"—an angel."

He finished his declaration quietly, the words senseless. He was so far away she would never hear. His feet were planted somewhere he hadn't been in thousands of years, a place he never expected to see under these circumstances… a room he didn't anticipate an invitation to anytime soon.

Or ever again.

Heaven.

It was exactly how he recalled it. Lucifer stood in front of the throne, eyes meeting his Father's for the first time since his fall. Beside Him sat Michael, in the seat that had been created for Lucifer. Anger simmered inside of him, every inch of him coiling and tightening, so tense he couldn't move. Literally.

His gaze drifted to his feet. Sigils were burned into the floor around him, the same markings that had not long ago tarnished his skin, trapping him in Hell. He laughed dryly under his breath. Un-fucking-believable. Imprisoned in Heaven.

Invited, but clearly not trusted. He was confined in a box of enchanted space, barred from stepping outside of it, of hurting anyone away from it.

Luce's eyes returned to the throne. He cocked an eyebrow in question, but he said nothing.

His Father stared back, calm, collected. His nonchalant demeanor only fueled Luce's rage. How dare He bring him here and confine him like a rabid animal needing caged. He was done being restrained.

"Do you have nothing to say, son?"

"Fuck you."

He spat the curse with everything in him, but it still wasn't enough for a reaction from Him. Michael, on the other hand, flinched.

"He that blasphemes the name of the Lord shall be put to death," Michael declared.

Luce turned to him. "Well, fuck you, too."

His Father slowly shook His head, with just one look making Luce feel like that same disgruntled disappointment he'd been back in the Garden of Eden. "You still hold onto so much anger."

"Can you blame me?"

Rhetorical question, but He answered anyway. "Yes."

"Good. Great. Glad we could have this talk. Now put me back where you got me from."

"Trust in The Lord with all your heart," Michael said, "and do not lean on your own understanding."

Luce needlessly blinked a few times and regarded his brother as he recited scripture. He'd had the good book quoted to him more times than he cared to count since he escaped the pit, like those words were supposed to mean something to him. He was getting tired of hearing it.

"Not a fan of literature?" He asked, hearing Luce's thoughts. Of course. He heard all, knew all, saw all... Luce was sure Michael could whip out a dozen scriptures stating just that.

"I'm more of a Stephen King fan."

"So you prefer fiction to reality?"

Luce shrugged a shoulder. "Reality is subjective. Down in the pit, it's all real."

Michael started to throw out yet another nugget of biblical wisdom, but their Father raised a hand to silence him.

"That's not what I wanted for you, son."

"But it's what you gave me," he replied. "So if you don't mind, I'd appreciate it if you'd put me back where you found me."

"I will happily return you to the lake of fire," Michael interjected. "It would be my pleasure."

"Your pleasure?" Luce asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Michael nodded in confirmation. "Nothing would please me more."

"Nothing?" Luce laughed mockingly. "I tell you, Mikey, if that's how you get your thrills these days, I suggest finding another angel to get your rocks off with. You know, since you got the last one de-winged."

Michael was up out of his seat, hastily approaching in the blink of an eye. He stopped right in front of Luce, mere inches of space between the two. Luce stood as still as a statue, just waiting for Michael to move a bit closer... just waiting for him to cross the sigils so he could get his hands on him.

"You did it to her," Michael growled. "You destroyed her."

"I'm not the one who tried to cast her into Hell."

"But it's your fault it happened!"

"Enough." Their Father's voice rang through the room, not raised at all, but it held all the force of a ferocious scream. "You two sound like bickering children... dare I say, like brothers."

Michael didn't seem to like that assessment and tried to speak up. "But—"

"I said that's enough," He said, waving beside the throne. "Take your seat, Michael."

Hesitantly, Michael retreated, sitting back down. Luce glared at him, his Father's words rubbing him the wrong way. Take your seat, Michael. That seat had been created for him, not Michael.

"It was," He said, once again hearing his thoughts. "But you forfeited it, giving up your place in Heaven."

"So why am I here then?" Luce asked. "Scold me, smite me, do whatever you want to do to me, but I'm done with this conversation, so get on with it or let me go."

His Father stared at him, contemplating. When He finally spoke, His words were quiet. "You may mean no harm to her, son, but you know what they say about good intentions."

In an instant, Lucifer was zapped away in another ball of bright white light, reappearing exactly where he had been standing in the motel room. As the room cleared around him, everything coming into focus, His final words ran through Lucifer's mind.

The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

In this case, probably literally.