InsaneJournal

WHO: Lucifer & Aziraphale.
WHAT: The devil's arrival and an angel's fall.
WHERE: Aziraphale's bookshop.
WHEN: Afternoon.
RATING: PG-13 for character death. :(
STATUS: Complete.

Bumps in the road. If only it were that simple. Mere bumps could be passed over without so much as a backwards glance at what one had just moved past, but they weren't just bumps, they were his brothers, family. Family that had betrayed him along with their Father. He'd loved Him so much and love, that precious emotion those apes clung to so desperately, had not gained him love in return, but instead smite. Punishment. A large part of him didn't want to do this, but it was too late to turn back now. They were all here in this bubble whose invisible walls could not be punctured from the inside, just lying in wait for him to do what needed to be done, because in his mind it was the only thing that could be done. It seemed almost too easy, in a way, but Lucifer was not fool enough to pass over such an opportunity on the basis of it maybe not working out. If there were kinks, he'd find a way to go around them, untangle them and pass through the holes in the loops that would grant him access to the other side. One way or another, this was going to work.

And no-one was going to be able to stop him. He knew they would try and that same, reluctant part of him didn't want them to, but for them not to try would be out of character. He expected it of his brothers and was prepared to handle it accordingly, as was marked by the blade he held in his hands. It was his trump sword in the most literal of senses and he would use it— as it wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when.

That when would be soon, for the wheels had already started turning.

Aziraphale wasn't stupid, though his brothers often underestimated him. It wasn't that they thought less of him, it was simply that they often forgot that he wasn't just an angel. To be fair, he didn't exactly present the image of any sort of angel, let alone a Principality. Still, if there was any angel who could easily dispatch with Lucifer, it was Aziraphale, and he had every intention of doing so if that was what it came to. But his Father hadn't ordered him to kill his brother. He'd counselled him that he would know his task when the time came. And so far the time hadn't come.

He was in his bookshop, enjoying the quiet of the afternoon. Most days, Claire or Crowley would be there, but today both were otherwise occupied. He didn't particularly mind. Some days a bit of quiet was nice, and today it allowed him to sort through his thoughts. He wasn't even sure their brother was coming, but the others seemed certain of it and he couldn't imagine anything else that would have his siblings so worked up. He was struck with indecision. He knew what was necessary, but that didn't make it easier. He wasn't a fighter, except when there was absolutely no other option, and he didn't enjoy it in the least. Still, he couldn't allow any version of his brother to destroy this world, which left him in the awkward position of knowing he had to kill Lucifer. Yes, Michael could do it, but that would be a battle that would probably cause a good deal of destruction. This would be better.

Swiftly, like pulling out a thorn, this had to be done. He wanted to hesitate, but he didn't have time to indulge it. The pain of his actions would always be there, nagging at him and reminding him of what he had done, of the price that had to be paid while traveling down this road towards his ultimate goal and it did not matter how he went about it, for the conclusion would be the same throughout each and every scenario: He would have to kill his brother. His brother, who sat so high above him by one of the only means of doing so, given Lucifer's own, lower rank.

The sword. It was treasured, almost as much as the presence of his vessel in this most unusual city. He kept it hidden, using the long sleeves of the coat it was perhaps a little too warm for one to be wearing to his advantage, holding the blade gingerly by it's tip, ready to dispatch and use.

When he stepped into Aziraphale's bookstore, he said nothing. Now was not the time for words, nor was it the time to feign interest in these trivial things the Principality filled this room with. He waited— patience, then swiftness. One after the other and a few steps closer.

He knew, the instant his brother was there. He was aware of all his siblings. It took him a moment to separate the individual and realise who it was, but not long. Lucifer stood out from the others, a shadowed presence against the light of the Host. He had hoped that they were wrong, and it wasn't their brother who was coming, but it seemed that had been a foolish hope. Closing his eyes he steeled himself for what was to come. He did not have his sword, but that did not mean he was entirely helpless. Still, there was every possibility that Lucifer was simply in his shop to talk. Unlikely, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility.

"Hello, brother," he said mildly, turning to face the fallen archangel.

Words. Lucifer did not have time to indulge them (especially since there were no words befitting this situation) and to be frank, was not as fond of Aziraphale as he was of his other brothers enough to pay him the sort of respect that conversation allowed. Conversation would only delay the inevitable and Lucifer had had one too many delays as it were already.

He said nothing and the only sort of acknowledgment the other angel received was a slight nod before Lucifer rushed him, letting go of the sword's tip to allow it to fall out of his sleeve until the hilt was in his palm. He grabbed one of Aziraphale's shoulders with his free hand and raised the other, plunging the blade deep into the other man's body.

He hadn't expected that. He had, of course, expected that his brother might attack him at some point. He wasn't so naive as to think he wouldn't. And yet he had believed, right up until he felt the pain of the blade, that Lucifer would be honourable about it. This, he had felt, was beneath his brother. Apparently, he had given him too much credit.

He looked at his brother in shock, but didn't say anything, his hand gripping Lucifer's arm in an effort to keep from falling to the floor. So this was what the Lord had meant. He was not meant to destroy his brother, but to die by his hand. He closed his eyes against the realisation and the pain, both physical and emotional, he was feeling. He only hoped his death would serve some purpose.

"You will not succeed in this, little brother," he said, forcing the words out painfully. His hand went slack against the other angel's sleeve and he collapsed to the floor. The human guise slipped away, his wings spread out beneath his body on the floor as he could no longer put the effort into concealing them, and one of the only beings in Colligo who could stop Lucifer died.

Here, there was something to say as Lucifer regarded his brother with honest remorse. He hadn't wanted to do this, but they'd left him with little choice. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, brother." Despite not sharing Aziraphale's finale sentiments, Lucifer did not respond. There was no one to respond to, now that his older brother was gone.

Gone by his own hand.

He gave the body and the wings one last look-over, before placing the blade inside his coat and exiting the bookstore.