Mornings in Heaven were always the best – waking up in Michael’s arms, their wings just brushing at the tips, sending tiny electric shocks rushing down Lucifer’s spine every time he moved. Leaning in to brush his nose against his older brother’s and watching for the warmth that filled his dark brown eyes as he slowly woke up. The small, private smile that curved the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of Lucifer laying beside him in the Garden, or wherever they had decided to stay the night.
None of that warmth is present in Michael’s eyes when he casts Lucifer out, and it’s pretty hard to hold onto a memory when you’re clearly the only one remembering it, so Lucifer lets it go, the same way he lets so much else go when he falls, and by the time he sees Michael again, wings burned and damaged beyond repair, he’s forgotten how it felt to be whole, and safe, and loved.
Lucifer fell in love with Dean… cause he’s Michael. The spitting image of Michael. The way he talks, the way he moves, his laugh, his everything, it was how Lucifer had always remember his beloved brother. It was heaven all over again, it was heaven before the humans were created. Lucifer and Michael were happy.
Dean was supposed to be Michael. The older brother who follows daddy, but in the end, he would choose not to fight Lucifer, not fight Sammy, cause he’s not a monster. Lucifer is Michael’s little brother. Michael would do anything to protect his baby brother.
Maybe Daddy was wrong, Lucifer didn’t love Him above all else, he loved Michael the most. It should’ve been him and Michael to fight against their fate. Lucifer had compared himself and his brother’s relationship to their vessels, Sam and Dean.
But the fallen angel was wrong, “You’re a monster, Lucifer,” Lucifer’s heart broke. No no no, Dean was supposed to say Yes and Michael would be the protective older brother. Not this. This vessel is wrong. So very wrong. Take it back. I’m not a monster. I’m your brother. I miss you so much, Michael.
It should’ve been Dean. It had to be Dean. Not some pathetic half-brother proxy who doesn’t even know what a brother’s love is.
Sam could feel it. Lucifer was also hurting inside. If only Michael could be like Dean, who stood up and fought against fate, maybe the Apocalypse would be averted. But the fallen angel was broken, beyond repair. Michael had his last chance to fix it and that was lost, Lucifer was all alone in this war…
Mornings in Heaven were always the best – waking up in Michael’s arms, their wings just brushing at the tips, sending tiny electric shocks rushing down Lucifer’s spine every time he moved. Leaning in to brush his nose against his older brother’s and watching for the warmth that filled his dark brown eyes as he slowly woke up. The small, private smile that curved the corners of his lips as he took in the sight of Lucifer laying beside him in the Garden, or wherever they had decided to stay the night.
None of that warmth is present in Michael’s eyes when he casts Lucifer out, and it’s pretty hard to hold onto a memory when you’re clearly the only one remembering it, so Lucifer lets it go, the same way he lets so much else go when he falls, and by the time he sees Michael again, wings burned and damaged beyond repair, he’s forgotten how it felt to be whole, and safe, and loved.
ID: A digital painting of Lucifer from supernatural. He is using Sam Winchester as his vessel, and he is wearing the white suit from the endverse. His eyes are shining a pinkish red, and behind his back are large wings seemingly made out of light and smoke. Some of the smoke is creating a halo behind his head. End ID.
