He's home, but home is empty. Heaven is closed for business, and the voices he had blindly hoped to hear are absent. Sam had been right. All of the angels are gone. Fallen. Johnny's not here, nor the TARDIS. Seth. Peter. Any of them.
His apartment rings with silence for a full week before he goes back to his old tricks. People here have souls, people here can attain heaven, so he can deal out justice like he had before without a tug at his moral center. He kills three businessmen before he gets sick of the game and starts doing other things...sending friendly illusionary dragons into central park, then not so friendly ones, covering every building with frosting like the trimming of a gingerbread New York - keeping himself occupied if only for the moment. He doesn't kill any demons. He doesn't want to be on their radar. They think he's dead; it's easy to let his actions be claimed by others.
He wants to go back, but he knows that this is where he should be. He should be trying to fix things here. He should force his way into heaven and kill the last angel alive. Metatron was the one that caused this and he doesn't deserve to be acting as God.
Nearly a month in, he's scribbling out sigils onto a notebook when he feels who's coming up the stairs. He's stuck to the spot, not moving at all until the knock at the door. When it happens, he pushes himself up and flings open the door, taking in the bedraggled dirty shape of his brother, then pushes forward and sets his hands on his shoulders. He feels a strange mix of emotions. Why is it always Lucifer? What makes him endure to be the only other, besides himself? In New York, before, and in New York, now, back home. He's here again, and it's a terrible relief. "I thought I was alone."
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His apartment rings with silence for a full week before he goes back to his old tricks. People here have souls, people here can attain heaven, so he can deal out justice like he had before without a tug at his moral center. He kills three businessmen before he gets sick of the game and starts doing other things...sending friendly illusionary dragons into central park, then not so friendly ones, covering every building with frosting like the trimming of a gingerbread New York - keeping himself occupied if only for the moment. He doesn't kill any demons. He doesn't want to be on their radar. They think he's dead; it's easy to let his actions be claimed by others.
He wants to go back, but he knows that this is where he should be. He should be trying to fix things here. He should force his way into heaven and kill the last angel alive. Metatron was the one that caused this and he doesn't deserve to be acting as God.
Nearly a month in, he's scribbling out sigils onto a notebook when he feels who's coming up the stairs. He's stuck to the spot, not moving at all until the knock at the door. When it happens, he pushes himself up and flings open the door, taking in the bedraggled dirty shape of his brother, then pushes forward and sets his hands on his shoulders. He feels a strange mix of emotions. Why is it always Lucifer? What makes him endure to be the only other, besides himself? In New York, before, and in New York, now, back home. He's here again, and it's a terrible relief. "I thought I was alone."