Duke wrapped his fingers in Lucifer's shirt and sobbed. Openly, brokenly, in a way he hadn't done since well before his earliest memories. He cried to mourn his life, mostly disappointing and entirely too short, and his death, which he could only remember in snatches. He cried for the boy he'd been and the man that boy should have become if his lineage hadn't been poisoned so long ago.

And, underneath it all, he cried for Lucifer and Octavia. For one being here, holding him through all this, and the other being so far away, so utterly unreachable.