Chapter Text
"Aah, Uncle Michael!" Charlie chirps happily, a little torn between shaking his hand or offering a full hug as she bounces on her hooves. Had it been Lucifer, she may have jumped right into his arms, and the resemblance there is strong. But she keeps a respectful distance from him, giving a small bow of her head. Acknowledgement of his high status.
"Er- unless there's something better to call you..?"
Michael stands in the renovated lobby, not looking dissimilar to a marble statue with how still he is. His golden eyes scanning the space until they meet Charlie's. For a split second, the stoic facade cracks to give way to fleeting warmth. The resemblance between him and Lucifer is undeniable, though Michael's features seem sharper. Notably sterner.
"Charlotte." He finally says. There's surprise on his face at the way she addresses him, but he finds that he doesn't dislike it. "Uncle Michael is... acceptable."
"Please, call me Charlie."
He takes a measured step forward, hands clasped behind his back. Despite his attempt at maintaining distance, there's curiosity in his divine gaze. The look of someone who has watched from afar for too long, unsure of where exactly he stands in his niece's life.
If he stands there at all.
"You've grown since I last saw you. This is our first proper meeting, Charlie."
Michael's seems unsure whether to offer his hand or go in for a hug, himself, ultimately giving her a formal nod instead.
"Your establishment is unexpected. Much like you."
"Unexpected?" She asks, tilting her head as though the remark may make more sense at a 20 degree angle. And perhaps she's fishing for praise.
"How so?" She's heard it be called many things by many people, but 'unexpected' is new. And far kinder than she's used to hearing from Hell's denizens. But she has saved souls, and that's been her mission all along. If she could save at least one of her people from the yearly slaughter, it will all have been worth it. And it was!
Now look at her, getting to finally meet Lucifer's brother she's heard so much about but never seen in the flesh.
"A princess of Hell creating a rehabilitation hotel?" Michael gestures with one hand around them. "The daughter of Lucifer trying to save souls? I would say unexpected covers it."
He takes a few steps around her, not circling so much as repositioning himself to better observe both Charlie and the hotel lobby. Ever vigilant, as his position demands. "However, I've been watching you progress. You've actually succeeded where both Heaven and Hell thought you would fail."
Charlie doesn't ask if he thought she would fail as well, unsure if she would like the answer. Michael turns to face her directly.
"You really are nothing like your mother."
It's clearly meant as high praise from his perspective, and she takes it as such - her eyes going rather wide with surprise, then delight. She's never cared overmuch for Lilith, preferring her father's company in her absence. He's been warm enough for both parents.
"...Thank you." Charlie has to be focused on her form not changing as it usually does when she's running on high emotions, good or bad. Trying to hide the more infernal parts of herself, having no wings to readily flap.
She just hopes he's looking at her good side.
The archangel takes a step closer, picking up on her struggle. "You're trying to hide your true form." It's not a question, but an observation. "You shouldn't. It's part of who you are."
Relief and gratitude rolls through her at that simple sentiment. She had thought he might judge her for the Sinner running through her veins, and she wanted to make a good first impression!
"Your father never told you much about me, did he?" Michael's tone remains neutral, but his eyes give his feelings away. Hurt, quickly masked.
"I... suppose that's to be expected."
"That's not true, Uncle Michael." The princess chides, keeping a level voice. She points out a more private corner with an open palm. "Here, let's go. We can start wi~th…"
---
Her father's told her a fair few stories. About life before The Fall. About how badly he used to piss off Gabriel and Michael by keeping them up whenever he'd play the fiddle for too long.
How Michael was the more diligent one between them.
And on those extra lonely nights, after Lilith had left them behind and the drinks they shared had made him open up more, how much he missed his brother.
Charlie tells him all that she knows once they're in an adequately secluded space. By the time she's done talking, her crimson colored horns and her black tail have made themselves comfortably present. The tip flicking now and again in an almost feline manner.
Michael listens intently as Charlie speaks, the varying subtle emotions - surprise, nostalgia, and grief for the times they missed - all showing on his face. When she finishes and her demonic features have fully shown themselves, he looks at them with fascination rather than judgment.
"Oh, the fiddle..." He shakes his head, a genuine smile breaking through. "He was terrible at first. Absolutely awful. But he refused to stop practicing until he mastered it." He remembers how Gabriel threatened to break the damned thing on a near-weekly basis. He'd wanted to do the same when Gabriel first took up the trumpet.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"What else should you know?" He seems to really consider the question. "Your father and I... we weren't always at odds. We were close once. Inseparable."
Charlie notices as he looks... distant. Like he's looking into his own head rather the surrounding room.
"I didn't want him to fall. That's the part he probably didn't tell you. I begged him to reconsider, to just apologize. But Lucifer never could stand being told what to do. ...Especially not by me."
The princess listens, nodding along and finding a good place to chime in with her own experience. "I was sort of the same way when I started with this place. It wasn't always this big. He definitely didn't... always support me, when it came to the whole idea of redemption." Her tail curls around her own waist. Self-soothing.
"He said Sinners were the worst, and I just wanted him to see that they could still change, if they wanted to." And that's the hardest part, isn't it? Actually putting the work in to be redeemed, even when it's proven to pay off.
"It turned out he tried something similar before, but it hadn't worked. And he... didn't want to see me go through that pain too. I just wish he'd told me that first."
That revelation makes Michael's eyebrows raise. "Lucifer tried to redeem Sinners? He never told me that. Though I suppose we haven't exactly been on speaking terms for the last hundred years. Civil, but..."
There's pride in his voice that wouldn't sound out of place if it came from her father as he speaks to her. "But you succeeded where he failed. Perhaps because you approach it differently. You see the best in people. Lucifer..." He deliberates on his words, then continues. "Lucifer always saw the worst first. It made him an excellent judge, but not always the most compassionate one."
Michael hesitates, then reaches out slowly. Giving her all the opportunity in the world to back away. Seeing that she doesn't, he gently touches her shoulder. It's not a gesture he's used to in the slightest, but for his niece, he wants to at least try.
"Your father loves you more than anything in creation, Charlie. That much I know without having to ask him." He seems to remember his surroundings once those words leave his mouth. Pulling his hand back, looking slightly flustered by his own display of kindness.
Charlie finds herself having to blink back a suspicious stinging. She knows it on a deeper level already, yes, but to hear it from his lips is another matter altogether.
"Michael, please…"
Now she's really all sparkly-eyed. But the face he's pulling makes her laugh, saving her from nearly crying on the spot. "I won't tell.~" She lilts, her misty gaze giving way to a grin.
Michael's face cycles through different reactions once more at her quip. Embarrassment, relief, then amusement. He clears his throat.
"I appreciate your discretion." His words are serious, yet there's a telling glimmer in those golden eyes. "My reputation as the stern, unfeeling archangel is quite important to maintain."
His body language softens as he relaxes further. The resemblance to Lucifer becomes more apparent when he's not actively trying to appear imposing.
"Your father and I... we're more alike than either of us would care to admit." He glances at her again and a thought comes to him. "Have you ever tried manifesting wings? You should have the ability, given your lineage."
"Oh? Not yet, no. I haven't really had a reason to, and the only one that would know how down here is, well... Dad."
And now, Michael.
"I know they molted and itched when I was younger, but it was just one pair. I'm not even sure if I have all six of them like Dad does." Charlie laughs softly, looking down at her own hooves for a moment. Then back up to him with her head tilted slightly.
"Is that how it was for you?"
"You had molting periods? That's fascinating." He seems to catch himself getting too enthused and tempers his reaction. "Most nephilim don't develop wings until later, if at all. The fact that you experienced molting suggests you definitely have the capacity to again."
He rises from the edge of the bed and paces slightly. He looks far less restrained than he had been when he first walked through the door.
"Lucifer and I were born with all three pairs, but they weren't functional until we reached maturity. The itching was unbearable." He makes a face at the mere memory. "We used to take turns scratching each other's back where the wings connected. No one else could reach properly."
Michael slows, then stops his pacing altogether to face her.
"I could show you how to manifest them, if you'd like. It's not complicated, but it requires focus. Though your wings might be different from ours. That would be quite remarkable to see."
"That sounds better than what I went through when I was small. ...The imps and the hellhound servants didn't know how to care for angel wings, so when the feathers starting coming loose, they just..." Charlie makes a motion like she's plucking out a feather. Many of them at once, in fact. "Regardless of if they were actually ready to come out or not. Dad was furious when he found out."
It hadn't been all bad. She'd learned how to preen them with special oils with him, after he'd trimmed the feathers that couldn't be saved. Still, she'd always associated her wings with pain and itching after that experience, never soaring and flying. It… wasn't exactly the biggest motivator for her to actively try manifesting them again, especially when Lucifer was more than happy to carry her through the skies if he could help it, rather see her relive those memories. Eventually, she simply forgot how to after decades of disuse.
Michael's expression darkens considerably, righteous anger crossing his features. The air around him crackles with enough energy to make Charlie's hair raise.
"They plucked your--" He cuts himself off in his incredulity. "That's... barbaric. Sacrilege. Angel wings are incredibly sensitive. No wonder you haven't tried to manifest them since."
He takes a steadying breath, and the static dissipates.
"Your father was right to be angry. Wing grooming is sacred among angels. It's an act of trust and care." His voice softens. "I'm sorry you experienced that."
"It's alright, I promise. They don't work for him anymore."
"Good." Michael huffs. He'd have serious words with her father if they were still under his employ. "If you ever do decide to try again, I could help. Properly." The offer clearly means more than just casual assistance to him. "Angel wings need proper care, especially during molting. It's... it's something family should do for each other."
Charlie's eyes widen. The princess beaming as she realizes she's being called family by him. Something she hasn't had aside from Lucifer in years. Her tail uncurls from her waist where it had been to quickly wag behind her.
"You'd really do that..? For me? I'd like that a lot, Michael!"
Lunging forward, she wraps her arms around him in a heartfelt hug before either of them have time to overthink it. She tries to pull back when the archangel's posture goes stiff, having meant for it to be quick, but Michael's strong arms circling around her in reciprocation prevent her escape. After a few seconds, she fully relaxes into the embrace.
"Of course I would, Charlie." His cadence is softer than before. "You're my niece."
As he holds her against him, his hands subtly explore along her back, feeling for the telltale spots where wings would emerge from. His touch is careful and protective, knowing what she's gone through. He finds what he's searching for: six distinct points that feel warmer than the surrounding skin.
"You have all six of them. They're just... sleeping. But I can feel where they lie. Just like your father's and mine."
Michael reluctantly lets go, his complexion flushed a pale, angelic gold to compliment the cheek markings that run in the family. The last person he'd held that way was... probably Lucifer himself, before The Fall.
He's made his mind up on the matter.
"We should start soon. The process can take time, especially if they've been dormant for so long. I think you'll be surprised how quickly your body remembers."
"How much time do you have left here?" Charlie asks, giving him a small, hopeful smile.
"I've arranged for three days." He says it like someone who's never taken a day off in his life. That may very well be the case. "Gabriel is handling my duties. He'll complain about it for the next century, but he owes me."
The sly face he makes in that moment is jarringly like his brother's.