I should really be prepping for a job interview but, instead, here we all are.

I have a vague idea where I'm going with this but I'm no sure how long it's going to be and it's a definitely a WIP, so please be patient with me. (Or don't - I tend to respond well to nagging.)

Please forgive any mistakes, once again, as this hasn't been Beta'd.

Lucifer has always prided himself on being unpredictable.

What was it?

The young rebel, his brothers had called him – had teased him before he'd been exiled.

But he finds no solace in this victory.

Oh, Uri. Not like this. Never like this.

His hands are still covered in blood, the thick red liquid starting to dry and cake into his skin. It mixes with the dirt as he digs, burying his fingers into the ground to pull out fistfuls of earth.

It's slow, inefficient, but he hasn't a shovel, and he couldn't just – he couldn't just leave his body there.

On display. Out in the open. He deserves more than just being left to rot and decay. No.

No.

His Mother had known a place, she'd said. Somewhere they could lay Uriel to rest, and she'd gone with Lucifer to collect him, all the way back to that desolate House of God but, once they'd arrived –

The Goddess of Creation had broken down at the sight of her son's lifeless body. Deep, inaudible sobs had shaken her frame as she'd stroked Uriel's hair, leaning close to speak soft, broken words against his brow.

She said she hadn't blamed him. But she didn't need to. Lucifer blamed himself.

The night was slowly bleeding away, creeping towards day and – he'd had no choice. He'd pulled her from the room. Sent her away.

His Mother had left, eventually, and it had been hard, left alone to carry his brother's dead weight through the empty church. Harder still to fold his lifeless body into the back of his demon's borrowed car.

Lucifer had driven slowly, taking care to travel through laneways and backstreets in the hopes of avoiding attention. The dark of night did little to conceal the figure in the back. Anybody could have seen, if they'd looked. Nobody had. A gift or a warning, he isn't sure, but the death of an angel – it's a dark deed, not meant for the eyes of man, that much he knows.

Uriel's own eyes, open and unseeing, had watched him on the drive, drained of life and full of judgement, until Lucifer had had to pull over under an overpass and, to his utter shame, had covered his brother's face with the cloth he'd lifted from the church.

It wasn't a burial cloth, but it would have to do.

They didn't – they didn't have traditions for this in the Silver City. Death was a folly that befell celestial beings when traveling through the mortal plane. It was like hitting the reset switch, finding yourself back home, back where you started. Death had been embarrassing yes, but it had never been final.

No. And now he's left without a proper way to lay his brother to rest. He has to take what he knows from human rites of passage – and how trivial they'd seemed mere hours ago. He hasn't a wooden box, but a cloth – well, that seems appropriate.

Deeper, he digs, reaching down past his elbows to claw at the dirt, heedless of the soil that clings to his sleeves.

He'll burn this suit anyway.

And Maze's car, probably.

A quick glance to his left and – deeper. Deeper. He has to be sure. Lucifer can't risk a divine body – proof of his misdeed – falling into mortal hands.

The dark of night hides the stain on the front of his brother's robes but the smell of blood – mixed with the damp earth – is thick in the air.

Uriel's face had become uncovered during the trek from the car. His head lolls to the side now, his glassy stare like a flame against Lucifer's back.

Lucifer can't bring himself to shift the sheet back – he deserves the reproachful look – but he digs faster.

What has he done?

He could have left this task to Maze, he knows, and she would have done this for him, even with her wrists broken, but his stupid, idiot brother was deserving of more than the demon's irreverence. He may be gone – no heaven, no hell, just gone – but he was still more than just –

Oh, but what has he done?

The first life that Lucifer has taken – was forced to take – and it is – was his brother. His own flesh. Finally, truly, the devil is no better than the darkest of souls sent to him for punishment.

The ground is slowly opening beneath him and he has to shift on his knees as the edges of the pit begin to crumble – perhaps it will swallow him along with his sibling?

But no. He's denied that level of mercy.

Supernatural strength, speed, stamina and still, the sky begins to lighten. It takes longer than Lucifer wants, sat in the open as he is, out in the middle of nowhere where anyone could be watching.

And – are the Heavens watching?

A few more handfuls until, at last, he has an opening large enough to lower his brother's body into. The pit will be deep enough to swallow Uriel's figure but not nearly enough to contain Lucifer's wretched conscience.

Lucifer sits back on his heels, stretches his aching muscles and takes a moment to simply breathe. And then slowly, carefully, he wraps the white sheet around his brother's remains.

Are there eyes looking down upon the scene even now? Does the devil have an audience as he buries his kin?

Or do they, like his Father, simply not care?

Lucifer has to jump down into the hole to lower his brother into the soil.

Pulling himself back out, Lucifer lets his sister's blade drop to the bottom, kicking it in with his shoe – he can barely look at it, never mind touch it.

He's struck for a moment – recalling another of the human's traditions – should he say something?

What can he say?

His heart is full of remorse, yes but – not regret.

He can't regret his decision – doesn't – just that he was forced to make it.

And, really, what does that say about the blackness of his own soul?

Wordlessly, the devil starts to push dirt into the opening and, slowly but surely, his brother's body disappears from his sight.

–

Before the sun has reached its peak in the sky Lucifer finds himself on the Detective's porch.

He's half naked, the smell of smoke lingering in his hair, and Chloe won't be pleased, he knows, but he'd had to burn away his brother's blood before they'd take it into evidence. If he'd stopped for a change of clothes, for more than a quick scrub of his hands and arms, he probably would have lost the courage to come.

As it is, he's struggling enough.

Lucifer raises his fist to knock – again – and, again, finds that he can't.

He is, however, rescued from his stalemate with the door when it swings open, the smiling face of the Detective's spawn on the other side.

"Lucifer!" The young girl's smile fades into a confused frown. Her greeting lacks her usual excitement – and, thankfully, her usual human-barnacle impersonation.

"Hello, Child. Is your mother home?"

"Trixie, what did I say about opening the door?" Chloe's exasperated call comes from somewhere deeper in the house.

Ignoring her mother, the young girl asks, "Why are you naked?"

He's saved from answering by Chloe's sudden appearance.

"Lucifer, what the hell!" she exclaims, slapping a hand over her daughter's eyes.

"Hello, Detective," Lucifer says, surprising himself at how even his voice sounds. This should be the hard part, he thinks, but he finds it to be surprisingly easy. "I've come to turn myself in."

–

(Yep, I'm not sure either. Reviews are appreciated.)