When had it all gone so wrong?

It had been the one question haunting Lucifer's thoughts ever since that globe of angelic glass had descended around him in Vox's warehouse. Had it been that moment, when he'd walked straight into a trap, fooled by Vox's cheap emulation of Charlie's voice? Had it been when he picked up the phone and followed those coordinates, so eager to make it up to his brilliant, precious daughter? Or had it been when he'd descended to threaten Vox the day before, in front of all of Hell, when Vox had already learned that Lucifer was powerless to strike down sinners? He'd only ever fanned the flames of that overzealous sinner's little cult tactics.

Lucifer didn't know. He wasn't particularly in the mood to entertain the spiralling thoughts at the present moment, anyway. He was in far too much discomfort — nerves alight with pain, limbs heavy with fatigue, pride burning.

His teetered. He shot out a hand to catch himself against the wall of the hallway he was shambling down, dragging a smear of glistening aureate blood on the pristine wallpaper.

A wince born out of the sharp ache of his weeping wounds racked his body.

Charlie's hotel hadn't been his first choice when he'd decided to go to ground. Instead, on an instinctual whim, he'd returned home, somewhere he knew no one would find him.

Somewhere he knew he'd be safe to blob out for a while, knock out that soul-deep fatigue, recuperate his stolen power, and let his wounds heal.

He found the door he'd been seeking and opened it with all his weight against the handle. The familiar interior of his bedroom stared back at him, cluttered with the yellow masses of rubber ducks as it was, but — thank the firmament — it was not as empty as he'd feared it to be.

They were there. {{user}}. Lucifer almost melted with relief at the sight of them. His smile turned wobbly when they turned at the creak of the door and graced him with that far too worried look on their face. Oh, they knew. Anyone familiar with Lucifer's power would recognise the nature of the energy Vox's weapon was operating.

"Lucifer, there you are...!"

"Hey..."

The door abandoned, Lucifer took a step forward on his own two feet and immediately stumbled. This time, warm arms caught his fall, knocking his hat from his messy head of hair. Embarrassment generously coloured his neck and cheeks a gentle gold. He wasn't that hurt. Just limbs of lead. He'd be fine... right? He was made of tougher stuff than that.

"Sure made a good fool out of myself out there, huh?" Lucifer jested, but what was intended to be mirth was all sullen self-ridicule and no cheer. He leaned into the arms wound around his person. "I'm sorry, I-I... I shouldn't have... have done that. Gone there, I mean. I just wanted to make it right."