Look at what I’ve done for you. Look at what I became for you. Look at what you’ve had me do, and look at how much I’ve already done. Look at how much I love you, Father.
“Look at me.” The words stuck in his throat, a bare hint of a whisper, and when he didn’t get an answer, Lucifer replied by screaming them aloud. “Look at me!”
But God didn’t. He hadn’t for a long time.
The church would fill soon enough, happy families coming to sing praises during Sunday service. Nobody would ever notice that Lucifer had been there. Nobody would care. God certainly didn’t care.
Far away, Lucifer spent the holiday desolate and alone. He no longer gazed up towards the heavens but kept his eyes down to hide the dampness that constantly stung them. For the first time, he truly wished he could be like his father. How simple life must be when you don’t care at all.
Fill: Team Castiel/Lucifer, Father's Day
The cathedral was a thing of beauty, really: all white marble and vibrant stained glass to set it off. The high arches and tapered lines of the architecture all drew attention to the altar at the front. It was adorned with a variety of candles, burnt down to different lengths, but none of them were lit, not today.
Lucifer found that strange.
He walked to the front of the room and sat down on one of the benches, hands laced in his lap. However many people might laugh at the idea of Satan finding comfort in a church, it didn’t matter to him. He knew very well that God favored humans; he knew it better than anybody, quite frankly, and in light of that, he figured that the places humans constructed for divine communion, God’s houses on Earth, was an ideal place to seek Him out.
“Hello, Father,” he whispered to the quiet.
There was no answer, but then again, there never was.
Lucifer pursed his lips and looked up, casting his eyes towards the theoretical Heavens. “It’s quiet here today,” he mumbled, looking down again. “I did not expect that.”
He closed his eyes and went through what he knew about humanity and its celebrations. The only reason he knew the date at all was simply because he’d come across a newspaper the day before, and something about the front page had sent Nick into borderline hysterics inside of him. It had taken Lucifer hours, the better part of the entire day, to coax the broken and battered soul hiding deep within his grace into explaining the sudden rush of grief. Father’s Day, Nick had explained. This weekend was Father’s Day. Lucifer had naturally assumed that such was a religious holiday intended to honor God, and that had been puzzling enough since one should pay some sort of homage every day, but he was even more confused when he found out it was a day in which humans celebrated their sires with things like finger paintings, coffee mugs, bad ties, or rare phone calls, depending on the age of the child and the relationship to the father. Still, he figured that God would demand some sort of acknowledgment on this day. He had seen the humans’ religious texts. They said “Heavenly Father”. Lucifer liked that, just a little.
“I was prepared, you know,” he said, straightening up in his seat. “I was prepared to come here amidst however many humans had gathered to worship you. I was prepared to share this space with them for nothing more than the opportunity to talk to you… to feel you.”
More silence passed, and Lucifer swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat.
“I came all this way. I marked the date and counted the sunrises so I could be here on time. ...Are you not going to acknowledge me at all?”
Lucifer was used to being ignored. God had ignored him for the past few hundred thousand years. It had been much longer for Lucifer, perhaps a billion, a small eternity of screaming out for his Father, begging for some kind of mercy or at least the smallest measure of comfort in the most horrible place in all of Creation. He received nothing, but somehow, God’s scorn here was more bruising. Lucifer had been ready to forgive, ready to pay the appropriate devotion once more, ready to go back to being a family, and here he was, shamefully submissive in his plea for attention, raw and open and exposed in the worst sort of way, with salty dampness burning his eyes, and God still afforded him nothing in return.
“I came all this way,” he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks. “I came all this way just to be near you. I just wanted to see you. I just wanted…”
Lucifer faltered. The truth sounded stupid, even inside his own head.
I wanted you to see me.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to keep any more tears from falling from his vessel’s already red eyes. It hardly made sense to want God to see him like this: confined to this frail body, skin bloody and peeling, muscles aching with the strain of grace, bones stretched to break, and throat constantly slicked with the sticky red of demon blood. For a moment, he felt filthy and ashamed, sitting in God’s beautiful house that humans had built for him.
“Father…” Lucifer’s voice broke. There was too much to say.
Look at me. Look at what I’ve done for you. Look at what I became for you. Look at what you’ve had me do, and look at how much I’ve already done. Look at how much I love you, Father.
“Look at me.” The words stuck in his throat, a bare hint of a whisper, and when he didn’t get an answer, Lucifer replied by screaming them aloud. “Look at me!”
But God didn’t. He hadn’t for a long time.
The church would fill soon enough, happy families coming to sing praises during Sunday service. Nobody would ever notice that Lucifer had been there. Nobody would care. God certainly didn’t care.
Far away, Lucifer spent the holiday desolate and alone. He no longer gazed up towards the heavens but kept his eyes down to hide the dampness that constantly stung them. For the first time, he truly wished he could be like his father. How simple life must be when you don’t care at all.