I want Lucifer to go full-on devil, wings and deep roaring voice and all, in front of Dan. Not -to- him, but in the midst of heated battle, gearing up for a big final showdown. Another demon horde come to Earth intent on wreaking havoc, maybe.
Or, maybe, just another lone gunman aiming his weapon at Trixie. And this time, Lucifer will not let this scum get away unscathed.
Dan, horrified, lowers his own weapon and swallows thickly, but steps back and lets divine justice unfold, knowing beneath his abject pants-shitting terror that this monster, the actual winged Devil Himself, truly cares for Trixie and Chloe as much (if not even more) than Dan does.
Dan Knows ™ and Ella doesn’t, not yet, but Lucifer pisses off one of his siblings and receives a little divine justice in return, in the form of one seriously upset stomach. Dan, having been in the vicinity, suffers a little bit of residual effects, but the bulk of the wallop is aimed at Lucifer.
Also on AO3
“Man, you must have seriously pissed off somebody upstairs.”
Lucifer, thoroughly unamused by Dan’s glib tone (it had never really been amusing in the first place), wearily lifted his head from the trash can, mouth parted and slick as he caught his breath. “Yes, Daniel,” he croaked, grimacing as another cramp seized his insides, “and you’re the cherry atop my retribution sundae.”
The dry heave that followed did lessen the sting of Lucifer’s tone, but Dan winced as his own stomach twisted in anticipatory sympathy. He wasn’t feeling so hot, himself, but man…Lucifer sounded like he was dying. Maybe he was. Dan was still new to all this celestial stuff. From what he’d been told, it seemed Lucifer had seriously insulted one of his not-so-nice siblings, and had received some majorly fucked-up mojo in retaliation, taking the form of one (1) stomach flu from Hell. The powerful nature of this curse meant that it wasn’t cast without some bystander blowback (exhibit A: Dan’s own roiling guts he’d manage to tame somewhat with the aid of a fuckton of Tums), but it was pretty clear that the bulk of the badness was aimed right toward Lucifer. And it hadn’t missed its target.
“Maybe you should apologize,” Dan ventured, face still contorted in wary sympathy as Lucifer strained and coughed into the receptacle being held under his chin. “Y’know…if you haven’t already.”
Lucifer panted harshly, ragged and coarse, and lifted his gaze in a baleful glare. “Why didn’t I think of that? How…bloody astounding…” he trailed off into a feeble sigh of defeat, spitting into the can. Dan was starting to feel a little queasy himself, and he set his jaw with rigid determination, discreetly palming his own belly and looking away for a moment’s respite. One hand still held the trash can for Lucifer. Poor guy needed the help.
Outside the forensics lab, the precinct bustled with activity, uniformed officers and detectives milling about in a choreographed stream of organized lowkey chaos. Ella broke free from the tide and headed their way, her visage growing clearer amid the crowd as she approached the lab, reaching for the door.
“Shit,” muttered Dan at the same time she entered with a “Hey, guys—oh,” and stopped dead, eyes growing huge. “Lucifer! Oh, man, what happened to you?!”
Before Dan (or Lucifer, for that matter) could protest, Ella was crossing the room to hurriedly hover and rub Lucifer’s back, exposed beneath the taut white fabric of his sweat-soaked Burberry undershirt. “Oh, man, can I get you anything? Some water? Dan, get him some water, for crying out loud!”
“We tried that,” Dan informed her dully, eyes and tone bleak as he recalled the violent rejection. “Didn’t work out.”
“Oh,” Ella murmured once more, voice gone soft with motherly sympathy as she actually reached up to pet back Lucifer’s sweaty hair from his forehead. “Puking sucks hard, huh? What’s gotten into you? Did you eat at that new place down on Olvera for lunch? I heard the health department got called last week because one of the kitchen guys was taking raw pork chops and—”
“Ella,” Dan cut her off before she could finish, holding up a hand. “I think we get the picture. And I don’t think it was the place on Olvera.”
“Little further north,” came the weak reply from within the trash can, injected with an echo of irony. Gathering what little vestiges of dignity and strength he had left, Lucifer managed to straighten up, wipe his mouth with his handkerchief, and sniff with finality before nodding toward the evidence table. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Lopez, for turning your laboratory into a literal vomitorium.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Her warm smile was immediate and genuine, twisted with wry understanding. “We’ve all been there. When you gotta blow, you gotta blow, am I right?”
“Coulda put it a little less graphically,” Dan muttered, palm sliding back to his own stomach as he lowered the trash can to the floor, carefully avoiding glancing inside at its heavy contents. The nausea was mostly kept at bay, but he still felt some rather insidious cramping snaking through his gut. Damn, he hoped this wasn’t anything lasting. He had to go pick up Trixie later, and it was taco night. “You gonna make it, Lucifer?”
Lucifer, who was trying to regain his composure between reflexive hiccupping into his handkerchief and struggling to rise to his feet without swaying, cast Dan a smile entirely too forced for comfort. “Yes, Daniel, I’ll be fine.” He swallowed visibly, sweat still beading at his temples. “Thank you for the assistance. You’re a true bro.” With a distasteful glance down at the trash can, he reached down and picked up the offending receptacle. “I’ll just be taking this, and be on my way. Sorry, again, Miss Lopez.”
As they watched Lucifer – pukey trash can in hand, suit jacket folded over his arm like a butler’s towel, damp with sweat and still shaking – attempt to stride out of the room but manage more of a shuffle, Dan and Ella exchanged knowing glances, hers wary and his defeated.
“That isn’t catching, is it?” She demanded, brusquer now that the incapacitated consultant was gone. “’Cuz you’re lookin’ pret-ty green around the gills, compadre.”
Dan exhaled wearily, letting his shoulders slump and rubbing his stomach woefully. “Yeah, I’m not feelin’ so hot,” he admitted. “But Lucifer’s got it bad. Someone should go follow him, make sure he doesn’t pass out in the parking garage or try to drive himself home.”
“He’s definitely driving himself home,” Ella deadpanned, throwing a quick glance toward the door. “I’ll go see what’s up, maybe get him to a doctor? Has he been able to keep water down?”
Dan sighed again, closing his eyes as he realized the implications of Ella’s prodding and the inevitable awkward revelations to which it would lead. He wasn’t sure if Ella already knew about the divine (the actual presence of divinity here on Earth, not just the stories within her Bible), and he doubted Lucifer was in any possession of the diplomatic cognizance needed to guide her through such a journey.
“Wait,” he held out the hand again, placating this time. “I’ll go. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes holding the guy’s hair. Don’t think he’ll bother trying to pull that macho crap on me.”
And as Dan rose to his own feet, heading out the door, Ella huffed a little sigh of her own, turning back to the photos on the evidence table with a shake of her head. “Angels, man,” she muttered aloud. “What a bunch of dummies. Am I right, Ray-Ray?”
