“Distraction is one of the easiest methods,” said Lucifer, swirling his drink in his hand in thought, “I will suspect Michael will send out his minions. I am certain he will send out Kate. So, I will toy with her.”

Pitch said, “The closer you are with your enemy, the better you can find and exploit their weakness.”

“Something like that,” grinned Lucifer. He stared out into the foggy day of Las Vegas and threw in his poker cards.

Pitch sighed and placed down his cards, “Stop letting me win.”

Lucifer gazed up to his friends, “I’m flattered you think I am that nice. I just suck at poker.”

Thomas Pitch looked at Lucifer’s two queens, two fives, and one nine. He shook his head, “You are the one who taught me how to play so well.” He looked at his three aces and two tens. He slowly cast his shimmering eyes on Lucifer, seeing him not care much. His champion was not a friend he once knew so well. He guessed many immortals lead to this path, but he could never think Lucifer was not the caring type. Yes, Lucifer was the big ugly Devil that people gasped in fear, quaked in their shoes, and have a dreaded sensation cross over all of them, but he was caring when people got to know him. He may not care about most things, but when he did care, he meant everything—like a gift he gave to, even a small gift to a person who wasn’t a friend yet, meant that person was of some importance to him. The smallest ask if they were feeling okay was a big response in his affectionate ways.

Pitch knew Lucifer at least that well. Not even the way he didn’t help others wasn’t the main reason Pitch saw in his uncaring friend, but the way he slumped his body and drank his wine as if it was water, not attentiveness much of the taste and his poster. The way he gazed over things as if he was shrugging them off. Even Pitch could feel some doubt as Lucifer now looked at him as if just a friend and nothing more.

Thomas Pitch would do anything to change Lucifer’s behavior. He loved Lucifer no matter what. But what he knew Lucifer as before and then now, he admired the Lucifer who was bitterly loving, even the angry love showed much tenderness to it, “Lucifer, are you happy?” Pitch questioned, not even thinking twice about what came out. He gulped down his asking and could feel his palms get sweaty. Fucking hell, Pitch, let him have space.

Lucifer turned his attention to Pitch and raised his eyebrow, “Am I happy?” He repeated the question and almost could feel the sentence rolling in his mouth. “No. I am not, why?” He asked this query without looking at his friend and dealt out another hand.

Pitch waited to answer until he picked up his cards, “I want you to feel happy again.”

Lucifer took his cards up, his expression a poker face, “When I fell from grace, I knew that happiness was never in my vocabulary.”

Pitch looked up startled to Lucifer, who in return gave him a questioning look, “Wait, so you have never been happy. Even with Abaddon?”

Lucifer picked up a card and put one down, “So, this poker game has turned into an interrogation now?”

The warlock could feel his heart pound against his chest like a hammer cracking down a nail. He couldn’t swallow his own words, “Maybe people care about you!”

Lucifer slammed his cards, and they flew faced down. He took a long swallow of his whiskey, “Pitch,” he stared at him, the Devil sitting like any other man, legs spread out in relaxation. Lucifer not being formal in his well-respected, usual self, “Pitch, what’s the point of these questions?”

Pitch let his tongue fly, “You act like a fucking human!” He threw up his hands, holding his cards tightly, “Act like...the Lucifer I knew. The one we all liked.”

Lucifer grinned cunningly, “Make your move, Pitch. I’m waiting.”

Pitch huffed out his annoyance, surprised Lucifer didn’t shoot a response back. He put two cards down and drew two. He grumbled, “Wanna make one more round?”

Lucifer nodded and placed one card down and picked one up. Pitch didn’t do anything, he kept his card. Lucifer said, “One, two, three.”

They put their cards down and Pitch stared down at Lucifer’s four aces, “You said that you suck at poker.”

Lucifer said, shuffling the cards in his hands, “I got you frustrated, so you carelessly showed your cards. Nice move, Pitch.”

Pitch looked at him in surprise, “Oh.”

Lucifer slide the cards into the small box and finished his drink. He stood up and said, “Pitch, don’t doubt who I am. I never complain about how you act.” He put his hand on his hips in a responsive thought and said, “We need to get moving.” He turned away, avoiding Pitch’s eyes, but Thomas Pitch saw a glimpse of hurt cross his friend’s face.

Pitch sighed, “Let’s go get that sword!” he tried to say the excitement and give some spirit in their small apartment room, but he knew it would be pointless. He punched himself for what he said to his friend. He had been so nice in asking if Lucifer was okay, over and over again, Lucifer always dodging the question like a bad aim of a shot. The warlock felt they were playing a game of Russian roulette. He always shoots random questions and sees if Lucifer would respond or not. Like the game, turn the wheel around of the empty case beside one bullet, and see if the next trigger would be the one that you got shot in the head.

Pitch guessed he would have to accept this new way of how Lucifer acted. He could tell his friend had gotten worse throughout the years.

He loved Lucifer no matter what. And that sentence was true. Nevertheless, in the back of his brain and the deepest parts of his heart and soul, he hoped that one day, his best friend, Lucifer, will be the Lucifer he could love to his fullest.

The Lucifer who gave a shit.

No Pitch, he cares about getting the sword. But ultimately, would that fill in that endless devastated hole? Pitch had his suspicions it would not.

So, if it’s not him or the weapon...then who or what?

For the first time, Pitch felt horribly guilty as he prayed, God, the unbounded love that you have, show mercy on my friend, on your son, Lucifer. I know you still love him, please, help him. Even though he fell from grace, you should understand, like any other parent, the pain your child is going through.

Pitch heard and felt nothing. Why did people pray to God when they in return, got nothing back? He could feel the venom in his heart, not to his heartbreaking friend, but to the Father who didn’t give a shit.

Yeah, laughing over your son for what he finally deserves, huh? Merciful God, my ass. Loving Father, fuck that. You are just a selfish bitch.

Pitch wanted to break into an angry fit of sobs. He knew he couldn’t fix his friend, that would be his own doing. He wished in all his heart, that Lucifer would love again, or give a damn about something.

He couldn’t help but look up at the foggy sky and wondered: God, are you even there?