Lightning flashed across the blackened sky, casting fractured colors through the broken stained glass of the old church. The room inside was still, the kind of silence that made everything feel suspended in time. At the altar, a faint flicker of energy pulsed in the air like a weak heartbeat.
Lucifer sat slouched in the shadows, wings tattered and folded in. His hands trembled slightly, as though even resting was an effort. His eyes were dark, unfocused.
He hadn't said a word in hours.
Across from him, Jack stood quietly. His presence didn't demand attention, but it filled the space with something soft—reassurance, maybe. A kind of calm that made it easier to breathe.
"You're not broken," Jack said, his voice quiet but steady. "You're hurting. That's not the same. You can come back from this. If you want to."
Lucifer let out a long, slow breath that turned into a strained laugh.
"Do you have any idea what it's like to look at yourself and only see the worst parts?" he asked. His voice was rough, worn. "The Mark didn't just change me. It took what was already ugly in me and made it louder. It drowned out everything else. I thought I could fight it. I thought I was stronger. But I wasn't."
He looked at his hands, then closed them into fists, knuckles pale.
"I kept telling myself I had control. That every awful thing I did had a reason. That it was tactical, necessary, even noble in some twisted way. But it wasn't. It was me, giving in. It was easier to be cruel than to admit I was scared. And I hate that. I hate what I became."
Jack didn't interrupt. He let Lucifer speak, let it come out at its own pace.
"And Amara…" Lucifer shook his head, voice softer now. "She saw what I was turning into. She still tried to help. Still believed in me. But I couldn't admit I needed saving. So I made it worse. I chained her, hurt her, all because I couldn't face myself."
There was a long pause. Then, quietly:
"Chuck turned me into a weapon. But I made the choice to be used. That's on me."
Jack stepped forward, speaking gently. "Then make another choice. Right here. Right now. Choose to be better. You can still do that."
Lucifer's eyes met his. They looked different now. Not just tired—ashamed, scared, human.
"I want to try," he whispered.
Jack nodded and stepped closer, placing a hand on Lucifer's forehead. The air thickened, like the moment before a storm breaks. A soft blue light rose from Jack's hand, not bright, but steady—warm.
It wasn't violent or dramatic. It was slow, deliberate. A deep, careful untangling. Like pulling shards from a wound without making it bleed more.
Lucifer shuddered. His body jerked slightly as old memories surged—flashes of rage, guilt, moments he had buried too deep to name. They came one after another, washing over him until he couldn't hold onto anything but the pain.
The Mark of Cain—its cruel, corrupting grip—started to fall away. Piece by piece. Until the final echo of it burned out like a dying spark.
Silence filled the church.
Lucifer collapsed forward into Jack's arms. He was shaking, but not from fear or rage. Just... exhausted.
Above them, the wind stirred gently through the cracks in the roof. The sky beyond looked a little clearer.
And then, for the first time in a very long time, Lucifer cried.
Not out of pride. Not out of shame.
But because he felt something again.
And Jack stayed there, holding him, without saying a word.