Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there was something Alastor was most immediately known for, it was his endless sadism. It was the most readily apparent thing you could see from him; even from just a glance at his too-rabid smiles it was clear the man was a fan of pain and all it wrought upon its victims, only encouraged by pleas for mercy rather than swayed. It was to many the most frightening thing about him when in combination with his sheer overwhelming strength - most denizens of Hell were desensitized to pain, or found the adrenalin of a fight or kill exhilarating, but few actively sought it, saw it as its own goal. A man that wanted to hurt you utterly for its own sake and had the ability to do so no matter what you did was something out of many nightmares.

It was funny then, that for all he had relished in agony and stress and fear, for all that he had even himself dabbled in a bit of it in his pre-life as a child, bashing himself into walls and slamming his hands in drawers, he found this current pain so utterly intolerable.

Adam's attack had taken him completely off his guard, and without even the broken part of his cane to use as defense he had taken the entire force of the blow onto his chest - and boy could he feel it. Slipping into the shadows to the sound of Adam's grating laughter had granted him a short period of oblivion as his shadow and threads of magic tugged him further away, caught in the whirlwind of darkness and frustration, but the moment he re-emerged some space away he had doubled over in agony, and for once in his life he couldn't find even a speck of humour in the ordeal.

Every breath ached and rattled in his ribcage, and a fumbling hand across his midriff to check for breaks was no comfort, sparks of pain rattling through him even some room away from the gash. His head felt gummy and stuffed full of cotton, his neck stiff from where he had remembered hitting it when he had flown back into that wall, the sickening snap sound of his head jerking back reverberating in his ears and nearly making him flinch. At a test, he could barely even move it, and his arms trembled trying to feel at the area. At the very least his head itself seemed undamaged, no sore spot or dampness, but it was a cold comfort in the face of his true problem - the large slice in his front.

Arcing up from the right-side of his midriff to the left of his chest just above his heart it continued to thrum with such alacrity he struggled to think coherently through it, every pulse of pain managing to interrupt his internal monologue every time, flashes of ‘pain, pain, pain’ muddling him up and making him feel as though he were forcing his mind through cement. At the very least he didn't believe he had punctured any organs, though he was sure he had damaged something, but more pressingly the dark blood continued to ooze out through his torn coat, and with nothing but his hands to stifle it with his panic only mounted further. The cold of the stone below sept through the fabric of his trousers into his skin, his head throbbed like a drum being beat, and ambient smoke felt like it shredded at his already bruised lungs.

‘Think, damn you!’ He hissed mentally, deaf to the shouting all around him. He had no care for the lot of them anymore, he refused to die for these people, he refused to die AT ALL. ‘Stop whimpering like a child and fix this mess before the lot of them see you!’

Next to him his shadow chittered in concern, expression drawn into a grave sadness the man himself would not be caught dead portraying, and prompted him with a strange gesture. It took him a few seconds to comprehend.

‘Lovely.’ He thought grimly as the shadow mimed pulling a thread to and fro. ‘More pain, then. Cheer up old chap, you've had worse.’

And this was how Alastor stitched himself up with his own faltering magic on the battlefield, cowering behind a wreck, without any anesthesia or anything resembling a formal check-up beyond his stumbling fingers applying pressure, panting and gasping but never allowing his smile to drop, only allowing his hands to tremble when the pain reached a crescendo that meant he had to choose between that or screaming.

He wasn't a medic, or trained, and he'd never had to work with something of this severity before. It was sloppy and pulled horribly as he staggered off, constantly having to check if it had torn and re-opened… but it held. Perhaps he could get Rosie to look at it later, but the shame of being seen as weak in front of her, as irrational as it was, made him push away the thought. Their dynamic… when he thought of her bent over him providing medical care and speaking in her kinder tones, he could only see and hear another, a blurry figure in a childhood bedroom. First, he would see how well his work held.

Not once did his shadow stop chittering, anxiety radiating off it in waves - not until he dispelled it with an angry snap of his fingers.

When he appeared again it was like nothing had happened. Having procured a new coat and cane (a temporary one, as his normal one was still, ah, recuperating) that he was most certainly not using for it’s proper use for once, if asked, with newly brushed hair and a flawless smile, he was unquestionable. Or to the truth, he was certainly questioned (Charlie cried a bit), but a quick little lie and a pat on her back did wonders. (And also fulfilled the growing paternal urge niggling into his chest. Sue him, the girl was infectious, which was why he needed to do better at not being infected by it!) Focus moved to celebration, or in regards to Pentious a moment of respectful mourning, and all attention was drawn away from him at last.

…well, not all of it.

From the middle of the group that stood and gazed up at the newly reconstructed hotel, Lucifer himself sized the radio demon up dubiously.

As the biblical progenitor of lies himself he had plenty of experience in the craft, and that included a skill in spotting it as well as spreading it. The other man stank of deceit, but not maliciously. And so he watched, and waited, and was finally rewarded when Alastor gave the act just a little as everyone looked away from him. His eye twitched, his jaw clenched, and his hand shook at his side as though it was eager to move, to hold at something, and for a moment he half lifted it, fingers curled ready to grab.

Then Husk chortled something - an unlikely sound from the usually sour bartender, though that wasn't something Lucifer knew personally as he'd spoken to the man all of zero times and only overheard some of his dialogue with the others - and elbowed Alastor in the side viciously. Lucifer blinked in surprise as he saw the cannibalistic deal-maker barely swallow back what might have been a gasp if he'd let it, hand jerking straight back to his side, responding to the cat demon as though nothing was wrong.

What was just as interesting as all of this was that Husk himself squinted in suspicion at the taller man, opened his mouth to push it, but had to let it go for frustration when Alastor immediately pulled at one of his whiskers, Husk batting his hands away and stalking to go be by Angel who looked all the happier for it. Alastor only looked relieved, but didn't falter again for the rest of the evening.

Odd. He filed all of it away for later. Later, he could confront Alastor, perhaps confront them both. For now, he would thrive in the celebration, the miracle that besides that funny little snake sinner no one had been greviously hurt.

It was almost too good to be true!

Chapter Text

Alastor felt surreal.

That was the point things had reached. Both himself and the world around him felt utterly unreal.

Had you asked him about his pain tolerance before this entire ordeal (and had you gotten him to answer truthfully, which was an endeavour all within itself) he would have happily told you it was rather high. Better than most he'd known in life, and most in death to boot! He'd once seen Husker drop a glass onto his foot and laughed for several minutes as the beleaguered bartender swore like a sailor as he hopped on his good foot and nursed the feeling, and only stopped when the feline had grumbled something about how ‘you wouldn't be laughing if it was you’. Promptly the radio demon grabbed one of Husk’s little table knives, placed his hand down flat upon the barside, and plunged the blade into the back of his hand without a moment's regret or hesitation.

The cat had been dumbstruck, babbling, sending him straight back into peals of laughter uncaring of the buzzing shoots of pain in his palm. Ha!

By golly, to have that feeling again, to be able to feel the pain but able to disregard it entirely for the sake of a good show and a good laugh. What he'd give for it in the current moment. Instead, unable to truly dissociate, his mind stayed but his perception frayed, everything swimming around him. The lights above bore into his retinas and burned spots behind his eyelids whenever he blinked, the ordinarily quite pleasant sound of the acoustics grating his ears. It took all he had to not allow them to lay flat against his head. Now that would give the game away.

Certainly, perhaps his agony could subside slightly if he allowed himself the kindness to react to it, to grimace and spit curses and double over at the middle. Surely his upright uptight demeanor only made what he felt internally worse. But then he thought of the consequences of such actions - of Charlie rushing to his side and her tones of concern and stress, the pity in her eyes - of Husk's scoffing and disinterest, of Lucifer's mockery, and the idea was vastly worse than the pain.

He did not get hurt for them. He did not nearly die for them, for these ungrateful people who could do nothing for him, who would never do the same in return, and he'd sooner die from this than let them believe he had.

‘Then why did you fight Adam?’ His shadow mused, dispelled of its form but not gone from him entirely. ’You knew you could not win against an angel, and especially not the First Man. You could have just left. But you didn't.’

‘I would not have fled.’ Alastor thought icily, bristling. Around him the room bustled, continually unaware. Charlie's father was healing a cut on her face, the wound healing gold before it vanished. He dearly envied such an ability. ‘Killing that man would have been the greatest success of my life. I would have been the most feared and revered being in all of Hell. Everything I do has been for myself. It always will be.’

There was no response to that, only a light feeling of pity. Alastor ground his teeth. If it wasn't to be Charlie, his own magic would demean him.

Speak of the devil's daughter - “Alastor!” Charlie chirped, having changed back into her regular attire, though her crimson blazer was absent, hair tied loosely, nearly looking… disheveled. Up close he could spot all of the little grazes and cuts she'd accrued, the ones they'd obviously not deemed worth healing magically. It was irritating how relieving it felt to see her so unharmed. “Alastor, have you seen your new room?”

‘New room?’ Was his hesitant repetition, before his expression brightened. Ah, yes. "Indeed! I caught sight before we entered, though I've not had the chance to pop up!” This was a good excuse to slip away. Thank you, Charlotte. “I don't suppose you’ll mind if I excuse myself to take a look.”

It was not a question; he didn't need her permission. Still, it was granted, and he left.

He made it only a few steps out of view before his breathing broke uneven and he had to return to the shadows to make the rest of the way.

…

“Is he acting weird?” Charlie wondered aloud, peering after him but not following, hands on her hips and expression inquisitive. When he rounded the corner and out of sight she slumped, uncertain. “I guess I wouldn't know, since I still don't know him that well. But something feels… off.” There was a buzzing in her head, a warning like something was wrong, but she couldn't tell why or from where it came. The feeling had worsened when she'd approached Alastor, but he seemed fine.

“Everything about that guy is ‘off’” Vaggie argued as she passed by, shouldering her girlfriend affectionately before leaning against her, soothed by the warmth after a cold and harsh day. “Weirdo probably doesn't even know how to be normal anymore, if he ever even did. Plus, didn't he face off against Adam on his own at the start? Even if he didn't get hurt, he's probably pretty tired.”

“I wonder about that.” The princess worried at her lip as she accepted the half-embrace, noticing from the corner of her eye that her father had stood as well and was looking at her with an expression she either couldn't read or was too tired to. Heavens damned, she was tired. “Adam came back to us, remember, and we couldn't see Alastor anywhere, not until after everything was over. I thought… I thought maybe he'd gotten really hurt. I've got this, uh, this thing? From dad?” She glanced back at her father and saw him perk up curiously. Smiling, she tapped her head. “I can kinda sense people, or their intentions at least. It's why I even let Alastor stay with us to begin with, he was… deceptive, and mean, but it didn't really seem like he wanted to hurt us. And when we were fighting today I was too busy to think about that, obviously. But for a moment, in the chaos of everything… I thought I could feel him panic.” Charlie swallowed, thinking back. Everything had been overloading her senses then, and ‘panic’ was all around her, not needing to be sensed, clear as day painted on every face. Yet for a moment she had felt it from him, clear and sharp and nearly feral, and it had been such a shock that it had broken through the din of the rest and nearly made her hesitate, nearly gotten her hurt.

Vaggie remained unmoved, only really listening because it was Charlie that was speaking, the disgraced angel not caring one iota about Alastor herself. Not after all his mockery, his trickery. Whether he lived or died was all the same to her, but she knew Charlie felt differently. “Well, anyone would be freaked going against that guy, even him. Let's just give him a bit of space to decompress, I'm sure he'll go back to being the regular amount of weird tomorrow.” Re-maneuvering herself to throw an arm over her girlfriend's shoulder she ran her hand through her golden hair, feeling the way Charlie relaxed even further into the touch before going outright boneless. Evidently she was exhausted from today - and who could blame her? “C'mon hun, I think the same can be said for you. Let's get you a nice lie down.”

“M'kay.” Charlie sighed, eyelids drooping slightly. “And… it'll be okay. Even if he is hurt and he's just not telling us, dad can always patch him up.” She wrapped an arm around Vaggie's waist and let herself be dragged along.

“Huh?” Lucifer looked up abruptly at the mention of his name, having slowly zoned out during the exchange. Perhaps he too was more beat than he realized, but then, depression often made him feel drained and weary to the bone, so he couldn't say it made much difference. Even the soreness he felt wasn't unusual; with Lilith gone and the bed cold and empty, even all of these years later he slept oddly, contorting In his sleep to seek out a warmth that wasn't there. It'd be an impetus to move on and find another body to fill his bed if the mere idea of that didn't make him feel even worse.

As his daughter's words sunk in and he realized who the ‘he’ of the subject was, his face filled with righteous offense. “Hey, I'm not gonna play nursemaid for that guy! Don't promise that!”

“I din't promise anythin’!” Charlie protested, exhaustion slurring the edges of her words slightly as Vaggie chuckled and continued dragging her away, her shoes skidding and stumbling against the plush carpet. “I jus’ said you could! And c'mon dad, be reas'nble, he fought for the hotel too!”

“He fought me first!” Lucifer protested, but got no response back as both of them rounded the corner, leaving him alone with his thoughts. By the bar was those two furry demons, Husker and the spider, whilst the strange gremlin-esque woman (Kristi? Minty? Whatever.) had vanished some time ago to ‘sniff out any potential flaws in the building’. Whether she meant construction or organization or cleanliness he didn't know and hadn't cared to ask, as while he may have normally found offense in what she Implied of his handiwork, he was honestly too endeared with the lot of them after today to take anything they said to heart.

…besides Alastor. Man, fuck that guy! Why would Charlie go and say Lucifer could go treat him, like he was some kind of war doctor and not the King of Hell. He only healed her because she was his daughter!

Ah, he supposed he'd helped Vaggie pull shrapnel from her wings and healed a particularly nasty gash on her leg,

And oh, maybe he'd helped Angel re-set one of his arms that had been jolted unpleasantly,

And possibly, maybe, he'd been staring that cat fellow down a couple of times today to see if he too needed assistance, only getting increasingly embarassed when he was met with looks that started at wary confusion and swiftly became the eye-squint version of ‘you fucking weirdo, what now?’

The irony for the lord of darkness, the embodiment of evil, the villain of many religions and innumerable stories to be so concerned about these little people. A few years ago, maybe he wouldn't have been. Maybe he would have been happily caught up in his wife, in his dreams, in the lies he told himself. But things… things had changed. Things had changed a lot.

A sigh. Maybe he should too. Maybe he could set his pride aside and just go see how that bastard was doing. If he started anything, Lucifer could simply slam the door in his stupid smirking face and leave him to deal with whatever injuries he had alone. And then maybe he'd die from them and no longer be around to threaten Lucifer's feelings of security in his relationship with his remaining family! Sounds like a plan!

“You good?” Came Husk’s, erm, surprisingly sexy voice (look, Lucifer was at least at the stage of the divorce where he could admit when someone had something attractive about them!) from the bar, Angel beside him glancing between them with open interest. “I think I saw the full spectrum of emotion cross your face just then, an’ I’m not sure I like the one it ended on.”

The evil smirk on Lucifer's face fell into a pout.

“Look man, if you're gonna go mess with my boss, could you not?” Husk sighed, shockingly brave for someone across from the ruler of Hell. That, or he had pitifully underdeveloped survival instincts. Or he was suicidal. Actually, for a guy that was now throwing back a double of vodka in-between words like it was fruit candies, that was probably it. “He's been alright today, and I know damn well he'll throw a hissy fit if someone interrupts his nap or whatever he does up there, especially since you two are already at each other's throats. Not sure Char will be happy if another hole gets blown out of the place so soon.”

“It'll be fine!” Lucifer rolled his eyes, still edging toward the staircase the rest had disappeared up. “I can always make a new wall. And I'm not planning on ‘messing’ with him, my delightful daughter has commandeered me into making sure he's not, I don't know, hacking up an angelic arrow from his throat or some shit, I guess.”

That pulled forth that interesting reaction from earlier, where Husk's face stayed apprehensive but became slightly more knowing. Angel still looked clueless, but seemingly content to just take dainty sips from an odd drink in his hand. It didn't look like anything Lucifer had ever seen - a custom one perhaps? And it was blush-pink too - ah, ok. Ok. That was what was going on between those two. Right. Makes sense.

…Aw, so the kitty was taken?

“He seemed normal.” Husk muttered in his deep baritone, brow furrowed like he was trying to remember something. “I actually got a look at when he went down. It looked pretty rough, but then I had more pressing shit to deal with, and next I look he's fucked off into oblivion. Now he shows up like nothing's wrong after dipping for half a day, and every time I poke him he looks like he's halfway between throwing up on me or screaming his head off.” At that Angel snickered, likely imagining the sight of either. They did feel surreal, Alastor held himself with such an unflappable aura it felt bizarre to imagine him so compromised.

“When he ‘went down’?” Lucifer questioned.

“Yeah.” Husk spun Angel's straw around to an indignant ‘hey!’ from the spider and took an indulgent sip, before- “Adam got his ass real good. I couldn't see shit of it but I could tell there was an impact, an’ it was right before he vanished. But like, he's standing and shit, so maybe it's less bad than it looked.”

Fuck me, Lucifer thought, for once not because of the other man's accent but because of the words they conveyed. As much of a bratty little shit as the redhead was, Lucifer still winced in sympathy at the thought of taking Adam's strikes head-on. But as Husk said, he stood, he laughed, so surely it had to be a glancing blow, and he'd just ran off because he was a huge pussy?

Then… perhaps it was nothing to worry about. Problem solved, no need for him to pretend he gave a shit about the radio demon for 5 seconds?

Sighhh. Charlie was going to kill him if he didn't at least ask. Or worst, she'd give him her puppy dog eyes and he'd feel the emotional agony of his fall tenfold. God, those were too powerful. “I may as well ask so I can say I did. If he lies it's his own fault.”

“True.” Husk relented, the feeling of overwhelming apathy emanating from the bartender returning as he returned to whatever he had been chatting about with Angel Dust before. The chemistry was potent, a clear and obvious romance forming if that hadn't been the case already. It was cute, he supposed. It also reminded him of the state of his own pitiful love life, just as most things did, and he made his way up before those feelings could swallow him whole.

At first it was a slow and casual pace, all too aware of the strain his body was feeling after so much activity following a near decade spent mostly in bed, but something stopped him. A drop of blood. It was tiny, a mere speck, but the king could say for a fact that neither Charlie nor Vaggie had had a single open wound before he'd sent them both off. So that only left the obvious. Lucifer stared up at the stretching stairs beyond him, thought back to how high up he'd chosen to put the overlord's room, thought of the kind of injury that might still be bleeding after a full day's time, and then snapped his fingers to teleport.

…

Alastor couldn't breathe. Truly he couldn't.

The world continued to spin. Every breath seemed to rip his chest open again, no matter how shallow, his bruised ribs scraping painfully against his skin. Overwhelming dizziness kept him from staggering to his ensuite mirror to assess the trouble more accurately, and his heart rate was too quick to count, a butterfly in a hurricane. One of the stitches must have torn, he thought, staring down at the red patch spreading at the front of his coat. Thankfully it of course blended in decently well, but it was still an alarming amount. The deer demon had bent ever so slightly at the waist to open his door, and that had apparently been enough. His magic was exhausted after today, and with his concentration so thoroughly menaced by what was likely a concussion, there wasn't a hope in Hell to rethread it.

Perhaps he could make do with bandages? Did he even have any nearby? His shadow could be sent out to retrieve them, but it as well faced the risk of vanishing if his powers ran empty.

It hardly mattered, he had no other option save for using the bedsheets. It was worth a try.

Blood leaked through the gaps in his fingers when he put his hand to his chest, trying vainly to hold it together with just his digits through the cloth, rising as slowly from his slumped position as he could, sweat soaking his hair to his face. Reaching out, he tried to grasp the thread that held his soul to him, that allowed him to call upon his shadow. What was normally as easy as breathing now became as strenuous as that activity had become, a version of pins and needles that was infinitely more excruciating shooting through his spine. Bit by bit, it crawled out from the darkness beneath his form.

‘Ngh…’

He sat up.

The shadow popped out from beneath him in full, mouth already open like it wanted to warn him.

Air rushed through him like he had been winded, but he hadn't been struck. Instead, he felt something rip, snap, burst open.

His hand became slippery at his chest. Fuck.

The shadow abandoned any mission of bandage acquisition, rushing to his side and hissing. Fuck.

A knock at the door.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

‘I could be in bed right now’, Lucifer thought as he leant down to massage his sore calves. They were practically whining at him to rest instead of continuing to strain them standing so upright after such a day. ‘I could be in bed, or watching television, or making something, but no. What am I doing instead? Waiting for this clown to open up.’

A deep sigh that was probably far too dramatic for the situation.

He'd been nice, really - he'd knocked politely, a standard one-two with just his knuckles, not too loud in case Husk had been correct in presuming his master would be resting. The only response that had garnered was some strange grumbled response that was impossible to parse individual words from. And so he'd waited and whistled a jaunty little circus tune, hopping from foot to foot with the expectation the other would get off his ass and greet the literal royalty at his door.

Instead, the only further noises had just been… suspect.

Nothing yet that suggested pain, though that was hard to judge, but plenty of suggestive rummaging and rifling. The clattering sounds of several small things hitting the floor and landing atop each other, a drawer being clumsily palmed open and then shut as if the doer was intoxicated, pattering footsteps that fell uneven and unsteady.

Really, it all more implied Alastor was sloshed than injured, but the man hadn't had the time to get so inebriated.

A sound hit right after Lucifer mused this, and it was so loud and so close to him that the fallen angel actually physically jumped, recoiling at the expressive bang! that hit the wall just in front and to his left, reverberating through the hallway. Staring ahead in alarm and unable to simply teleport in to clarify things - the redheaded moron had cloaked his lodging in occult energy so thick that even Lucifer himself balked at the prospect of needing to cast magic in it - the king pulled himself together, wiped the stunned look from his face and marched the two steps back up to the door, banging against it with much more urgency.

“Hey, open up already! I don't know if you think you're being subtle, but you really aren't, so why not drop the pretense and save us both some time?!”

Shuffling at the wall, pressed against it, though what must be Alastor didn't make any effort to lift himself. Perhaps he couldn't. When the overlord finally responded, it was strained and fractured, interlaced with deep static.

“Will you just- come back- LATER?” Alastor snapped, so close now that even with the thick wood and plaster between them it felt enough like they were face-to-face.

The white noise overloading his words only got worse with every one, and the cannibal must have realized that when he cut himself short. While a technical stranger to Lucifer yet, their antagonistic first meeting being as brief as it was enraging, the king knew it wasn't a good sign for the other to be doing so poorly at disguising his weakness.

Still, no need to inject any faux-concern into his own voice. No need to lie like he cared.

"Sorry, no can do!" Lucifer tsked, whirling his cane around before setting it down and leaning on the apple-moulded topper. As much as he loathed that the position infamously made his short stature even more pronounced, it gave his aching feet a moment of rest. "Char seemed to think you needed a hand, and I got roped in! Believe you me, I don't want to do you any favours more than you want me doing them, why drag this out?! I'm just going to wait here until you open up!”

Another shifting, the sound of a body shuffling itself closer to the door but still unable to separate from the surface it pressed against. Actually, was that blood he could smell?

"No- than̸̡̛̩̺̜͇̟͔͖̣͍̲̹͆͐͗̎̋̌̕͘͘͜͝͠ķ̵̘̬̺̯̖͖̞̮̲̜̠̗̜̰͇͛́͆ ̵͍͎́͐̀͗̇̉̌͛̇͌̓̆́̐͠ͅy̷̡̠̪͚̮̙͓̝͛̋̐̂͋͒̊̆͋͠͝͝ớ̸̢̧̡̢̛̛̫̰͖̖͍̪̦̞̜̤̥̻̮̝̬̬̬͇̲̩̜̯͓̥̭̖̥̠̮̲̘͕͒̈͑̀̿̾̄͋̄̃͆̍̂̎̍̃͂́̐͆̂̂̿̕͝ư̸̡̨̛̛̥̞̹͈̹̫̙̤͇͉̥̳͙̅̾̈̌̀͗̅̐̔̀̓͛̀̈́̄̈́͌̂̂̍̆̈́͌̍̈̈́͑̈́̾̋̑̏̏̎͂̄̆̈́̉̅̄͆̈́̈̂̽͑͌̕̚͘͝͝!̶̢̢̧̢̢̡̭̰͔̥͓͓̤̰̫̼̻̞̭̱̹̳̞̥̻͚͈͕͕̙̲̳̹͍̥̦̠͍̤͇͈̬̼̟͎̲̫̪͎̰͈͙̈́̉̕ͅ" Alastor snarled, and now his voice crackled.so horribly it almost hurt to listen to. It seemed like he was struggling to even speak.

The deep radio static brought back a tinge of nostalgia, actually - evolving technology had always interested Lucifer, so the devil had made a light past time out of keeping up with it. When he'd heard about the invention of radios he'd been fascinated, tuning into the human world, and, well-

Crackling military frequency. Idle celebrity gossip so basic it could strip paint. War updates. Sometimes, the strangely jovial transatlantic accent of a young reporter explaining that there had been two more deaths on the bayou, that's right, the so-dubbed ‘wendigo of the woods’ has struck again-!

Awful shit. Humans were nasty sometimes. Stubborn and hardy, at least.

Speaking of nasty stubborn bitches-

Thwacking the wall with his cane hard enough to rip through a layer of the decorative paper, Lucifer relished the startled jolt he could feel from Alastor's presence. A brightness so fake and synthetic you could make it the top bestseller in commercial America injected into the devil's tone. “Tick tock, open up asshole! I told you, I'm not going! You're definitely about to drop in there, and we both know I'm the qualified one here to treat that. Or do you just enjoy pain that much?”

“Qualified in what, exactly?” Alastor shot back with surprising speed, gaining confidence in his tone even as it strained. “Do enlighten me! Qualified to waste my time?! Qualified to waste your own, your daughters too? Certainly you musn’t be qualified to be ruling over your own kingdom, or you'd have done so in the past, how long, seven years?”

Lucifer felt his eyes burn, horns threatening to poke from his forehead. "Ha-ha-ha. Very funny. I'm going to come in now, and if you don't shut the fuck up I'll break your ribs instead of healing them.” as he spoke, he compounded this point by stepping to the door, placing his hand on the shining brass knob, and with a murmur disregarded any wards and locks to start to push the door open.

It slammed shut.

He blinked unevenly, like a frog.

It had slammed shut. In his face. With his hand still on the handle. Alastor had had the nerve to slam a door in his fucking face.

At least the cannibal certainly hadn't anticipated the blast of angelic energy that followed, bursting that blasted door from it's hinges and sending it on a collision course with half the room's furniture until it snapped into the opposing wall and hit the floor with a supremely satisfying CRASH. Strangely enough it appeared to have taken something with it. Said something had evidently been stood behind the door, perhaps the culprit that had shut it in his face - a peculiar black figure that wasn't particularly recognizable. It hardly mattered; the poor thing was crushed beneath a door.

A moment was taken to breathe after such exertion, and Lucifer huffed out a small flame, the flicker of element flooded with the deadly sin of Wrath. Dusting off the front of his coat (wood chips were not ornamental) and letting his horns retract all the way back into his head, the devil looked to where he recalled Alastor had been speaking from - and froze.

The room absolutely reeked of blood.

It was to an almost putrid degree. The heavy iron scent that normally didn't bother him now felt like it sept into his skin and airways, rotten and diseased, a clear sign of infection. The obvious source was Alastor, but he wasn’t all that was drenched in it. Beneath his feet was a thin trail resembling those of his life's victims as he had dragged their bodies, speckled with what still dripped from his chest cavity, not to mention the wall he leant against having had the wallpaper painted with bloody handprints and smears. The bed opposite them hadn't fared any better.

“What the fuck.” Lucifer managed, looking the overlord up and down repeatedly as if several glances would clarify what he was looking at or change it. “You're actually dying? I was joking.”

Loud microphone feedback rent the air.

“I am not dying” Alastor snarled, an animalistic fear in his eyes that made him look like a stranger to himself, even as he projected certainty. “A mere miscalculation. I overworked myself. I do not need your help. Get. Ǫ̶̖̘̳̼̺̪̤̠͕̰̬̅͐̆͂̽̓̓̇́̀̈̃̚͝u̷̩̦̲̠̗͕͖̺͚̻̱̙̮̻̍́̏̓͊̾̕͝͝ţ̶̞̩͇̹́.̴̻́̀̓̈́̈́́̏̽͊̌̿́̽̈͝͝”

“Woah woah woah, you are one hundo percent dying” Lucifer snorted, ignoring the demand as he stepped closer and dispelled his cane to free his hands. “You've lost, like, a lot of blood. Are you even aware of what's going on right now? How are you still awake? You're actually insane.”

It really did look that bad. The scene was downright gorey; though Alastor kept his arm securely over his chest to hide it, Lucifer was also certain that was one of the main things keeping him alive as it helped to keep what was left of his blood in his body. His skin had an unnatural pallor even for the undead, ashen white, his eyes a desaturated swimming pink to replace their striking red. Sweat poured down his body, soaking his clothes and hair to him, and the devil was entirely sure that if he pulled Alastor away from that wall, he could collapse into a heap.

And that wasn't even mentioning the persistent smell of rot. Perhaps not infection as less than a day had elapsed since he had incurred the injury, but the startings of one at least, or perhaps something else was going wrong internally.

Alastor didn't even seem to have heard him. His face was blanking and going slack, eyes wandering over Lucifer's form like he was seeing through him, breathing in shuddering shallow gasps. He didn't even put up any more of a fight when Lucifer approached him to place a hand to the pulse point at his wrist, the only sign that he was at all aware of his surroundings that his sclera immediately blacked out at the feeling, antlers crackling sickeningly.

It didn't scare the shorter man one iota; he had the much more concerning fact before him that he could barely even feel Alastor's pulse. While it was still there of course it was so faint it may as well not be, and gunning along twice as quickly as it should. Lucifer stared at Alastor's slackening face in increasing incredulity. Seriously, how was this guy still conscious? Bare minimum he was currently undergoing hypovolemic shock, more likely was he had several OTHER issues co occurring on top of it. The king wasn't even certain it was something he could treat at present - if he had more time, more people, more equipment… but he didn't. It was just him, and a guy who was rapidly losing comprehension in front of him.

There was magic, but…

Lucifer never would claim to be a good person. Even as he guided Alastor back to his bed before his jittering legs could give out beneath him, or when he closed his own eyes to spread his consciousness to locate anything medical - anything at all - that they could use. Even as he flicked bandages into his hand and started to apply them with uncharacteristic care and caution, and even as he caught Alastor's head before it hit the mattress and made sure it rested more comfortably to save the man an awful crick in the neck.

He may still be a healer at heart, even as a fallen, but he was not a good person. Because he could heal Alastor right now. He could use all of his divine power, and he could heal the other man near instantly. The problem with that, however, was that that sort of power, at that sort of level, for such an altruistic goal… it never ended well. For either party. Magic had to take as well as it gave, and Lucifer didn't know what it would take. He didn't know if he could take that risk.

The lord of Hell gazed down at Alastor's slack face. Looked at what was normally twisted into a mocking sneer, that now was limp and almost pathetic, the smile he sported was small and almost a scowl.

’Sadly, there are times that a birth parent is a dud!'

Lucifer tightened his hold on the bandages, watching the sinner's blood seep through it almost instantly. The mocking tone grated in his ears.

He didn't know if he would take that risk... for a guy like Alastor.

Lips pressing into a thin line, he looped another roll around his... rival's.... midriff.

Charlie would be so dissapointed in him.

Chapter Text

On the wall to the left, a grandfather clock solemnly ticked forth. The hands on it read: '21:53'

41 minutes elapsed since Alastor had lost consciousness.

Lucifer had entered autopilot. Every noise, every sense, every obligation and priority and thought had been pushed to the back of his mind to allow his instincts to take over. Not a healer, never a healer - but his brother had been, Raphael, the patron saint of physicians and his youngest brother, a kindly angel who had been all too eager to teach the eldest what he knew. In several millenia, Lucifer could now find it in his heart to thank an angel, truly and completely.

It didn't matter that he hated Alastor. It didn't matter that he'd rather the other man gone, that he could see him dead and wake up the next day without a hint of sadness. It mattered that this man held value to others - to his daughter, to her friends. And it mattered because now Lucifer held his life in his hands, and even in his unending indifference he couldn't muster the cruelty to drop the sinner by his feet and leave, to condemn him to a fate of his own causing. In denying aid and denying decency Alastor had simultaneously isolated himself and ensured that no one would come to check on him. The sheer idiocy of it bordered on the suicidal, but that was irrelevant. What mattered was stabilizing his condition.

The world wiped out around Lucifer, simplifying its forms and tunneling his vision. He undid the wrappings on Alastor's chest, and noted that the bleeding had been stymied somewhat. A flicker of shadow appeared in the corner of his eye, hesitant and half-stooped.

Thus, it began.

As if he had hit 'play' on an audiobook, Raphael's long-forgotten voice breathed itself alive in his ears.

A sucking chest wound. Alastor's abdomen had been slashed substantially, and he could see all the way inside, a grim sight. Ribcage was bruised but unbroken. Lungs and heart beat erratically but did, in fact, still beat. Arrhythmia - but he had larger problems right now. An occlusive dressing appeared between his fingers at his unconscious bidding, large enough to cover Alastor's wound in its entirety, and so it did. That prevented the immediate risk of pneumothorax; the risk of the lungs collapsing as a result of air being brought in through the wound.

This could have been the end of the treatment... many, many hours ago. Unfortunately, it had progressed beyond that stage into a much greater need. Moron.

10:00. The grandfather clock chimed at the passing of the hour.

48 minutes elapsed since Alastor had lost consciousness.

Okay, now he could focus on said Arrhythmia, preferably briefly. A press of his fingers at the sinner's pulsepoint affirmed unnecessarily that his heart was indeed speeding by at near double the resting rate, his breaths growing shallower and shallower with each passing second. Tachycardia. A maneuver would have been preferable, simple and quick, but Alastor remained unconscious and Lucifer doubted he would have any luck if he tried waking him. The other actually effective option was Cardioversion, the procedure most would only be familiar with from tv shows. Electrodes are placed on the chest and a high energy shock is sent to kickstart the heart. Medical dramedies loved the concept for the drama. However, Alastor's chest flat out could not handle that right now. A shock right by his injury would outright kill him.

Lucifer shook his head, scowling. The literal only thing he could do for that was briefly massage the pulsepoint at Alastor's neck and hope it simply resolved itself if he treated everything else. If it didn't, they were fucked.

A bizarre chittering by his side. Sharply looking up and preparing himself to either shoo or beg for help from the intruder, he was met with a strange figure cloaked in shadow. Still unrecognizable and bizarre, it took a moment to register that it was what he had struck with the door apon his dramatic entrance. It appeared to have righted itself and didn't seem to hold any resentment, only moving around Alastor in a manner that implied panic, though it didn't speak. Perhaps it was incapable.

Lucifer's mind was whirring too quickly to dwell on whatever it could be or its connection to the killer. It didn't present any threat, at least, so for the moment he disregarded it. The devil's hands meandered along Alastor's body in a decidedly unsexy way, tsking at the way the sinner's flesh was cold and clammy to the touch, nearly corpselike. Alastor's nervous system was going into overdrive in its Shock, prioritizing the fight-or-flight system and diverting all of its resources, notably oxygen and blood, directly to his heart and brain to keep him alive. In the process however it only accelerated his condition, his tissue degenerating as it tried to respire and found itself unable. Without an IV handy he had no luck in treating that well either - and brought his attention back to the shadowy figure.

It cowered at his attention but did not flee. If he sought it, he could make out the shape of a face where the 'head' would reasonably be, warped and incomplete like it had been created hastily. Was it even totally conscious?

"You!" Lucifer snapped at it, seeing it startle further, not a fragment of pity passing through him past the roaring adrenalin. "Whatever you are, can you still hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

It nodded jankily, the movement somehow neither 2D or 3D but somewhere in-between.

“I'm gonna need to dip for a bit so I can get something to actually work with here, considering I can't treat literal tissue decay with my bare fucking hands” Lucifer waggled his ashen hands for emphasis, tone dry and flat. “Magic ain't gonna cut it either at this point. Your master is a real dumbass, y'know that? I assume you're one of his summons anyway-” He cut his self-indulgent rambles short, irritated with himself. “Just look after him for me for a bit. You probably wanna keep him alive, right?” The shadow nodded quickly, enthused. “Sweet. So like, stay by him and make sure he doesn't die while I'm gone. I'd rather not put in actual effort and have it get invalidated like that. Capiche? Capiche.”

With a snap, he vanished.

The moment the King's presence fled from the room the bed bound demon finally stirred, not enough to wake but shifting through the stages of feverish REM, eyelashes fluttering and briefly unveiling glassy eyes that shone a sickly pink. The only comfort in his stupor had evaporated, and now he could only grasp at empty air, seeking an unreachable anchor in the agony and confusion. When this scrambling gave no result, leaving him untethered, his expression shifted.

His shadow hissed in shock, darting forward in an instant to raise a half-corporeal hand to shield its master's face. Even in this empty room, even without his mind, even on the brink like this... it knew he would be humiliated to flaunt this expression so freely. This look, stripped of confidence and security, one he had abandoned since his death.

Unsmiling.

It would seem such a small thing to one who didn't know him, but the fact of it almost made the air in the room heavier. More. Now all the poor creature could do was stay vigil by its master and await the return of a man who it knew didn't truly care.

10:12.

1 hour elapsed.

The ticking of the grandfather clock grew louder and louder, like the knell of Death itself.

In the void between Life and Death, Alastor floated in darkness.

…

….

…… hm?

where….

….

……where…. was he?

He flailed. Blind. Unaware.

Sight failed him.

Senses abandoned him.

…

Pain. A flash of the worst pain Alastor had ever felt in his life, like a saw blade dragging up his chest, pulling through each layer until it emerged behind his ribs, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing-

Nothing.

Again, nothing.

The relief was almost as bad. The feeling of being untethered only worsened. At least such agony was grounding in its unbearability.

Alastor breathed acid nothing, suspended in inky blackness.

…

…Alastor?

Yes. Alastor latched onto the certainty with desperation. That was something he remembered. The rest of it, however, continued to elude him.

What… Had he been doing?

Where was he?

Why….?

…....gghhn.

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain.

-and It was over as quickly as it had started.

The only other thing he - Alastor - could sense in this unbearable deprivation was…. something else. Someone else? He couldn't determine how far it was, or what it was, or who. But it was there, around him, moving and changing and there.

Desperately, he wanted to reach out to it. Alastor wanted to speak, to pry words from these lungs that felt as though they had been set aflame, to bring this entity closer so that he could have something to hold onto as he fought his way back to consciousness. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't move even his hand, could barely twitch a finger. His eyes rolled lazily behind unbudging eyelids, almost akin to a state of sleep paralysis.

What could he remember?

Fire.

Smoke.

Ash.

…screaming? Not from him, but around Him.

Pain, of course. Blood. And then… the soft dulcet tones of… someone. Someone he didn't remember. Someone whose mere recollection burst feelings of irritation into his skull. Irritation and… jealousy? Inferiority? What was this feeling? It seemed too difficult to unpack in his current condition, language still failing him.

A ripping, tearing, shredding, slicing -

Oh, right.

That was why his chest was in this strange purgatory, constantly on the brink of erupting like a volcano, every atom of flesh hypercharged.

Suddenly, suddenly-

That presence abiding somewhat near him vanished.

He suddenly found the energy to move, enough to desperately try to seek it out, but it, or they, were gone.

Everything became impossibly colder.

Another test of his hand. Back to nothing. More aware of it now as he was, it did little to bid it to move.

Cold and stiff. Nearly brittle. Like rigor mortis.

The feeling was familiar enough to send him awash with unexpected recollection.

A bloodsoaked rabbit lying at the foot of their house, deep into the bayou, curled up with glassy eyes. A victim of the wildlife.

Another rabbit. Younger, smaller, even more delicate. A victim of himself, drenched up to the wrists, hands almost too small for the knife they sunk into its corpse.

His father, cold and stiff and thus no different to how he had been in life, heavy in Alastor’s hold as he dug his heels in and dragged with all his might, socks slick with sludge and swampwater.

That old couple that had spat at his feet and said words so vile even passerby looked askew, silent in their retribution as he slid a blade along their throats, the very same blade he had had began his tredge into madness with.

Mimzy….

Mimzy. It didn't bear to remember that one. All that came to him from the name were flashes of faces, an arm linked with his, chirping laughter and jostling jewelry and cold, so cold, too cold, why had she, how could...?

Forcefully, he redirected his thoughts. They suffocated him more than the gaping feeling in his chest.

His chest. What had happened to his chest?

When Alastor thought of a frontal injury, he thought-

1909?

The summer of, certainly? June, July?

It gave him thoughts of humid air and brushing leaves, of cracking twigs and choking on nicotine as it sept into the wallpaper, the leaking faucet, and then- and then-

And then it all burst back into sharp relief like a supernova going off behind his eyes, the creation of the universe, a black hole collapsing in on itself, and slowly, slowly, he blinked the spots from his eyes and stared ahead, finally met with something brighter than oblivion.

A room.

Something hard pressing into his back.

That humidity. Ornate wallpaper, victorian era style, faded and stained yellow.

By the wall, the grandfather clock ticks on, delayed and dusty.

11:53 at night. Far too late for a boy of his age to be up.

How could he even sleep, though, with this shuttering pain in his midriff?

Feeling around informs him that he is sat on his bed, a hand-me-down eiderdown quilt cushioning his rear and lower back, his upper back pressing against the hard wood of the headboard. Ahead of him is the finely crafted reading chair his mother had inherited from her grandmother and refused to sell, even when their situation had become dire and she had resorted to eating the peels of oranges and cores of apples, before eventually the mice Alastor brought home.

She'd called him the family cat once after he'd presented her with a bloody handful, ten years old with wide eyes that never seemed to blink often enough.

His father…

His father had…

The burning in his chest ignited again as the pieces slotted together, the ten year old boy scrambling his knees up to his chest with a soft groan. His father had beaten him blue and bloody, spitting curses the whole way. Had accused him of witchcraft and satan worship, had accused his mother of birthing him a half-breed demon and of not trusting him to provide for their home, of emasculating him by lowering themselves to consuming the vermin that scurried the walls and floors.

How badly Alastor had wished to tell him that he was the true vermin amongst them, lower than the scum and bile these rats feasted on.

He did not.

The time for the extent of his hatred was to come later, when an eleven year old mixed-race boy would slit his father's throat in the man's own bed next to his battered bride before taking the corpse to the swamp nearby before the sun could rise, and stare down the white officers the next day to tell them his father had fled with only his money and not a word in the middle of the night. They had been looking for an excuse to blame him or his mother - who was only containing her hysterics at it all for his sake, anything would have been their excuse to prosecute a coloured child, evidence or no evidence.

But Alastor was flawless. Thanks to the beatings he had developed an almost uncanny aptitude of deception alongside his latent psychopathy. Perhaps his father had not made him a monster, but he had taught him how to hide it.

Alastor didn't feel a speck of gratitude. The scum deserved where he would lay, preserved half-decomposed in the bog.

It felt like a bog inside his brain, dreamlike still in its detachment even with such nostalgic surroundings. Part of him was cognizant enough to know that this was not right, that he shouldn't be here… but even such a thing felt unimportant.

It all hurt too badly. What did it matter if the world around him was even real?

The creaking of floorboards. The groan of a door being pushed to.

He held his breath.

Dark hands stretched into his vision, and without a moment to gasp he had been pulled into a warm and total embrace. It felt as though a heated blanket had been draped over him, melting away all of the uncanny feelings and sufferings as it always had.

No matter how far away his mind, he could always recognize this.

“Ma.”

Her chuckle. The brush of her coily hair against his cheek. This sensation of total safety and security.

In this, he finally left his feverish sleep behind and drifted into a tranquil convalescence.

CHIME!

Midnight.

Lucifer sat by Alastor's bedside, watching as the man seemed to go boneless in the sheets, apparently greatly appreciating the blanket he had thoughtlessly slung over him. The intravenous drip in his arm kept on and on, what he'd taken from the nearest hospital.

Logically, he knew he should have simply dropped Alastor off there. A team of medical professionals would be vastly more successful than one fallen angel who watched his estranged sibling millenia ago perform healing rituals on the animals in the garden of Eden. However, he was the only one he knew with any medical expertise that wouldn't throw Alastor to the dogs at a moments notice. The physicians that earned their spot in hell weren't exactly married to the Hippocratic Oath, after all. One adventurous sinner looking to up their status with a pocket full of money and a shiv could be the end of Alastor's legacy. It would be pathetic. Quick. Too easy.

It was an unfitting fate for a man like this.

And so Lucifer stayed, and waited, until he too fell asleep at his bedside.

Chapter Text

The final cherry on the cake of the last 48 hours’ strangeness was the way in which the king of Hell was awoken.

Not crying out and sweating from nightmares, not groggy and unbalanced from insomnia, not with busted nerves and ringing ears from his phone going off or an explosion outside at the onset of yet another grand turf war… but by a simple and polite knock, like the initial one he'd granted Alastor.

The devil was buoyed for a moment in soft half-REM, a strangely bright blot in his environment as he took his time straightening up from where he had been resting head-down on his elbows, the starched crisp white of his rolled-up sleeves an almost symbolically aseptic contrast atop the bloodstained sheets he'd not had the time, energy nor inclination to bother cleaning.

The room still rank of death, the scent festering and stagnating with the closed off walls. Lucifer had lazily slung the door back into place before passing out - not actually on it's hinges and thus nonfunctional but at the very least preventative to any strangers just waltzing in silently - and had forgotten to crack a window open. Subsequently it felt like a goddamn crematorium, musty and cold and stinking of iron.

This was where he'd gotten his best sleep in years? Not in the luxuriant silk and lace sheets of his four poster bed surrounded by perfect acoustics and with everything he needed within arms reach, but in an uncomfortable chair hunched over the most annoying guy in Hell as he bled out?

…was it seriously just having the presence of someone else there that put his mind at ease? Fucks sake.

Turning his attention to the door again so he didn't have to crack open that industrial sized barrel of worms, he cricked his neck (ow) popped his fingers (double ow) stood up (triple ow) and made his way over, hearing another tentative knock right as he reached it. They hadn't even called out yet, how polite. Perhaps this was the bellhop of the residence, since Alastor himself had taken such offense to that particular accusation? Which he'd have to keep that in mind to most effectively piss the deer off in future.

"Um-”

Oh shit, the stranger behind the door had finally spoken. Why did Lucifer have to keep staring into space thinking about Alastor?

…and why the fuck did he have to phrase it like that?!

“Uh- Al? You like, good? You're usually up wayyy before us, so seeing you sleep in ‘til normal time is actually kinda worrying?”

It was a high pitched and weirdly accented voice, one Lucifer knew he definitely recognized but couldn't yet put a name or face to, tired as he was. It was far too familiar to be coming from The Help, at any rate. A friend of Alastor's? Did the guy even have any of those - legitimate ones, ones he didn't force to be around him as he seemed to do with Husker? Did he never get depressed, knowing most of those who stuck by him did so from obligation or being forced?

….He had gotten distracted thinking about Alastor again.

Clearing his throat, the king plastered a wide grin on his face. He knew it couldn't be seen, but Lucifer had always been a strong believer in the power of a smile, and that the effect of conveying one could still be felt even in solely speech. “Sorry to disappoint, but it's me you're dealing with instead! Our doe-eyed buddy is all good though, just, y'know, getting in a few Zs. Having some R&R!” Lucifer dearly hoped his tone conveyed confidence and control and not the awkwardness he knew it had to. Not talking to people regularly in a near-decade did these things to you, okay?

The man on the other side spoke up again as he moved closer to the door. Lucifer almost warned him about the incredibly unstable nature of the door, and that any pressure whatsoever would probably send it careening back to the floor. Almost. It would be pretty funny. “Wait, who the heck is this?” The other man snapped, not actually touching said door yet but raising his voice to be heard best. “Who would be in Al's room this early, the fuck? An’ speaking of fuck, what's ‘are in are’? Some kinda BDSM-acronym kinky sex shit? Because if so you betta count me IN!”

Fwoosh!

In a great arc around and behind Lucifer fire burst up like an eruption, perfectly synced with the fallen angel’s mouth comedically falling open. Looking around in alarm at the chaos he was causing he quickly de-summoned the lot of it, irritated by how much the simple and stupid question had rattled him. Not helping was that his brain had decided to give him a nice, relevant mental image. Agh!

“NO! No, no no no no no, absolutely not! Sweet Caroline, what is WRONG with sinners these days!” Lucifer complained, stomping at a pesky flame by his foot that just would NOT extinguish. More bothersome was the fact it felt like his face was on fire along with. “Jeeps, not everything is about sex! And with HIM? Gross!”

“Mhm.” The man's voice was deeper now, an amused hum at his expense. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much, but what do I know, I'm talkin’ to a slab of wood, so unless you wanna open up and talk to me mano-a-mano, I'm gonna keep findin’ other kindsa ‘wood’ to discuss.”

Dragging a hand down his face, the king fiercely ground the heel of his shoe into the flooring and finally, mercifully, the flame went out. Casting a dubious look back at his, uh, ‘roommate’, he gnawed on his lip for a moment. Alastor still looked dreadful, pasty white and far off in dreamland, having not been roused by any of this despite how over alert he had always been. Panicking the hotel denizens would be unhelpful… but barricading the room and refusing to let anyone see would be worse. They'd be left to draw their own conclusions, and possibly even suspect the worst. Not like the devil is known for being trustworthy.

Emphatically, oy fucking vey.

“Come in, just be quiet about it.”

“Sweet, thanks. I'll be outta your hair in no time.”

Coincidentally, Lucifer might have a little bit forgotten the door was only aligned with the frame and not actually attached to it. The not-at-all quiet BANG and the shaking of the portraits on the walls was a decent reminder though.

Stood on the other side with his hand held up aimlessly, the ever-infamous Angel Dust looked at him like he had 7 heads - which he didn't!... at the moment!

“Fuckin’ SATAN?”

Teeth grit and eyes wide, Lucifer again looked back at Alastor and was this time in disbelief that the cannibal had apparently indeed slept through that!

…Was he actually sleeping or, like-?

“Holy shit, is he dead?”

Lucifer winced, remembering his situation, turning back to a re-animated Angel who had quickly moved on from the whole door debacle to focus on the cannibal, rushing over only to skid to a stop a few feet away, trepidation emanating off him. All four of his present hands waved about uselessly. “No, seriously, is he, y'know?” The spider made an awkward splat sound, though it seemed more done out of discomfort than amusement. “Guy doesn’t even look like he's breathing.”

“He's not dead!” Lucifer quickly appeased, before doubt wormed it's way into his mind and he felt sweat run down his brow. “Um… I hope not, anyway.”

“What?”

“Let me check! I just woke up!” Lucifer groaned, mock rolling his eyes as he pushed his chair aside to kneel down by the sleeping demon, pressing two fingers back to his pulsepoint. Aha, a heartbeat indeed! He'd live to see another day! It seemed to have successfully slowed down too, morphing from what had been a frenzied flurry to just slightly faster than average, like he was hyperventilating. It was good enough. “He’ll be fine.”

“I gotta say, the only other thing i've known for bein’ so good at looking dead was my dogs, back when I was alive” Angel grumbled, pulling out the chair, and distracted by his words as both he and the king were, neither noticed Alastor’s ear twitch barely perceptibly at the dreaded ‘dogs’ word. “Little bitches knew exactly when they'd be in trouble, an’ they'd either hide away or flop right down in front of us and lay still like we'd think they suddenly had a heart attack or sumn’.” the spider suddenly scowled, brow arching. “Judging by how quick he fucked off after getting back, I guess he really did do just that.”

“You do not know how correct you are, and I hate it” Lucifer whined theatrically, deciding his ‘image’ could go fuck itself as he pitched forward to rest the top half of his head on the edge of the bed, thankfully a decent breadth away from coming into contact with Alastor. “This prick decided he didn't need help after getting split In two by an angelic weapon. If my daughter hadn’t asked me to go after him, Hell would be facing one less overlord right now.”

“For the best, really.” Angel retorted, but there wasn’t real malice in his tone. Stretching so hard he visibly popped his shoulders and had Lucifer recoiling, he continued. “Yanno, I get it's no biggie to you seein’ this, but for a guy like me, seein’ a big shot overlord lying all flat and pretty like this really fucks with your perception. ‘Cuz they make a whole point of tryna look invincible, obviously, an’ eventually it gets you down ‘cus you start to believe it. This don't really make me feel better, though. It's just kinda sad to look at instead of, I dunno, satisfying.” He ended his spiel by rubbing the back of his neck, clearly self conscious. It was then that the king noticed a choker around his throat that looked… uncomfortably tight. It had to be choking him.

“Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say it’s ‘no biggie’ for me,” Lucifer responded, not raising himself completely but angling his head up to speak clearer. “The dick was putting on the full pomp and circumstance when I arrived, he was definitely at least trying to make it look like he could take me.” the devil paused, suddenly frightened of his unfortunate wording in front of a man who had already used it against him, but the spider seemed thankfully unaware of his accidental innuendo. “Which, I mean, I obviously knew that was all hot air, but it's still a bit funny to see a guy like that look like he should be in a pull-out drawer.”

Angel snorted, but his gaze was far away. “Gross.”

“Whelp.” Lucifer popped the ‘p’, tilting his head more. “What’s your baggage with him, then?”

Angel stared at him, bewildered. “What?”

“You look ready to throw something, and I’m pretty sure It’s got to do with all that you were saying already about invincibility and whatever.” Lucifer shrugged.

More bemused blinking, so cartoonish in their dramatics that Lucifer thought if he concentrated he could imagine a tinny ‘blink, blink’ sound accompanying them. “It ain't trouble with him.”

“With who, then?”

“I doubt your Big Dick Downstairs-iness wants to hear about all my boo-hoo sob story crap.” Angel muttered self-derisively, suddenly withdrawing into himself and pulling his knees to his chest. “Jus’ the typical shit down here. I got in over my head, believed a bunch of bullcrap, and now I'm on some asshole's leash. Typa story's dime a dozen in these parts. Kinda why I can't really feel all that bad for the guy.” the Spider pointedly gestured his head at the resting Alastor, who somehow radiated offense despite not moving a muscle or being awake. “Dude does that fucked shit to people all the time.”

“It's not boo-hoo crap, it's… your life.” Lucifer protested, indignant on the behalf of this man he knew so little but spoke so casually with him. Most either deferred to him with upmost fear and respect, or, in Alastor's case as well as a few historically unlucky others, derision and jealousy. Just getting to chat with someone was such a rarity he felt starved, and refused to allow the invisible barriers of his status get in the way. “Not like I've got anything else to do today but listen. And that is a crock of shit, you're allowed to be pissed off about it and complain.”

They sat in silence for a few beats. Angel didn't appear to know how to respond to that, so when the quiet got too unbearable, Lucifer picked it back up.

“So. Who's on the business end of your leash, then? If you don't mind me asking.”

Angel Dust shuddered, one of his lower arms - the one Lucifer had fixed into the place the day prior, actually - reaching up to rub at his upper.

“It’s Val. Valentino. One of the ‘Vees’. You heard of ‘em?”

Unfortunately, Lucifer had. “I have.”

“Yeah. If Alastor is a piece of shit, Valentino’s gotta be the embodiment of shittiness. No contest.” Angel scowled so deeply it dug lines into his face, seething hatred and fear dripping from his tone. “Bastard thinks he owns me, even though we got a limited contract. Y’don’t know what I’d give to see him lyin’ down before me like this. But then…” and all of the fight left Angel’s gaze as soon as it had got there, and the passion in his tone went dreadfully flat. “Even if he was? I dunno if I could bring myself to hurt him. Might be too scared, still. Same with my pops, actually. Dumb, right?”

And Lucifer thinks.

He thinks back, far back, further back than any being beside himself can care to recollect. He thinks of solemn white columns that stretch too far into the sky to see the top of, he thinks of fluffy clouds that stick to your wings unpleasantly, he thinks of rules and guidelines and assertions, and he thinks, holistically, of Fear.

Of Lilith, spurned by everyone for refusing to submit, of Gabriel, sneering with contempt at his brother's pleas for mercy for the ‘misled’ human, of Michael, pulling away from a desperate embrace and regarding him like a stranger. Of the sinking, seeping, overwhelming feeling that everything he knew was slipping through his fingers faster than he could hold onto it, and that no one would listen to him anymore. No one would care anymore.

Even now, if he closes his eyes and forces himself to think of it, he can feel Her light. It's a popular feature in many of his nightmares - the sensation of Her Being washing over him, no longer a warm beam as it had been before, but an oppressive and heavy floodlight that bore into his skin and exposed all of his flaws, all of his imperfections, his audacity for questioning Her and Her laws and plans. The searing heat of his flesh and feathers being stripped from his skin by an inferno as he plummeted down, down, down, shielding his love in his arms, was nearly a relief in contrast.

Nearly.

‘What’, he thinks, ‘Would I do if She were forced to hear me. If by some contrivence, God (and the word makes him wince, still) had some reason to hear me out in full. Could I? Could I stand before Her and tell Her everything I feel? Could I argue with Her, curse Her, tell Her She was wrong all along?’

The cold threatened to pull him under completely.

“No.” he said, more to himself than his companion. “It's not dumb at all.”

And for that moment more, they simply sat in companionable silence, watching Alastor's chest rise and fall beneath the jacket Lucifer had slung across his chest. Lucifer had anticipated teasing for it, and yet none had came. Angel only seemed interested in Alastor’s face; slacker and simpler than he usually wore it, lacking any ulterior motive. Just resting.

“Peaceful bastard” Angel mumbled, crossing his arms and seeming lost in thought about something. “Get well soon, you strawberry lookin’ pimp. Ya got the King of Hell lookin’ out for you, so ya owe it to his unholiness to fix up fast.”

Lucifer chuckled quietly. Angel grinned at him.

The grandfather clock chimed, and both of them nearly jumped out of their skin.

10:00.

“W-WHAT?” The spider screeched apon noticing where the hands on the clock lay, and the sheer pitch his voice reached was as impressive as it was troubling. He looked at the devil desperately, pupils constricted to pinpoints. “Is that- is that accurate?”. Lucifer nodded. As far as he knew it was, anyway. It seemed to be the wrong answer, as Angel cried out again, shaking his head rapidly. “I'm such an idiot!” the arachnid demon hissed, striking himself once in the side of his head as he dug through his pockets. “I didn't realize how late it was, fuck! fuck!”

That vivid and brutal fear he had spoken of just prior was now painted across his body, his fluff fuzzed up in a clear subconscious fight-or-flight mechanism and his hands trembling so badly he nearly dropped his phone on his foot twice as he opened it. Lucifer sat mute and unsure of what to say or how to help as the spider held the device up to his ear and immediately paled, chest stuttering as he backed out of the room, only shooting Lucifer a quick and apologetic look before vanishing.

The king sat there, nonplussed.

Uh.

Erm.

What? Haha. Huh?

Yeah, all of that was… something. Lucifer was not enjoying this emotional whiplash lately.

Speaking of things he didn't really wanna deal with-

A rustle of the sheets informed him of sudden movement from a familiar redhead, and the beleaguered face of a just-technically smiling radio demon met him. Not quite sat up, but adjusting himself against the pillows so they faced his upper back instead of his head.

Wow, his hair looked messy. It was kinda nice, actually? If Lucifer knew it wouldn't go down awfully, he'd tell him to style it that way in future. It was a darn sight better than the karen cut he usually sported.

“Well well well, hello there Sunshine!” Lucifer chirped, shifting back onto the newly vacant perch (it was warm from Angel’s rear… yuck!) and steepling his fingers so he could rest his chin on them and smirk. Now this was territory he was used to, far less emotionally charged than… whatever the hell had just happened with the prostitute. “I see you're back with us! How was the nap?”

Alastor gave back an indecipherable groan, glaring hazily at him. His pupils were blown wide for some reason, possibly from one of the symptoms he was undergoing. Didn't heart problems do that to you? Fuck knew. At least his sclera were the more saturated healthy red.

“Fine.” The redhead bit out scornfully, swallowing down what would have been a pathetic low whine as his posture-adjusting endeavours sent sick shocks through his stomach and forced him to stop and accept his current, uncomfortable positioning. “How was the gossip in my regard?”

Lucifer gaped at him in disbelief. “You were awake? How long?”

“It would be rather difficult to sleep through that loud banging” Alastor sneered, causing Lucifer to go red once again. It had truly seemed like Alastor had slept through it… but he should've known better. The guy would've had to have been literally comatose to have. It sounded like a gunshot going off.

“You could've said something,” the devil huffed, pouting. “Bit creepy that you just eavesdropped - hey, watch it, don't fuck with the IV - when your friend was clearly dropping some serious personal stuff. Dick move, man.”

“You discussed it directly OVER me!” Alastor protested, indignant, only to again be distracted by the poking feeling in his wrist. Lucifer kept shooing his hands way every time he touched it. “Why in blazes am I strapped to an intravenous?!”

Lucifer crossed his legs and leaned over the taller man, expression turning a little dark. “Because you nearly died, fuckwit. If I hadn't went and gotten that when I did, your heart would've given out, and because the thing that started all this was an angelic weapon, you would've been gone for good. Just like that.” Clapping his hands, he grinned, a fake and plastic one, tone so forcefully chipper you could nearly see cartoon stars twirling around him. “So a ‘thank you’ would be nice!”

Alastor stared at him like he was seeing a ghost, silent as his hand reached up to feel at his chest, and his perma-grin dropped sharply as he realized the depth of what he had endured. In his hazy and blood-loss fueled state before he'd never allowed himself a good look at the damage, but now in this clearer headspace it was obvious how close he had come to undoing everything he had ever done… and who had saved him from that fate.

“...Thank you.”

Lucifer jerked, shocked, the smug feeling evaporating.

Oh wow. He actually said it.

Alastor glowered at him. Oops. He might've said that bit out loud. The taller man was also flushed across the face from having to express real, genuine gratitude... And fuckdamnit, if Lucifer thought of this guy as ‘cute’ one more time today - or ever - he was going to set something on fire. On purpose, this time!

“...You're welcome” the devil recovered quickly, and the smile that met his face was far more gentle and real than he'd ever thought he could give the man before him. “Though you might be less grateful when I tell you this - you're about to have the shittiest month of your life. In fact, you probably shouldn't even get out of bed for the next few weeks. Uh-uh!” He rose a hand sharply as Alastor moved to protest, and snickered at the animalistic growl the radio demon gave. “This is non-negotiable, pal. Well, again, unless you fancy giving up your empire and all this shit you've sunk your time into just so you can go for your weekly jog.”

And grace be the underworld, for Alastor relented and grumpily sank back into the disgustingly bloodstained sheets below. At least he didn't seem too bothered by their condition. Lucifer knew he wouldn't be able to tolerate lying in that filth.

“...I'll help clean that up later. For now - Stay! Down!”

Alastor’s lips rose with another growl.

He still... hadn't thrown off Lucifer's coat, draped over his midriff. Had he not noticed it?

Cute...

NO-

Chapter Text

Alastor tried. Seriously, he actually put the effort in.

The radio demon, bedbound and high strung, tried his thrice-damned best to convince himself to stay in the bed he had been unceremoniously confined to.

Despite what Lucifer or a particularly drunk and careless Husk might say, the Overlord did have a sense of self preservation. Seeing the extent of his bodily harm, hearing the king of Hell directly address him to warn him that he'd almost gone too far in his arrogance and antisocial manner, that he'd nearly finalized his over a century-spanning existence that very night and was set to pass away in a bout of fitful sleep, curled up against the wall in a room he had never before stepped in… if anything could be humbling, it would be that. Not to mention this unpleasant swell of gratitude he felt toward the angel for the lengths he had went to procure Alastor's survival - at no benefit of his own, having yet to request anything in return for such an irrepayable favour. And so he had listened. When Lucifer told him to sit his ass back and relax, he listened.

Until 6 o'clock, that was.

Look.

Lucifer, sick of the smell and the tension and the place in general, had stepped out approximately a half hour after Angel had. Citing both the obvious and his daughter's certain concern, he'd gathered up his top hat, summoned his cane, bizarrely NOT made any attempt to retrieve his own coat from where it was still slung over Alastor's narrow shoulders, and made his way down to relieve her of her worries. Thankfully he had even promised to do so with a tale of omission, saving Alastor's Pride temporarily by giving her a more tasteful version of events until Alastor himself was well enough to either fake health and brush the entire matter under the rug, or admit the truth.

Obviously, he planned to do the former.

Thus he had been left to his own devices since 10.30 that morning.

The door had been replaced, set on magical constraints that prevented anyone from entering. All sound from outside was heavily muted, and in the already lazy morning, It was silent.

The Radio Demon had had a handful of options.

He could read. His magic was disobeying him at the moment, flickering and fraying in his hold when he tried to harness it, but it was better than it had been being when he'd been actively bleeding, and he was sure he could summon some reading materials if he concentrated.

Alternatively, he could converse with his shadow, which had made its presence apparent the literal moment after Lucifer had left and replaced the entryway, sliding out from under his bed with an expression conveying both sheepishness and deep worry. Normally, as it was an extension of himself, It operated largely as he did, synchronizing with his movements and copying his facial changes, but it was being wholly independent today and he couldn't muster up a reason to mind. It made for some level of distraction, watching it fret about in reording or disposing of all of the furniture that had been damaged or destroyed in the earlier chaos, hissing quietly.

Finally, and what he actually ended up doing, was taking account of the sheer magnitude of his condition.

Most obviously, his chest persisted in bothering him. At the least it seemed whatever fluid was flowing from that IV by his bedside contained an anesthetic, as while he suffered he suffered substantially less than he knew he should be. The telltale fuzziness was proof in itself. Still, the sensation of his chest being open was vile, as was the permeating sense that every slight adjustment of his torso sent his organs sliding about in his ribcage. Surely that wasn't happening, but it felt like it was. Repulsive.

It was a curiosity, the IV. There was a discomfort in his wrist where the tube was implemented, but the clear material caught his interest. As it had narcotic abilities, perhaps it contained opium? It was the only potent painkiller he knew was used in a clinical sense, as he was hardly hospital savvy. The demon had avoided them like the plague in both of his lives, and certainly never had he needed a drip before. Perhaps his victims might have if any besides the last had escaped… but perhaps not. If he recalled, the usage hadn't become common until a little after his time.

The second thing of note was the nausea and the way his head spun even when he lay flat. Whiplash or a concussion, considering the ugly line-shaped bruise that darkened the nape of his neck, something he'd only observed when asking his shadow to conjure a small mirror so he could know what the gross swelling feeling at the back of his throat was about.

At the very least his ears no longer rang. They had been doing so faintly since his injury. Upon waking up it appeared to have taken a much welcomed vacation, to hopefully never return.

An odd something in relation to his head injury was that… he couldn't quite remember how he'd sustained it anymore. Sure, he knew logically, the sequence of events played out quite simply when he thought of them as a set of bulletpoints. But whenever he lingered on the recollection, really set himself back in the moment, thought about the moment of contact that had caused all of this-

It was like his mind refused to acknowledge it. The sinner could get as far as Adam's smug expression, the raising of his arms as he brought up his weapon to deliver the battle-ending blow-

And then it all stopped. His mind stopped, his breath stopped, his heart stopped. Panic would flush through him in a tide so powerful that he would lose all sense of the moment, scrambling backwards despite the screaming protest of his ribs and chest, the world empty aside from that single image superimposed in his retinas.

Then It would end as abruptly as it had come, and Alastor would be again where he should have always known he was, alone in his room.

Adam was dead.

That bastard was confirmed dead.

The fight was long, long over.

Yet. Yet.

His heart didn't stop aching. His fingers didn't stop trembling. His shadow wouldn't stop making those unpleasant chirping noises, bent over his bedside and trying to soothe him as it rubbed his shoulders.

Pathetic.

Nearly as pathetic as his body's weakness, the final nail in his condition-al coffin. Without his shadow’s assistance he would be utterly useless. The radio demon that was famed for happily decimating entire city blocks in a single attack was now incapable of raising his arm more than a few inches above the bed, his half-atrophied muscles tingling and numbing in odd places when he let them rest but burning when he dared to shift them. It was the main factor in why distraction ideas such as ‘books’ were ruled out. If he couldn't even make a fist, he certainly couldn't prop up a hardback to flick through.

Neither could he even sit up. Being able to view the condition of his nape had required a level of contortion even as his shade endeavoured to help by summoning more hand mirrors and positioning them best it could, but he'd still had to bend his head a little and lean upward to separate his head from the pillow, and the rushing pain had been so great it far overwhelmed the numbing anesthesia. A glimpse was all he got before crashing back down into the sheets, pouring with sweat and trembling all over.

Was it any wonder he only lasted until the afternoon? That he'd made it even that far was a miracle in itself, and Alastor had a call of nature to thank for being the final nail in the coffin.

Lucifer was still occupied and perhaps not even in the hotel. Alastor didn't have any easy means to contact him nor did he want to. Knowing the devil's sense of humour, he'd probably just tell him to piss into a bottle. Absolutely not.

There was a bathroom en-suite to his bedroom a meter from the foot of his bed. A few quick strides, and he'd be there.

Now how was he to do that when he couldn't even keep his head up?

Teleporting was nice and non-intensive on physical movement, but his magic continued to act insecurely and there wasn't a chance in the 7 circles that he would put his entire body at risk of his magic in its current state.

Perhaps his shadow could carry him? But then- it also seemed interfered with, performing well enough at basic tasks but flickering, it’s face unusually deformed, a symptom of his rushed pursuit to summon it earlier. Was it a smart idea to risk his body with a being that wasn't even entirely corporeal? Probably not.

As his permanent-smile teetered on the edge of becoming a scowl, Alastor braced himself and experimentally tested his legs, something he had been avoiding after the failure of his other body parts. To his unexpected pleasure they obeyed markedly better than his arms had. Though they were sluggish and faced similar motor difficulties, their lesser proximity to his injuries allowed him to move them in small amounts without being incapacitated by agony. The little shocks of pain he did get were bothersome but manageable.

With great caution and little regard for the now cottoning-on and very much alarmed extension of his soul, Alastor began to shuffle his body along the bed. To an outsider it would look ridiculous, but to him it was probably the most he'd ever had to fight his own body. Every movement, however slight, brought pain. Hell, even blinking did so.

But then what was the alternative? Stare at the ceiling? Sleep through the day?

…Urinate in a fucking bottle?

With a burst of righteous adrenalin, Alastor slung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up into a halfway sitting position.

Pain.

Predictably, everything whited out. The lone sensation once again overrode his every thought.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

No. Focus. It will settle when you get into position and allow yourself to rest for a moment. the Overlord silently insisted to himself, chest heaving, trying to overcome the burning that was taking him over. Breathe. Just breathe.

Like a speck of light in the overwhelming darkness, a familiar voice whispered its way through his mental shields.

Come on, baby. Just breathe with me, okay? It's okay. Just focus on my voice. Like this, okay? In. Out. In-

Alastor inhaled shakily, feeling like a cheese grater had been lodged down his respiratory tract.

Out.

He kept his eyes closed and focused on the voice, let it wash over him.

In. Yes, that's good. Out. You're doing wonderful, cher. In, out. In, out.

Slowly, slowly. The pain retreated back to that latent buzz. Alastor gave a final cautious exhale, and the cool gasp of air unhindered by the pain was like a soothing balm over the fire he felt was scourging just under his frayed nerves.

Right. Alastor looked Down, tested his bare hooves on the wooden floor beneath. One thing down. Now to walk. This would be… entertaining.

Tuning back in to his shadow, the sinner snorted at the truly scandalized look his soul piece was giving him, clearly in disbelief that it's master would do something so reckless, and that he was obviously in no hurry to stop now. When Alastor met its gaze fully and planted the bottoms of both of his feet firmly on the ground, it made a birdlike squawk and was by his side in an instant, steadying and careful as it hastily glanced between himself and the mark in the mattress that proved where he had just been laying, blatantly debating the pros and cons of just shoving him straight back down. Alastor pinned it with a scathing stare, weakened a little by the fact he still hadn't quite managed to stop laughing, and it froze up as its ears pinned back.

“Do you want to be the one to get our lord and saviour?” Alastor accused, brow raised as he forced his hand up to poke the entity in the chest to hammer the effect of his tone home. “Or would you prefer I relieve myself on the ground right in front of us?”

It shook its head rapidly, the effort only destabilizing said appendage further.

“Then you will assist me” was the Overlord's haughty command, moving his ash-stained hand further until it rested on the being’s ‘shoulder’, daring it to push him off. Predictably It didn't dare to, thoroughly discouraged by his tone and expression, and also the proposed alternative. It held the same respect for him he did himself - it would never see him do what he had described. “I only need a hand to reach the bathroom. Once I have succeeded, I assure you, I will return once again to my preoccupation of analyzing the light fixtures.”

It gave a sound most approximate to a snort, shaking the slowly re-forming mass of its head as it acquiesced, positioning so it was in a physically supportive position and allowing him to lean all of himself against it, its free arm pulling around his midriff whilst carefully avoiding his injury.

Was it possible to feel affection for your own powers?

Over the next few minutes, Alastor was certain that never before in history had anyone else had so much trouble in getting to the toilet. The ludicrous nature of his task thankfully helped twist the ongoing agony into a comedy act, the sound of the bathroom door swinging open at his behest more triumphant than a cheering audience.

Or perhaps it would have been if the moment wasn't immediately interrupted by an interloper.

The wonderful sound of the bathroom door making way was swiftly overcome by the much louder sound of the entrance to his bedroom doing the same, and Alastor’s grumbled shit was similarly drowned out by Lucifer's exasperated ’Dude! It's not even been a DAY!’

“I am aware of the passage of time!” Alastor snarked, disentangling himself from his shadow to lean against the wall and swallowing the scream that bubbled up from that slight movement, allowing his intrepid helper to dart behind him into its 2d state. “Unfortunately, as your grace forewent providing me with a way to relieve myself, I've had to pursue the goal of not undignifying myself on my own.”

The devil ran a gloved hand down his face before making a ‘yap, yap’ imitation with it, rolling his eyes before striding over and pulling Alastor up off the wall in one easy motion. The overlord was far less successful in muting his exclamation this time, unprepared, and at the very least Lucifer looked a little guilty at carelessly causing him pain. Alas, the expression quickly returned to its resting bitch face.

“You coulda just sent your shadow-buddy-thing to come get me. I've got plenty of bottles lying about, y'know.”

Of fucking course. Now it was Alastor's time to roll his eyes, fed up with the banter he would have ordinarily enjoyed. “I am already right by the facilities, you may as well allow me to use them instead of suggesting humiliations that amuse you.”

Lucifer glanced over. Grimaced. Looked back at the abandoned bed. Grimaced harder.

“Yeah, okay, fine. We're here now, and I accept that you're not gonna piss in a cup. I'd push it more, but then you're literally in the Pride ring for a reason, so fuck do I know.” The shorter man mumbled, waving his hand. With a disorienting feeling and a flash of light, Alastor went immediately from a leaning position by the doorway to sitting right atop the lavatory - with the seat down, mercifully - and watched as Lucifer stalked over to his fucked-up sheets and lifted the edge only to immediately and dramatically lean away from the smell. “In the meantime, I'm gonna burn this shit and conjure up something new. This might not be an infection risk, but wow is it ever gross.”

“And yet you left me to lie in it, with the direct order to stay there for several days.” Alastor didn't change his tone or expression, letting the effect of his words do the work. Lucifer had the grace to look embarrassed. “What a considerate nurse you've been.”

Bundling the duvet under his arm, Lucifer flipped the radio demon off, simultaneously compelling the bathroom door closed with an unsourced gust of wind. Alastor snickered, uncaring that doing so continued to rattle his fucked up ribs and lungs. Now to make use of what he had came here for.

On the other side Lucifer kept true to his word and busied himself with fixing up Alastor's sleeping conditions, incinerating half the sheets with a touch of his fingers and deliberating for only a moment before snapping into place new fresh conditions, a nice and soft nature-y shade of brown instead of the stark white they had been before. After a beat he thought to snap a change of attire over the back of the chair in accompaniment, remembering that Alastor was still also wearing the same clothes he'd just bled out in.

As well as… Lucifer's own jacket.

Right. Actually, He'd forgotten doing that, and then continued to forget to retrieve it or swap it out for something else. An impulsive decision made on the brink of exhaustion that had worked out well, Alastor had ended up wearing the white coat ever since out of convenience, the pinstripe one he usually wore having been thrown carelessly to the floor when Lucifer had needed better access to the damage to operate.

And he was still wearing Lucifer's jacket. Including right now. In the bathroom.

This was all of the wrong kinds of domestic. Was it even domestic? Or was it just fucking strange.

“Uh-” his voice cracked bizarrely the moment he tried to speak, his projected voice halting the moment it started. Alastor’s shuffling from the bathroom halted. Ok, so he did hear him. But the thing he thought he'd been about to say- mind giving me my jacket back- seemed so stupid and silly that he immediately backpedaled on it.

It was fine. He had more. Lots more.

This wasn't weird.

“Uh, y'know, you aren't a total dumbass!” The king called out instead, fluffing up the pillows to give his hands something to do. Nervous habits kept that awful prepubescent-esque cracking out of his voice. “Exercise is actually pretty good after you lose a lot of blood! It encourages your body to make more blood cells!” Hesitating suddenly, Lucifer racked his brain. “I think?” It sounded right, anyway. “But like, not on the first day.”

The sound of the tap running was the white-noise background to his rival's response. “Good to know. Though I'm sure you understand my reluctance to waste away an entire day - especially such a momentous one - in bed.”

Aha. Ahahahaha.

Lucifer didn't actually laugh, but it felt like the world might be doing so at his expense.

“Yeah.” The devil called back, turning to fall back onto his butt on the sheets he had freshly spawned, staring up at the ceiling. “I understand.”

How many days had he spent like this - exactly like this? How many weeks? How many months?

How long had it taken for that to start? He’d had… problems… since the fall, but they seemed so minor compared to what things were like now. Everything had been so different, there had been so much to do, heck, beds hadn't even been invented yet! Let alone the word for the condition that would lead to him spending entire seasons in one.

When was the last time he would've been able to have fully empathized with Alastor's plight? Charlie's birth, her formative years? That counted, right? He’d still felt like this deep down, he knew he had, but he'd also never have chosen to stay in bed if Charlie was screaming in her crib, or tugging at his ankles, or climbing on top of him to forcefully show him a drawing and rambling about what it was meant to be as he stared blearily up at the blob of her head through the exhaustion, mentally priming himself to get up and contribute to her joy, going through the motions until she inevitably broke through his fugue with a combination of her enthusiasm and his love.

Wasting away in bed. For someone like Alastor it was an intolerable nightmare. For him… it was the reality of the past seven years. Of the past several thousand, to a lesser extent. These recent events were an anomaly in that vast sea of apathy and exhaustion, a brightly coloured blip soon to be snuffed out. It always was.

The empty pit he sunk into had just kept getting deeper ever since his separation with Lilith. One day he was sure it would swallow him whole.

But not yet.

Lucifer sat up with an ease that he relished.

He had a purpose. He had shit to do. He had a family, and a goal, and a bastard to keep alive.

Feeling needed like that made all of this bullshit more worth it.

Speaking of-

“Alright Bambi, time's up, back to bed! Chop chop!”

Two snaps. One to get into the bathroom and one to plonk the sinner right back onto the bed. The extra little indulgence of scooping the much taller man up in his arms to do so was wholly unnecessary.

Lucifer laughed as Alastor threw the small lamp on the side table at him in a remarkable exhibition of pain tolerance, and laughed harder when he dodged and all Alastor got was another burst of pain, doubling over with a scowl before rejuvenating enough to throw a pillow. That one actually got him straight in the face, and Lucifer gave a muffled yelp as he fell.

And then laughed some more.

He had to disengage himself from the pillow to find Alastor was laughing too.

Chapter Text

At nearly quarter-to-nine in the evening, the mini mayhem died down.

Lucifer returned to his personal little pew, yet again resting his royal ass by Alastor's bedside to watch as the overlord fussed with himself, trying his marked best to minimize his movements while also clearly expressing discomfort at being unable to effectively fluff his pillow without disabling himself. With a click of his tongue and a flick of his fingers Lucifer solved his problem right then and there, pillows auto-fluffed and doubly soft. Who said the devil didn't do good deeds, neh? Clearly Alastor agreed, sinking into his clean and tidy bedsheets with a groan of sensual pleasure so evocative that it made Lucifer full-body shudder.

(Seriously, had it been THAT long since he'd last laid with someone? No sexually charged atsmophere, not a hint of nudity, just any guy he gives an atom of a shit about can moan and he'll fold? Maybe he should start jerking off again....)

(Wait, but then he might think of this guy! Gross!)

(Distracted the way he was, Lucifer didn't notice that his thoughts about the other man had crept across the line from 'uncaring' to 'hardly caring')

Alastor gazed at him from under those distractingly bold lashes of his, unaware of his companion's innapropriate train of thought as he spoke. "I cannot believe I am saying this, but I believe today's ordeal has worn me out. I'm ready to hit the hay." To punctuate this the sinner made a showy effort of trying to raise his right hand in a triumphant fist above his head. The joke was self evident when it lost all momentum halfway through and slapped knuckle-first back onto his forehead with an amusingly loud sound. "Just this morning I would have been horrified at the prospect of turning in so early, but now that I've had the satisfaction of accomplishing what I wanted I'm drained in my entirety. Mèd. I cannot wait for this ordeal to be over."

Alastor seemed to be sinking slowly into his pillow as he spoke, leading Lucifer to question if he had somehow over-fluffed it.

"There's a while yet for that!" Lucifer helpfully reminded him, earning a withering look. "I only had vague estimates before, but I've actually looked a bit more into what to do with you. That's why I've been gone all day... though maybe I should establish some form of communication between us, so I don't come back tomorrow and find you've bled out on the toilet."

"I thought you were going to help around the hotel?"

"I mean, yeah." Lucifer scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. "I was. And I did, for the record. Do that. A bit. They kind of had it handled though. I don't really know what's meant to be where since I never stepped in the old place before it got levelled, and my magic is kind of on the fritz at the moment. I just helped with some of the decor and then dipped."

Alastor squinted at him. "You were supposed to inform Charlie of my whereabouts. Innacurately."

"I did!" Lucifer quickly clarified, kicking his legs back and forth. "That was the first thing I did, sorry, did I not say that? I thought I said that. But I told her an abridged version, basically just said you were tired and had gotten way too much touchy-feely socialization, so you're holing up in here until you feel ready to resurface." The devil brought a pinched finger and thumb to his lips as he pressed them into a thin line, pulling his fingers across in a 'zipping' motion. "Not a whisper of you being hurt. Poor dear was too frazzled still to interrogate me anyway."

The overlord beneath him sighed in relief, and Lucifer found his gaze lingering on the man - the rare sight of his exposed neck and the way his hair was splaid over the pillow. With his nearly gentle expression, he looked peaceful. It was a less concerning version than that face he'd worn while sleeping.

"After that and the fuss in the lobby, I went back to the hospital I poached your IV from" Lucifer followed up, jerking a shoulder at said drip. "They gave me a good dressing down on the do's and don'ts of at-home patient care and recovery - don't look at me like that, I still didn't tell them who it was I was looking after - and helped clarify some stuff I wasn't sure of. Didn't seem to like that I wasn't handing you over to them for care, though. As if."

Alastor peered at him inquisitively. "They have a point."

"Hm?"

"Why aren't you?"

"Why aren't I what?" Lucifer blinked.

"Why aren't you handing me over?" Alastor enunced deliberately, the way one would while speaking to someone very slow or incapable.

Lucifer suddenly had the great and overpowering sense that he was about to humiliate himself. "What, did you want me to?" He havered, averting his gaze.

"Of course not." Alastor said bluntly. "I loathe those places. I've never even had to be committed to overnight care before now. I suppose I only can't comprehend why you refused to do so. It would be easier for you, no?"

"No"

"No?" Their conversation seemed to be going this way a lot. Alastor's tone had shifted to disbelief, clearly inviting elaboration. Lucifer went florid.

"I mean... yeah. Yeah, it'd save me a lot of personal hassle. All of this has been a pain in the ass. But." Lucifer cleared his throat, straightening his back and resting the palms of his (upsettingly sweaty) hands on his trousers. "But you were there for my little girl when I wasn't. If you hadn't been distracting Adam, who knows if I'd have shown up too late. It's only fair to give back what you did."

He hated thinking about it. Charlie had warned him in advance, but he'd been Tired again, capital T tired, the sort that turned his thoughts to molasses and his movements to mush, and it'd taken so much longer than it should've to register. He'd nearly been too late. Lucifer could teleport, could get there in an instant... and he'd almost gotten the only reason he had left to go on killed. Nothing excused that. The only 'excuse' around here was him - a sorry excuse for a father, shown up by a murderous sinner. How far the great could fall.

Alastor was watching him strangely, but at least didn't seem upset. It helped to embolden him to press onward with his explanation.

"If I let them have you, especially how you were last night... you'd be dead right now. That lot can't keep patient confidentiality to save their skin, and they'd have ratted you out to the first assassin that came running. So, again, you're welcome."

Unlike last time, Alastor didn't buckle and apologise. The demon just watched Lucifer with that same half-way expression, clearly uncertain of how to proceed. Before the king was forced into awkwardly continuing his speal, Alastor spoke up.

"And you sat over me all that night."

Lucifer felt warm. "I did."

"Are you planning on doing so again tonight?"

He swallowed. "I don't know."

"Don't you have something else to do?"

He had a kingdom to run, yes. "Not really."

Alastor gave him a smile. This would be a moot point when considering his resting expression was already one, but there was some unquantifiable difference, one he wasn't yet familiar enough with the man to put into words. It had an effect nontheless.

"Well then!" Alastor struggled to sit up, gracefully accepting Lucifer's proffered hands as the devil guided him slowly, re-placing the pillows so they would better support a seated position. "I suppose I'd better not bore you, if you'll be here all night."

"Eh?" Lucifer withdrew, hands tingling.

"Come now your majesty. Surely there is something we can do without requiring my leave from this bed? You've had centuries to discover them."

Lucifer snorted, a bubbling warmth building up unbridled in his chest. "I think humanity had their Magnum Opus at board games, if we mean strictly low intensity co-op experiences. And considering your moderus operandi for boredom is extincting half my underworld, I'm not convinced they'd hold your attention."

"On the contrary, my liege. And, more importantly, could it hold yours?"

"Are you really gonna pretend like you care?"

"Why wouldn't I care?"

"I thought you hated me." Lucifer admitted, and the admission was surprisingly free of judgment or condemnation. Alastor seemed taken aback by how casually he said it, and he wasn't alone in that. But at the moment Lucifer truly didn’t feel any ill will. "I didn't think me tying you to your bed and lecturing you about your decisions would endear me to you. I'm not actually expecting you to take my experience here into account; you're the one in critical condition."

Alastor's smile stretched further as his eyes crinkled, a surefire sign the emotion he was conveying was real enough. "Something most don't know or doubt the sincerity of - I'm one who can be endeared rather easily!"

Oh-

"And, in more relevance, you're the only one around." Alastor finished brightly. "I may as well value the little company I can get!"

Aw.

Lucifer got up so he could better grab at the front of his vest, doubling over dramatically with a loud whine, all the theatrics of a seasoned thespian. "Ow! Ach, stay my bleeding heart! And here I was thinking we were bonding! It's all just convenience to you."

Alastor set off into another peal of laughter, the sound less grating than it had been in the day of their first meeting.

"I answered you honestly!"

"You're being a prick is what you're doing!" Lucifer exclaimed, and somehow made it sound like a compliment. No matter what he did, he couldn't keep the beaming smile off his face or how it carried into his stance or voice. "Fine, since you suggested it, I condemn you to a round of play!"

And thus was conjured a floating board of checkers. They both had to blow it briefly to de-dust it (Lucifer was fairly sure it'd been pulled from some cupboard he'd shut after Charlie had drifted away and never re-opened), but then it was time for an intellectual face-off.

As it turned out... that was incredibly fun.

Alastor was for all his faults a deeply intelligent individual, and Lucifer was no brainless ghoul either. A battle of the wits was greatly enjoyed, even as Alastor whooped his butt at Chess thrice over effortlessly. Checkers they sat more evenly matched, and Lucifer finally took home the belt when they hit Monopoly. It initially surprised him that the overlord was apparently unfamiliar with the task... until he recalled it was first published only a few years after his death. The guy seemed like the type to refuse to keep up with the times after his own, even if what seperated them was a matter of years. Still, you'd think in the century since his death he'd have had a round of the classics with a friend by now.

Unless he'd had no friends to do such with, whether then or now. his mind chipped in. That's something you can certainly relate to him on. Tell me, Satan, how do you forget your own daughter's birthday?

'Fuck you.' Lucifer shot back immediately. 'I don't care. Not right now. I'm having fun. Fuck off.

Alastor also proved his merit in the card games they turned to. His poker face was a given fact and kept him on a solid winning streak in that set (apparently it was one of the games he'd used to con Husker out of all of his earnings, which seemed like a cruel thing to remember so fondly, but not uncharacteristic) and what really got under the king's skin was his proficiency with blackjack, which Lucifer had previously considered himself pretty damn good at. That one was hilariously stressful for a game where you just guess cards.

All in all, a decent if frustrating evening.

"I believe that was my win, good sir!" Alastor gloated as he collected his cards after a particularly harrowing game of Schnapsen. "As well as the prior three. Might we call it a night?"

Lucifer pouted. "I am convinced you've cheated at least a few of these."

Just to hammer in his superiority, Alastor made the wholly unnecessary effort of flitting the cards about in his hands, his affected coordination apparently not a significant enough factor to hinder him as he flipped them into a frenzy and then brought them back into a neat little stack like it was no effort at all. As he handed them back over to Lucifer - as he had been the one to conjure them - their fingers briefly brushed.

The electric rush that arced up Lucifer's spine had to be his imagination.

"I wasn't aware our king was such a sore loser!" Alastor crowed, breaking him from that unsettling feeling. "Too afraid to confess that a lowly mortal such as myself could best him in a round of wits. How pitiful!"

"I'll get your ass on Bridge some time just so I can see you suffer." Lucifer grumbled. "Then you'll get what's coming to you. Or, screw it, maybe Magic the Gathering."

"I've not the foggiest as to either."

"Yep. That's why I'll get the satisfaction of humbling your ass."

"Is it truly humbling if you know much more than I? Now it sounds like you may be the true cheater between the two of us."

Lucifer shook his head, flicking the stack of cards away. Damn, it was nearly midnight already? They'd seriously gotten swept up in this. "I'm Satan. That's my job."

"I can't contest that" Alastor sighed, slumping back into the pile of pillows and sliding down. Lucifer watched him, the small smile on his face feeling nearly stuck on, unbudgeable.

The atmosphere was disarmingly comforting. Like coming home. If he moved in temporarily as Charlie kept hedging, it would become home. He'd essentially live with this guy.

The thought wasn't as upsetting as it perhaps should have been. Or would have been, before.

Maybe he could keep visiting Alastor's room. Maybe they could keep playing games like this. Maybe.

"And now you watch over me." Alastor teased, turned to lock their eyes. It was pleasing to see they truly were their ordinary and healthy red now, all the way back to normal, a far cry from the pale and sickly pink they had been before. The sinner's skin tone was also more rich and vibrant, having rivalled Lucifer's at its worst. "The whole night through you'll be sat by my bedside."

"Why do you have to make it sound so weird?" Lucifer complained.

"Isn't it?"

"No? I'm your nurse. Your nanny. Your stay-at-home doc. I gotta be here. What if you choke on your own blood while you're asleep?"

Alastor looked disturbed. "Might I?"

"No" Lucifer assured, sticking his tongue out. "Unfortunately."

"You tempt fate too much for someone still within distance of my throwing arm."

"Yeah, enjoy sleeping through that ache." Lucifer retorted, knowing he'd won. Sure enough, Alastor shook his head and turned his gaze to the ceiling.

It seemed they would sink back into companionable silence. Lucifer allowed himself the comfort of transmodifying the chair to be a little more luxuriant, with a more pronounced lean at the back to lie against and a far cushier seat. Truly he didn't actually need to be here or do this, the medical staff had told him as much...

Yesterday's sleep had been one of the best of his life still hadn't escaped his recollection. Having someone in the room with him, particularly someone he tolerated the company of. It helped. Just them being there helped. If he turned tail now and returned to the room Charlie had allowed for him in this very building across the way, or snapped himself back to his regal quarters in the home he shared with only himself... he was certain he couldn't get a wink of sleep.

"Well." Lucifer muttered, clapping his hands as he glanced toward the chandelier hanging above, a wonderfully intricate piece of decoration that looked both valuable and aged. It dulled with his command, set on a slow course to snuffing out completely. To him, it had always been less jarring than flipping a lightswitch. Helped the brain get sleepy. "Don't let the bed bugs bite. I'll just read, so I'll be here the whole time. Don't get any more nightmares."

A low, curious hum from the bed. "Any more?"

"Yeah?" Lucifer's head tilted. "Looked like you had one last time. I assumed going into Shock had given you some fucked up surreal nightmares. You were concussed, too, and brain injuries especially do that. I took pity on you after you kept thrashing, and-" he gestured helplessly at the jacket Alastor was wearing. "That's why you have that. It's what got you to chill."

It was hard to tell in the rapidly dimming light, but was Alastor blushing? "I very well might have been. Thank you, then." The cannibal's features were so soft, eyes hazy as they drifted halfway closed.

"No problem. I get it. It's actually pretty rare for me to go without one of those."

"Which part?" Alastor's speech slowed, thick with sleep.

"A nightmare." Lucifer admitted. It was weird, because - he had no reason to admit this. It was really fucking personal, actually. Charlie sure as hell didn't know... or at least he hoped she didn't. When she'd been living with him, as had Lilith, and his wife had always soothed him when he woke up screaming and panting from those awful memories. The devil's tone pitched higher and faster as he swept on ahead with the confession. "Don't think I can go a night without them anymore. Guess it kind of comes with the territory though. Would be weird if the Lord of the Underworld and Progenitor of Evil had nice peaceful dreams about rainbows and ice creams. I'm happy enough to leave Char-Char to that."

What he was not expecting to follow up that slightly shameful admission was a sudden warmth.

He looked down.

Alastor's right palm eclipsed his own, not holding but simply resting. Steadying.

"I know the feeling." Alastor told him, words slurring ever more in his weariness. "But I did have a truly wonderful rest before. Perhaps my luck will carry over and grant you the same."

Lucifer swallowed thickly, returning the pressure before moving the man's hand back to his side. "Sure would be nice."

Perhaps Alastor had meant to say something else in response to that as his mouth continued moving, but no sound came and his eyes drifted shut for good a moment later, breathing leveling out.

A snap of fingers brought a book to Lucifer's waiting hands, ready to read until he too went under.

Chapter Text

Lucifer really wasn't leaving.

Alastor... didn't know why that surprised him as much as it did.

Certainly he'd guessed Lucifer had nothing better to do with himself or his time (the man hadn't had anything going on since his big breakup, everyone knew that) but it was still inevitably a little strange to have one of God's first creations tend on you with a care you have wholly not earned.

There had been the first day of course, wherein Alastor had slept through the first quarter of his IV drainage, glared at the wall to while away the second, and then spent the third handily beating Lucifer's arse at every game involving a deck of cards. And the sinner maintained still that he had not cheated - the devil was simply a sore loser.

Lucifer had slept through the night by his side again, already unexpected and far beyond the minimum amount of fucks required of him, and then startled Alastor further by sticking by him through another day.

"They bought you needing space the first day, but if you're still incognito after 24 hours they'll get suspicious" the shorter man had began, crosslegged atop the back of what was becoming his 'usual' perch. "If I come up with another excuse they'll question why i'm the one telling them and not you, and you're still not ready to get off your IV long enough to fake it. So..." Lucifer pulled his knees up to his chest in a continually impressive display of both acrobatics and balance, grinning like a cheshire cat as he balaboured his point. "I think I'll hole up with you. I don't have the heart to lie to Charlie repeatedly, y'see, so let's not give them the chance to force my hand. 24/7 nurse care, lucky you!"

Alastor stared at him with the profound energy of a man who's conversation partner had suddenly started speaking Spanish without elaboration partway through a phrase. It felt approximate. "That is your best strategy?"

...Actually, he'd not meant to inject that much ire into his tone. It was just... what?

"You're an infamous evildoer, and I've probably won a whole book of records for 'most flighty dad'" Lucifer chuckled self-deprecatingly, pulling a face. "Let them assume we've ditched them for the day, ran off into the sunset to do something malevolent. It's hardly uncharacteristic."

'It's hardly uncharacteristic of you.' Alastor thought. 'I do not want a reputation of being the sort of person who vanishes to do nonspecific evil things' He didn't say. 'They won't even believe it, your daughter is much more perceptive than you give her credit for.' he considered.

Then the sinner opened his mouth, and all that fell out was-

"It sounds moreso like we've eloped."

Thunk!

That was the sound of Lucifer's backside striking the parquet below with the grace and speed of a misfired bullet. Oh my was he flushed from tip to toe. It was a curiously indeterminate shade somehwere between scarlet and gold, searing across his cheeks and over the bridge where his nose should be like a sunburn.

"How is THAT the first thing you think of!" Lucifer accused, rubbing his sore rear end with a scowl, looking for all the world like a petulant child. It was good then that Alastor resisted the urge to join that comparison and snap an immature 'That's what I should be asking YOU!'

It was impressive actually, Alastor mused as he leered down at this man from above. Someone who held such great power yet could be felled by something as stupid as this. Was flirtation his weakness? That seemed... poetic.

"Forgive me sire, I misspoke" Alastor smarmed as he leant his chin atop a limp-wristed hand. It was empowering to look down at the man since Lucifer always insisted on trying to look tall whenever he could. "It was not my intention to cause your fall. Oh- pardon the double entendré" and his grin stretched a little wider across his face at the underhanded jab. The sinner's greatest weakness was and would always be his inability to respect any authority that did not respect him, and their little spat from before all of this still ground against his cognizance. It was a low blow, but it satisfied the small part in him that still wished to punch the king squarely in the face.

Lucifer didn't rebutt as Alastor had expected. Instead he went strangely quiet, averting his gaze to a spot just behind the overlord and schooling his expression into unreadability.

A sick arc of discomfort shot through Alastor's stomach. He was sure it was just his wound acting up again.

"Very funny, I'm sure." Lucifer said, and the total lack of amusement or anger in his tone only furthered Alastor's embarrassment. "Anyway," and he immediately swept the faux pas under the rug, standing up and stretching to work out the kinks another night sleeping in an upright sitting position had brought him "What's actually most important is we figure out how to get some food in you."

All too eager to bury the awkwardness, Alastor quickly responded. "I'd wondered about that."

Lucifer shrugged. "I just thought last night as I was falling asleep - 'oh, Alastor hasn't eaten since before the extermination. That's not great.' And, actually, what's really weird is you hadn't even mentioned being hungry."

Well of course not.

"I don't get hungry" Alastor admitted, and smiled softer at Lucifer's look of obvious interest. All demons had unique traits and struggles befitting their earthly sins, and the cannibal's was perfectly ironic. "By that I mean I am always hungry; I am never not on the brink of starvation. No matter how much I eat or what it is I will never feel any different. So I do eat, yes, and I do become hungrier, but it all got lost in the confusion of other sensation."

"Oh." said Lucifer . "That sucks."

If Alastor were a less dignified soul he might have snorted. "Very much so."

"Well. Er. Is there anything specifically you can't eat? Or like... have to eat? Your diet might be pretty limited at the moment, honestly, and I don't have a nutrient drip. Is that comfortable by the way?" He gestured with a gloved hand to the cannula wedged in Alastor's wrist - a fresh one when he'd changed the pack on Alastor's IV just prior to this conversation. "I missed your vein at least once."

"It's perfectly fine, I hardly remembered it was there before you reminded me of it" Alastor answered honestly, yet again surprised by the considerate attitude. It drove the nail of his own unwarranted nasty comment deeper. "I can technically eat anything that is edible, to my knowledge. I prefer meat and I abhor sweets, but I won't fuss. Beggers shan't be choosers after all."

"I'll see what I can get. Although I have planned to hide from the hotel today, so I can't ransack the kitchen..." Lucifer hummed and tapped his foot. Alastor didn't get the chance to remind him that he really needn't hide, as the devil suddenly lit up. "Ooh, I'll have to shop! Like a normal person - as far as sinners really count in that camp - how fun!"

Fun? What a strange man.

Alastor hadn't got the chance to ask him why he needed to stop to that level in the first place; didn't he have a mansion, a castle filled with servants his to command? Actually, when did he intend on returning?

...why did he seem so averse to his own home but so eager to stay in Alastor's bedroom?

Alastor shuddered. He was starting to see what Lucifer meant by unfortunate wording.

Luckily, any innuendo was washed away by a delicious chicken broth. Perhaps not Alastor's first choice, but he had deferred to Lucifer on the matter, and it was still rather tasty. A venison stew would have been divine... something to look forward to making when he was finally well enough to stand up without Lucifer immediatelly pushing him back onto the bed like he was a misbehaving pet. That humiliation was about to extend further even - when Alastor took the steaming bowl of food he came to the realization that he couldn't steady the bowl to eat it. It was warm and fresh enough that it burned his hands to hold, and he couldn't angle his body and knees to prop it up. Nor did he want to risk trying to balance it on bedsheets that had recently been refreshed. Lucifer had offered to spoon feed him, and the one thing that kept Alastor from hurling the scalding liquid right into the king's face for the mere offer was his own shadow immediately darting up and offering its services instead.

That was the good thing about an amorphous, inpermeable entity. It could refashion it's limbs into an effective tray shape and save its master from any indignity. The creature liked to play around often with this ability when Alastor (rarely) allowed it or (more likely) didn't notice it was doing so, making shadow animals with its hands that were definitely beyond the capability of what 10 fingers and two palms should be able to craft. Some time ago at the start of Husk's indebted contract to him he remembered he had been providing a firm lecture only to be cut off by the feline bursting into violent laughter. Before the cannibal could even retaliate in his confusion and rage at seemingly being mocked, Husk had brought his attention to his shadow... which had been making bunny ears behind his head for most of the conversation and had just started miming a galloping horse.

He'd banished it for a week after that.

"I don't think you ever told me what that thing is" Lucifer remarked in the present day, studying the shadow like it was a puzzle. "It's weird."

"Is it now?" Alastor hummed through a mouthfull of chicken, glancing up at his shade. It seemed affronted at the 'thing' descriptive, hissing at Lucifer, who threw up his hands appeasingly and leant back.

"No offense! Just... I've never seen something that looks like you-" Lucifer inclined his head at the shade as he spoke "-before. I still haven't figured you out yet."

"It's my shadow" Alastor clarified airily, tsking as the shadow jerked in acknowledgment and rattled the makeshift tray it had formed. It whistled in apology and straightened out. "It's an aspect of my power, and thus tied to my soul and bound to do my bidding. It's only convenient for the both of us that it seems to enjoy it so much."

Lucifer still looked bewildered as he shuffled closer, before startling both Alastor and his helper by shifting up onto the bed beside them, now nearly toe-to-toe with the entity and a mere hand's breadth from where Alastor's legs lay. The king leant in close to the shadow, apparently unaware of how flustered he was making the poor thing as he got up in its face and peered all around it, hand reaching up to poke it in the face.

It chirped in shock, spasming, and Alastor yelped in turn as the bowl of hot food was ejected.

Straight into his face, of course.

"Oh shit!" Lucifer squeaked, immediately leaping off the bed and conjuring a handcloth, patting away at Alastor's face before the sinner could even comprehend any of what had just happened. "My bad!"

"What in- the-" Alastor hissed in frustration, fighting Lucifer's invasive hand and trying to shove the smaller man away from him. Thank god the broth had cooled enough to not burn his flesh, but it was still unpleasantly warm and sticky, oozing down his face and shirt. "What exactly was that about?!" He finally managed to catch Lucifer's hand, wrangling it down and scowling straight into the horrified angel's wide eyes. Alastor was sure his own were spinning dials right now, the effect slightly hampered by his bangs sticking to his forehead and dripping broth.

Lucifer froze, damp cloth hanging uselessly from his hand. "Uh." That bizarre ombré blush was spreading across his cheeks again, and now that Alastor could see it up close he swore it emphasised his eyes further and made them seem brighter, lighting up his face like a fireworks display. "Sorry."

Ignoring his pitiful apologies, Alastor felt a tug at his front and found his shadow pitifully whining and trying to wring out his shirt, big fat cartoony tears miming their way down its face.

He sighed.

"Sorry!" Lucifer groaned again, hiding his burning face in his hands. "I didn't mean to do that. Obviously."

Alastor wrested his shadow's hands away as well, granting it a stern look before it could protest and leaving it to stew (ha) at the foot of the bed. He arrested the king with a look of bemused disdain. "What precisely did you intend to do when you prodded it in the eye?"

Lucifer's head shot up, the blush apparently there to stay even as his look shifted to indignancy. "I touched the cheek! Gently, even! I didn't think it'd freak out!" From the end of the bed the shade hissed at him nastily, and Lucifer hissed right back, serpentine tongue even joining for effect.

"That is not an answer."

It took the king a second to recall what the question had been - and then he looked a little unnerved. "I just... I thought I recognized something about it. It's a strange entity, y'know, and... there was something familiar. I thought I'd put it together if I got up close enough and touched it, but." Lucifer scowled deeply and stared at some undefined point around Alastor's abdomen, deep in thought. "No dice."

A cold pit opened in Alastor's stomach, and in an instant the chill spread to every part of his body.

Oh.

Oh.

"Are you okay-?"

Right. Of course that would register. Was that why it kept hiding from Lucifer? He'd thought it was just afraid of the devil, but perhaps it had known it could be recognized for what it was. What it had come from.

"Um. Alastor?"

He turned his head just enough to catch it in his periphery, and right as he was about to reach out into himself to de-summon it, it saved him the trouble and did It itself, vanishing in an instant.

"Hey! Why'd it do that?"

No more bringing out his shadow then. Not around Lucifer.

Who had been speaking this whole time. Alastor tuned back in.

"Seriously, did I scare it off? I'm a wreck today, man."

"You didn't." Alastor's mouth worked without his full awareness, trying to quash down the vile fear that had made passages of ice through his veins. "It's just tired. And embarassed. Forget about it for now, aren't you meant to be cleaning up your mess?"

"You stopped me! You pushed my hand away!" Lucifer protested.

"That was supposed to be assistance?" Alastor slapped on a faux-shocked expression, cupping his face. "Good heavens, and here I was thinking it was an assault. Your technique of 'shoving a towel into both eyes at full force' was of course completely effective."

"You are so fucking difficult to be nice to." Lucifer said sourly, finally raising the small cloth again when Alastor just kept his gaze expectantly. "No wonder you have no friends."

"Oh, don't I?"

"Do you really think anyone in the hotel talks to you because they like your company? Scaring people into compliance isn't friendship, dude."

Why did that sting? "And I suppose you think I only know the denizens of this fine establishment? Unaware of my century long existence prior to this places creation?" Grief, having another man touch around his face was making him twitch irritably. It was unfortunate that this was the best thing to distract Lucifer from pressing about where his shadow had went and why.

Lucifer was sufficiently distracted. The devil was patting Alastor's face down far slower than he realistically needed to, and his touch... lingered.

"I wasn't, actually, if you remember" Lucifer snarked, though his tone was losing heat. "Wasn't that why you got so pissy at me when I came? Because I'd never heard of you?"

Alastor bristled. "Among many other things."

"Do tell. I'd like to know what caused such a bad impression that you decided to pick a fight with me on sight in front of my own daughter, and use her against me." Lucifer said, and immediately the heat was back, drenched in bitterness and frustration.

'Well' Alastor thought. 'I'm not the only one of us still holding a grudge, then.'

"Don't worry about it" he said, resting his eyes and trying to ignore the awful feeling of his shirt sticking to his chest. It was deeply unfortunate how reminiscent the sensation was of... recent events.

Between getting broth thrown at him and having his chest torn open by a weapon broader than he was, he had to admit he'd take the broth anyday.

Alastor immediately re-opened his eyes, trying to chase away aftereffects of the memories that had sprung to his mind when remembering his injury's source - the figure of Adam so easy to call back to and yet so difficult to linger on, a cold sweat building under his palms the moment his mind veered too close to reconstructing the exterminator's face.

"You good?" Lucifer asked, looking at him oddly. "You made a bit of a face. Did I poke your eye or something?" He waggled the towel for emphasis.

"No" Alastor said, pushing the other man back and patting down his hair. There was still a noticeable scent, but he was at least not dripping the stuff anymore. "Only wondering what I'm to have now, with my previous meal being all over me instead of inside me."

The fallen angel groaned overdramatically, flicking his wrist to dispel the cloth and looking over at the IV. "It'd be a lot easier if I had one of those nutri-packs for that thing. Then you could just... passively eat?"

Alastor squinted suspiciously at the way the phrase was enunciated more like a question. “Is that how those work?”

“No clue. I don't even know if it’d still go in your wrist. Surely not, right? Because it's FOOD? You can't put food in your… veins…” Lucifer trailed off, looking like he was trying desperately to math it out in his head and failing miserably.

“It's such a comfort to hear the extent of your medical expertise” Alastor snarked.

Lucifer huffed, crossing his arms defensively. “I'm doing my best here! I shouldn't be doing anything for you, really!”

No, he shouldn't. And yet again Alastor was so tempted to press the issue, put his hand in the horse's mouth and dare it to bite, to retract all of the unwarranted assistance it had given him, despite how much of a bastard he was and would continue to be toward it.

He didn't. He couldn't afford for that to happen, still unable to walk without assistance, still unable to eat or face the rest of the hotel. He couldn’t. Lucifer's altruism could remain a temporary mystery.

Lucifer was staring at him, and Alastor realized he'd paused a little too long, not given any reply and let Lucifer wear off the steam he'd been building up. Before the sinner could open his mouth to respond-

“You look good with your hair like that, y’know.”

…?

“Thank you?” Alastor honestly didn't know what to say to that. A compliment(?) was the last thing he'd been prepared for, much less so one that applied to his condition… while covered in food.

That certainly hadn't been what the dolls he'd courted in life had wanted to see him in. Although they'd largely wanted to see him in very little, and, well, that had always been the one thing he couldn't - wouldn't - give them. No matter how charming they were, how objectively beautiful, how easy to manipulate… it was the one barrier he still wouldn't cross a century later.

“You keep pulling at your shirt. Did that much get on it?” Lucifer questioned, leaning over to try and see just how badly Alastor had been splashed below the chin. As it turned out - a lot. “Nice. Okay, that's On the list too then. More food, change of clothes. Awesome. Hang tight.” and he made to snap his fingers, ready to depart once again. Only to pause and grin at a bemused Alastor. “I meant it, by the way. Your hair's been all slicked off to the side and out of your face - it's good. You should try that look more. BRB!”

Poof. Gone.

Alastor reached up to feel at his slightly sticky forehead, noting that Lucifer had indeed altered his parting with his clumsy drying attempt. Instead of being coiffed into a side sweep it hung lump in waves that framed his face, a few hairs swinging into his eyes when he angled his head certain ways. It wasn't bad. Perhaps.

The overlord was yet again trapped in this typical waiting game, all alone and confined to his bed until Lucifer re-emerged.

It was dreadfully boring. Still, he hurt less hour by hour. By tomorrow he could surely be well enough to walk and talk, to get back to his work. Vox didn't deserve the satisfaction of likely thinking him dead.

Until then…. ennui.

And Lucifer's compliment playing on repeat inside his head.

Chapter Text

Alrighty then. It feels like he has to sit himself down mentally to confront it, but it's a fact Lucifer can deny no longer.

Alastor isn't all that bad.

In fact, and it does truly hurt to go this far, Lucifer might kind of like the guy.

It's terrible, awful, ghastly! The devil wanted soooo bad to just hate this dude forever and have that be the end of it. Things felt so much more cut and dry when the best he wanted from their situation was for Alastor to die somewhere he wouldn't see it where it wouldn't be his problem or fault. Albeit he'd only felt that way on the very first day... and even then not really, if he's honest with himself. Maybe he should work on this whole 'lord of evil plunderer of the dark' thing. It'll be hard to fake it til he makes it now though even if he tried - forced proximity is one hell of a drug. (However 'forced' it can be when you condemn yourself to it of your own accord, but that's besides the point!)

It all boils down ultimately to Alastor just being a decent conversation. Lucifer knows himself and he knows how others view him, and it's historically been fairly anxiety inducing. A blabbermouth. An anxious verbal wreck. The kind of guy that makes a completely unremarkable gaffe while conversing and then immediately makes it ten times worse by overexplaining his intentions. The beings he talks most consistently to even now, the Sins, make the burden of dealing with this readily apparent. Even the friendlier of them such as Ozzie and Beelz look like they've drained their respective impressive social batteries at the end of a 5 minute phone call with him.

Alastor shows nothing of the sort.

Part of that must be the sheer scope of his boredom - one will find themself with a far greater endurance for interminable discussions when the alternative is doing absolute fuck all - and yet the sinner sometimes seems legitimately invested in what Lucifer has to say, particularly memories relating to history that the devil had observed first hand. Offhand mentions of wars waged down below centuries before the man's time will engender question after question beckoning him to elaborate, and by the time he's come to enough to realize how long they've wasted on the subject, it's not unusual for more than an hour to have passed.

It's really nice. He gave up his plan to just skulk around in Alastor's quarters right after he'd coined it, acknowledging the idiocy, but that space remained the only one where he felt like he could just slowly exude his social battery without it instead being bloated with anxiety and self consciousness.

Again, he loved Charlie more than life itself and would gladly plunge all of the dimensions into darkness if it meant sparing her another second of pain, but her presence also brought guilt abound that he still wasn't totally ready to unpack in full. Her little girlfriend was no better, being a fallen angel and all. If there were a few things that Lucifer didn't like to think about in his day to day, it was his former home and subsequent banishment. Because those thoughts were aptly capable of spiralling. And that woman... Vagatha? Valeria? She was a walking reminder. That little gremlin lady who buffed the windows and shone the floors and counters was still yet to grant him more than a word in passing, and the bartender-

Husk, Lucifer corrected himself sourly. The feline's name was Husk.

At first, the king had been all too eager to spend the few hours he did on the ground floor at the bar. Not an incorrigible drinker himself but still partial to the taste, and even more partial to getting drunk off of the other's voice, he'd started a few idle conversations. It was great, very chill, and he DEFINITELY wasn't being embarassingly obvious when he shivered when something had caught Husk's attention and he'd growled. There'd been interesting things to learn about the other, like his former status as an overlord that had been brought down under via his Hubris by Alastor, or his military tenure back in his previous life. But then the cat had pressed Lucifer for details about himself, affecting as though he didn't care yet affixing him with a gaze of molten gold, and Lucifer-

Had done what he did best. Heh, remember that bad habit of his that kept showing itself with the Deadly Sins? Yyyep. Husk had had to sit there for a not insubstantial amount of time as Lucifer traumadumped his ever-loving heart out, dropping info he never dreamed he would, mostly spurred on by admitting something else then scrambling to push past what he'd just revealed. By the time he managed to put a stopper on his mouth he was burning gold all the way down to his collarbone, and Husk just looked faintly disturbed.

"Wow." The cat had said blankly, giving up on pretending to clean the glass in his hands and letting it fall down on the barmat. "That's really fucked up."

Lucifer hadn't even tried to ask which part of his word vomit the other was referring to - it could be any number of things - because the utter monotony of that response in the face of his own extended blathering had filled the ruler with such potent humiliation that he'd avoided the bar like the plague since.

Actually, Husk's eyes had been glued to Lucifer's gloves ever since that incident, every time he'd had to pass by the space. Surely he hadn't told him about-

No. Definitely not. Don't even think about it, don't entertain the possibility. Just avoid the guy and pretend like none of that ever happened. It would be nice to have Angel to speak to instead, to continue off the rapport they'd established prior, but Angel had seemed rather busy the few times he was sighted, bustling past the lot of them with nary a word of acknowledgment. The spider looked... ragged. At least the looks of worry Husk would send after him kept those amber eyes off the king's own back.

Wow, he'd sure gotten off track, hadn't he? What was it that had started this train of thought? Right, Alastor!

Wait, noooooo... he didn't want to keep thinking about the overlord and how little he hated him now, because that was COMPLICATED and GROSS!

At least Alastor had been making good strides these past few days in recuperating physically. After the soup-cident he'd taken to practicing rudimentary stretches that were easily done while propped up against the headboard, rolling his shoulders and seeing how long he could keep his arm held up straight. The sinner cited his refusal to be fed by Lucifer as his primary reason for his focus in recovering his upper body mobility especially, and when the king had reasonably asserted that he could just re-summon his shadow to do it and trust in Lucifer to not re-intefere, Alastor had gotten quite an odd look and changed the subject. This left the stubborn deer with his companion as the sole avenue for support in testing his body on the tougher ranges of movement. It hadn't been so bad, at least.

---

"You ready?"

Lucifer braced himself by the bedside, completely locked in to play his role. Alastor had grumbled a request for assistance in getting up to test out his leg strength once more, and Lucifer was eager enough to lend a hand.

The deer didn't respond, but Lucifer, oblivious as he was, pressed onward regardless. "Oookay, well, brace. 3... 2..." the devil squared his feet, flattening his hand against the curve of Alastor's spine, where his body dipped at his waist. The proximity and touch was..... warm. "1!" He finished quickly, gently nudging the sinner forward.

Except Alastor didn't move, not one wit, only turned to glower at Lucifer.

"Um" Lucifer blinked, removing his hands and frowning. "That's when you move."

A huff of air. "Yes."

"So move. I even did a countdown and everything."

No response, just the sight of Alastor's knuckles knotting in the soft fabric beneath him.

Were they doing this too early? But Alastor had even been the one to insist- Lucifer slumped helplessly. "We don't have to do this yet if you're still not up to it. It's been like, less than a week. No wonder even this is-"

"No" Alastor hissed, a quiet whistling sound through clenched teeth. The deer demon glanced down, shoulders locking up further as his left leg twitched at a muscle spasm beyond his control. "I was merely... not focused on your words. Count down again."

Lucifer's face pinched. "Sure? Totally sure? We have all the time in the world, right? If we do this too soon you might just get hurt more."

A stubborn shake of the head, glossy red hair swaying with it. Thank god for that dry shampoo Lucifer had dug up, or Alastor would've had to smell like a grocery store aisle for some time. "Just do it."

"Oookay." Lucifer sighed, repositioning his front hand at Alastor's closest shoulder and his other at the man's lower back. "Just remember to push up with your arms and legs best you can, and not scrunch your torso. Ok. Ready?"

"Yes."

It was still just unsteady enough to make Lucifer wish to protest otherwise and insist on waiting some more time, but he knew it wouldn't end well. If Alastor got hurt out of his own hubris it was his own stupid fault.

"1... 2... 3... go!" Lucifer huffed, bending his knees and helping Alastor's momentum as the taller man finally started to push himself up.

It was brutal. Lucifer had to see from up close as Alastor's eyes immediately forces themselves tightly shut, teeth bared and the line of his mouth wobbly as he panted, sweat dripping down from his forehead. His whole body was locking up from pain, the devil realised, and that tenseness was only going to worsen the pain if it kept up. Still, he was persevering, so Lucifer kind of felt like he needed to help. Could a distraction be enough?

But what topic did he have that could capture Alastor's attention that well? Lucifer wracked his brain and came up empty. He didn't know enough about this guy to conjure up a common interest, and all he himself knew intimately about to just spawn a fun fact out of mid air was-

"Did you know that ducks have regional accents? Ha."

FUCK.

Alastor cracked one eye open thinly to stare at him, mouth still ajar as he breathed heavily but now rediverting his attention onto the nonsensical non sequiter. "What?"

It worked!

Lucifer felt himself heat up internally but pushed onward, emboldened.

"It's true! In- in different places, um, it's usually influenced by noise level I thi- I think, one sec, hold on, pause" he held Alastor more tightly as the man started to crunch his torso inward, straining. His legs were shaking. It was actually kind of sad to watch. "Straighten out again. Ok, cool. Um, but yeah. Ducks that live in louder areas actually learn to quack a different way, y'know?" He tried to casually shrug without relieving his hold on Alastor's shoulders, repositioning his feet. They were most of the way there, now. "When they live in quiet farm-y areas they learn to speak kind of slow and soft, so if you put a duck from the city next to one from the farm, it sounds kinda like one is yelling at the other. H... haha."

At some point Alastor had rose an arm to hold onto him with a suprisingly fierce grip, the sinner's gaze piercing. The combination was a little rattling, but it had to be better than his face being screwed up with pain.

Actually, they were fully stood now, and while Lucifer bore some of the weight as Alastor generously used him as a makeshift staff, he was almost entirely stood by himself.

Not one scream. Lucifer puffed with pride.

"My fine fellow" Alastor said, drawling it out slowly. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Er" Oh god, was this going to be a repeat of the Husk situation? Lucifer didn't know if he could step back in the building, or even the same damn ring again if he had done this with TWO of them! "Trying to make you focus on me. So you didn't focus on that fact that you probably feel like your organs are about to tip right out of that hole in your stomach. Which. They're not." Lucifer broke eye contact to stare at a random shot of the wallpaper. Hmmm, pretty. "So don't stress. Aha."

Another pregnant pause. Lucifer was honestly about to just give it up and dip, and then- "Thank you."

"Huh?" Lucifer's vision shot straight back to the taller man, who was still peaked and sweating from the pain but looking at him with shocking focus.

"You heard me. I'm not eager to repeat myself."

Well then. He'd earned another one of those. Neat. "You're welcome." Lucifer got out, now warm and high strung for another reason he was still yet not ready to put a finger on. "Sorry the subject had to be ducks. It's kind of, like... my thing. First thing that popped to my mind."

"It's quite alright, it simply wasn't what I was expecting. Which in turn made it a more efficient distraction" Alastor ceded warmly, starting to shuffle one foot forward as he spoke. It looked incredibly tiring to do even so little, not even walking yet, and Lucifer kept his grounding hold. "And It's... information I was prior unaware of. I did not know animals could have differentiable accents."

"Yeah! Yeah." Lucifer tried to force himself to remain calm and chill. It was just, gah, he loved ducks! "It's really cool. I like keeping up on all of the scientific discoveries humanity makes on each turn of the millenium, the serious stuff and the silly stuff. Some of it's things I obviously know since I was there when said thing was being constructed up above, but sometimes" Lucifer shrugged happily and moved in time with Alastor as the sinner continued to stumble forward, slowly but with gaining assurance "Sometimes they find shit even I didn't know! And sometimes evolution does it for me, makes up new and crazy things to learn about! It does make me kind of sad though when Iearn about what's gone extinct. Didn't the dodo go out pretty recently?"

Alastor gave him a funny look. "If by recently you mean well before my time. If I recall correctly, that bird in particular went out before even the revolutionary war."

"Right. Well, potayto potahto, it's all the same to me. Point is, I miss that fuckass ugly bird. It made such an awful sound. Delightful creature."

"It's an odd thing to consider, when I linger on it- ach!" Alastor stumbled, curling over at the midst, hair falling down to blanket his twisting face as he fell almost entirely at Lucifer to prop him up. The king moved in to provide this stabilisation without comment, sparing Alastor the indignity as he waited quietly for the man to finish his sentence. After a few minutes with concerningly laboured breaths, he did. "-You were present for the time of the dinosaurs."

"I was. I was present for a lot of things."

"Like the creation of the sun. And the stars."

"I was party to those, too."

"I suppose you were." And Alastor looked him up and down appraisingly in a manner that made the devil shudder all over. "Monsieur Morningstar."

A more intense shudder follows that one. Oh no, accents, his weakness. This bastard must know what he's doing to him!

"Yep. If I make up for my shortcomings in any way, it's an ironic last name. Bet you can't live up to that." Lucifer joked, removing one hand from Alastor's person to jab his thumb into his chest in upped dramatics. Thankfully, it didn't unsteady the taller man anymore.

Alastor reacted to that jest at a frankly disproportionate level, fully doubling over from the force of his cackles until he actively screwed himself over and the bursts of mirth became interspersed with racking coughs that looked deeply unpleasant. Lucifer made to try and intervene in some way, but through his wheezing and rasping the overlord made out a quick response-

"LeBlanc. My surname is LeBlanc."

-before returning to peals of laughter.

Lucifer felt like he was missing something obvious, like an idiot, yet no matter how hard he thought he couldn't figure out what was so amusing about that as a surname. It sounded refined, fancy, dignified, but then it was French so of course it did. LeBlanc... that meant 'The White', didn't it? What the fuck was so damn funny about that that Alastor was currently dry heaving for-

As a relief to Lucifer's blood pressure Alastor finally acquiesced, settling down with only a few wayward snickers and yet refusing to clarify the stupid joke. Stupid man. Stupid day. Fucking up all his progress in walking and having to go straight back to bed now that he'd pulled his stitches.

It didn't occur to him that Alastor had casually revealed something very personal.

---

The day after that was much more settled and reserved. Lucifer had been engrossed in some good reading for the plurality of the time he spent in Alastor's company, after replacing the fluid in his IV drip once again, and Alastor himself seemed unusually content to lay boneless atop his sheets.

Amen for the strawberry pink plaid pajamas Lucifer had spawned up, they complimented his hair nicely.

There was a matter that needed addressing, though.

"I've been thinking of changing your sleeping position" Lucifer states, watching as his companion rolls his shoulders in a circular motion to test his mobility further, legs dangling limply off the side of the bed. He's given a strange look at the way his words trail off into nothing, so he persists. "You've been breathing kind of irregularly in your sleep still, so I thought that lying flat on your back might be exacerbating that issue."

"Have I, now?" Alastor says, and he sounds bemused. "I must say, I don't normally sleep like this, so I'm sure my body isn't used to it."

"Oh yeah?" Lucifer blinked in curiousity. "How d'you normally do it then?"

"I don't, typically."

"You don't what? Don't sleep?" Lucifer's nose wrinkled. "How-? Oh, wait. Is it like the food thing?"

"Hm. Not quite." Alastor pushed himself up by his elbows, unbrushed hair falling in waves around his face and framing it. Having not re-orientated it back to how he normally wore it... Lucifer had to wonder if his own comment had any influence on that. The concept had him flush. "I simply find the act of sleeping unpleasant" Alastor continued in the same manner of speaking, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say. "You leave yourself far too at ease and vulnerable, even if you stay hyperalert. I dislike being without my awareness."

"But then you still need it, right? So how's it happen then?"

"I hole up as far into my quarters as I can, set more than enough precautions to wake me in time if anyone dares trespass, and I sleep at the ready" Alastor listed with his fingers, smirking before suddenly pushing himself off the bed to demonstrate, lining up his feet straight. "Like this."

It took Lucifer a second to get it. "You sleep on your feet?!"

"Precisely."

"Oh my... something. Wow. I can feel the lower back and calf pain. Even sleeping in this fucking chair has been killing me!" Lucifer threw his arms up, horrified. "So you never rest then? Never ever!"

"Very rarely" Alastor agreed.

The devil buried his face in his hands, book falling forgotten to his lap. "You're the scariest person down here, and not for the reason you wish you were."

"I'll still take it as a commendation."

"Condemnation, dipshit."

"Hm. Same term."

"Literal antonyms-"

"I'm stood quite well, here" Alastor interrupted, awkwardly moving his arms and swaying slightly back and forth on his feet. They kept moving about, trying to reposition in whichever way could put the least pressure on his lower abdomen. "It's still painful, but it's not unbearable. Walking will remain interesting for quite some time, I'm sure."

"Maybe you'll speed up your recovery if you sleep better."

"You've yet to actually tell me a preferable position."

Ough, the double entendre. "I'll do it tonight, if you're already up now. It'll just need some moving pillows around and a bit of shuffling. It is pretty impressive you're already up and raring to go."

"Hm. I do feel ready to topple over."

"Maybe you need some walking assistance. Like- like-" Lucifer lit up, eyes widening. "Like a cane! Like the one you have, right? Where is that thing anyway?"

Alastor retreats into himself in some intangible way, his expression closing off and becoming defensive. There's no time to rescind the comment before he bites out a response- "I no longer have possession of it."

It seems like a touchy subject, sore spot, something the guy is still hung up over, so Lucifer doesn't press despite his burning curiosity. He'd never focused on the thing in any of the time spent around Alastor when the sinner had still been carrying it, much preferring to focus on that incredibly punchable face, but it had been an apparent and easily notable fact that it was a powerful item, containing a fair amount of Alastor's power, possibly as a conduit. The king could certainly understand being so frustrated at either losing it or somehow breaking it.

"Why don't we get you another one then? I'm sure there's good shops for that kind of thing down town. Actually, in the meantime-" and Lucifer does something incredibly impulsive. In one fluid motion and with a quick call apon his magic he summons his own personal staff - topped with the cute signature apple knob and all - elongates it to the point it becomes unweildy in his hands - and proffers it without giving either of them a chance to react. No time for him to doubt himself, no time for Alastor to refuse. "Why don't you just take mine? So you don't have to practically lie on top of me when you try pacing the room."

There's a bewildered silence when Alastor takes the gift he's being offered, tentatively holding it like he's waiting for Lucifer to say 'HA! Just kidding!' and snatch it away again. Lucifer can't say he's not tempted, already regretting his choice and wondering why he'd made it, but Alastor brings it down to his side to put weight on it and-

And that last crease of tension melts away from his face, lightening up his entire physique, and Lucifer can't regret it at all. Because someone-damnit, it works.

"Never did I think I'd need to be in a position to require a cane, instead of merely using it as an aesthetic element." Alastor murmered, apparently unaware of the pretentious nature of his admissal as he twirled the cane lightly, aware of just how much power it contained. Power that was unavailable to him, yes, but power nontheless, and thus inherently intimidating to weild, even if he would not admit it. "Even such a hideous one." And that bite was something he couldn't help. Too much sincerity in too little time does not a cannibal do.

"Yap yap" Lucifer flaps his hand, unaffected by the jibe, knowing full well it's merely to save face. "If you feel that way about my staff you'll hate the interiors downstairs when you're able to go see them. Charlie let me have my own personal touch, and it's pretty clear where I helped out. A bit of me everywhere, all around you."

Alastor's face scrunched up more and more with each new word, until he brought up the staff to brandish as a weapon, sneering. "Oh, I fear to imagine. Duck and apple themed modern graphics galore, completely clashing with the beautiful and classic interiors I advised your daughter to impliment. Was this your plan, then? To hole me up in here so that I could not see the wreck you made of my designs?" And the humour is evident in his voice.

Lucifer laughs. "You got me. That's exactly it, that was my dastardly design. The staff is to add onto that suffering, a constant reminder you had to rely on me even as I destroy your legacy. For shame."

"You could never, sire."

"Oh, just get me mad enough buddy."

"Hmm... haven't I?"

"Nerp." Lucifer popped the 'p', shaking his head and kicking his feet in the chair he fell back into. "Nowhere near. You pissed me off, made me hate you, but I wasn't really mad. You've not seen me serious yet bud, or at least not if you were MIA at the site of my fight against Adam."

And something interesting- something confusing is that Alastor visibly twitches at the angel's title.

"I was indeed. I left the scene as soon as my encounter with him ended."

But nary a tremour in the killer's tone.

"Aw. You'll have to really piss me off then, make me want to rip you into tiny shitty neon red pieces so I can show off my full form to you."

The reaction to that isn't what he expects. Alastor twirls the cane again in his hands, flips it down to lean on it and bring his face down closer to Lucifer's, and with a quieter voice and slightly more lidded eyes-

"You want to show off to me, do you?"

That's where the conversation ends, because Lucifer couldn't leave the room fast enough after that.

---

Now... it's now. The present time, a week or a bit after The Battle, or whatever that whole debacle should be dubbed.

And Lucifer is barely a foot inside the room to hold up a STUNNING shared breakfast of his personal handiwork, a duck made out of SCRAMBLED EGG, when Alastor meets his eyes, mostly dressed with combed hair and a steely disposition, halfway to the door himself.

"Today, I'd like to make my way downstairs."

It might be a little weird that Lucifer feels his stomach sink faster than the carefully crafted breakfast grows cold in his hands.

Their little saga of 'nurse' and 'patient' seems to be coming to an end.

Chapter Text

"Aaalrighty then. Still feeling up for this?"

Lucifer has a particular way of speaking that Alastor has never encountered before, a light whistling way that grants even simple terms far more levity than they practically mean. In most occasions it fills Alastor with nothing better than indifference, acknowledging the trait and having nothing more to comment on. Right now, however, there's something strange about it.

As usual the shorter man has been speaking amicably to him (as 'usual' as 'for the past 3 or so days' can account for) but his demeanor had shifted in some imperceptible way since that morning. Lucifer goes through all of the motions the same, yes, but what makes his change the most obvious is that he refuses to look Alastor in the eyes.

The overlord has no idea what he's done, and quite frankly, he doesn't truly care to know. It's become disconcerting just how aware he is of Lucifer's behaviours, to the point he can now apparently pick out when they have shifted slightly, and Alastor is smart enough to know that familiarity is only one stage away from care. No matter how little, he cannot afford to care for the king of Hell. A man above his manipulations and machinations, who holds all of the power and has now seen him at his weakest. It would only be trouble to grow close to someone like that.

So perhaps it is a good thing if Lucifer is himself withdrawing from all of this, putting the shutters back down. It saves Alastor the trouble.

(Why the Hell does that thought make him want to hiss or curse?)

Swallowing down anything that would give away his thoughts, Alastor granted the man a thin-lipped closed-eye smile and said "Yes," stepping forward one at a time to embolden his point. Indeed he moves with relative ease now, still hindered somewhat but no longer risking capsizing like a newborn fawn.

The mortification of that parallel pushes him to move faster. At least he now has the aid of Lucifer's staff (until the devil procures a true replacement, he's lended the cannibal his own, transformed into a guised appearance and longer to suit his size. To match, he has a rather generic suit on. It's good enough.) to prevent him from going down from any misstep.

Truly, he's fine. Most of that is admittedly owed to the painkillers that still temporarily circuit his body, the cannula injecting them having been removed an hour ago. Alastor knows the effects can't last all day, that he will certainly begin to feel the brunt of it again by days end, but for now it is adequate. Lucifer surveyed him and told him in those not-quite-clipped tones that while his cells were still depreciated and his blood supply remained at a risky low, neither were fatal any longer. Still, he would have to return to the unpleasantries of the intravenous that night, and the one after, and however long it took for him to ACTUALLY recuperate, instead of merely being fine enough to walk around without for a few hours.

All in all, he feels relatively confident in his capabilities. The only concern will be to downsize his usual activities and put less strain on his body. A piece of cake.

Lucifer shrugs, pushing the door open and giving a butler's bow to allow Alastor out. The shorter man doesn't even provide a stiff 'okay', and it irks the cannibal more than it maybe should.

Had he a view to Lucifer's then-bowed head, he might have seen indecision and resignment painted across his features. But by the time the king raised it, they had been schooled back into a perfect poker.

"Anything I should worry about? Any warning signs that sign me an immediate evacuation?" Alastor pressed as they descended the narrow stairwell, unsure of why he wanted so badly for Lucifer to respond with anything.

Blessed be, the man did respond. "Yeah. If you start feeling a sense of impending doom, listen to it. That's one of the biggest signs that something is wrong - your body KNOWS when it's in the danger zone. You can just wave at me if that happens, or the pain comes back, if you don't want to imply it out loud." Lucifer rolled his shoulders, glancing away. "Or feel free to make some kind of catchphrase, like 'oh no I left the washing machine on'"

"I'm sure I'll go with that one." Alastor snorted, indescribably pleased when the noise was mirrored by his companion. The stairs hurt as he pursued further down, the declining footsteps putting an awful pressure on his ribs, but he endured. "Is there nothing subtler than a hand sign or phrase, no detection spell you could put?"

Lucifer made a face. "You'd let me affect you with my magic?"

"If it were a matter of Pride or Death, yes."

"Dramatic." The king complained, but gestured to come to a stop. After a concentrated expression, clearly in a moment of thought, he nodded and reached out for Alastor's wrist. Only hesitating for a moment, Alastor met him halfway and allowed him to work whatever he would.

Heavens, Lucifer had small hands. Small hands, small feet, small everything. Who could guess that the leader of all that is bad would be so minute?

"There." Lucifer huffed, blowing away a small cloud of gold dust. "Press at your pressure point, here. I'll get a little echo. It's nothing fancy, and if I'm super distracted I might not notice, but it's an option."

Alastor's tongue bid him to give thanks, but Lucifer kept his gaze somewhere firmly behind him, not meeting his eyes, and so he swallowed it and only rewarded him with a wan smile. "Noted."

Off again they went, now in silence, down and down until they round the corner to the entryway, and-

"AL!"

It's only with exceptional reflexes (and a small measure of absolute terror that he shan't admit) that Alastor veers bodily to the side to evade the incoming attack, feeling the air whip his hair into his face as a golden blur shoots through the space he once was. Thanks to his evasion, it crashes into the wall by the stairway instead of his incredibly fearful ribs with a loud SPLAT.

Some part of him likens this to that situation with the door. Thank something that Lucifer fixed that one ASAP.

The very much not-a-door peels themselves off the wall to glare at him, and Alastor snorts at the sight of Charlie bleeding profusely from the nose and with her clothes all rumpled up and creased. She'd gotten a smudge of the fluid on the nicely patterned wallpaper, what a shame. "AL!" Is repeated at much the same volume as before, but a rather different tone.

The man in question blinks innocently, leaning in such a way to facilitate a mimed tip of the hat. "Yes?"

Charlie drags her knuckles clumsily across her nose. "Why'd you dodge!"

"I had a sense of impending doom, as though I were about to be attacked."

"I was going to hug you!" She protests.

Alastor's brow scrunched in consternation. "Why would you hug me?"

"WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU?!"

Well, he'd known it was irrational, but for one she hadn't given him time for anything but his gut instinct, and for two if she HAD made contact the both of them would be drenched in blood right now. Not that he had any interest in actually telling her as much. "It is lovely to see you again, Charlotte."

She deflates like a balloon, rolling her eyes with obvious affection as she sidles up to him, giving an examinatory once over that feels far too violating but is over too soon for verbal complaint. "You look good!" Charlie clasps her hands together, and even with the blood still steadily dripping down from her nostril to her chin her smile is as radiant as the morning sun. "I'm so glad. Dad-" and she looks over at Lucifer by now, who has been stood largely hesitant behind them for most of this and now snaps to attention "-said that you were okay, that you just wanted some time away, but with how long it's been... it felt kind of bad. Like I was missing something. You don't know how relieved I am that I was wrong."

It's sickening how sincere she is, practically oozing love and affection freely, without any need for reciprocation. The princesses love is unconditional and ever-lasting, and it's with a strange sinking feeling that Alastor acknowledges that a good part of that is directed at him. Love, she loves him, hesitantly and not without phases of frustration or disgust, but she loves him. Just the way she loves everyone else in the hotel.

It is unquestionably unearned. With his deceit and subterfuge, there is no doubt he does not deserve it. The thought shouldn't bear any guilt, and yet...

Alastor pushes it aside.

"I told you he was all hunky-dory!" Lucifer laughs, some of that plastic melting off his inflection as he stepped over to his daughter. Alastor isn't a demon with senses beyond the animal and human sort, but he could swear the man was absolutely oozing a halo of storge and philia, obnoxious in it's sheer presence. "Remember, I told you so many times he was alright! Just being an antisocial dickhead, which, is anyone surprised?"

"Dad!" Charlie scolds, even as her enthusiasm didn't waver in the slightest. "But no, seriously, phew. Saves me a bit of stress."

"You oughtn't stress about people like that in the first place." Lucifer interjects, and Alastor felt a cold rush sweep through him. The words were free of bite or venom, but- "Only give that kind of energy to people you know will return it."

Perhaps it isn't some sort of personal attack. Perhaps Lucifer is trying to preserve their original dynamic for Alastor's sake. Perhaps this is ultimately not worth the energy of being frustrated over.

But.

"Aw, and I thought you two must've been getting along better, too." Charlie whines.

Lucifer finally hesitates, gnawing on his lip. "Did I make it look like that?"

Charlie frowned. "With the way you kept looking whenever you came down from upstairs... yeah. Are you guys really still at each other's throats?"

"Not so." Alastor cut in before Lucifer could, ignoring whatever reaction he might have. He didn't know what game the bastard was playing, but he wouldn't play along. "We've matched each other quite swimmingly these past few days. I can't say we're fast friends, however. I believe I've had my fill of his majesty now."

Lucifer flinches, a fact that escapes his periphery but somehow still conveys in the space between them. "Mhm."

And there we go, Alastor thought grimly, rapport re-established. No need for cloying questions about what could have so starkly altered the way they spoke to each other if they still hardly tolerated one another.

So that was what Lucifer had been playing at? Then why did he look so damned miserable-

"Why don't I show you around, Al?" Charlie quickly broke the awkward silence, smile a little too wide. "Dad's, um, been helping us redecorate, but more than anything we've all kind of got to have a say in the design sensibilities! You missed out on it, but you could still give your opinion!"

Lucifer stepped further away, shooting an encouraging thumbs up. "Can confirm, everyone did an amayyyzing job. Worth seeing. Way better than the old place!"

"You hardly saw the old place" Alastor rose a brow despite the churning in his stomach.

"Saw enough. I like this one better."

"A crude thing to say when the previous model was obliterated by your former entourage."

Lucifer scoffed. "I didn't know any of those jerks beside Adam. Now stop antagonizing me and go help Char-Char, I'm sure she's really hankering to add radios to every single available surface."

She did lead him off, in the end. Alastor kept on twirling the cane in his hands, uncertain, uncomfortable.

It felt so unclear where they stood. Everything was so simple in his room, where there was only 'patient' and 'nurse' and there was no room for anything beyond that.

Again, he reminded himself. A 'friend', fine. The sort you only just acquainted yourself with, the sort you could, once in a blue moon, play a round of cards with. But no closer. Everything about Alastor was put-on; his voice, his smile, his tinny. catchphrases. Even how he looked as he did now, this corrupted version of his demonic form, though only Rosie recalled how he looked... before. Lucifer hadn't actually met him as himself, even on his deathbed there had been walls between them. And more than that-

Alastor had already shown the man his weakest. He refused to be at the mercy of yet another primordial being.

Somewhere far within him, his shadow quailed.

---

Husker was having the singularly strangest week of his afterlife.

(Afterlife was the operative word, admittedly. His life up above long before all this mess had been... a ride, to say the least.)

At a strong start was getting in another fucking war. Having sworn off that specific type of battle after enlisting in Vietnam in his living days (see, a ride) he had been... not entirely miserable to meet himself once again on the battlefield, surrounded by trusted comrades and ready to battle against an enemy that had been so thoroughly dehumanized to him that it was hard to recall they had being beyond the tangible present fact they were trying to kill him.

In the very least, this time, he had some actual certainty his enemies were some level of Evil, and not just the propogandizing of a higher power.

Sir Pentious had passed trying to give them an advantange, a loss that had hit Husk far more than he was expecting, having grown more attachment than he'd realized. So yeah, an overall shitty start to the week.

Then Alastor vanished.

Not even - off somewhere doing some suspicious shit - he straight up blipped. Re-appeared briefly during the final construction of the hotel (albeit offering no contribution at all and looking blatantly out of it the entire time) before dissapearing once again after. And he stayed gone.

Husk didn't know what to think or feel about that.

On one hand, fuckin' huzzah. Getting the radio demon off his back was always a win in his book, being sick enough of the man as it was without the added exhaustion of having just been in a life-or-death battle. Alastor ordinarily took great pleasure in waking up at the crack of dawn, before even HE needed to be awake, and harassing Husk until he too went to his assigned post (at least it was a bar...) before proceeding to harass him yet more by sticking at the bar and pestering him with inane bullshit until the rest came down and he finally took his leave. Now without Alastor around and with a suprisingly lenient Vaggie (telling him he'd earned it after their whole ordeal) the cat had been blessed enough to have a late lie-in the first several mornings and then fully quiet days, not hide nor hair of the bastard.

On the other hand, that shit was unsettling as fuck.

Alastor didn't just vanish, not unless shit was REAL bad. Husk still had no fucking idea what the past seven years had been about and he had no interest in pressing the cannibal to inform him, but it was the stand-out example of why his contract-owner suddenly up-and-vanishing would fill him with dread.

To boot, Lucifer kept dipping too. What was up with that? Husk could assume he was off doing kingly shit somewhere, whatever that entailed, except for the fact that Charlie informed him that he was actually with Alastor, doing some undefined shit that he'd apparently very suspiciously refused to elaborate on.

Had Husk not known his contractor's total and utter aversion to all things romantic, he might have assumed something untoward was happening there.

Unfortunately, the untoward happenstance was with the one person in this damned building he actually gave a lick of a shit about.

Angel was slipping. Hard.

The brat had actually made impressive strides toward rehabilitation these past few months, shockingly so, even exceeding Charlie's lofty expectations. He'd started making a concerted effoet to bust his drug habit, baggies of powder turning to joints turning to patches and distraction techniques. Excursions at the bar to get smashed turned to ones just to hold a conversation with the bartender, who would never admit he looked forward to those conversations more than anything now. Or, he had. Because those little chats had shifted, away from nice topics like their respective former lives or Angel's pet pig (affectionately dubbed 'Fat Nuggets') or Husk's best memories (he hit a dude square in the forehead with a throwing knife from 30ft, alright, that felt damn COOL at the time) to nervous and unsettled recounts regarding Valentino.

The moth overlord had been shockingly kind these past few days, apparently, a fact that threw Husk off as well. The bartender had been nervously awaiting the possibility of seeing Angel come back beaten and bloody after his stint with his boss in that club, but no such thing. Instead, Angel spoke of honeyed words and grand gestures of lust and appreciation, of a generous tip and half-lidded eyes, too zooted on uppers to care even when Angel got drastically out of sync practicing to a song and had to start over twice.

Angel posited that it was probably his boyfriend's good mood rubbing off on him, a 'summer' in their relationship as Vox crowed over the dissapearance and seeming extermination of Alastor, and the hotel having been razed to the ground.

But. Angel squirmed in Husk's minds eye, as clear as the moment the spider had warned him at the time.

A winter always followed a summer. And Angel was pretty fuckin' scared of what that was gonna be like when the thrill wore off and Valentino not only remembered Angel's words to him, but realized his best star had no intention of leaving the hotel that was his only refuge.

Husk wanted nothing more than to extricate the kid from that situation... but what could he do? His hands were tied just as much as Angel's were, and he knew no one in power that owed him a favour, one that could pull enough to give Angel any kind of leeway. The one person he could catch the ear of that could overpower Valentino were Charlie and Alastor, and, well.

As it was, he glowered at his contract-owner as the bastard finally descended the stairs, looking.. disgruntled. More interestingly, that wasn't his staff in his hands. More interestingly than that, when he turned his head and walked away with Charlie for whatever they were doing, Lucifer gave him a look that was outright anguished.

What was up with that?

Chapter Text

Lucifer felt like death warmed up. It was a wholly ridiculous way to feel, considering the altogether lovely week he'd been having, but it was what it was.

It sucked, because he knew if he told anyone they'd think him ridiculous. 'What the Hell is wrong with you?' he imagined in a squeaky, not at all accurate impression of Charlie's voice. Her chibi form seemed to be floating just above him, shaking it's little oversized head disapprovingly as he moped in his pajamas at 5 in the afternoon. 'What kind of a loser has nothing bad happen to him and still acts so dramatic? You're a sorry excuse for a father!'

Funnily, the voice started to sound more like himself at the end of that sentence.

Lucifer had no excuses to give the tiny caricature, no way to defend himself. He knew he was being pathetic, because what kind of primordial being gets the bed-blues after being shunned by a guy he'd known for a whole fortnight at this point?

Michael sure wouldn't be caught dead like this. The thought just made his already spiralling groans rise in pitch, digging the palms of his hands into his eyes.

'Up! Up! Up!'

Maybe if he repeated it enough times it'd kickstart his lazy brain, which didn't want to send those wacky neuron commands to his body.

'Up! Up now! Move!'

Alastor had made his move downstairs a little under a week ago now, and it had been nothing but awkwardness between them since. Not outright shunning, thank goodness, but tense. Alastor actually seemed to be avoiding the shorter man's eyes whenever they happened to meet, and had taken a more active role in replacing his dressings and IV; he'd even returned Lucifer's staff with an insistence he didn't need pity, even though he kept walking with that horrid limp when no one looked. Lucifer left the stupid thing leaning against the wall by Alastor's bed anyway, not having the heart to actually take it back. It wasn't like HE needed it.

Lilith used to tell him he looked charming waving it around. He actually struck himself in the head then, just once with a closed fist, to chase off that thought. No more reminders of old loved ones. Not now. Not when he already was having a Downer.

'Off your butt. Shift your legs. Come on, you stupid asshole.'

Alastor was cooking food downstairs right now. It was probably going to be the best fucking thing Lucifer had ever tasted, because the bastard was creole and Lucifer KNEW how good those dishes were, holy shit, and Alastor probably wasn't even going to look at him when he put the plates out and all of those lovely spices would turn to ash in his mouth and that cold grey feeling would seep through his bones and drag him back under again-

"Dad?"

Hm? Lucifer's head shot up, looking to the door of his hotel room. Charlie? What was she doing here? It wasn't dinnertime yet. When he'd looked at the clock before doing his whole 'hup hup, get up' ritual, it'd only been 5pm, right?

A risky glance to check.

7.30pm. Fuck. Fuck fuck.

That feeling he'd had when Alastor had let him sleep in his room, Lucifer had known it wouldn't last, but still. He didn't want to return to this. He didn't want to be like this.

Ugly tears welled up in his eyes. He didn't want to get out of bed when the sun set.

"Dad? Are you in there?"

'Get a hold of yourself, idiot. Stupid moron. Stupid fucking bastard.'

"Yes, sweetie, I'm in here! I just got caught up in a new project and lost track of time, you know me! Haha - is it time for tea?"

A pause that made cold sweat run down the back of his neck.

"Yeah. Al's gonna put it out in a sec. You want me to bring some up for you? If you're really that busy, I mean."

That was a solid out, presented to him on a silver platter. All he had to do was say yes, and he could give up on today like it'd never happened. Like he wasn't spending every second in this luxurious ornate four poster bed wishing he was instead curled up uncomfortably in the little chair by a certain overlord's bed, letting his even breaths lull him to sleep.

Cheesy. Ugh.

No, he had to face the guy someday, there was nothing dignified in burying his face in his pillow to keep away from a man he'd known for barely a fortnight at this point. Charlie deserved a more respectable father than that.

'Just one leg at a time, Lucifer. It's the first day it's been this bad since you got here. It'll only become a bad month if you let it.'

"No, no, I'm coming!" Lucifer called, and finally managed to force himself up into a standing position, the huff emphasising his words. The world spun for a moment, blood rushing from the bottom to the top of him and leaving him lightheaded and fuzzy, but he spoke through it. "It'll do me some good to leave my room once a day, eh? Give me two ticks, I'll be there!"

"Alright... um, i'll set out a space for you then! See you!"

Lucifer kept his eyes trained firmly on the clock as he dressed, refusing to turn away for a moment in fears that it would suddenly jump forward an hour if he let it. Time was always strange when he was like this, either trudging along like it was stuck in mud or speeding by so quickly that he'd seemingly get the monthly Sins calls daily. That couldn't happen right now.

Thankfully, his energy seemed to ever so slowly and painfully replenish as he got ready. A simplified outfit would do - none of those fiddly cufflinks or coat buttons, he'd happily settle with just a button-up and vest. Slipping on his shoes, he studied the clock. 7.40pm. Perfectly acceptable.

Now all that was left was to great those downstairs, pray their smiling little cutout faces (something he envisioned in his mind whenever he couldn't make himself actually look them in the eyes) didn't hide resentment and dislike, choke down whatever probably wonderful meal Alastor had graced them with, and then slink back upstairs before he had to engage in any more than that. Easy peasy.

And just like his earlier mantra, he forced himself to mentally repeat the sentiment with every step he took down the stairs, off balanced without his cane to anxiously fiddle with. 'You can do this. You can do this. You can do this. You can do-"

"-do without all of that nonsense, thank you very much!" Came a familiarly chipper voice to interrupt his internal chant, stopping him in his tracks. Ahead of him and the dining table was the wide-open door to the kitchen, close enough to get a clear view of Alastor's back, clad in an apron and with his hair pulled back into a small ponytail. Charlie was by his side, having her hands smacked away with a wooden spoon, herself wearing a cutesy blue daisy-patterned midi dress. She whined in despair and tried again to reach for something obscured by their bodies, only to gasp loudly as Alastor again snapped the spoon against the table. "Cease!"

"But- but- but I like my food salty!" Charlie whined, leaning over so that her face rested on the high-up counter dangerously close to whatever was cooking. Lucifer lurched forward a step, ready to grab her if she burned herself.

"It's plenty salted my dear, believe me!" Alastor snapped. "It needn't have more, because the other spices will more than make up for the flavour enhancement!"

"But I like saaalt..."

"Good grief. Go send for your useless father again sooner than pester me, would you?" Alastor groused, shaking his head as his ears twotched, returning to gently stirring what sat in the pan.

Ouch.

"I'm here, actually. Hold the applause." Lucifer snapped, rounding the doorframe and watching as both of them swerved to stare at him. "Charlie told me to get off my ass and I did. Charlie, dear, I don't think you're meant to be backseating the recipe. Plus you're giving me the heebie jeebies stood so close to that bubbling thing with all of your skin exposed."

"I was just getting everything else ready. I got distracted!" Charlie complained, reaching behind herself to, indeed, hold up a stack of fancy painted plates. "Al wouldn't tell me what he was making, even though it smells soooooo good."

Lucifer expected Alastor to retort with something like 'a surprise is hardly so if you spoil it the moment someone asks', but the overlord simply gave Lucifer a dubious back glance before shaking his head, his only sound a light exhalation, impossible to tell if it conveyed exasperation or amusement. Now that the king looked, he couldn't really make out what that concoction was either, it was nothing he was familiar with. Twas a better distraction than lingering on Alastor's current attire, what with his tied-back hair with the two strands falling down to perfectly frame his face and the down-toned outfit, only consisting, similarly to Lucifer's, of a poofy long-sleeved shirt covered by a suit vest and of course the apron. The absence of his usual coat revealed his tail for all to see, shockingly, and the devil viciously resisted the urge to reach out and touch it.

Charlie glanced between the two of them for a second, apparently sensing something Lucifer couldn't, because her face lit up and she jumped back away from them, still carefully balancing the fine china. "Ookay, well, I'm gonna put these out and then yell for everyone else! Dad, can you get the cutlery out of the second drawer on the left, there? The good ones? You'll know them when you see them."

"Of course." Lucifer obliged, watching her go before doing as she asked, stepping over to open the drawer he thought she'd gestured to.

...nope. Those were bottle openers.

How about this one? Nuh uh, cocktail equipment. Wait, did she mean second from the left or second... down... to the left of the hob? There was so many drawers! Wait... hm... agh.

"Here." Alastor said, yanking open the drawer just to the side of him, gesturing dramatically to the shining contents. "I believe this is what our hotelier meant."

"Oh." Lucifer said, unsure as he reached in to take out what he hoped was the correct number and selection. Christ, there were like 5 different kinds of spoons, he swore he hadn't taught Charlie about any of this stuff. A spork was good enough for 99% of meals, in his opinion. "Um. Nice. Do you think I should get napkins, too?"

A silent shrug, but at least Alastor hadn't looked away yet. It felt like he was waiting on something, or at least as uncomfortable as Lucifer was.

"...You know where they are, at least? Since I assume you know where everything is?"

"I know where most things are. The kitchen at least is a rather similar layout to the old building, even if the rest of this place isn't." Alastor responded, jerking his head to one of the cabinets above them, far out of Lucifer's reach. "Up there, to my recollection. I do advise getting some, my thralls can be rather messy eaters."

Lucifer squinted up at the cabinet, more acutely aware of his height than ever. "I can't reach that, dude."

"Well, dude, you should ask politely for some assistance."

"I'm not begging for you to grab me a tissue."

"Now now, a 'please' would suffice."

Lucifer ground his teeth together. So they were doing this dynamic then, huh? It was better than outright being ignored, but not by much. "Please."

"Very well." Alastor's smile stretched slightly as he cranked the heat down on the dial and placed a lid on the meal. With a light roll of his shoulders he stretched to reach the cabinet, pulling open the door-

-only to gasp sharply, pupils contracting and entire body closing up, frozen in that position.

Lucifer knew what had happened immediately. "Oh fuck. Did that reopen it? Just that?"

"...No." Alastor murmered shortly, barely more than a whisper, clearly fighting to control his reactions as he unprofessionally clenched a wad of pricey-looking tissues in his fist, lowering it down slowly until his clasped hand dropped atop the counter. His other hand came up to cradle his stomach, and Lucifer watched silently as he caught his bearings, shallow gasping breaths levelling.

"I didn't open it." Alastor clarified finally, eyes clenched shut as he held the bunched-up tissues out for Lucifer to take. He did just that, only to allow Alastor the chance to fully slump against the side. "That simply- hurt. I've no painkillers to tide me along today."

"Really?" That didn't seem right. "There should still be some refills left... you haven't used them all up, have you? Or been stupid and decided you didn't need them?"

The overlord glared. "Of course not."

"Then why are you... like... this?"

Alastor grit his teeth, ignoring Lucifer for a brief moment to remove the lid again from the pan, glancing in before switching off the heat entirely and giving it one final gentle stir. "I failed to replace it."

"Are you serious?!" Lucifer snapped immediately, stepping forward, disregarding the hot surface inches from his arm. "And you didn't bother coming to me? How long have you been running empty on that?"

"It hardly matters-"

"It matters if having a little stretch is enough to have you make the face you just made!"

"I am perfectly fine." Alastor insisted, sweeping past Lucifer's look of disbelief as he picked up the large crock of soup-like substance, making a point of being able to carry it as he set it down beside a serving container. "But I appreciate the concern of his heighness. I'll make sure to send a note of warm thanks to the castle estate later."

"Why are you being like this?" Lucifer asked helplessly. "Nothing has happened between us to prompt all this. Why can't you just be honest with me like before?"

"Why should I be? Do I owe you such things?"

"Stop being so dramatic, you know that's not what I'm saying!"

"Guys, guys!" Charlie snapped, bursting back through the door. Lucifer's mouth immediately clamped shut, unwilling to press the fight in front of his own daughter. Alastor followed suit, smile shifting to the one the devil dubbed his 'mask' - it belied no intentions, no feelings, nothing at all. "You're seriously already fighting? I was gone for, like, a minute! You two are worse than kids, I swear!"

How humbling. Lucifer ducked his head, abashed.

Alastor shook his head, smile still firm and unmoving, his teeth flashing. "Nothing of the sort my dear Charlotte, simply a friendly disagreement. Wouldn't you agree, sire?"

Lucifer fucking hated that carefully crafted mask already. "Yeah."

"Hmmmm." Charlie blew a strand of hair from her face, still looking around in consternation. "Fine. Dad, did you get the stuff?"

"I got the stuff." He held up the array of cutlery and tried to smooth out the tissues.

"Sweet! Everyone else will be down right about now. Al, you wanna serve us all your creation? I'm still excited to see what it is!"

"Of course, madame." Alastor chuckled, a hollow sound as he bent down in a deep bow. It sent a sick lurch to Lucifer's stomach - that HAD to aggravate the already jostled wound - but Alastor's face kept perfectly still and Charlie giggled at the display. "I will not deprive you of the reveal any longer. Étouffée! Crawfish, to be exact. I'm certain it's not a meal I've prepared for you lot before."

"Ooh, I don't think so." Charlie said, smiling at the mixture. "It's thicker than stew and the gumbo you've served us previously, but it looks just as good! Alright, I'm gonna go sit down at my spot! C'mon, dad!"

Yeah, he didn't think so. Alastor had already over-exerted himself and seemed set to worsen his case just to spite him. That pot looked damn heavy; if the previous excitement hadn't torn something, lifting that for longer would do the job. "No, no, that won't do. Come on Char-char, the man's already slaved over a hot stove for who knows how long making us this feast, how could I then allow him to be both the chef and the server?" Lucifer exclaimed. Charlie's eyes widened slightly - Alastor's narrowed into near slits. "Why, I think we should reward his hard work with a spot of rest. Why not let me serve us? I've only been sat on my lazy butt all afternoon, after all."

The light of his life, his lovely daughter clasped her hands together, eyes sparkling so brightly it hurt to look at, rainbows swimming around her like a cartoon. "Aw Dad, that's so kind of you!"

"Aren't I always?" And to prove his committment to the idea he swiped the Étouffée right from Alastor's waiting hands, sending the man a shit eating grin to combat the steady scowl. "Go on then my good man, take your rest. You've earned it!"

"Return that at once-"

"Oh, I insist! I absolutely insist!" Lucifer interrupted before Alastor could object, grin sharpening as he began to physically shove the taller man out of the room. "Now, where do you normally sit?"

"Let me go-"

"Ooh, how about here, by me? Right at the head of the table, that'll stroke your ego right?"

"Lucifer."

The king sighed, finally letting go. They were far enough from Charlie now at least that he felt safe in lowering his voice and leaning in. "I am doing you a massive favour here, you can take it or you can suffer all of dinner for all I give a shit, but whatever happens here I WILL be coming up afterward to fix up your IV whether you like it or not. So how about you save us the drama for once?"

Dials swam around Alastor's head, but finally, pitifully, he withdrew.

"Do whatever you wish."

Hey, at least the food was still fantastic in the end. It gave Lucifer the minimum energy boost needed to do exactly what he threatened to, fighting back the weight pulling down his bones long enough to replenish the drip.

Alastor didn't look at him once, didn't thank him, didn't say anything the entire time Lucifer spent in his room. The previously delicious taste in his mouth grew bitter.

He missed that first week so fucking much.

Chapter Text

Having never been one to shy away from this specific term before, Alastor was now entirely certain of its applicability; he had been driven utterly, raving mad by all of this.

Of course the state of his sanity had never been in any true doubt, neither by himself or any other (perhaps with the exception of his own mother, who he was rather sure had simply been in denial) but the strange cocktail that consisted his mind had went from a familiar chaos to a new and unfamiliar kind of upset.

Perhaps the universe was out to get him. Or perhaps it was simply Lucifer The Morningstar, fucking up his entire days like it was a pastime.

Gods, he truly hadn't been so aggravating at first. All that bedside hovering and fussing was terribly domestic, but it neatly straddled the line from irritation to endearment. Now, having apparently taken Alastor's fuckup with his self-medication as a sign the radio demon was as intelligent as an ape and was liable to kill himself if left unchecked, Lucifer had switched from a caring nurse to a full-time stalker.

Since that fated dinner, Alastor opened his eyes every morning to Lucifer's beaming face, more menacing than summery, a nutritional beverage in hand and a timeline for treatments in the other. Mercifully, blissfully Alastor had soon been removed from the IV drip after this had all begun, but it was immediately replaced with a whole host of other medications in the form of little tablets, all with specific ingestion requirements. One mandated it be drank with orange juice, another interacted TERRIBLY with citrus and had to be taken seperately - but both had to be taken 'in the morning'!

While that was being mathed out by the two of them, Lucifer would encourage (read: force) Alastor to accompany him down to the hotel's dining area - slowly growing in popularity as more and more entities flocked to the building for salvation - and hovered over him as a fearsome matron until Alastor buckled and choked down whatever tripe had been pumped out by the kitchen staff today. More rarely Charlie could be found spicing up a storm herself by the hob, and the times Alastor tried to refuse his meal Lucifer would lean close to his ear and threaten to tell her the truth of his condition. It was a successful strategy.

No matter what he did through the day, the overlord wouldn't be left alone. Lazing about reading a book? Lucifer was suddenly also in the mood for some light reading. Fancy a walk around the hotel gardens? Lucifer was a dedicated and passionate gardener all of a sudden. Just fancy laying in bed and praying for a certain fallen angel to fuck off and die? Why, Lucifer was all too eager to tuck him in!

Alastor's only hope was that it would have to cease if he recuperated enough to walk about town proper. Even Lucifer would not risk compromising his valuable reputation to race after a sinner so below him like a clingy girlfriend.

The current day began as any other. Alastor opened two bleary eyes to the now familiar sight of Lucifer's cartoonishly bright ones, the innapropriate proximity (he could FEEL the man's breath dusting over his own lips, for fucks sake) ignored in favour of slowly sitting up against the headboard, mindful not to pull at his torso as the devil held up the usual set of pills. After sorting those he allowed Lucifer to maneuver him downward, only to swiftly excuse himself to the bathroom.

In the privacy of the lavatory, Alastor slumped and let out a world-weary groan. 10am, and he was already completely overwhelmed. This day couldn't go as the ones before it had, he wouldn't tolerate it. Now was the time to try and get some peace and solitude.

A flick of the fingers brought his shadow to him, the poor thing somewhat deflated and a bit peaky from having been supressed so violently so consistently. The overlord daren't bring it out nearly so frivolously as he'd used to now that Lucifer was apparently glued to his side, so it had become restless and squirmed inside his chest with the desperation of a caged animal. It understood the danger, obviously, yet it strained to be free regardless. It was in its nature, so he could hardly blame it. He himself had gone stir crazy confined to his room.

"We" he told it brightly "Are going to go on a little adventure, small-scale of course, do mind the bleeding gap in my torso, to the one place that man won't know to look for us."

It sparked to life immediately, practically wiggling as he stepped into it.

This - this was his simplest and most surefire escape, albeit only temporarily. This was the one place Lucifer could not follow him no matter what he tried, because this power originated from something greater than he and sat fully outside his skillset. One could be as overwhelmingly powerful as they wanted, be capable of conjuring fire and ripping entire cities out with one hand - but the intangibility of shadows was a tricky and slippy thing that couldn't be dealt with so easily. Hell, even Adam hadn't been able to follow him when he'd fled in the battlefield.

No. No, not fled. It wouldn't do to think of it like that. A tactical retreat, that was all.

As he let his shade flit him from place to place, exploring the hotel he hadn't had a chance to truly look around, he found with frustration that it was much harder to divert his thoughts than it used to be. It could be the mindcrushing boredom of not being able to engage in the hundreds of things he COULD be doing if he didn't have a still-healing wound or an insufferable devil to worry about looming over his shoulder, it could be that he hadn't let himself linger on the subject and thus hadn't been able to actually move past it. Regardless of the reason, it was impossible to think of anything else now he was truly alone with his thoughts. After all, the evidence of his failure was what had gotten him into this mess.

There was something innate within him that refused to accept fault, refused to allow the possibility that he had been cocky, or weak, or god forbid that he was trying to protect the hotel. It was a mere miscalculation, minor, and one he rectified. Lucifer had no ground to mock his decision making (the same man who ruined a marriage spanning the entirety of Earth's existence! remarkable!) and nor did anyone else.

The last few days had been a slap to the face. His defeat was livestreamed, that he was certain having seen cameras set up all over right after the final hit, and the longer he spent cooped up indoors with his fate unknown to the public, the more public perception of him would rot and decay. Certainly they already saw him as weaker, more fallible... just how much damage did he continue to do by ducking his head and hiding his face like this?

Was the possibility of a fight still injured really worse than that? Would anything he did to regain his status matter if he'd already burnt it to the ground?

Fuck. Alastor needed to regain the public eye, and fast. It'd been weeks upon weeks, it had to have been long enough. Some pills and he was ago, he could pop down to the station (if it was still standing, mind) and announce his continued existence. Think up some ominous ending one-liner, make some threat, enact some terrible plan. Push back on Vox's slander campaign. In the worst case scenario, being his studio being razed, he could try his lot at the one set up in the hotel. Sub-optimal, but it would do in a case of urgency.

That was that, then. And Lucifer could no more bother him either. He would return to life as he knew it, and escape this hellish mundanity.

Heaven remained an unfortunate wildcard, and one he'd never had to factor in before. Vox was painfully predictable, the man followed a set of behaviours to a T and couldn't innovate if it killed him. Valentino as a sleazy 6-cent sex-pest had never had vision to begin with, nor had he dared to embark on Alastor's grounds before. The moth's only involvement had ever been indulging his boyfriend and a bit of verbal antagonism. Nothing to even think twice about.

But heaven? The angels?

What could he do then? The only one who had been able to do anything of substance to them was Lucifer, and Alastor would sooner amputate his own leg than ask for his protection. The hint of angelic power thrumming his body with the cue at his wrist was more than enough, too much. The thought of it made his insides twist uncomfortably. That someone like that would think to do that for him, put a precaution with his safety in mind...

The feeling of utter helplessness was as pervasive as it was unwelcome. Hand skirting to his stomach, partially corporeal, Alastor bit back the memories of how it had felt, the split second when he couldn't do anything but stare up, up, up at the blade poised to split him in two-

Strangely, despite the objectivity of the events and the distance of time he now was from them, Alastor felt his stomach heave. Detaching from the wall partway on an unfamiliar floor, the radio demon took a moment just to breathe, wiping the memory from his mind's eye.

Like a jackhammer, his heart pounded in his chest, with such intensity it felt like his ribcage might shatter, so loud he could feel it pulsating in his eardrums.

This was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Would it be like this when they showed up, then? Heavenly soldiers trotting down by the load, and he would just stand there trembling like a newborn fawn, throwing up all over himself? Was that what he wanted broadcasted on next week's television? He had to get a grip-

Abruptly, his thoughts were cut short by a strange noise ahead.

Light and tinkling, it was as airy as a dream, so much so that he hardly registered it as occuring outside of his own mind for a breathless moment. It was much too loud to be - and though it was an all-too familiar melody, it was played in a rather unique way, the musician putting their own slight spin on the tune, yet doing so so masterfully it didn't discord one bit.

Alastor felt himself slipping from the wall properly, tangibility returning to his body, even as his mind stayed stuck in the clouds. Perhaps he was only eager to focus his mind on a distraction, to think of anything else than what bothered him - but as the sound of the piano persisted, he wanted more than anything to find out who was playing. Complete unfamiliarity with this level of the building had him lead only by the direction of the music.

The piano played another crucial part in his childhood. Having come with the house when his father had purchased it, the man would discover quickly that a grand piano was a rather tricky thing to re-sell, and not really worth the hassle to try in the end. And so it sat there just off the foyer for some time accruing dust and dander, only ever tended to when his mother would clean it in preperation for visitors, before tucking herself away and out of sight as he demanded. Soon, that would include Alastor too. He remembered once overhearing one of father's visitors asking for a round on the piano, and the young boy had to tolerate the worst and most butchered construction of Nocturne Op.9 No.2 he would ever come to hear. That's what happens when you play after a hearty round of drinks, he supposed.

Still, the instrument had intrigued him after that, curious what it would sound like if played RIGHT. And his mother, indulgent as she was (as well as going half mad from being contained to the house) picked up the skill for his entertainment. Every day after school, when his father retired to the bar for a few hours, she would lift him onto her lap, lace her hands over his and lead him through starter melodies.

One such one was the same as at present - Beethoven's Für Elise. One of the very first songs Alastor himself had mastered.

Right now it was in the throes of its most difficult section, and the pianist clearly was taking themselves to the task with ardent vigor, pummelling the keys with far less grace as though they were themselves embodying the heartbreak and frustration of the playwright. Peculiar. Alastor leant in to take a peek.

Oh. This was a sure surprise.

Like the snuffing of a candle, any presupposition Alastor had invented of some mysterious and classy entity vanished, the ghost of his child self and the few suited professionals he had observed blowing away like dust.

Because, defying all expectation, there sat the last person he could have possibly guessed - Angel Dust. The pornstar, the stripper, the drug addict. Angel Dust, who had spent his first week housing with Alastor trying to get in his pants and seemingly completely unbothered by the increasingly aggressive rejections. Angel Dust, who was apparently sporting a rather grisly shiner and some swelling at his wrist, yet seemed completely unaffected by them as he played away.

What on earth?

That last part must have been exclaimed allowed without his realization, because the spider demon's playing ground to a discordant halt before the man in question spun around on the bench, eyes wide and mouth falling open in horror.

For a moment they only stared at each other in mute mutual bewilderment, Alastor's confusion reflected in those heterochromic eyes.

(He'd wondered about those eyes of his, particularly the one that was currently struggling past heavily bruised skin tissue. Angel had been in his particular field nearly ever since first dropping into the afterlife, and Alastor had had the misfortune of scrying one of the man's older tapes - thankfully only the cover, and nothing of the contents. Still, the spider looked notably different. He looked... darker, a mattier and greyer coat with deep crimson markings instead of the flourescent hot pink he sported now. More to the point, his EYES had been different.)

(Did he merely change over time, evolve his form to the climate of the underworld, procure transformative care products? Or was this the effect of his deal with Valenrino, his form shifting to what that parasitic bug wanted him to look like?)

(It was what happened to most who remained under the thrall of an overlord for too long. Husk could attest to that. And Alastor-)

(Well. Nevermind any of that now.)

"Well!" Alastor burst out, only to freeze with embarassment at how startling his voice broke through the stale air, relating to the way Angel himself recoiled slightly, though his gaze never wavered. Softening his tone slightly, the radio demon gave the other a short round of applause. "This was a sure surprise! Well played, my good man! Tell me, was this a skill you picked up at some point in your current... ahem, profession, or a carried over quality from your life before?"

"How long've you been fuckin' standin' there?" Angel's expression hadn't shifted despite his harsh tone, looking similarly shell-shocked as Husk whenever the latter recalled his service in Vietnam.

"No time at all! I merely heard you from down the hall and wished to investigate. No need to worry about any teasing. And please, no need to stop on my account."

"No teasing. From you?"

"Well." Alastor smiled gently, too exhausted from the week's antics to put up any kind of front. "I might poke brief fun at your seeming desire to obliterate the poor thing with sheer aggression, though it was rather appropos to do, given the original intent of composition."

Angel seemed to be wresting with his wording, taking a second to parse what he meant before finally brightening, a little of the tension lining his shoulders dropping. Only then did the overlord realize just how MUCH there was, and how plainly strung out the spider looked. That was something they could have in common. "Oh yeah. This was a breakup song, right?"

"Nearly. So-say, and it was only a theory, mind, never confirmed, but so-say this song was began as a sort of love letter to his beau, a Ms Therese who at the time was his student in the art. It was intentionally written to be at her skill level." Stepping closer, he tried his best to keep his body language open and clear, trying to dissuade the wary look he was getting. "Alas, his confession went down like a lead balloon. Therese Malfatti did not share his feelings, and shortly thereafter became engaged to another man. In his anger, Ludwig then recomposed the latter half of the song to make it much more difficult, ensuring she could never play it to completion."

"Yikes." Angel whistled, smiling a little. "That's the kind of petty I aspire to."

"Right? It's easy to forget that those who came before us - those who we only experience through their legacy and drawn depictions - were also thinking and feeling beings, fully realized in their own right. The sillier things like this, the fallible traits, that is what humanizes history."

The look he now recieved was full of disbelief. "That's well insightful for a guy who has no issue killin' and eatin' people. Didn't think you'd worry about 'the human soul' or whatever."

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Try not to conflate my inclinations with my intelligence."

"Less IQ, more EQ. But I'm no genius on that front either." Angel shrugged. "Anyway, I was enjoying playin', so if you're cool to leave me be I'd like to get back to it. Was keepin' my mind offa stuff."

"By all means, be my guest!" Came Alastor's swift agreement, only to be even more swiftly followed up with "Though I'll humbly request to stay a little longer. You're not the only one of us seeking a distraction, and I was genuinely enjoying listening to your skill."

It felt... bizarre to be this nice to this man in particular. In the half-a-year they'd spent in close quarters, Alastor couldn't think of one normal, non-combative conversation they'd had. There was the beforementioned flirting, there were snide comments from himself on Angel's choice of dress on any given day, and there were occasionally thrown curse words when they caught each other at the bar. Beyond that, nothing. It'd been comfortable to assume the spider demon was a moron, a simple whore that needn't any further thought.

Yet it felt so normal to speak to him as he would any other respectable individual. Angel, when he wasn't putting up a front... was genuinely well-spoken.

Perhaps Alastor was the one who needed to reflect.

"I guess." Angel mumbled, squinting. "If you really do wanna, and you're not gonna hover over me or anything. There's a chaise over there, so.." he gestered vaguely at the wall behind, and indeed, there sat an ornate chaise lounge filled in with red velvet material. "Any requests?"

The overlord brightened. "Can you play Clair De Lune?"

"Ha, by Debussy? God, what a name. Yeah, sure! More recent one, huh? I don't got any sheet music though, so give me a min to warm up and remember."

"Of course."

And thus he did. Perching on the chair he was offered before slowly relaxing back against it, Alastor let Angel fumble through the awkward first notes before the rhythm came back to him and his hands seemed to travel of their own accord, hitting the right notes before he even had to think to. It was a lovely melody, one Alastor's mother had again been fond of, and he let his thoughts drift back to her as he closed his eyes. Atop his head, his ears slightly twitched with every key struck.

Despite how much he had practiced both with her and in her unfortunate absence, Alastor never achieved the level of skill she possessed. Though not gifted nor having practiced since youth, his mother had an aptitude after so many days spent practicing. On one particular evening, a few weeks after his father's death, she took to it again for the first time in months. Alastor had been tucked in bed right overhead, nearly asleep, disturbed slightly as the sound vibrated below him. The eleven-year-old pattered downstairs and simply stood silently in the stairwell and watched his mother play to herself, dried teartracks and faded nightgown and yet looking ethereal as she danced through Clair De Lune to perfection.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because next he woke after that he was back in bed with no recollection to walking back up the stairs.

Father's death had been hard on her, he'd known that. Even if she'd learned to hate him as he had, even if her life was unmistakeably better in his absence despite being continuing to be marginalized due to her status and race, even if Alastor was happier than he'd ever been and she cared for his happiness more than anything else... it had been hard. It was a relief to him she could find comfort in something like music, still.

Lingering on the sight of her face, Alastor felt all of the stress in himself fade away. It was like she was there, reaching out to pull him close as she continued to play one-handed, carding a hand through his unruly hair before pushing his fringe back enough to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

Without his consent, without conscious though, without even meaning to, the image began to shift.

Dark coily hair turned golden, hazel eyes shifted to black. Warm skin became the colour of china, and yet the hand cupping his face remained. What looked at him then was another snapshot of comfort, another source of security. Lucifer Morningstar smiled at him, the look free of any agitation it had prior brought. Inatead, in the lull of the music, all it reminded him of was the quiet nights spent playing cards together, Lucifer's hand on him, the magic he threaded through Alastor's being, specifically to try and protect him.

Alastor felt... safer around him.

His eyes snapped open.

Angel was peering up at him, no longer at the piano stool but instead knelt in front of the sofa, seeming a mix between concerned and amused. When had he stopped playing?

"Hey there! Welcome back to the land of the living. You looked pretty out of it for a sec, so I thought maybe you fell asleep." Angel grinned. "I definitely suspected it when I started fuckin' with the melody and doin' my own thing with it, figured you'd get on me for tainting the 'sanctity of the original!' or somethin', but you looked like you were somewhere else."

About to blurt out a very uncharacteristic 'What the fuck?' at his personal revelation, Alastor swiftly swallowed it back. There was no way he could or would explain. There was also no way he could face Lucifer after this, the obvious other factor that the fallen angel was going to be pissed with him for hiding away notwithstanding. "I hadn't noticed, no." The overlord admitted instead. "You are right, I was lost in my thoughts."

"Nice ones?"

"Hmmm. Mostly."

"Yer ma?"

Now that caught him off guard. "I beg your pardon?"

Angel grinned abashed, scratching the back of his neck. "Taking an educated guess? Lady's the only person you've mentioned from your 'real' life, besides Mimzy I guess, and from the sounds of it she was a wonderful person. S'all I can think of that'd make you look like that, like you're all wrapped up in a big warm blanket."

Alastor tried to sand the edges off his tone, knowing Angel meant no offence and couldn't possibly know how sensitive the subject was. "Indeed."

"Hey, you don't have to talk about it!" Angel must have still caught something in his inflection because he brought his hands up quickly, rising halfway until he was nearly stood, just bending over. "I get it. Moms are a sticky subject. Is for me too. Hell, my mom's how I even know how ta play, so imagine the kinda memories I get doin' this!"

"What a coincidence. We share that fact."

Angel brightened at the not-a-shutdown, obviously curious but not trying to prod and poke. "Makes sense. Teaching your kid piano was a big thing in our time, even if I came a bit later."

"For the rich, perhaps." Alastor scoffed with no heat. "It was just a matter of chance for us - the house came with the instrument, and they are notoriously difficult to sell on. Long days and starvation will spur you to any hobby."

"So you don't enjoy playing?"

Alastor blinked. "I never said that."

"Doesn't matter how you get there. That's something I've always liked about music. You can be a billionaire drinkin' the tears of your workers or a dirt-poor kid sleepin' in the dirt, and you can still be listenin' to the same damn song on the radio." Angel hesitated. "My ma taught me, like I said. She came from a pretty rich family even before she met my dad, so she grew up on lessons. Managed to save us some on them, gave us the basics without needing a coach. Artie never got into it. Me and Molls, though..." he chuckled, seeming lost in thought. "Guess we saw it as a bonding experience, that took the boring 'work' side out of practicing. It was just fun. A lot of when I think back then, it's all just fun. I miss it. Just lucky that dad didn't take offense to it, or see it as 'queer'."

"Not the nicest chap, I take it?"

"Pfft. No." Angel shook his head. "You kidding me? Mob Boss, centre of New York, richest fucker of the 40s? Not a chance. If there was anything my pa hated more than snitches, it was fairies. Gave me a fair number of these boys back when I was alive." The spider rapped on the side of his skull, right next to his swollen eye. It looked no better than it did when Alastor first spotted it - in fact, the bruising seemed to still be blossoming as they spoke. Even the sclera was inflamed. "At least he keeps no contact with me down here."

That had Alastor's brows raising into his bangs. "You found each other? That is... deeply unfortunate."

Angel looked at him seriously for a moment, and the deer demon could practically see the cogs whirring in the other's head as he apparently came to an internal decision. Shrugging off the last vestiges of his caution, Angel finally slackened out of his lean and instead moved to sit neatly on the lounge beside Alastor, leaving a respectful breadth of room between them even so. "It's not all bad." The spider said, quieter. "Like I said, they don't bother me none. Molls and my ma, they're above, and I'm real happy to have had that confirmed. Might've haunted me forever otherwise, wondering if they were down here, wondering if they'd already been taken out at the yearly without me even having a chance to see them one last time. As shit as Heaven is... they're safer up there." Angel leant back into the velvet, flipping his cellphone out from the hoodie pocket. From the brief look Alastor had before he swiped, there seemed to be a rather large backlog of pop-up text notifications. From the grimace on Angel's face they weren't anything good, but he ignored them with ease, instead fitting across to another text chat entirely, before turning the screen to let Alastor see. "This is Artie." He said. "Fucker hates me to death. Refuses to use my new name, so I don't use his. But y'know something? For all the shit he's given me, both before death and still now, guess what he texted me when all that shit went down with Adam?"

Alastor didn't have to guess. The text was blaring him in the face, and despite the frankly hideous custom UI Angel Dust had set up (seriously, the text boxes were shaped like hearts), the large font size made it an easy read.

12:23am: 'Fuks happening with u. Hell you got urself into. Shits all over thr news. Dad saw you n went mad. Wtf Angi?

12:58am: 'Dude will u fucking answer.'

1:01am: 'I actually cant believe you is that your suit from before. Wtf.'

3:02am: 'It's over apparently? So text back'

3:05am: 'Anthony.'

3:55am: 'Are you actually fucking dead?'

3:55am: 'What the fuck.'

3:56am: 'Look. If you don't reply by 5 I'm coming over.'

3:56am: 'Freak me out with this shit...'

3:59am: 'Fuck. Fuck.'

And then, in the nick of time-

4:36am: 'Im ok lol'

4:36am: 'FUCK.'

A response back within the same minute. 'Artie' must have truly been worried.

4:38am: 'fcking hell RELACKS ohmg i was kind of dealing w smth i cqnt be at ur beck and call if im BEING ATTACKED BY ANGELS damn'

4:39am: 'THAT IS THE EXACT REASON I COULDNT RELAX YOU ARE A FUCKING IDIOT'

The ensuing conversation was that on repeat. Uninterested in the sibling's colourful vocabluary, Alastor shook his head and pushed the phone back away from him. "No, he does seem very concerned. I imagine that was a strange comfort after that night's chaos."

"You're telling me. We didn't scroll down far enough to see, but I got a LONG ass phone call too after this." Angel laughed, swiping the screen shut. Even with the surface blacked out the little popup notifications continued, frequent enough for Alastor to note the clear icon of Valentino. More notable was a few choice words. Angel seemed intent on ignoring them, turning it over so the screen faced his legs as he set it down. "You have anything like that? I know a lot of your cannibal buddies went out during the fight, but I didn't know how well you knew 'em outside of 'em being like... in your community."

"I've not heard anything." Alastor said honestly. "I don't carry a phone, and I've not ventured outside the hotel since the battle. I'm certain that the moment I do, Rosie will be all over me and will likely discuss that exactly, but no, no familiar faces would have been lost." Some guilt washed over him at the thought of Rosie. She knew he could handle himself, she wouldn't think he was dead... but he ought to see her regardless, it was the least he owed her.

"No one's checked up on you besides his lord and majesty then, huh?"

That took him off guard. "I forgot you saw me in that state. I suppose I should thank you, I've not had anyone approach me, so I'm left to assume you've not told anyone."

Alastor had practically blocked that interaction from his memory for his own ego's sake, not wanting to linger on the fact that someone had seen him in that state, lying prone and splattered with his own blood right in the wake of the battle. It was absolutely humiliating, and the comfort granted knowing that Angel hadn't since gossiped was rather cold.

"I'm not fucking stupid, dude." Angel retorted, making a face and raising a single finger. "For one, mr allmighty was right there and clearly keeping it under wraps, and I'm not about to get on Satan's bad side. 'Specially after we had that lil heart to heart that, for the record, I KNOW you overheard. For two," and with this he raised a second finger "As much as I think you suck, I know exactly what'd happen to you if that news got out. Especially if the Vee's caught wind. My opinion on you don't really matter, because at the end of the day I'm not gonna be responsible for having you wiped off the map at the hands of my shitty boss. There's nothing I get outta that."

"Hm."

"Speaking of the Vee's... I should prolly get going. Distracting myself from my problems isn't the smartest idea when my problem's about two missed calls away from busting down my door." With a humourless smile, Angel lifted his phone and finally brought attention to the continuing text spam. Alastor had to admit, Valentino's persistence was nearly impressive. "That's my last reason I didn't tell anyone about you. Val's been in a jumping-for-joy mood ever since you 'died'. I don't think he really buys you're gone, but Vox sure wants to, and as long as his boyfriend rides that high he's gonna too." The ex-mobster slumped on defeat. "Had to wear off eventually, I guess. It's not been too bad."

"A black eye isn't 'too bad', in your standards?" Alastor couldn't help but ask, genuinely a little disturbed as he poked at his own eye in demonstration.

"I'm a prostitute, do the math. I know you're not the biggest fan of my profession, but even you gotta know what goes down in it."

Once again, Alastor found himself genuinely lost for words. It wasn't like he was truly surprised, but Angel's nonchalance about the entire ordeal took him off guard.

"Well. I'll be off." Angel raised a hand in a 'what can ya do' gesture. "It was... weirdly nice to hang out with you. I'm glad somebody got to get some stress relief outta my music as much as I did."

"Do come back tonight." Alastor said before he could stop himself, rising from the seat as well. Angel towered above him even with his awful posture, something that might have peeved him in most circumstances, but the vulnerability the other had just granted him stripped any of that away. "I wouldn't like to come scrape you off the studio walls. Husker would be rather upset, and he's not a good worker at the best of times. When you get him in a mood he is incorrigible."

"He's a nice guy." Angel responded, soft and smiling. "I hope I come back tonight too. It's still not too bad, like I said. You stay safe too."

"Thank you."

---

As engaged as he had become, it felt as if much more time passed than what actually had. As Alastor wandered back through the halls with the clocks only just going on 1pm, he felt an uncomfortable twisting in his stomach.

Angel Dust said that the only reason he wasn't labouring under far worse torment was that Valentino was in a 'good' mood after Alastor's dissapearance.

His plan to announce his return, to turn the tables, to settle back into the public eye... that would then be condemning him, no?

Did it truly matter? It made him sick to think about, no matter which way he thought. The notion that he cared about another enough to jeapordize his career and reputation was unbalancing, but when he thought back to some of those worse nights, particularly common back at the starting end of Angel's stay in the hotel, of the man stumbling in well past daybreak with a good part of his face unrecognizable and a limp...

The overlord's stomach churned again.

What he then profoundly did NOT need was a familiarly top-hatted sight, nor the almost motherly dissapointment painted on the face of it's owner.

"Long time no see."

"Hello" Alastor sighed, before spitefully taking a gander at the clock. "I think you'll find it's been less than 2 hours."

"I spent half an hour of that stood in front of this stupid door." Lucifer informed him, arms crossed petulatently. "I tried looking for you but this place is HUGE, and eventually I got dizzy and started going in circles. How you navigated it better than me after only going between your room and the dining area is... aggravating."

"Well, all I had to do was crouch behind conveniently shaped flowerpots." Alastor smiled serenely. "You had the troublesome task of sniffing me out. It's a testament to both my skill in camouflage and your inability to use your eyes, I suppose."

Ah, teasing him was some good easy fun, and it helped to give him the feeling he was turning the tables a little, holding on to some tiny crumb of control in their relationship. Lucifer may currently know a secret that could ruin him, he could be one of the strongest beings in existence, but for as long as Alastor could frustrate him speechless the radio demon could still have some cards in his deck.

It didn't help his internal crises that the thought flooded him with affectionate warmth instead of smug satisfaction.

"Wh." Lucifer buffered, eyes bugging before darting about, hand shooting to his chin, deep in distressed thought, genuinely doubting himself. Hilarious. "Nuh uh. There was no - but on the upper levels - no, those were just paintings of trees. YOU!" Pointing an accusing finger straight in Alastor's smiling face. "Stop trying to fuck with me, we don't even have flowerpots or faux trees in the halls! Charlie doesn't like that kinda decor!"

Somehow, this was cheering Alastor up. Mirroring Lucifer's prior inquisitive pose, hand to chin, he grinned like a cheshire. "You're right, I misworded terribly. I was simply stood flat against the wall! Charlotte loves her stark red wallpaper, and, well-" the cannibal plucked out a hair, holding it up to the wall. "Blends in, doesn't it?"

"You are genuinely the worst. Fine, don't tell me then. Just let me know if you're okay."

"You aren't my keeper, sire."

"No, I suppose no, but considering I'm what's keeping you from waltzing off into traffic the first chance you get, I think it's functionally the same job." Oh, and now a rather vicious glare. Everything was determined to remind Alastor of his childhood today; all that came to mind was his mother giving him grief after he came home one day from school with split knuckles and a busted lip.

"Good grief." Alastor said.

"You didn't even take my cane with you!" Lucifer whined childishly, breaking the disappointed parent act to pull a face. "If you're gonna wander off and gallivant around the place, you could at LEAST do so safely!"

"I am fine, for something's sake. You may poke around my injury if it would appease you, but I can assure you that nothing has torn. I'm not even fatigued. It's not as though you've chased me around the whole place."

"Perhaps I should." Lucifer sniped. "Perhaps I need to put a tracker on you. I mean, I said you'd be all good to go in like, a week! If that! Why are you acting like I'm holding you hostage?!"

"Functionally, you are." Alastor said, taking the man's own wording against him. "I don't think you've told me that. It wouldn't help the exhaustion you've caused me retroactively, but regardless, I just want to retire to my room for a while. As I said, you may check me over if you must."

Lucifer clicked his tongue against his teeth, tutting as he ushered the overlord into his own room. "You bet your damn ass I will. Y'know, a lot of people would pay a lot of money to have The Devil undress them."

The phrase rankled, Alastor actively recoiling away. "If that is how you have been viewing this-"

"Oh yeah, for sure, I'm totally getting off on this!" Lucifer interrupted, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Work with me here man, I know you know what a joke is!"

"Yours aren't very good. I'm free of you in a week, you say?"

"Maybe. I'll start pushing the date back by a few hours every time you fuck with me."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would."

As Lucifer shooed him to sit like an overbearing mother hen, Alastor once again found that through the annoyance, the feeling that persisted in his chest was... warm.

Chapter Text

"A Gala?" Alastor repeated dumbly. "That's a tad anachronistic, wouldn't you say?"

Perched criss-cross at the end of his bed and watching him with a confounding amount of intent, Lucifer lifted his head with visible surprise. The two of them had been sat in companionable silence for a little over an hour - Alastor having conjured some reading material from his collection and Lucifer apparently being eager to learn a little more about him through his literary inclinations - and only now had Lucifer spoken up to inform him of Charlotte's new grant plan. There'd been a great many people who'd flocked to the hotel aftee the broadcast 'win' against Heaven, after all, and the princess of Hell wanted to finally gussy up with a grand event to make them feel integrated.

"Yeah, a bit." Lucifer said. "I did say that, but my little girl is set on it. My fault really. I raised her in a palace, so she'll act like a princess."

"Do we even have the amenities for an event on such scale?" Alastor mused, turning his gaze up to the high cieling of his quarters. "I don't underestimate the work you have done, it's a grandiose building, but I haven't seen any ballrooms about."

Lucifer turned The Great Gatbsy over in his gloved hands, resting it closed atop his lap primly. From the looks of things he'd not made it very far in since Alastor had tossed it his way. "Charlie and her friend... girl friend... friend who is a girl, but also her girlfriend." The king sighed shaking his head. "Those two had already been asking about a music hall, so we'd had renovations partway done. It should be more than enough, it's not like we're actually hosting anyone important. All we need is room for dancing and tables."

Alastor tried to picture it. It was difficult - though he'd noticed from his brief jaunts around that the place was far bigger than it had been before its... decontruction, it was still bizarre to reconcile his memories of the place he had stayed in for half a year, versus what he was discovering it now was in bits and pieces. First the music room, now an entire hall. Perhaps they could do other events in there in the future - he was sure he could win Charlie over on that, if she wasn't herself already brainstorming ideas, which she absolutely was.

But dancing, that was wonderfully nostlagic for him. Actually... depending on the type. This he voiced.

"The classic kind of dance as is appropriate, I imagine? Not any of this... modern nonsense."

Lucifer's face split into a cheshire grin, and Alastor was leaning back with a grimace even before Lucifer began encroaching his personal space. "N'aww, don't you worry buddy, we daren't dream of affecting your delicate sensibilities with a reminder of the merciless and ever-evolving passage of time!" Lucifer crooned in performance, only to burst into childish giggles when Alastor scoffed and shoved his face away forcefully with a flat palm. Extracting himself, Lucifer's smile stayed devious. "No twerking."

"I know time is passing, and I do keep up with the technological and social tide." Alastor defended, a little uppity, crossing his arms with his own book held loosely between three fingers. "That doesn't mean I need to like it."

"I don't think anyone expects you to, if that helps. I mean, look at you."

Feeling as though he should be offended, Alastor's nose scrunched. "Look at me how?"

Lucifer's arms flailed wildly, seeming to encapsulate Alastor's entire being. No verbal clarification was offered. When Alastor remained nonplussed, the devil snorted and shook his head.

"Your entire deal-io, come on! The gold-framed monocle, the three-piece ensemble, the bejewelled bow-tie, even your transatlantic accent. It's all this look you're trying to put on, it's the version of yourself you want to show us." As he spoke Lucifer seemed to shift slowly closer once again, though this time he did not exude nearly as much of a threatening energy. Instead he was appraising the overlord, not seeming to be aiming to insult at all despite how targeted his words were. "We all know you're only up for that Roaring Twenties aesthetic, no use trying to pull you out into the world of social media and trends."

For some reason, that hit a cord Alastor was unaware still existed. For just a moment, he was tempted to admit that there had been one person who tried. One person who, albeit very temporarily, succeeded. One person who broached that gap between their natures and tried to build a bridge they could both cross.

The words rotted on his tongue, and he swallowed the sour taste down along with those old memories.

"I'm glad my tastes are self-evident, then. Is there an actual lineup of activities, or has Charlotte thrown a whole host of ideas at the board and not checked to see what sticks?" He diverted.

Lucifer chewed his lower lip, leaning back and putting a hand to his chin. "This has been oiling on the gears for a bit, so I think she has most of it wrapped up. I know she wanted to do a big presentation and speech for the newcomers, both to better explain the functionality of the hotel and what happens here, and to ensure security after... y'know. I know there'll be food. Not much else, it's not like it's a massive charity event, though that'd be a funny sight in Hell."

Alastor came to his decision swiftly. "It actually all sounds lovely. I'd like to attend, assuming that wasn't already a given."

"Oh, um, really?"

"Really. Why not?"

"No reason why not. I don't know why I expected you to not... go." Lucifer scratched the back of his neck. "And I don't know why I feel weird right now."

Looking the man over silently, Alastor quietly placed his copy of Moby-Dick on the bedside table, careful to avoid the mug and lamp already there. Next, he removed the reading spectacles that had been resting on the bridge of his nose and folded it atop, but didn't bother to re-place his monocle. "Would you allow me to be harsh with you for a moment?"

For some peculiar reason, Lucifer flushed. It was only momentary though, and the king nodded to let him continue.

"You've began to see me as an invalid due to my injury." Alastor said bluntly, raising a hand when Lucifer shifted into defensive anger and began to move in retort. "No, no, let me speak. Believe me when I say I have appreciated your help, and I've said as much many times. Some of your hovering has even been justified - but I am an Overlord, and I was always going to integrate back into my role. Due to your interference I have already spent longer away from my position than I wanted, but I am not going to put it off any longer. It makes me uncomfortable that you treat me like someone incapable, especially after the genuinely good rapport we have built."

It was more exhaustion built into those carefully phrased sentences than the built-up frustration Alastor perhaps ought to be feeling, but he couldn't bring himself to be truly angry. Lucifer was just an overbearing person by nature, it was a facet of his personality that should have come of no surprise, and the better moments they'd come to share outweighed a lot of the humiliation and anger that had come from the situation.

"I get it." Lucifer mumbled, deflated and playing with a bit of his hair. "I'm sorry. This is a whole thing with me. When I get passionate about something I get... too much. Way too much."

'Passionate about what, precisely?' Alastor thought, but didn't say, bemused. 'About me? About playing house, playing doctor?'

"Nevermind any of it now." Alastor assured, as eager to escape the discomfort as he. "You'll have to put me down for dancing in particular. I don't suppose you'd be joining me there?"

There was a divine comedy in watching how Lucifer's facial expressions changed when given whiplash between topics like that. It was like a cartoon character - the man had such inconceivably precise control of his facial muscles, to the extent Alastor had never seen before, not on any human or demon. His pupils went from a sad-puppy dilated puddle to contracting into pinpricks of panic.

"Me? Dance? With you? In dressy ball suits? With... with nice romantic orchestral music? In- in front of people?" Golly, who knew Lucifer's face could turn that shade?

"I didn't necessarily mean WITH me, just if you would dance at all, but if the idea is so odorous to you-"

"NO! No, no, I'd do that! With you. I'd dance with you. And at all, I'll dance in general, but with you specifically-" Lucifer seemed to come to himself, pressing his hands together and exhaling sharply, straightening. "Yes."

Alastor blinked. "Alright."

"Alright!" Lucifer clapped his hands together, face still glowing. "Cool. Haha. Great! Shit, I guess you'd be leading, 'cause of the height thing. I can't even really argue that one this time."

"You could always shift yourself to be a little taller."

"Are you seriously not going to take the win here?"

"Just pointing it out" The overlord chuckled, glancing at the shamefully abandoned book by the king's side. "If we're to get any practice in, you'll need to return that to me by the way. Hardly touched as well. Not a fan of Fitzgerald's writing?"

"Practice?" Lucifer handed the novel back over, mindful to do so gently. "Yeah, sorry. Bit boring for me."

"I've not had to do formal dancing in some time, and my body is still stiff from this ordeal." Alastor clarified. Indeed, lifting his arms still pulled at his chest a touch, and he dreaded to think what moving around at speed might do for his nausea. It should be tolerable, at any rate, and he had to rip the bandaid off before he got much too cozy lying around and made the leap back in infinitely more jarring. "I'm not doubting your own abilities. Well. At dance, anyway." He corrected tartly. "Clearly your literacy is lacking. A renowned classic - dull?"

"Just not my kind of book, I guess. I like the raunchier stuff, the more fanciful stuff, excitement. Eternity's been slow and depressing enough for me." Lucifer admitted, repositioning to swing his legs over the side of the bed to stand up in one movement. With one hand he waved inelegently at Alastor's own choice of read, still daintily atop the drawer. "Same problem. I just drift off and get inside my own head if you leave me with one like that."

"The raunchier stuff." The overlord felt utterly defeated, leaning his head back against the headboard. "That's all anyone wants anymore. Well then, I shall procure you a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover next time we settle down like this. Do try to keep both hands on the paper."

Lucifer was turning that funny shade again. "I don't like them like THAT. Wait, you actually read that one? All the way through?"

"Regretfully."

"Why?"

Hm. Alastor puffed out his cheeks slightly, casting his memory back to when he'd still inhabited the land of the living, back when he'd been eagerly climbing the ladder of a radio show, diregarding every barrier and insult, every side eye and stuck out leg. Amongst the crowd of faces who scowled at the mere sight of him, there was one that did not. A white man twice his age at the time, in his fourties and slowly balding, having more hair remaining on his face than his skull. Every time he'd seen the younger man he'd lit up with enthusiasm, shaking Alastor's hand with a firm grip before launching into the latest talk of the day. At first, it'd been so peculiar that Alastor had tried to avoid him, suspecting he was playing in his face to obscure a knife (metaphorical) behind his back, but after a little time it became clear the man was his one genuine ally in the place. They got along swimmingly after that, and he even accepted a few invites out for drinks.

On one such occasion out, the man had drifted a hand into his bag, and for another split moment Alastor found himself doubting every past interaction they'd had and every previous judgement, ready for a weapon to be drawn and the situation to become ugly. Instead, he was offered a book.

"Here." The man told him, soft as he pressed it into the younger's hands. "Happy one year anniversary of joining the company. I doubt anyone else has said that to you."

It was strange, Alastor thought going home that day, half-tipsy and doing his best to keep his footsteps in a straight line, to be met with such open and unconditional kindness. Throughout his life everything had come with a catch, every favour had to be earned, every laugh was a pretty little lie. His mother had been the only exception.

The book felt warm in his hands, so warm it burned, swirling up with all of these new and difficult emotions.

It wasn't until he thought to flick through it several nights later that he realized it was pornographic. Ah well. He was a young man, after all, so it was no surprise it was thought of as a fitting gift, especially as he'd never dare to admit he found the entire concept of copulation repulsive. As some strange trial to himself, he brute forced his way through the entire thing without once throwing up.

...Really, aside from all of that, it was a respectably well-written work.

"A friend lent me a copy." The cannibal finally answered Lucifer airily, stretching. "And you'll have to lend me your arm in a second. Let's see if the both of us remember how to move our legs."

---

It was all very strange, Lucifer Morningstar thought as he moved.

The lot of this. Every word they'd spoken, every thought he'd had, every touch they'd shared. It was all remarkably, hollistically, overbearingly strange to spend time with a demon like this. To share a part of himself with a person like this.

No one had been able to coax him out in all of his entirety in the past millenium, no one managed to make him feel so comfortable bearing all of himself and being able to just be it, not the staunch leader of legend, not the sappy but oppressive father, not the pathetic manchild still crawling after a long-failed marriage. In this room, he was himself, Alastor was Alastor, and any façades they put up outside became irrelevant.

And he liked Alastor as himself. Lucifer liked Alastor's laugh, his jokes, his shitty taste in fiction, his form of dress, even the way the overlord endeavored to inconvenience and annoy him. Lucifer liked the more difficult conversations they had late into the nights, the direct way Alastor would address communication problems they had. Lucifer liked when Alastor poked him in the face, and Lucifer liked when their hands came to rest together on the bed only inches apart.

As the man in question dipped him and Lucifer was faced with him, only him, only Alastor LeBlanc's clear and smiling face haloed with light from the overhead, eyes crinkled up in genuine enjoyment, the warmth of his hands on Lucifer's body and the soft tune of Swan Lake pittering from an outdated old radio in the background...

Lucifer liked Alastor, he realized.

What the hell was he supposed to do about that?

Chapter Text

A fact not many knew about the Lord of Hell was that he had a greater connection to his domain than was immediately apparent. It seemed obvious, and yet the actual proportion and depth of the link was frequently underestimated.

There was a psuedo-symbiosis. It was more abstract than anything tangible, like the two concepts intersected on an invisible plane, and yet Lucifer still felt that overlap deep to his core. Some time ago in his moments of downtime between family life and ruling, he'd cut the strings to his physical form and let the tainted ghost of his angelic body spread its wings, countless amongst heads of lion, ox and eagle and swirling rings, and extend his awareness to the furthest reaches of the underworld, experience all it did as if it were himself. Every spoken word, every tapped foot, every spray of blood or otherwise, it reverbrated through him like the inhabitants of hell were all miniature action figures running across the surface of his body.

Unsurprisingly this wasn't all that pleasant, and over the years he did it less and less. Both because he lost the mental clarity needed to perform such a feat of power, and because he fell out of touch with the insecure need to tell himself that, deep down, he was still an angel. That as tainted and rotten as his soul was, the essence of it was intact.

There wasn't anything good to come out that level of delusion. Nowadays, the most he bothered at a whim were quick flashes, just to check all was in order as he was told. Having confined himself to his palace grounds after the divorce, he had no choice but to blindly trust what the Sins told him was going on, and that just didn't sit right with him even in the darkest places in his fugue. Besides, a sneaky area scan was sufficient. Confirmed what he'd been told and settled his nerves. It became a habit to do it on his worst days just to assure him that even if his mind was all donked up, nothing outside of it was amiss. And that was what lead to today, the day of Charlie's fun 'Charlie-ty and Advertisement Event Slash Gala', of which he'd driven himself to madness with anxiety in the coming up to and subsequently on waking up that day did a scan without thinking to before he'd even gotten out of bed.

Instead of the nice, familiar, reassuring reminder that everything was in place, he was instead struck with such an intense warning alarm that he fell straight out of the bed he'd been dragging himself up from.

Staring up at the ceiling with little cartoon duckies circling the head he'd just summarily banged on the polished oak flooring, Lucifer's startled expression schooled itself into a troubled grimace. Whatever that was, it was some seriously bad news. None of the massacres, Overlord battles or even the dreadful (albeit thankfully scarce) times way back when that his brothers deigned to visit him gave him a signal this intense. Even now, not actively searching, goosebumps rose up his arms and back of neck, spine tingling. Whipping up into a sitting position on the uncomfortable floor, he pinched his eyes shut and screwed both index fingers into the sides of his head, preparing to look properly at what'd startled him...

...only to be thwarted by his own daughter whipping open the door without nary so much as a warning, eyes aglitter and bearing a sunny greeting that petered off into a nervous exclamation for his wellbeing. Well-prompted, given that the surprise had thrown him straight back into the ground, hitting his head for a second knock out blow. His luck all used up on the duckies prior, Lucifer whined low in the back of his throat and swallowed bile, taking a moment to recentre and avoid throwing up or crying out before propping himself up on his elbows and reassuring his panicking daughter with a too-wide grin and double thumbs up. "Heyyy, sweet-pea!"

"Ohhhmygosh, dad, I didn't mean to scare you so bad!" Charlie wailed, rushing to his side and helping him to sit up. "I just wanted to make sure you were awake, since preperations for the event are only a few hours away! I should've totally knocked first!"

"No, no, it's all good!" Lucifer laughed, brushing her hands away and bringing his own to cradle her face. "Just a little bonk on the bonce, I've had worse. And it's a good thing you came up, because I totally had forgotten I was aiding in the prelims! Speaking of, when do you need me down there?"

The king watched with unending affection as his daughter drew back, sniffling guiltily still but gathering herself together and pulling up into her prior excitement. Honestly, he was so proud of her, it felt like she'd matured so much after all that hullabaloo with up-above. Being forced to take charge had forced her to take charge of herself and her emotions, and more and more in their personal life was that showing. "Is 3.30 okay?" She hedged. "The whole thing starts at 4.30, which you knew, but it'd really help to have you around from the start like... another 'face' of the hotel. My reputation with the lodgers is still kinda shaky, even if my image with wider Hell's apparently improved after the tv broadcast of our fight with Heaven. Which, I didn't even know that was happening at the time, but it's ok. Still, you're seen as more respectable than me. People hear your name and they take it seriously." Charlie cracked a grin. "Though I admit seeing you in person might undo a bit of that."

"You calling me ugly?" Lucifer laughed, ignoring how the action sent sharp pulses of pain through his aching head. At least the pain had stepped back from 'vision going white' to 'more dancing duckies', and these little birds were even more creative than the last, forgoing the usual bobbing and circling routine to a rendition of the charleston. "Of course that's okay. I'll be there 3.30 sharp, in my sharpest attire!" Grabbing her face, he smothered her cheeks and forehead with kisses until she laughingly protested, extracting herself. "I'm excited to see you in action in a less literal setting, munchkin. See you down there."

Right before leaving, Charlie hesitated at the doorway and turned back, looking her father in the eye but not quite conveying anything. When Lucifer arched a curious brow and gestured her to speak, the smile she'd been carrying turned cheeky.

"You're dressing up to make me look good then, dad? Or to show off?"

Lucifer scoffed. "Can't it be both?"

His daughter's smile widened until it was ear to ear, in a way that would be sinister on anyone else's face. "Anyone in particular you want to look good to besides me? Anyone I know? Anyone I should tell to keep their eye out for you?"

Lucifer felt like he could sense the swinging of an axe's blade by the back of his neck, squinting at her. "Nnnnnnooooooooooooooooooo-?"

"Oh, that's a shame. I'll tell Alastor to dance with Angel, then. See you in a bit!" and the door slammed shut behind her.

"Woah woah woah, hey, no, what?!" Lucifer exclaimed, running to the door and wrenching it open, gawking down the hallway as Charlie wiggled her hand at him teasingly from the end before laughing and vanishing around the corner. Entire face heating up a brilliant gold, the king sighed in embarassment and leant back inside, closing the door before resting his burning face on the cold wood. He hadn't been aware he'd been obvious enough for Charlie to notice. Or maybe all the time he'd spent with Alastor was enough to make assumptions, even without his own changing behaviour.

It's not that he was trying to act different around Alastor. After all, he'd known about how he felt toward the other man for a decent bit of time, even if he stewed in denial. At the very least, he'd known he was attracted to him, so the internal confirmation a few days ago of 'I Like Him' shouldn't have rocked him like a teenage girl with her first crush on an older boy. And yet. It had.

It was like all of his romantic feelings and idealisms had been locked away in a sealed box after what had occured between him and his wife, and all he'd allowed himself to feel since were the edges of sexual desire, nothing greater, nothing more intimate. Sexual attraction was easy, it was simple, it didn't need anything deeper to justify it. Lucifer didn't have any reason to struggle with the idea that he wanted to bang Alastor, or that he thought Alastor could be desirable physically. The kicker on that can of eggs was that Alastor himself was averse to such things. The guy'd never put a word on it, but it was clear he was completely uninterested in all things sticky and sexy. Even if all Lucifer had felt toward him was desire, he would've been left hopeless in knowing there was no chance of it being mutual.

But it wasn't just that.

Pulling a face at himself, Lucifer stepped away from the door and made his way to the bathroom, peeling off his sleep-sweat soaked gloves and flinging them onto his unmade bed, carding a hand through his hair. He wanted to do more than sleep with Alastor. Juvenile as it felt, he wanted to... to hold his fucking hand. To cuddle. To brush his hair. To drink and dance with him until they were both so dizzy and drunk they toppled down together. To tell him he was beautiful when he laughed genuinely as he sometimes let himself, instead of the mask he put on in front of others, the one that let him feel in control. To kiss him. And against all reasonable sense, Lucifer wanted Alastor to feel the same way about him.

Maybe that's why Charlie could notice a difference, even if Alastor himself hadn't yet. Lucifer wasn't flirting, but he wasn't not flirting either, because despite himself he wanted to make how he felt known. He wanted to try and make whatever this was work.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Lucifer huffed at his appearance. Pallid and sleep deprived with eyebags and greasy hair, drowning in a wrinkled and tattered night shirt, he was the last thing any guy would desire.

But. Today was a good time to show his better side.

For a short time today he wasn't going to be 'Luci, Charlie's weird and flaky dad, who traumadumps after one drink and takes 3 hours to get out of bed on a good day.'

For today, he could be Lucifer Morningstar. The first angel. Star-maker. Sauve, powerful, eloquent. He could do this.

Completely ignoring all earlier anxieties and committing himself to the confidence revving his engine, Lucifer got ready for the day.

---

"Mmmrrgh..."

Elsewhere, on the verges of their ring of Hell, something stirred.

It was the third time that week this particular something had done so, and the second of those three times to have happened in an alleyway stinking of rot and blood.

Groaning again, louder, a hand the colour of ebony came to scratch at a sore head.

"Mmfuckin'. What time's it? Fuck me."

Kicking over a discarded beer bottle, this someone rose, all the while itching and scratching all over s body that had been swarmed in sleep by termites, cockroaches and ants. Only to be expected when one slept on the floor in such a place, though it didn't mean it was something to be happy about.

"Need to get outta here. Can't think straight. S'ra, that biiitch. F'ckin'. Shit, man. My head's spinnin' like a whore on a dick."

Staggering out of the alleyway and grimacing at a billboard right across the road that read 'Sex! Drugs! Sin!', this person glared up at it before flipping the bird. In the better light of the main street, it became a little more apparant what being this actually was.

At first glance, even if you'd met him before, it was a little hard to tell. Formerly pristine battle robes were shredded beyond recognition and stained so impressively it was impossible to tell what the original colour might have been, as was the case with a mop of unruly hair. Having staggered around confused and sleep deprived for the better part of two weeks and sleeping sparingly his face was an unappealing sight, thinned with slightly sunken eyes and littered with cuts. Until he opened his mouth, even those who had been closest to him would struggle to see who he was.

Luckily, he opened his mouth a lot.

"T-THIS SHIT IS SO FUCKIN' UNFAIR!" he screamed, voice a little raspy and uneven from coughing in the rancid air. "I RULE OVER YOU BITCHES! YOU HEAR ME?! ALL YOUR PIECE OF SHIT TURDS DOWN HERE, I'M YOUR RULER! I'M-"

"Dude." A small pigeon demon said beside him, glaring with one wing holding its morning coffee up. "Can you shut up? I'm about to go deaf. Go have your crash out somewhere else, jeez. Some of us have to- ACK" the little guy was cut off by a darkened hand grabbing it by its throat and wrenching it up off the ground, coffee toppling down and bursting open on the pavement. Neither paid it any mind, sinners staring at each other, one with sudden fear and one with rage. "L-look man, I didn't mean-"

"Where. Is. That. Hotel."

Scrabbling with its little claws at his hand, the pigeon hesitated and squinted at him even as its face grew red from lessening oxygen. "What?"

"The shitty fuckin' 'ooooeh we can totally redeem all the degen cunts down here and throw them up to be Heaven's problem' one! The one Lucifer's dumbfuck brainless daughter shat out!" His words grew more incensed with every breath. In his grasp the pigeon thrashed, sticking out one wing in a direction. Following its point, he pulled it in until their faces were inches apart. "If you're lyin' to me, pipdick-"

"I'm... n... not!" The pigeon gasped desperately. "Pl.... please....!"

He dropped it and didn't even wait to watch it gasp for air lying in the split coffee puddle, turning to stagger off in the direction it had pointed. Everyone he'd try to accost before thought he was incomprehensible and laughed him off - one even chased him after sinking their fangs into his leg. Still with a limp but a little recovered and less disoriented after sleeping more than an hour, he fought to walk there.

---

"Wow" Vaggie remarked the moment she looked up, the first thing she'd said to him that entire week. "You definitely dressed up."

Lucifer couldn't help but be taken off guard, all of the swagger he'd built up that afternoon evaporated in an instant. "Ah. Too much?" He picked at the gold chain connecting the lapels of his suit jacket, immediately feeling more like a display than the 'sexy gothic art piece' he'd been going for. At least he'd not busted out some of his older suits for the occasion, one of them being a gold and sequined blazer so loud and obnoxious Lilith had scolded him for blinding her when he first put it on under the full light of the sun.

Vaggie was certainly more reserved than he, kitted in a dark grey fishtail slip dress with what was clearly one of her regular and comfiest light grey jackets tossed on top, open at the front. The monochrome aesthetic fit her, at least, so she didn't blend together to the eye. In her hands was a clipboard where she'd been ticking off things as they went, and at his fretting she bit her pen, tilting her head and drinking him in more propely. Then she just rolled her eyes.

"It's a statement, but there's nothing wrong with it. I thought white and gold were more 'your colours'."

Again, Lucifer felt sheepish. Having tossed around about 100 outfits before deciding he was being fussy and overpreparing and picking what felt best in the moment, he was rocking a blood red jacket over a black button-up, the top buttons fashionably undone, over a nice set of comfortable black dress pants. Sure, it wasn't the colour scheme he usually went for, but he'd thought it was alright. And something about it just... called to him at the time. "Nothing wrong with mixing things up," he said, and then without thinking finished with "It's not like Al owns this colour combo."

Vaggie stared at him, nonplussed. "I never mentioned Alastor."

Lucifer had an abrupt urge to set himself on fire. "Oh. Right. Yes."

Tilting her head at him, Vaggie opened her mouth to prod further to be cut off by Charlie's enthused shout of both of their names, turning to see the sproingy blonde racing over from the swinging doors leading to the connected kitchen, barrelling into Vaggie and kissing her cheek at a speed unfollowable to the human eye. From this close Lucifer could see the cute dress she'd thrown on, different to the regular attire she'd worn this morning greeting him - now an off the shoulder affair with a short split on the centre-left.

Laughing openly at her partner's clinginess, Vaggie swiftly extricated herself, though she kept their arms linked. "What's the big deal, why're you attacking me like this is the first time you've seen me in years?"

"I'm always happy to see you, even if I did just a minute ago!" Charlie retorted, before finally pinning her attention on her present father and brightening up even further, if that was somehow possible. "Dad! You came!"

"Of course I came!" Lucifer gasped. "I told you I would!"

For a moment Charlie's brow and lip twitched, as if she were fighting the urge to say 'well, you know, with your history...' Lucifer felt abruptly abashed.

"Right. Well, I'm here now and I'm here as long as you need me!" The king claimed, slapping his chest with bravado. "Set building, attendee greeting, firework exploding, I'm your guy for the rest of the night!"

Charlie cheered and clapped her hands. "That last one sounds perfect! I was actually gonna get you to help me help with the cooks-" ("We have those?" - Lucifer) ("Now we certainly do." - Vaggie.) "But I think they're all set, so - so I'd really love some fireworks! I definitely think I went overboard with all this and made it wayyy more formal than it needed to be, so that'll help break the mood in a fun way!"

"You'll have to give me the signal. How big and bright do you want them?"

"As big and bright as you can make them!"

"Until then, what can I help you with?"

"Oooh, I don't know where to start, can you help me rehearse what I want to say when everyone comes in?"

"Of course!"

(Lucifer felt himself drifting as he waited for it all to start, engaged but so filled with anticipation that it felt like it was bursting out through every surface of his body. When it came time to do Charlie's little display, he couldn't quite keep the thoughts of a certain someone out enough to prevent the distinct red-tinged hue to his artful detonations.)

(He'd always been this way. In the time immediately following the creation period, he remembered lilies the colour of vanilla would burst from the ground where he stept, caught up in the image of his would-be wife.)

(As a being, Lucifer found he was ruled by love more than hate. He wondered how the christians of today might take that.)

---

For an extended breath, the darkened streets of downtown and all that surrounded it were suddenly enveloped in brilliant sparkling light. Every inhabitant within a mile radius turned to gawk at the glittering display, fireworks as large as comets erupting into the air.

Amongst the crowd, one man's pace intensified, breaking through the gawking swath of gossiping sinners.

---

Lucifer took a spell to rest after his, well, spell. Magic that superficial didn't exhaust him, but it was still nice to take a breather and let Charlie do the rest, watching her excitedly stand on an elevated platform and speak to the room, tugging Vaggie along to help her run through a list of objectives as quickly as they could to not bore the attendees. The king watched as ever more filtered in, and lit up sheepishly at the familiar sight of Husk making his way through the growing crowd, the cat's remarkably sized ears and ornamental hat noticeable despite his small stature. Having spotted him at about the same time, Husk gave the other a lazy salute before trudging over to the small cocktail bar. '%5 only!' Charlie had insisted. 'And kick anyone out who looks too drunk!' She'd been a little discouraged when Husk told her he was absolutely not going to expend that much effort, though the cat had the decency to pat her arm and tell her he'd not serve anyone being an asshole. At least that was something.

As the minutes ticked past Lucifer's foot tapped anxiously, transparently waiting for one person in particular. He knew it was a little shallow of him, but really, he couldn't wait. Alastor- he didn't think Alastor felt the same way, but... well actually, he didn't know that for sure. After all, Alastor seemed to have really warmed up on him. Had thanked him. Had complimented him. They'd shared space, had meaningful conversations, sat together, danced together. Alastor had dipped him during their first rehearsal, and Lucifer wanted desperately to believe that spark he thought he'd seen in the other's gaze was real.

'Please, let it be real. Let Alastor feel even a fraction of my own affection.'

Lost in his own head as he was, it took the king a good minute to register that much of the surrounding noise had faltered, even the musicians skipping a chord, a hush pulling over the hall before Charlie leapt in to announce something that pulled them out of it. Still, the air was tense, uneasy, a contrast to the ball of joy that ignited in Lucifer's chest when he sighted the cause of all the commotion.

Alastor was dressed in his familiar aesthetic sensibilities, nowhere as jarring as Lucifer's own complete style shift, though he was a little toned down compared to the usual. He wore a maroon tinted shirt with puffed sleeves that pulled in at the wrist, jacketless save for a simple black waist band and black dress pants similar to Lucifer's own. His tie situation was an inverted-cross bolo, gleaming a brilliant ruby atop black thread. Hair tied up with far more care and fancy than usual, pronouncing his waves in a way he clearly ordinarily straightened out - he looked like an absolute dream. Lucifer could feel more of his common sense fleeing him by the moment. Who needed alcohol?

"Nice of you to join us!" Lucifer exclaimed, fighting to keep the nervousness out of his voice and overcompensating by projecting it, watching as those nearest to them flinched away. Alastor was unpeterbed, an ear flicking the only sign that he was alarmed. Swiftly lowering his volume, Lucifer continued- "I like how you've, ah, done your hair, it looks great on you. Well, not because it's you- because the style is great, it's-" Lucifer coughed, clearing his throat. "It's great. Looks all fancy and braided a bit there... how long'd that take? I like the ribbon." and now he was just blathering. Nevermind, he prayed for a glass of wine to bury his face into.

Chuckling softly, Alastor brushed his fingers against the meticulously pulled back up-do, as if to assure himself it was still in place. "It isn't my handiwork, I fear. Angel Dust caught me as I was coming down and insisted on giving me something more purposeful. He told me it was so that I could compensate with my 'lethal face card', whatever that means, for the fact he cannot himself attend after all. It only took him a minute."

"Oh. That's... a real shame, actually. They called him in to shoot now of all days? What crap luck."

Alastor pursed his lips, clearly disturbed. "I thought the same. I hope he can at least return in time to talk Husk's ear off at the end of this."

"Wow, look at you being so nice and optimistic for other people!" Lucifer smiled, aware he looked like a moron. "Charlie's get-togethers really do bring out the best in everyone, eh?"

"Mostly, I'm still baffled by what appeared to be a compliment but was incomprehensible to my vocabluary. What is a 'lethal face card'?" Alastor smoothly diverted.

"It means you're hot." Lucifer blurted, before freezing up entirely. Alastor watched, tilting his head, as the devil himself stumbled over his feet and words alike. "That's just what the phrase means! That's not me saying it specifically, although. No. Oh, screw this. This is why I shouldn't be allowed to talk to other people."

"You do appear to be struggling. Had any of Husk's famous whiskey?"

"Can't be that famous if I've not heard of it."

"Well, don't tell him that."

Being pulled into conversation was easy. Being pulled into a dance was easy. Being as close as this, looking up into Alastor's face and seeing how the overlord's gaze softened and the affectionate way his hand smoothed across the back of Lucifer's jacket, stepping with him, in beat, in rythym-

Lucifer wanted to spend an eternity like this.

"...I didn't know any liquid could taste so revolting" Alastor broke this his thoughts, grimacing and throwing away the solo cup he had just lifted and taken a hearty swig of. "This is hardly the most refined dining situation, either. I thought Charlotte was going for a full-out classy gala situation?"

"She compromised" Lucifer chuckled, pausing along with him to test the punch Alastor had spat out. Yep, gross. The fuck did they put in this? "Oh man that's bad. Char' ended up compromising, she got too self conscious that she was over-doing and being too pretentious for the average denizen. Not sure this was the compromise."

"I suppose I can't think of anything that would have gone down better." Alastor hummed. "You can't provide this rabble with unlimited alcohol. Husk is a good stopper on that problem - if there'd been none at all, after all, that'd have caused an even bigger commotion."

"I'd hate to see you drunk." Lucifer teased, only to squawk ungracefully as the radio demon reached out to tug him in close, one hand on his waist and the other tracing the side of his face, only to blow a bit of Lucifer's hair that had came undone from his nicely combed do back into place. "What-"

Alastor interrupted him, "You would dread to have me drunk, as you'll find I am disarmingly honest. Match that with something as nostalgic for me as formal dance, and I'd be an incomprehensibly nostalgic mess for the remainder of the afternoon." His grin became warm. "I'd be more annoying than you, even."

Lucifer knew what response was being baited from him there. It was aimed to get an indignant shout from him, a laugh, a shove. Instead in the swirl of his brain all he could blurt out was - "I don't think I could ever find you annoying."

His companion's expression dropped from expectant humour to surprise. "Ah."

Ah?

Ah??

Maybe Lucifer had psyched himself up too well. Maybe he needed to take a chill pill. But the spaghetti in his brain just pushed further and further and-

"Especially not when you look like that" he garbled, flushed to his collarbone. "I'd be too distracted with how you're dressed."

Oh, kill him dead. Do it now.

Not content to let Lucifer stand awash in his brazen humiliation or even to free him of his grasp, Alastor kept their proximity but tilted his head to the right, amused. "I don't see how my outfit is anything out of the usual. You, on the other hand, appear to have plagiarized me."

"Hey, you should see it as a compliment!" Lucifer managed. The music playing behind them and flooding the room was moving from a more typical classical piece to something a bit more modern and energetic, and already his feet were aching with a need to move.

"I will." Alastor told him, and then suddenly was overtaken by an expression so odd and unlike him that Lucifer paused, unsure. "I... find it flattering when those who mean something to me take inspiration. It's only an insult when it is a stranger, or someone I dislike." The odd expression only intensified, eyes defocused, like he was thinking of something that he wasn't verbalizing.

Lucifer was too gone to care, having lost the plot the moment he'd heard those words. "Mean something?"

Alastor hummed, still looking slightly away. The look on his face seemed all wrong... it wasn't bashful, or playful, or even interpretable in any positive light. He seemed ill, though he was clearly trying to ignore it. Taking notice of the tune on blast later than Lucifer had, he lit up and transferred his grip to the king's arm. "Nevermind it. Come now, I remember you wanted to prove your dancing to me."

"Y-yeah.." Lucifer managed, stumbling after him in a daze. Every part of him felt hypercharged, like he'd been electrocuted. Despite Charlie waving at him from where she stood at the front of the room, the light in his life, his gaze glossed over her. As he moved to Alastor's rythym, the world melted away into abstract just as it had the night they first practiced.

'Mean something to me.'

Was that really just said platonically? Wouldn't- wouldn't you otherwise say 'my close friends' or 'people I get along with'?, he thought desperately. Would a guy with no interest in another guy really hold one close like this, dance with him, dip him like he were a dainty young lady? Could that really be rationalized? He didn't know what to think, and not helping was equal portions of brain fuzz from being so close to the guy he wanted so desperately, and a strange spine-crawling tingle that seemed to be buzzing at the back of his mental periphary, nagging him to check, insisting there was trouble. Right now, Lucifer couldn't care less if he tried. Whatever stupid bullshit might be happening elsewhere in Hell wasn't his business right now. What was his business was every point of contact he had with the man beside him, each molecule ignited like flames by the contact.

He wanted to kiss him.

For someone's sake, he wanted to kiss him.

He wanted to kiss him on his stupid idiot dumbass reckless mouth, and let go of the difficult feelings making rational logic seem so tricky.

"Alastor?"

"Hm?"

"You make my mind so blurry, y'know that?" Lucifer confessed softly. "I haven't met someone since my wife that's brought out these feelings in me. Isn't that so strange?"

Alastor's expression became unreadable again. "Somewhat, as you hated me not too long ago."

"This sounds stupid, but I'm... kind of glad you got yourself bashed up and I was the one who found you. I'm glad we had the chance to get to know each other properly. I'm glad I got to know you as you. I can't even imagine hating you anymore." Lucifer laughed softly.

"I..." Alastor's gaze flickered. "I suppose I feel the same way."

Lucifer felt the last delicate thread holding back his inhibitions fray before snapping in an instant. "Really?"

A quiet, unsure laugh. "Yes. I hate to admit it, but I feel comfortable around you in a way I don't around anyone else. It's inexplicable, but. I much prefer our current relationship to what it might have been."

'Relationship.' Lucifer thought, nearly mouthing the words. 'Yes. Yes, that's what I want. If you'd have me. If you'd have me.'

Reaching up, he grasped the other's face, holding it like something precious. Before him Alastor froze, stock still and staring at him. The music swelled. Lucifer thought he might step on air.

"Can I kiss you?" He breathed.

Nothing. Nothing, because Lucifer fell backward before he could see or hear a response, slipping from the arms that had been holding him backward.

Alastor.

Alastor had dropped him.

As a stone slowly settled to the bottom of his stomach, the music stopped. The crowd hushed.

Lucifer gawked, mouth dry. It felt like he'd been forcefully wrenched from the romanticized daydream he'd been slipping into, watching as the pretty pink shoujo bubble filter he'd selfishly plastered over their interactions popped all at once.

Because where he'd thought Alastor had been looking at him a particular way, seeing him how he wanted him to, projecting his desires onto the overlord and thinking for a second that it really was true, that it was reciprocated. Now, Alastor looked like he'd been struck by lightning. In the cool lighting, the silence and the intensity of the colour of his clothes, he looked washed out and pallid.

Lucifer stared mutely, heart in his throat as he struggled to comprehend the whiplash of their situation. Guilt finally pushed him up to start to stand, mouth flapping, ready to apologize and beg to move past it. Triggered back to life in seeing Lucifer's jerky movements, Alastor flinched away from him and hissed- "I need to leave."

A statue locked in place, scared to move again and agitate him further, Lucifer swallowed thickly. "No, please, I- shit. Fuck. Shit. I'm so sorry, I misread this completely, I didn't mean to- this doesn't have to mean-"

"I need to leave." Alastor repeated, sounding on the verge of hysteria, voice pitchier than before. His sights were no longer on the fallen king, instead flitting about to take in the crowd surrounding them, a sea of beady eyes and whispering mouths. As he looked back at Lucifer something caught in his expression and his entire face seeming to crunch beneath the weight of a foreign grief.

Then he rounded on his heels and began to march away, making for the door without another word.

Scrambling to his feet, Lucifer chanced a glance to his daughter and cringed in shame at the shocked look on her face, immediately looking away and toward the large ballroom doors Alastor had left through. Swallowing the regret and forcing his legs to move, he went after the man he'd all but confessed his feelings to, who had quite clearly rejected him.

As Lilith had told him once, when it came to those he had these feelings for, he just never knew when to give up.

The worst was that Alastor clearly wasn't retiring to his room, he was making for the door. Lucifer ran after him, calling out his name, but the overlord's advantage of height kept him ahead, no longer humbled by the pains and short breath that had haunted him not long before. "ALASTOR!" Lucifer finally snapped, tone veering from desperate confusion to frustration, and briefly caught Alastor's flinch and how his shoulders jolted before the front door slammed behind him.

Alone in the foyer with his chest heaving, Lucifer stood alone.

It was completely silent. The echo of his shouting gone, the echo of the door being slammed gone, the ruckus of the event they'd left behind being rooms away, all he could hear was his heavy breathing and the thup-thup of his heartbeat.

It had only just been racing from desire. Funny how that changed.

Whining as an all-too familiar grief crept up on him, Lucifer sunk to his knees and stared at the door helplessly, dull to the world.

He really couldn't make anyone he cared for stay, could he?p>

---

Life was such a divine comedy.

Alastor didn't stop for one moment, not when Lucifer called out his name, not when the heavy front doors of the hotel slammed shut behind him, not when he was well down the road and confident the man he was running from was nowhere in sight and unlikely to be pursuing.

Not running. He was not running. Alastor did not run.

Even to his own mind the excuse fell flat.

How could he be so stupid? How could he grow so close to another and confide in them, and not expect this to be a possibility? How could- how could Lucifer do this to him, repeatedly bring up those old memories and then do the exact same fucking thing-

Alastor came to a standstill, fists clenched tightly by his sides.

It was ludicrous to blame it on Lucifer. The man shouldn't be impugned for simply having such... unwise emotions. It was Alastor's own folly for still bearing such a sore wound on this topic, for letting it bleed as long as it had and only attempting to bandage it long after it had festered and grown ill. Long after he'd started seeing him around more and more, on the tv, on the streets, looking as well as he ever did and responding to Alastor's presence with pure vitriol,

A nearby storefront exploded. A passing sinner brave enough to have been walking close to Alastor screamed, and the overlord registered distantly that he'd punctured her with glass. More to be noticed, he'd punctured himself, a large piece wedged diagonially in his face below his eye. Worst was, he couldn't even feel it, only knew it was there by the fuzzy sensation of liquid dripping down his face. Pinching his fingers to wrench it from his flesh and swiping aggressively at where the blood had been tracing an awful path downward, Alastor grew increasingly incensed as his face felt no less wet. With horror, he recognized how sore and irritated his eyes were.

Fool, he thought. Idiot.

Then, in another voice -

"You idiot. How'd you get down there?"

Alastor - a younger, softer, newer Alastor - chuckled brazenly. "I'm sure you realize that I've tripped. Why don't you help me up instead of calling me rude names?"

A hum of consideration, done in jest. "I don't know, I could take a photo of you down there, all laid out ungracefully like that. I get that on the TV and title it 'Radio Overlord Bested By Newly Mopped Floor', and that might finally screw your rep for good."

"Bastard." The old Alastor huffed. Get over yourself. Pull me up, and who knows, perhaps I'll grace you with a 'thank you' kiss."

"Oho, really? That's worth more than gold, coming from you." But finally, a hand was outstretched to aid him up. Alastor took it thankfully, groaning at how uncoordinated he looked. "You don't like upholding it when you promise me that, though."

"Aaah, but you've helped me up regardless. You've lost your bargaining chip."

A snicker. "Well. I know better than to expect them, like you said. You're so mean, y'know."

"Am i?" In a startling display of boldness, Alastor leant forward and kissed him, just as he'd said he would. It was utterly unsexy, just a chaste brush of skin to screen, and yet-

Stumbling back and alight with happiness, Vox laughed. "I can't believe you! Imagine that, you tell me you're incapable of feeling romantic attraction, and then you lead me on this way. You've made everyone think the depths of your cruelty is killing and eating bitches, but I know better."

"Yet you're all lit up like a christmas tree right now" Alastor said, a warmth spreading through his chest unlike anything he'd felt before. "You're too happy to even pretend otherwise."

"I just need to trip you up more often if this is my reward afterward."

"Oh, you exhuasting-"

Clutching at his chest, Alastor felt ill. The area felt rubbed raw, as if the happiness he'd felt in the memory was infecting his current self and instead mutating and tearing open his heart.

No more. He couldn't do this.

He was going to make a broadcast, and get rid of these worthless feelings once and for all.

The station was simple to locate once he had his head on straight enough. Standing in the recording room, he couldn't even remember how or when he'd gotten up the stairs. It was no matter. Not giving himself a moment of pause, he flicked the switch on.

---

Lucifer startled at a harsh banging on the door later that night. He'd camped there anxiously for some while, hoping against hope Alastor would return despite everyone advising him that there was no chance. When Alastor was angry, he needed time and space. That was why Lucifer hadn't ran him down the street despite the twisting knot of guilt in his heart. But now, someone-

Rushing to the door, he wrenched it open, words already ready on his lips, things he was desperate to say.

Paused.

Stared.

Hesitated.

Rose a finger... lowered it. Looked away.. Looked back again. No matter what he did, the image remained the same, the image that was inarguably Adam, first man, soaked in dirt and grime and a myriad of other unquestionables but unmistakeably himself. What was spookiest was the bizarre aura the man was giving off, tough to parse but certainly not angelic.

"Eh?" He said.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" Adam roared, and tackled him to the floor.

Chapter Text

Rosie had finally been having a calm day.

It'd taken some time to cool down the ruckus following the aborted extermination, and for a good near month she'd not had a moment to herself. It wasn't like anyone else had the wherewithal or even the impetus to stop or slow the drug-esque crisis sweeping through the cannibal community. It came as no surprise that the blood of the angels was just as delicious as everyone had hoped (if not more) and perhaps it was asinine to expect sinners condemned to their holding pen of an afterlife for greed to limit their consumption, but the situation really had grown troublesome. The problem with ichor was that unlike demon blood it granted a potent high along with the flavour, and that inevitably lead to addiction.

Anyone who got even a taste of the stuff would become a wreck without it, incapable of working or even socializing until they'd had a repeat. Having witnessed more than enough drug addicts in her before-time on top of knowing there would be a cataclysmic fallout if they ran out of their supply at the speed it was being drained, Rosie stuck her head in and threw her weight around, insisting they save what was left for special occasions and wean off whoever was frothing at the mouth without their 4th portion of the day. With any luck, she insisted, they'd have a repeat of events soon enough when Heaven came to get their bite back and try to get even, so why not go about as usual and hope for that?

Some still objected. Rosie felt existentially indignant at having to argue in favour of restraint. Nobody was happy initially, but as said, it tempered out. Slowly.

Rosie took her first day of relative peace and used it to hole up in the back of her shop, turning her sign to 'Closed' and setting her radio on the windowsill to drone mindlessly in the background as she searched for her crochet kit.

It was terrible, she thought as she fussed with her skirts and set back into her chair with the hook in one hand and material in the other. Truly terrible and sad, what had happened to Alastor. On her own and able to think it finally came to the forefront of her mind, something she'd not been able to wallow on prior. She'd known he'd been hurt of course, it was the very first thing anyone had told her, but she'd not grasped the extent of the severity until a week passed and he didn't show up.

Her lot had nicked all the bits and body parts from the scene, not a speck left for him. Alastor would never pass up a chance to swing by and try the stuff. And yet.

Rosie pulled a loop through the hook.

A shame. They'd gotten along swimmingly. Alastor had been a bright young man cut from a different cloth of any other she'd met, intelligent and proficient and companionable, and detached from the baser concepts such as lust and love that Rosie had witnessed time and time again bring others down, bring them to regret and despair. He'd seemed free of interpersonal constraints, keeping even his friend circle small and exclusive. They'd kept each other entertained through uncountable evenings with gossip and the like, and once he'd even redirected the radio to some tunes of her era and taken her dancing around the room, laughing when she'd burst into a fit of giggles. When he'd bowed his head and put on a dapper flat cap to leave that night, shrouded by darkness and pelted by rain, she thought she might have caught him sending her a look she couldn't explain, warm and affectionate. It wasn't at all sensual, just... nostalgic. Gentle.

Rosie would never see him look her way like that again. The hook bent in the pressure of her hand and she startled before shaking her head and smoothing it out. It was simply a sadness she would have to overcome. Sentimentality to the point of weakness was the thing Alastor had loathed the most in his life, she would not insult his memory by bearing exactly that toward him.

The repetitive but engaging nature of crocheting endeared to her. It may not be the best thing to keep her off unfortunate topics in that it did not require much of the mind, but the rhythmic movement relaxed her old bones and had her sinking into the armchair, slowly nodding off to the soothing tunes on the radio.

"Salutations!"

Rosie fell off her chair. The hook and thread went somewhere into the ceiling.

"I do hope you've missed me, and dreaded every day I remained off-air. I hope none were foolish or irresponsible enough to make any... unwise assumptions. To feel comforted."

The inteference in the radio was overpowering. Alastor's broadcasts weren't normally so- but then, he was alive, so Rosie hardly cared about any incidental technical difficulties.

A pitch of microphone feedback rang through the air with such alacrity that Rosie recoiled again, startled and frowning. "I told everyone I was going to be back for good, and yet, I fear that my mere presence hasn't been enough to incite the terror and respect I am owed." his voice was free of the disruptions from before, and now that Rosie thought of it... he'd sounded sort of like how his old 'friend' used to sound, when he got hurt. Was Alastor hurt? And if so... in what way? Sitting there, Rosie wondered if she ought to go fetch him. But would he welcome it?

"I fully intend on spreading my influence, reclaiming old ground. More than that, I intend on cutting some strings." Alastor's voice distorted again for a touch. "Settling some bets. Evening some ground. Vox, old pal, do you hear me?"

Rosie stared. Out there in the ring wherever he was, she was sure Vox was doing much the same.

"I will tear you apart. I will incinerate everything you have ever cared for, I will rob you of your blasted empire, and I will ensure you lie squirming in the dirt with the ashes and shrapnel." Alastor hissed. Even to Rosie's ears, without seeing him and through the medium of radio, he didn't sound right. Didn't sound... angry, as the words he spouted would merit. "I will ensure you do not have a single moment of peace from this day forward. I will break your body and soul. I will rip your heart from your chest and crush it in my very hands."

He sounded-

"Let this be a message to all, however, not merely to an old friend-"

Distraught, almost.

"I will etch the sight of my smile into your last moments."

---

For an hour after that, Rosie sat in a little garden chair by the door of her emporium and seriously debated going to fetch him.

A storm of emotion swirled in her chest, accompanying the sound of his voice reverberating in her head. It didn't matter how many times she replayed it, she still couldn't parse how he sounded. It wasn't sad so much as raw, unfiltered. As much as it bothered her to hear him that way, after having been under the impression he'd died, she knew she couldn't realistically go looking. That little declaration of war would have immediately aggravated every overlord in a full-ring radius, particularly his old 'buddy', and if any were prowling the streets at this time Rosie had no confidence she could fend them off. Overlord herself she may be, she ranked low on that scale and was well aware of it. It didn't bother her, but it did mean that if she ran into Vox himself for example, that would simply be curtains for her. This was a tertiary reason she'd founded her commune... anyone who wanted to get to her would have to fight their way through her hundreds of cannibals, and that was a much greater feat than beating her alone.

Did Alastor even want to be seen, by her or by anyone? The radio demon despised hiding, so his little absence had to be humiliating for him. On top of whatever had spurred his announcement, he must be sore.

Rosie frowned.

She was overthinking things. If Alastor wanted her he knew where to find her, if he didn't then she wouldn't impose her presence apon him. Making ready to rise and retreat back into her dimly-lit shop, Rosie was once again taken aback by just the man she'd be thinking of. At this point it made one wonder if he knew his comedic timing and was playing into it.

Still, he looked anything other than a comedian at present. Far away as he was (albeit walking toward her) she could still make out the wreck of his appearance. Alastor seemed out of it, gaze unfocused with pinpricked pupils and a jaw locked into a grimace, the usual smile so forced it became grotesque. His attire, unusual but primpy with lacy puffy sleeves and black slacks, was in dissaray. The glinting bolo around his neck had a string torn and was lying at an angle across his chest, his sleeves bunched up from how tightly he had his arms crossed, claws on both hands digging into and through the material to bite right into the flesh of his forearms. Once shining shoes had clearly kicked up dirt to both themselves and the bottoms of his dress slacks, and his hair was visibly falling out of some sort of up-do, sparkling with what she hoped wasn't... glass?

"Deary me." Rosie murmered, making her way to him, making shooing motions at the gawking onlookers. When she was close enough she cupped his face with gentle hands and brought his gaze to her own, hoping for acknowledgment. "Alastor, dove? Do you need to come inside?"

His eyes met hers without resistance, and it relieved her to see recognition flare. Still, he didn't speak, only averted his gaze after that initial contact. Rosie'd hoped her contact would ground him, but he didn't let go of himself. Up close the smell of blood was even more potent. That wouldn't do. Letting go, she huffed and took him by a wrist, firmly prying it away from his body with the hand it was attached to, before marching him down the street and into her store, shutting and locking the door behind them before she could forget and working on lowering the shutters so any remaining peeping Toms couldn't look in.

Turning back to him, his ears were the lowest she'd ever seen them, pressed flat against his skull, and he had his arms once again folded.

"Alastor." Rosie began, faltering when he jerked. Had he grown even more dissociated since coming in? That didn't bode well. "I hope you'll tell me what's wrong. I don't know if you've come to me hoping for some advice or if I am just the one you thought of first, but..." she pulled out her chair, gesturing to it. "We'll get to that. For the time being, why don't you relax and decompress while ol' Rosie goes and puts on a cuppa?"

He huffed a light breath then, and she waited patiently as he sank down the seat, seeing if any of the tension left his frame. It didn't, and so she accepted her fate of a long evening and went off to boil the kettle for tea and to see if she had a bit of angel blood lying about herself. Maybe he'd tried it already, who knew, but it couldn't hurt. It gave so much of a more potent hit than the regular, so maybe that would help break him out of his funk.

Sifting through her drawers as the kettle boiled, she took a moment to glance back through the doorway, just to assure herself that he'd not went and vanished the moment he was out of her line of sight. Instead of reassurance her consternation tripled at the familiar but unwelcome sight of one of Alastor's hands tugging at his hair with far too much strength, ripping out a few strands and destroying what had been left of his nice neat hairdo. The glossy ribbon that had tied it up was now discarded on the ground by his chair.

Pouring the tea as speedily as one feasibly could without getting hot water everywhere and struggling both mugs into only one hand, Rosie freed up the other to swat him crossly on the back of his head. Seeing him start, she gave him a pointed look of dissaproval. "You know I hate it when you do that. I can't tell you what to do when you're at home or work, but while you're within my walls you will not hurt yourself, understand?"

Ear twitching, Alastor nodded in assent and accepted the cup she offered him, looking unenthused as he brought it to his mouth and tried it, unbothered by the heat. Rosie brought another chair to mirror his and settled down, cupping the beverage so it could warm her hands.

For a minute there was companionable silence, broken only by the ticking of her grandfather clock in the back.

"I do have to apologize," Rosie began, sheepish. "I would have put some of the angel blood in yours to try and add some kick, but I don't have any on hand. What a pain."

Alastor's face did something very peculiar.

"I can try to find some if it really would help?" Rosie offered, misinterpreting his reaction.

Alastor fought with himself for a moment before mustering the ability to respond. "No, no thank you. I'm quite alright without."

"Really now... have you had the chance to try it, then? I'd not have thought your little lady host would allow such things."

"I was... indisposed, during my minor absence. Unfit to try it, and then it slipped my mind entirely. After recent events, it no longer seems palatable." Alastor said slowly. His voice was more wrecked than she'd thought, crackling in places.

"That's interesting. Would you care to elaborate?" Rosie asked gently. It did feel mean to pry, but, well. One didn't make their way to her profession and position without some bluntness. Alastor knew what she was like, he wouldn't be offended.

"It's not something I know how to speak of." Alastor said softly. "It isn't that I don't wish to."

Something twinged in Rosie's head, and she couldn't help herself. The unlikely possibility that sprang to mind came forth from her lips as spon as she'd thought of it, even in her presumed surety that there was no way it could be accurate. "This isn't all to do with romance again, is it?"

Defying her expectations as usual, Alastor went so ramrod straight that he splashed a great deal of his drink onto himself, looking altogether like she'd struck him with lightning.

When no explanation was forthcoming, disbelief crept in. "...Is it?"

Alastor twitched, caught between trying to muster up a response to her line of questioning or suspiciously delaying doing so to mop his spill up. Rosie watched with mounting bewilderment as procrastination won out and her dear friend apparently found infinite interest in the design of her floor, keeping his gaze firmly away from her and digging a crumpled tissue from his pocket to make himself more presentable - nevermind that he in his entirety was a wreck with or without another addition to the pile.

When she refused to offer reprieve with any other topic or even a continuation of what she'd accused him of and he'd throughly extended the silence into an awkwardness that made him want to crawl out of his skin just to escape it, the radio demon slumped with defeat. "Not entirely innacurate."

"Really?" her brows shot up. "I didn't actually expect you to share your princesses' conundrum, I just thought my guess would make you laugh."

His head fell into his hands, anguished beyond himself. "I wish I could laugh about it."

Rosie clicked her tongue. "Why don't you start from the beginning and work your way down to what is troubling you now, and I try to work you through it?"

Smile grim and defeatist, Alastor nodded.

---

"No. No! No, no, no, no, nuh uh, no, absolutely not, fuck no." Vaggie rattled through with remarkable speed. Her eyes were wider than saucers. "How the FUCK can this have POSSIBLY happened? How does this even make sense! Dead angels don't become sinners they just... I don't know, they die! Why aren't you dead?!"

"Uh, ru~ude!" Adam snarked from his position, backed into a corner and held there by both Lucifer's fist in his collar and now Vaggie's spear in his face. It was difficult to not simply incinerate him on principle - Lucifer had never agreed with Vaggie more. "Shit, you fuckers really did kit the place back out. Still looks like dick, but like, those really tiny dicks your lot have, not my super big dick. Whatever, look-" Adam leant forward, scowling. The effect was heightened by his odd appearance alterations, eyes slathered in what looked like dark eyeshadow, canines extended into inhuman fangs, once gold eyes an ugly, muddy bronze atop deep black sclera. "I got no fuckin' clue why I'm like this! Obviously it's gotta be some bullshit mistake, since, duh, I'm not scum like you fuckers." He sneered. "I'm sure we can fix it all up nice, no problem, if you bitches call up heaven and tell them i'm here."

"I can't just 'call up Heaven', and you know that." Lucifer retorted. The emotion of the day had him riled up and fully willing to just rip into the other for the pure satisfaction of doing so, not to mention retribution for the still-throbbing of the shoulder Adam had slammed into the ground when he'd attacked Lucifer on sight. "It was never that simple, and it will never again be that simple, because someone decided to start a fight he couldn't win and sent his henchmen packing with their tails between their legs! You really think your coterie will hear a single word I say?"

Adam snarled, forked tongue poking between his teeth. It was... unsettlingly similar to Lucifer's own actually, which he resolutely decided not to think about. "You don't got a choice. I know you, bitch. I know your fatal flaw. Doesn't matter how much you wanna hit me right now, you can't kill me cuz you're curious. You wanna know why I'm here and how I'm like this. I don't gotta ask you to ask them for me, because you're gonna do it yourself."

Lucifer could feel his form changing. "Why you little-"

"Dad!" Charlie snapped, rounding him and pulling him off Adam. The newly-made sinner dropped to the floor with a grunt, scowling up at the both of them as he turned to his daughter, bewildered.

"Whaaat? I'm not being nice to this guy, especially not after what he did to you!"

"I don't want you to be nice - heaven knows he doesn't deserve that-" "Oi!" "Just... ugh, I think we do need to go upstairs about this. We can't risk hoping we can put him out of his misery - he's special, like you, and who knows if he'll just come back some other way?"

Lucifer deflated more, miserable. "But..."

"It'll get him out of our hair, too. And maybe Heaven will get off our backs if we return him? Lute was pretty mad about what happened to him." Charlie pointed out.

Surprisingly Adam brightened at that, disregarding Vaggie's spear trained on him and lazily slapping it to the side. "That bitch was hung up about me?"

Charlie wrinkled her nose. "Yes, obviously she was. Don't call her that." It galled her how Adam spoke about his own subordinates, even having grown up in a crass Hellscape as she had. She hated Lute, of course, for everything she'd done, but it still rubbed her the wrong way. "If you want to see her again you're going to have to cooperate with us."

"Eh? Let's just go up there now, capiche."

"As I told you," Lucifer groaned, weary. Adam had always been like this. "It's not that easy anymore. You'll have to sit tight while I try and figure out a way to get a signal up there that's clear enough they send an envoy down instead of an army. Or so they pay attention at all. I can't believe I have to do this."

"Do I get one of your swanky hotel rooms?"

"Niffty." Charlie pinched the bridge of her nose. "Tie him up and throw him in the storage room."

"Oooh, YES!"

"W-what? Hey, it's YOU! F-fuck off! Let go! LET GO!"

Chapter Text

The return to The 'Happy' Hotel was done with far more serenity than the departure had been, if mostly externally. Alastor could admit his mind remained abuzz with swirling thoughts, but without a crowd of gawking onlookers he was at least left alone with them, free to ruminate. It helped to have a destination to aim his feet toward instead of the vague but oppressive 'anywhere but here', letting his body move on autopilot.

Though he paid little mind to his surroundings, an amusement made itself evident. The denizens of the Pride ring had already granted him a wide berth wherever he went, regarded him with alarm and suspicion, but that had now turned to transparent terror. Alastor watched in real time as the path around him cleared out, sinners from down the road crossing over to avoid coming too close, some turning around entirely, clearly forsaking their intented journey just to avoid him. Apparently, his impromptu broadcast had succeeded quite well.

How vexing that it didn't improve his mood one bit.

In the mess of it all, Rosie's voice stuck out, her words from last night.

The grandfather clock behind them struck for the hour, informing them it had already reached an hour to midnight. The familiar sound, having struck once already during Alastor's lengthy recounting, was much appreciated. These similarities in their tastes in decor and commitment to nostalgia had always contributed to the innate comfort he felt around her and within her walls. They were similar souls.

The tea in his hands had long gone cold, only the dregs at the bottom of the mug remaining, swirling in his loose grip. A distraction, something to look at other than his companion or idly gazing at the wallpaper, nice as it was. Speaking at such length had been both a blessing a curse. On the one hand, Alastor had come more to himself with every word he spoke, feeling more grounded to his body the better he tried to sort out his words and figure what to clarify and what was better left unshared. The problem was, now that he was aware of himself and how he'd acted, he found it terribly embarassing.

Rosie inhaled audibly. He looked up. She did the same.

A moment. And then-

"My sweet, stupid boy." She said. "You've done this to yourself before, don't you recall?"

Taken aback, Alastor flustered. "What-?"

Rosie exhaled with equal volume, raising a hand to cut him off. Her movements were laden with a motherly affect, caring but authoratative. It only deepened his embarassment.

"This thing that you do, throwing up your walls, putting on your masks, acting the way you do. Your whole performance. I understand it, I do. But you have to notice that it's what has gotten you into this position." Rosie told him softly. "Now... I have quite a bit more to say, but I'm going to hold my tongue for a moment and ask. Do you want me to speak to you like this, to give you my honest thoughts and perhaps what I can find in myself for advice? Or do you want me to let it lie?"

Alastor scoffed. "Encouraging."

"Exactly," she agreed "I know you're good for these things, but you're not at your best at the moment. I won't lecture you if you came here for my support."

It all felt very strange, Alastor wondered as he thought it over. It was strange, but kind. He respected Rosie's straightforward honesty, and in truth he did want, deep down, for her to tell him that the world was out to ruin him and he was completely free of liability and then for the two of them to chatter on about literally anything else until his mind could be kept of it.

The one kink in that plan being that he would have to see Lucifer again, eventually. There was little point in avoiding him. Alastor resided at the same hotel he did, at present, and that couldn't be amended unless in person. If he even wanted to amend it.

Aggravating.

"I-" he deliberated.

"You can stay the night at mine, regardless." She told him.

That warm feeling, the same one he'd had when his mother would hold him, the one he'd felt when his coworker had given him a gift when he'd anticipated violence, it washed over him.

"Do your worst" Alastor finally said, letting confidence fill the words. He set the cup down the side, sitting up straighter. Without the haze floating over his mind he could feel just the way his heart throbbed in his chest, still feeling so vulnerable, like the healed over flesh on his chest was a fragile membrane ready to split at any second. What would have otherwise horrified him helped in that moment, grounded him. "I'm sure I've earned it after talking your ear off as I have."

Rosie chuckled. "I think you'll come to regret that. I can hand out tough love when I feel I should."

"Oh, I almost look forward to it."

Lost in his thoughts but saved by his effective auto-navigation skills (who needed a 'sat-nav' anyway?) Alastor pulled up short at the entrance to the hotel. The awning loomed overhead, tip-topped by a blazing emblem of a golden apple, LEDs so bright they scored burning impressions into your vision even after closing your eyes. Lucifer's choice, of course, and Alastor wondered if it was intentionally such an eyesore to draw attention away from how ridiculous the rest of the building looked.

Hm... was that why Lucifer himself dressed so ostentatiously, despite how tired and miserable he oft was?

Again, Alastor scoffed.

The building at least still stood high, a testament to his - Lucifer's - daughter's persistence. It was daresay something he respected about her.

Any relaxation he'd regained from his stroll was peeling away by the moment the longer he stood mute in the entryway, before those grand brass-handled doors. Standing at 10ft and thicker than his forearm with heavy lacquered wood, it was one of the few bits of the old hotel that'd survived to be put into the remake. Alastor couldn't count on both hands the amount of times he'd passed through, nearly always throwing them open with grandeur, letting them swing all the way to the ends of their hinges... and frequently straight into people. Vaggie had pulled him aside some time before The Big Fight to tell him he'd had quite a few complaints levied against him, over a fly and chihuaha demon he'd hit with such force they'd been sent careening back onto the ground with a broken bone or two. It was funnier than it ought to be to swallow down the snickering and tell Vaggie with a straight face (as straight as a slasher grin got) that he had not seen them and was terribly sorry. Honest.

And then had tripped the stupid mutt who reported him next time he passed her in the hallway.

Funny memories - so why was he paralyzed by this dread? Why was this door intimidating him?

Aware how idiotic he looked standing there staring blankfaced into space, aware that the hotel had gotten significantly more residents as of late and any of them could come by at any moment and see him, aware that postponing his entrance wouldn't help anyone and least of all himself... Alastor straightened his back, fiddled with his collar and stepped forward,

Only to immediately veer back, his life flashing comically before his eyes as cruel fate took her dose of irony out on him, the door swinging at mach speed where his face and hand had just been. The rush of air told him he'd just evaded losing them entirely.

He had better equilibrium than his prior victims, staying upright even if ungracefully, scowling at whoever had turned his maneuver against him- then froze at who it was. Of course. With his luck, why would it be anyine else.

"So we just need to go up... t... o....." Lucifer, having clearly been speaking to someone just out of sight behind him, trailed to into silence at the sight of Alastor. A gloved hand that had been held pulled back in self consciously, instead caught tight toward the body fiddling with the buttons at the front of his jacket. Lucifer swallowed. "Whelp."

Alastor stood just as awkwardly, taking the look of him in.

He looked-

He looked-

Bad.

Though the king had done one better than Alastor himself and re-dressed since the night prior into his usual attire, it was obvious he'd done it from habit and took no pride in his appearance today. The suit was unironed and the shirt half-untucked, cufflinks missing, hat slightly askew. His eyes were heavy ringed with darkness too, and it hit Alastor with an unwelcome negative feeling to know so acutely that Lucifer must have also been kept up last night by what occured.

A long silence drew out, worse than the one he'd held between himself and Rosie. It made him want to crawl out of his skin. The cannibal had steeled himself to see the other, this was true, but he'd anticipated... SOME sort of warning. Had hoped he'd burst into an empty lobby and could have time to collect his thoughts, perhaps with the confidence boost that came from ribbing Husk mercilessly at his job. Speaking of him, the cat was leering back in the entryway oddly, but Alastor hardly had mind to pay attention to him now.

Silence blanketed the space.

"Right." Lucifer's eye twitched. Alastor felt like a particularly disgusting rat that had just been dropped on his doorstep. "Great.... timing. Ah. Were you going to come in? Of course you were. Sorry, sorry, I'll-"

"I hoped to see you." Alastor blurted, surprising himself more than the other. "I need to-"

"It's fine!" Lucifer interrupted him, and Alastor froze at how obviously uncomfortable he was, eyes wide, avoiding looking at him. "No no no no no, listen, um, I have a... a thing... I need to attend to, so, uh-" he jammed his finger back behind him, though Alastor still couldn't see who if anyone was with him. "That I need to,"

"Sire-"

"Take care of, so I uh-"

"Lucifer. Please."

Lucifer's jaw locked tightly. His hand drifted back down, limp, like his strings had been cut. Then he shook his head roughly. "I'm not trying to avoid you, Al. Uh, Alastor. I am actually heading out."

"For how long?" Alastor pressed, already annoyed.

Lucifer shrugged half heartedly, though he kept shooting anxious looks behind him. Alastor thought he heard Vaggie squawk something like 'hey!', but he couldn't see what for.

Alastor stood firmly. "I need to speak with you first."

"I'll pass, really."

"Lucifer-"

Before the king could sputter out any more excuses, before Alastor could try to shut him up before he tried, someone suddenly shoved Lucifer aside, a harsh hand to the side of the face. Lucifer fell back with a squawk and flailing arms, seemingly trying to obstruct or obscure what had pushed him, but it was too late to matter.

The world tilted on its axis. Alastor really, truly wanted to throw up.

Enough of him was dissociated from the situation to sniff out a sardonic 'ah, no.' before cold terror shut it up, emptying his mind with nothing but icy blankness.

Surely not. There was no way. This shouldn't be possible. Even as Vaggie fell out the door after... HIM... even as her hands grappled onto his and she screamed at him, it couldn't be real. It was too absurd to be real.

Adam.

The angel loomed over him as he had before, both in reality and his too-accurate recollections, teeth bared sharp like razor blades in a harsh mimicry of Alastor's own slasher smile. If the cannibal were in a better state of mind, he might have found some solace in how actually dreadful the first man looked, worse than even himself and Lucifer. Caked in grime and stinking of booze, robe filthed to unrecognizability, eyes smeared in an out-of-trend heavy black eyeshadow that made the rest of his face look ashen in comparison, hair an equally outdated mess of a quiff that looked as if it had been styled excusively by leafblowers and chainsaws, he looked more like a disgraced drug addicted member of a noughties boyband than the revered progenitor of the human race.

It didn't help. His mind raced.

That feeling he'd had at Rosie's of his heart breaking through the thin wall of his chest intensified. Just past the vision of Adam, the lights of the Hotel lobby flickered. Shadows crept up the inner walls and under the canopy.

"It's you! I wondered where you were, you little fuckin' coward!"

It sounded real.

"How's your lil booboo? Mommy kiss it better?"

Alastor's dominant hand twitched, longing for his staff. If nothing else, it was grounding. He cursed his past self for leaving the one Lucifer had lent him behind, still sat by his bedside in his room in the hotel. All he could do was stare into those ashen eyes and keep his body as still as it would be as his nervous system revolted, sending signals to evaporate into the growing darkness around them.

"You." the overlord rasped. There was a building pressure behind his eyes that had been lying latent all the previous night and this morning, a physical symptom of his duress. Dials threatened to burst from his pupils and swirl, like a prey animal warding off a predator. He would not show weakness. He would die before doing so. He had to hold on to a semblance of self control. "How lovely to see you again. I wonder much the same, after your fight with his majesty."

"Not sure I'd call any of this 'lovely'." Lucifer grumbled from by them, but there was an edge of concern in his voice as he side-eyed Alastor. "Fucking asshole showed while you were gone and made himself our problem."

"He should be dead." Alastor said, an indignance and a question wrapped into one.

"Should be." Lucifer acknowledged bitterly. "Isn't." It clarified very little.

Adam seemed uninterested in their back-and-forth, attention solely on Alastor, eyes burning like hot coals as he took another step forward despite Lucifer's warning cough. "Really though, I got you pretty damn good." The angel (if he were truly an angel anymore) said, tapping at his own chest on the spot where he'd struck Alastor. "With my signature super badass weapon too, forged straight in the fires of heaven, you hear me? No one survives a hit from me. Especially not some tacky, ugly, low-rate demon scum." Adam stepped forward again. "So, enlighten me" He said, forked tongue poking through his teeth. "On how you did that shit."

'I've wounded his ego.' Alastor realized through the haze of adrenalin. 'It was already bruised from his loss at the hands of Lucifer. Seeing his one success standing before him as though he'd not landed a mere scratch in me must be insult to injury.

It was meant to elicit something in him. Some satisfaction. Some amusement.

Just as with the passerby on the street, Alastor only felt a grim nothingness.

The darkness beneath their shaded portion intensified, as deep as if it were night. Near them, he heard Vaggie mutter 'what the-?'

"You must have had a loose grip." He said. "What a shame for you."

"You worthless piece of dogsh-"

"Right, right! That's plenty of shit talk, thank you! Class dismissed, good grief!" Lucifer snapped, forcing his way between them before anything could get messy. Adam still seemed ready to swing, staring between them erratically, and so Lucifer snapped his fingers with a roll of his eyes. Glowing snakes materialized from the ground, beaming hues of gold and silver with such intensity they hurt to look at, at least several metres long as they swept up Adam's body before he could react and constricted around his torso, caging both of his arms in tight. The captive wriggled fiercely, cursing and spitting embers (a feat that took even himself by surprise, if his recoil was anything to go by) but Lucifer swatted them away like flies, the sparks bouncing harmlessly off his gloved hand, immune. "You're such a child."

"Get these worms off me, man!"

"They're not worms and you know it. Look, we don't have time for this, full stop. Sera told us 10 in the morning, sharp, and it's a miracle we even got that. She's not going to be giving us ANY slack after what happened at the early extermination. This might be your last chance to see her." Lucifer warned, sticking a staff in his face. It was bizarre, Alastor though, seeing him brandish a staff that was so clearly different from his usual... the one that remained upstairs, a gift to Alastor.

"Fuck that bitch, I don't wanna see her!" Adam whined. "She's just gonna cunt and moan at me about all the shit that went down - she was prolly thrilled when she thought I died!"

"She's your only chance at getting back upstairs, at present."

That made the First Man deflate. "Ughhh... just let me go, dickwad. I won't swipe at your boytoy."

"I'll unhand you when we get there, I promise." Lucifer told him, retracting the staff and making an errant gesture off to his right. In moments a portal a little taller than the two of them sprung open, swirling and shimmering the colours of Heaven. He looked less than excited to see it even as he edged toward it - before looking up at Alastor, appearing somehow as if he'd aged a thousand more years from the start of their encounter. "I really do have to go. It's terrible timing but it is what it is. Look... hang around until later, okay?" He looked pleading. "I'll explain what all of this is, and then we can... you can." He slumped. "Say whatever you need to say. We just can't right now."

"Dad!" Charlie squeaked, slamming into Vaggie's back and reeling. "It's 9:59, we need to-!"

"I know!" Lucifer snapped, and with an angry flourish of his arm a swirling portal opened up. He made to step through, before hesitating and turning to Alastor. "Really. I'll see you later. And I am sorry."

"Don't be." Alastor said. Nothing felt real. Every prediction he'd made of how the day and exchange could go had been destroyed. "Best of luck."

Lucifer smiled gratefully before tugging a yelling Adam through. Vaggie and Charlie jumped through right after.

Still, none of it processed. A cold breeze swept by and Alastor let it blow chills through him, acutely aware of how unfitting his gear was for long-term outer wear, the fabric fancy but thin. All he could do was look after the space they had all vanished into, and wonder just when he'd gotten cocky enough to hope for something to go smoothly for once.

A familiar voice broke through his distraction, as gruff and unforgiving as ever, but with an extra layer of acid even its owner often didn't show. "So, you comin' in or what? 'Cause I'm closing this door otherwise."

Ah, Husk. What a... mixed company to have. Good in some regards, as he was such a pathetic presence that he didn't merit any of Alastor's guards to remain up. On the other, Husk was the last person in his immediate vicinity he would be willing to falter around. He didn't want to give the feline the satisfaction. Folding his arms neatly behind his back, Alastor ordered his legs to move and stalked up toward the other and through the door, a little of the paralysis eking out of his bones by being in such familiar surroundings. But only a little. "Of course I am."

"Had a fun time out there?"

Husk's voice really was odd, tiptoeing on something Alastor hadn't thought he'd dare express around him. He wasn't worried. The cat was all snark and no bite, he knew. One word and he'd be off running with his tail between his legs.

"I don't imagine that's any of your business."

"Really." Husk said. "No, see, I think it really is. Because your little stunt has seriously fucked someone over, and I'm not gonna let you pass pn by without knowing what you did."

Alastor let the dials slip out, finally. "My, my. Getting a little bold here, Husker?" His hands itched to bring out the chain, to subdue his thrall and regain a sense of dominance that was rapidly dwindling, leaving behind a cold pit of uncertainty and dread.

Before now, no matter what, the sight of the dials would be enough to remind Husk to whom he spoke, to have him scrambling back on the ground and swallowing every word he'd thought to throw out in his fit of ill-advised bravery. In a subversion of this, and to the cannibal's great surprise, Husk didn't cower at all. His ears turned back, but he otherwise didn't falter. He didn't look scared at all.

"Fuck right off." Husk hissed, the sheer vitriol poisonous enough to make Alastor feel wrong-footed, silent in his bubbling anger long enough to let the cat continue. "Did you seriously not think about what you were doing? All this time I thought you were actually starting to be a little nicer to Angel, treating him like a person instead of a nuisance, and then you throw a hissy fit and fuck him over like this. After all that, you don't care at all about what you've done?"

Confusion crept in, stronger than the indignance. Voice crackling with static, Alastor pushed- "Angel Dust? What could he have to do with anything?"

"The only. Fuckin'. Reason. That kid wasn't getting ripped into pieces after that stunt he pulled at the club, was because Valentino-" Husk spat the name out like a slur "Was in a happy dappy mood, because his boyfriend was in a happy dappy mood, because they thought YOU were dead!" He jerked forward, pointing a sharp claw at Alastor. "I don't know what happened with you after that battle, but I can guess, and I was happy about it! Not even for me, but for him! I thought maybe after all the shit he told me, he'd get a lucky break after all. In a situation like his, small wins like these matter. And now guess what?" Husk bared his teeth.

Alastor stared at him silently, waiting.

"He's not come home since he went off yesterday afternoon. He was meant to be back before midnight, but guess who decided to do a nice little breakdown broadcast before then while he was still in the studio and antagonize the exact people he was stuck with?" Husk snapped.

Oh.

Alastor blinked rapidly, dials flickering out of existence. The intensifying darkness blackening the lights overhead and swallowing the walls dissapeared. Temperature crept back into the room.

Oh. That was right.

Angel Dust had told him this.

"That wasn't my intention" Alastor said, and then felt very, very stupid.

Husk seemed to deflate at the lacklustre response, having set himself up for a fight or subjugation and instead was now met by Alastor at his most tired and confused. "I got in contact with Cherri, and she said Angel reached out for help but stopped responding a little after 6pm. All I got from him is this." The cat held up his phone, and Alastor had to look closely to see it - a message from Angel that just read 'shit im so fucking scared im sorry i dont think i can give you that dance ill see you when i can'. It was clearly typed in a messy, desperate rush. "They've taken his phone, so we don't even know what they could be doing. Valentino's threatened a lot of nasty shit, and from him I don't think they're empty threats. I need to get him back."

Alastor hesitated. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

Husk looked like he was pulling teeth when he muttered - "I need your help. I need you to help me get him out of there."

"What?"

"This is your fault. I need you to help me undo it. I need to get him out before those fuckers do something to him we can't undo."

Indignation flared. "And why, precisely, should I simply go along with what you demand?"

"Because for some forsaken reason, Angel gave a shit about you." Husk snapped. Alastor froze. "I don't get why, I don't understand what he thought he saw in you, but whatever it was, he really wanted to see it. I wasn't there for whatever chats you two may have had, but they meant something to him. They stuck with him. And you were the last person to see him go. He did you up all nice because he thought you two had some kind of connection."

"He was wrong." Alastor said, bewildered but struggling to get the words out. "None of this-"

"You can have whatever you want from me afterwards." Husk interrupted. "I don't care. I'll agree to anything. Do whatever you want with my contract, I won't protest. As long as I get him out of there."

"There is nothing more you can promise me that would merit my risking of my own life for you." It was harsh, but not even intended to hurt. It was simply the truth. The original contract had been rather all-inclusive, and while Alastor was sure he could get a little more mileage in if Husk really assented to give him creative freedom, the idea didn't even appeal at present. Nothing did. There was a swirling void in his mind where all of his usual emotions ought to be, throwing him off his game.

Husk crumpled. Desperation won out over rage. "I don't know what else to say. I have no one else I can ask, I ain't exactly in any other overlord's pockets. I'm not even asking you to run in and square off Val' for his territory, just... be there as a precaution if it gets to it. I wanna sneak in. I..." Husk's voice became raw. "Shit, I can't let anything else happen to him. It's too much."

Alastor watched as his suboordinate finally lost all of the confidence he had put on, all of the righteous anger keeping him going slipping out of him with the despair at realizing he had nothing to barter, no way to convince help. At realizing that in the current state of affairs, Angel might not even...

'As much as I think you suck, I know exactly what'd happen to you if that news got out. Especially if the Vee's caught wind.' Angel's voice played in his mind, a retelling of their conversation from before. 'My opinion on you don't really matter, because at the end of the day I'm not gonna be responsible for having you wiped off the map at the hands of my shitty boss. There's nothing I get outta that.'

All of that, and Alastor had rewarded him with this.

Over this petty, moronic, over-emotional grudge that even the ever-lovely Rosie had had to scold him for. Over this childish bullshit he had drawn out for himself.

It wasn't as if it mattered. Angel was none of his concern.

But neither had Alastor been Lucifers'.

What was wrong with him? Why had how he thought about such things changed so much? How much had the lord of the underworld affected him when he hadn't noticed?

"Alastor?" Husk looked frightened.

Alastor came to a decision. His horns shrank with a crack, pulling back into his head. Inky darkness vanished from his eyes. With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer's staff came hither and appeared within his hands.

"Before I become too enthusiastic, tell me what you intend to do. Specifically."

He was sure Lucifer would object if he were here. Protest, and remind Alastor that if things got ugly he wasn't in shape to defend himself. If a fight broke out, Alastor might certainly even die.

Lucifer wasn't here, however. Lucifer was up in Heaven with no specific projection of when he would return, stuck with the one who had rattled Alastor so thoroughly in under a minute that the cannibal felt a stranger to himself. He had to reclaim some of his identity. He had to feel in control of himself again.

"O-okay. Hear me out."

Lucifer would just have to yell at him when he came back.

Chapter Text

In the lobby of the Happy Hotel, Alastor stood in silence. Bereft of anything to do but wait, his hands fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, adjusting them relentlessly no matter which way they rested on his wrists.

There was a tension in the air, palpable like humidity though it ran him cold instead of hot. Swallowing did nothing to dispel the lump in his throat.

What was he so nervous about? Why was there this trepidation, like the ground was about to come out from beneath him?

...where was Husker?

('Okay, so. Hear me out. What I've got in mind isn't any spy movie level shit, but it's all I can think of. We gotta act fast. Angel's been in that shithole since yesterday afternoon, and I know Val's been running him nonstop. We're going in today.')

The hotel was supposed to be more occupied than this. Perhaps the level of activity had been Charlie's influence entirely, and without her pestering the residents into socialisation the lot of them were perfectly happy to hole up in their designated rooms in silence. Alastor couldn't tell if he appreciated or resented it.

Twirling Lucifer's staff in his hands, Alastor mourned their lost opportunity to convene.

('I'm all ready. That bastard don't know my face, and neither do any of his damn employees or lackeys. I don't have the power to just run in guns blazing, so I'll stealth it, pretend I'm some John looking for a chance and slip away when they ain't lookin'. That'll get me inside.')

At least he was now in clean clothes, granted the blessed opportunity to change after his previous attire had been soiled. Blood and muck and miniscule shards of glass had rendered that look... unflattering.

Now, he stood in a brocade waistcoat the colour of wine, its raised patterns a dark gold that blended into invisibility beneath the dim yellow-tinted bulbs of the entryway. Beneath it was a high-collared silk black button-up, brought in at the base of his palm by shining golden cufflinks in the shape of an apple and a drop of blood respectively. His black oxford shoes were shined to perfection.

However. One element of his previous outfit remained, though it had little reason to.

Turning it over in his hand, Alastor looked morosely apon the cross-shaped bolo he had worn, the one that had hung right over his heart. The one he had ripped as he'd clawed at that same pace.

For whatever reason, he couldn't bring himself to discard it as he had the rest.

('You won't need to do much, really. You'd be... insurance, in case something goes wrong. I'm no match for Valentino or Vox and I know it.'

Alastor remembered chuckling, far gentler than he'd ever been around Husker before. 'Indeed. I myself am in no hurry to tussle with them, much as it may be gratifying to do.'

Husk cracked a small smile before it melted back into severity. 'I hope it doesn't come to that.')

Threading the string around his left wrist, Alastor pulled it taut in a knot before letting go, allowing it to rest there as a sort of odd bracelet or charm. It took a moment to realize he had placed it exactly over where Lucifer had put his blessing, the one that would summon him hither, to his word.

Alastor was tempted. But Alastor could never be so needy. He pressed the flat of his right palm against the ruby material of his makeshift ornament and let the sensation ground him before straightening back.

('I wondered where you were, you little fuckin' coward!")

A shiver rocked up his spine, and Alastor felt his ears pull back against his skull. His blood turned to ice. Why? Why had it been him?-

"Al," Husker called from behind "I got a question for you."

Turning around in a flourish, Alastor blinked in surprise. It was hard not to laugh. Husk was... Husk was also re-dressed, but with rather opposite principles. Instead of his normal business-formal attire, Husk was outfitted in an oversized dark green hoodie with the hood up, the extra fabric swamping his head and covering some of his face, his ears apparently airplaning to not stick up on the inside. His lower half was a pair of well-worn sweatpants that hung off him. Poking out of one of his pockets was a wad of crunkled up cash.

He looked. Strange. Alastor said as much.

"Yeah, well, figured I might as well look the part. You're not going for subtle I see, but then they wouldn't mistake your identity no matter what happened." Husk grumbled. Then he shook his head, hood fluttering lightly. "Anyways, like I said, I got a question. You can communicate through radios."

"Not much of a question. Yes, as you knew."

"How far does that extend? Like, is it just classic radios or could you bust your voice out of an ipod speaker?"

It took a second to recall what the blazes an 'ipod' was. "I... believe I can project my voice from most things that allow audio projection, it simply becomes trickier the more 'digitized' it is." He said. "A good old fashioned antique is as easy as breathing, whereas one of your mobular devices takes quite a bit more concentration, and my output is shakier and easier disrupted."

"So basically the opposite of how most tech works. I guess that makes sense." Husk mused. "Right. I was thinking about how I'd communicate with you while I'm in there."

Alastor caught on immediately. "You'd like a radio, would you?"

"If I can find one to fit on my body without it being obvious. Not subtle to carry around a 20's box radio."

"Not to fear, for I have just the thing" Alastor informed pleasantly, gesticulating with his wrist, forgetting for a moment his new adornment and missing the way Husk's gaze immediately snapped onto it. In a pop of green light, something appeared in his palm, about the same size as it and small and rectangular, shining a chrome. It was more modern than Alastor liked, but it was convenient to their needs and well within the range of his power of summons, so it would have to do. "Just slot this into your pocket, old chap."

Husk took it, looking surprised. "A portable radio. Huh. Yeah, that's honestly pretty perfect. I don't want to take my phone 'cause I know damn well Vox will be able to spy on me through it while I'm there if he catches onto me. Cheers." He looked abruptly uncomfortable at having thanked Alastor.

"You're quite welcome." And now Alastor felt equal discomfort.

"...We'd better get going." Husk said slowly. "It's nearly 1, so they'll have stopped morning shoots. It's our best odds."

"Shall I stick to the shadows?"

"Best for you not to be seen, yeah, especially as you've put extra attention onto yourself."

Any other time, Alastor would be galled by being told to repress drawing attention, particularly by one of his own thrall. This time he simply clicked his tongue, brought forth his shadow and melted into it. Husk strode out of the front door, and Alastor followed, darting from shade to shade of house and building.

It was peculiar to be affected by light in this state but not feel things like heat. Alastor could feel the light shining through the leaves of trees shining through what currently constituted his body in turn.

Left in silence as Husk seemed to practice altering his gait and muttering test phrases to himself, Alastor looked at the looming towers in the horizon in opposing territory, that signature 'V', and-

('I can't believe you hate the sun' a younger, softer Alastor scoffed. 'It's ridiculous. How could anyone hate the sun?'

'Well, for one, it fucks with my screen. This thing can't exactly have, I dunno... light-reflective technology. Not a thing. Yet.' Vox tapped at the box that constituted his face, display showing an amused smirk that Alastor was sure was reflected on his own face. 'And for two... nothing I like is outside, y'know? Tech bullshit is suited for the indoor living. The sounds, the smells, the everything. I get enough of that at those rubbing-elbow parties. Guess I'd rather stick inside with you.'

Alastor flushed despite himself, a pleased emotion warming in his chest. 'Too bad for you, I am certainly an outdoorsy type.'

'Well, you're a fucking deer. Ever seen a house pet deer?'

'You'll never have me as a house pet, dear' Alastor snarked.

Vox laughed freely, tipping over until he leant against him. 'Of course not. No one could ever tie you down. Not even me.')

Alastor exhaled softly, letting the emotion pass through him before pushing it away, and forged forward into enemy territory.

---

Man! How was Heaven just as soul-crushingly awful as Lucifer remembered?

Sure, sure, to someone like Charlie it probably did look like... well... heaven, but Lucifer wasn't fooled. They might slap on a façade of constant, cheek-aching joy and paint the place in all the colours of a pastel rainbow, but none of those aesthetics changed the fact that beneath it all it was oppressive. Observation here was constant, he knew, one foot out of line and you'd be sent careening down south no matter how well you'd obeyed for tens or even thousands of years prior. Everyone lived in peace, but it was a tenuous peace brought on by wilful ignorance.

(Or maybe he was just bitter as fuck and things really had improved, who knew. He felt like being cast down at a million miles per hour with his love in his arms and his wings aflame warranted some resentment.)

St Peter at the gate had been amusing at least, had been reading some book before looking up, a half-formed greeting working on his lips before it immediately changed to a "-hholy crap, w-WHAT?" The guy looked pretty different from how Lucifer remembered him thousands of years ago, having apparently altered his appearance to simplify his features and give him a more generic, modern and youthful look, leaving behind his old robes for a form-fitting brightly coloured suit and skirt. He looked so generic. Completely unlike himself. If Lucifer hadn't been so amused by his reaction to seeing the devil at his doorstep, he might've cringed at seeing how Heaven had pushed even him into its narrow mould. At least Sera had come to get them before St Peter could scream any more or ring the war bells.

Yet more entertainment at the look on Sera's face.

"Adam? It... it truly is you?"

"In the flesh, baby!" Adam crowed, shoving past Lucifer. He kept fucking doing it, and Lucifer debated just incinerating him on the spot, consequences be damned. Instead he exhaled a thick plume of black smoke and let Charlie rub comforting circles on his back as Adam yapped. "Whaaat, didja miss me? C'mon, I betcha missed me."

Sera looked a mix between exasperated and relieved, struggling to keep her face professionally calm. "I..." she put on a smile "I suppose I did. Moreso, I'm worried about what has caused this. An angel being cast down after they have been killed... it is unprecedented."

"Yeah." Lucifer jibed, unable to help himself. "Usually they only cast you down if they can't kill you."

Sera shot him a look. "Morningstar-"

"I know, I know! Not the time. I take it there's a place we can go to discuss this?"

"Ideally not the courtroom?" Charlie added hopefully, poking her head in from behind him. Next to her, Vaggie shuddered.

"Not the courtroom." Sera agreed. "I have a place set up along the way, and someone else you may wish to meet. I wanted to get in contact about this person before, but due to circumstances it appeared... un-ideal. But now, you have made the first move. Come." She gestured, beginning to walk. "You as well, Adam. Perhaps cover your face for now."

While Adam complained indignantly about having to cover his 'beautiful, perfect chick-killing face', Vaggie sped up and gave Sera a look of critique. "Who are we meeting?"

Sera side-eyed her. "It is difficult to explain, their circumstance is... incredulous. I believe it best to have you see them before I try to put the situation into words. It is relevant to our other matter."

Shoving her hands in her skirt pockets, Vaggie grumbled and slowed to settle back by Charlie, who was trying unsuccessfuly to wrangle a blanket Lucifer had conjured over Adam's head, the man fighting and protesting her. "Angels. Always vague. Always sneaky."

"Yep, can't say I missed this." Lucifer scoffed. "This entire realm gives me the heebie jeebies. Let's go before she leaves us behind." He made after Sera, though not before making an errant gesture that snapped the blanket straight over Adam's head form fittingly, making him look like a hostage in one of those 'rebel execution' videos Vaggie had been unfortunate enough to trip across on the internet before she died. Adam flailed harder, cussing them out first in English, then Hebrew, then what might have been Aramaic.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Charlie murmered as she tugged the first man along by his arm "But let's go and see what she wants."

In a group, they trudged through the streets of Heaven, far quieter than their last visit.

High atop a nearby building, a figure looked down on them with discontent.

---

It was remarkable to see how the scenery degraded as they trekked further into the territory of the V's, watching the bits of greenery peter out until there wasn't a speck of nature to be found. In fact, the most bizarre thing they saw was that in the spaces where trees were clearly once set to flourish, spaces set aside the path for them, were now occupied by strange rectangle boxes, half grey and half see-through, filled with a vivid green liquid of indiscernible origin. Materializing just enough to eyeball the small text scrawled down the side in obnoxious Voxtech font, it became apparent that these were in fact 'efficient, resourceful trees of the future', made of liquid and algae. Serving the same function but looking vastly uglier, Alastor mused, and for once the bitterness in his thoughts toward his old buddy fully changed to exasperation. Who was so married to futurism that they would seek to replace the bloody trees?

Roadside signage changed from the general sort one might expect to exclusively advertizements serving the clubs and bars of the area, and plenty, of course, for Valentino's porn studio. The thing itself was jarring even amongst what surrounded it, jutting out of the earth like a great tumour and painted in lurid pink hues, the windows tinted the same. Neon flashing signs burned his eyes to look apon. It was one of the most hideous buildings he had ever laid eyes apon.

Husk was also grimacing but fighting to naturalize it into a neutral expression, even bordering sleazy. He snapped a pair of obnoxiously large sunglasses from his pocket onto his face, further masking his identity, and whistled errantly at a scantily clad passerby. The succubus-looking woman scoffed but wiggled her fingers at him, and Husk looked to gain confidence. Cripes, Alastor hoped he wouldn't have to put up with any of this 'swagger' nonsense after this was over, he'd need to put the cat back in his place.

Finally, they stood at the entrance to the porn studio. It jutted out of the earth like a great tumour, and even Husk's careful gait faltered for a moment, lip curling into a sneer. Just out of sight range for the bouncers at the door, he ducked behind a tree and looked around. Figuring he knew what the other wanted, Alastor materialised. "Is there a problem?"

"Just checking you were there." Husk grumbled quietly. "Wouldn't put it past you to have just up and ditched me."

"I made it this far, did I not?" Alastor said archly. "Oh ye of little faith. I would watch your tongue, just because I have chosen to lend a hand this time does not mean you may speak to me however you like."

"Whatever. I might be walking straight to my death now anyways, may as well mouth off while I can."

"My, my. Someone is bold today."

"I just..." Husk struggled with himself, bunching his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. It was big enough to swamp him. "I can't care about myself right now. I don't care about myself right now. All I need to do is get him out. Can't even keep my mind on anything else."

Alastor sighed, hand tightening around the staff he had been gifted. "I will be outside, so try not to have a nervous breakdown. If anything will give you away, that will. Now, go. I don't wish to be here any longer than required."

With a sharp nod, Husk was gone, leaving Alastor to himself gazing up at the LED lights. If he squinted, he could almost make out the shape of two figures on the top floor, seemingly making out as one leant against the panoramic glass. The more he peered, asjusting his monocle, the more the one beneath the other sort of looked like-

Stomach turning, he looked away and morphed back into the shadows.

---

"Alright" Sera said primly, finally, standing before a great gilded door thrice the size of herself. They were high up in a building near the centre of the city, having entered an elevator that seemed to last only seconds yet took them a few hundred floors up, the windows looking outside swathed by clouds. Charlie felt a strong unease, looking ahead at that door. "The person I'd like you to see is inside. We have kept them here as we tried to monitor and figure out the problem, and now having Adam here in a similar situation... it may help us uncover things."

Charlie's unease intensified. "A similar situation?"

Sera glanced at Adam, lip twitching as she spotted once again the blanket clamped down over his face and muffling his (still cursing) mouth, then pressed against the door with both hands and let it naturally fall open.

And inside - inside was - was -

"PENTIOUS!" Charlie screamed, sprinting in.

At full throttle she barelled past a startled Sera, completely ignoring her as she leapt at the figure of her friend with full force. The person who looked like Sir Pentious turned to gawk at her, and his mouth had a moment to drop open in shock before she tackled him bodily to the floor.

He... he felt real! He was here, tangible in her hands! She could feel him, it was really him, just as he'd been before!

"You're alive!" She sobbed, digging her hands into his cobra hood to try to draw him even closer. "You're really, really alive! I can't believe it!"

"Charlie?" Pentious questioned, sounding just as awed as he tried to untangle himself from her to look at her face. The princess refused to let go but reoriented just enough to let him see her, and her heart brimmed with joy at the excitement that bloomed in his own eyes. "Charlie! Oh goodness!"

"Yeah! It's really you! Wow, wow, it's really really really you! How?!" Charlie sat up to rub her streaming eyes. "Oh my gosh, I missed you so bad, I felt so terrible about what happened, I'm so so so so so so sorry!"

"D-don't apologize!" Pentious protested, flushing. "It's perfectly alright! I chose to end my life bravely, with honour! I went down with my ship as a captain should! I was even able to lock lips with a wonderful maiden!"

Gasping loudly, Charlie jumped up - and then started to jump up and down, pumping her fists. "Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh, did you kiss CHERRI BOMB?"

The snake's face burst into colour. "Ah, w-well!'

"As lovely as this is, and it is admittedly very sweet, I think we have matters to address." Sera interjected.

Charlie looked back to see the entire room looking at her with a variety of expressions, ranging from affectionate (Vaggie) to absolutely done (Adam, who had apparently lost his blanket and was now gagged) and giggled nervously, stepping fully away from Pentious but not returning to stand back by the rest. How could she? She'd just got Pentious back and she was not gonna walk away from him again so soon.

"Right, yeah, you're right. Because I have a million trillion bajillion questions!" She exclaimed.

"And we shall ideally answer them today. Here." Sera patted a table by the centre of the room. "Come everyone, sit. Let us discuss the matters at hand."

---

Man, Husk fucking hated this shit.

He really, really, really fucking hated this shit.

For one, the place stank. Like, really fuckin' stank. Not even just of sex, though you had better bet there was plenty of that, but it was like the entire contents of a perfume store had been dumped in and left to seep into the walls and furniture for decades. The couch they left him to sit on after he'd inquired to see a casting director was even sticky, as if it had indeed been perfumed to death, and he kept shifting in gross discomfort, hoping and praying to god it WAS perfume and not the more likely option.

Man, it stank.

Man, he hated everyone here.

Man.

He really fuckin' missed Angel.

Having been terminally irritated by the guy their first few interactions, Husk had come to realize just how lucky the hotel really was in who they'd taken off Valentino's hands, because for all his faults and admitted initial problems with noticing and respecting boundaries, Angel was at heart a nice dude. Some of the people in here, however? Husk had never even heard some of these slurs before - and he'd spent a good part of his adulthood holed up in army barracks! It made him want to stick his head between the couch cushions and yell, or better yet, fling one at their heads to shut them up.

Combined with the smells and the speaker above blasting a strange modern remix of elevator music, the overstimulatory hell was nearly enough to make him reconsider his plan to just bust in with two submachine guns and start blasting.

Just then, finally, the heart-shaped door ahead slipped open. To his surprise, out walked a cat demon like himself. She was tall and lithe, tuxedo coloured, donning a brown leather trenchcoat over a bright red lingerie set and equally garish 6-inch heels. A headset mic was level with her mouth, a clipboard in her hands. She looked up at him and arched a pierced brow.

"Are you the one? You're lucky I had a space free today, good heavens. Well, come in."

Husk inhaled slowly as he stood up, relaxing forcibly and putting a casual smirk onto his face. He could do this. For Angel's sake, he was gonna act like he'd never acted before.

...man, it really fucking stunk in here.

---

Lucifer was sooooooo sick and tired of politics.

It was less boring than his meetings with the Sins back down under had been, both for topic and sheer internal stress level of being back up in the place that featured in all of his nightmares, but less boring didn't mean more fun! He was happy for Charlie at least, his princess still giddily sat by Pentious and holding his hand beneath the table, nodding intently to everything Sera said.

It was mentally diminishing to hear Sera's lengthy, speech-style way of speaking, especially as she tended to refuse to allow anyone else space to speak their thoughts. Not that Lucifer would try. At least Adam was stuck on the other side of the table from him and told to be quiet, a small mercy.

Still, something tugged at the edge of his mental periphery. It wasn't anything like it was in Hell, he wasn't at one with the realm here as he was there, in fact it was quite the opposite, there was an inherent feeling of 'wrongness' in his body the longer he sat, like his very being rejected the surroundings. And yet, in equal measure his being picked up on 'something'. The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose.

Someone was watching them.

And that someone was definitely approaching.

It felt like his death knell was ringing as Lucifer turned slowly in his chair, glaring at the door they'd come through. The warning pulse of threat, threat, threat beat in his skull like a headache, everything in his being warning him of who was about to come through that door.

Rising to his feet, Lucifer stared and listened as the room fell to silence when the doors were abruptly thrown open.

Striding in, he was exactly as Lucifer bitterly remembered him. A figure at 6 feet tall, his matching number of wings flared out, he was clearly trying to look as intimidating as possible. Not that either of those visual factors were what was setting Lucifer's fight or flight off. That was triggered by the being's pure and intense aura that rivalled his own, radiating off him in seismic waves so powerful he felt to Lucifer like an earthquake stood among them. The very essence of his angelic self leaking through his flesh, uncontainable, distorted the view of him to near unrecognizability.

But there was no mistaking who he was.

"Hello, brother." Lucifer said stiffly. "Long time no see."

---

Husk had never flirted that hard before in his life.

It'd nearly made him sick, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't equally hard. What, it'd been ages! And he'd be blind to not get something out of the eyeful she'd given him, even if the way she spoke and her personality was just, straight up not what he was looking for in a woman. Let alone that he didn't have time to waste on that in the first place.

Still, he'd successfully derailed the conversation. The attempt at a casting couch interview had completely degraded as he'd made increasingly opaque passes at her, even once lowering his sunglasses to shoot her exposed bust a filthy wink. She'd been much more receptive than he'd anticipated, giggling and shifting, before leaving her side of the couch to sit by him. Even as it was part of his plan, Husk was a bit taken aback at being propositioned outright by a total stranger.

Still, he'd managed to ask her to fetch them some condoms and lube, and the moment she was out the door he was through the other one, sprinting down the corridor at the speed of light.

Time was limited, once she got back and realized he'd pulled a fast one on her and was now loose in the building she'd definitely call security. He had to at least find Angel before then.

Digging the radio out of his pocket, he took a moment to note that he'd not... really... asked Alastor how to use this fucker to communicate. Uh. It wasn't exactly a smartphone. Erm. Eh? Squinting at it dubiously as he ran, he swiped at the AM/FM toggle, hoping that sent Alastor some sort of signal. "Uhh... Al?" he said. "I'm in. I don't suppose you'd have any directions for me from an outside perspective?"

To his great relief, Alastor's voice crackled back mere moments later. "Why, Husker, it all looks much the same to me. One would assume that the suites and employee quarters would be sequestered at the very top, as I do believe that is where Valentino himself stays. One or two of the upper floors look to have curtains, if that indicates anything."

"Shit, I'll take it. I'm a rat in a maze here." Husk grumbled. "Right then, upstairs."

"Would you like me to stay on the line with you?" Alastor offered.

Husk considered it, delaying his response when he spotted two lumbering figures ahead. Ducking behind a wall, he peered out to see muscular dog demons nearly twice his size, both in crisp monochrome suits and brandishing pistols on their belts. Guards. "Er, yeah, if you can. I won't talk a lot from here, but it'd be good to be on hold. Only didn't want to key you in before now just in case you heard, uh" he cringed "Anything. Y'know."

"Ha. I know." His boss sounded lightly amused. "Abyssinia. Scream if you're caught and killed, I could use the entertainment."

"Will do."

Husk waited until the coast was clear and rounded to the bottom of a staircase, leaping up two at a time. In his haste and burdened by the darkness of the sunglasses he'd not thought to remove, he missed the swivelling of a nearby mounted security camera.

From then on, it was a true stealth mission. Every ounce of military training left in his body came rushing to the forefront, instincts he thought would never come in handy again. It felt demonstrably stupid considering he wasn't traversing a minefield but instead a porn studio, and instead of gunfire and shelling he could hear moans and slapping, but it didn't change the reality of how much danger he was in. Luckily he hadn't had a close shave with security after the first two spotted, it looked like they stayed moreso on the lower floors.

It was a stroke of luck to come across a surveillance room with an absent attendant, enough to surmise that Angel was definitely not in any of the recording studios. Turning his attention to the cams covering the rooms upstairs, he was relieved to see that they indeed consisted of sleeping quarters and dress-up rooms... and then disgusted at the sight of many, many coupls ans throuples putting those beds to good use. Fighting the disgust, Husk scoured the screens for any sign of familiar white hair or pink spots.

And then-

There! The cat's heart leapt into his throat. He saw him! 6 floors up, 3 floors above him. Shit, he looked fucking awful. It wasn't anything surprising, Husk supposed, but it still made the the flood of relief at seeing him alive turn to a grim sludge. Angel looked to be twitching, breathing... but nothing more. The poor bastard was a pile of limbs strewn atop a few pillows discarded on the bed, apparently not having even been able to make it there... or perhaps he'd just been thrown where he now lay. Even beneath the white fur and even through the iffy-resolutioned cam, Husk could make out dark bruises and marks running all the way across his body, and one of his lower arms was bent in a way it shouldn't be. Angel had no clothes on, completely bare and vulnerable, and obviously out of it. Husk's blood boiled with outrage. If he could have it his way, he'd rip Valentino's head from his scrawny neck, and then Vox and Alastor's for good measure.

Lifting the radio to his mouth, he spoke breathlessly. "I found him. Floor 6. I can be there in a minute if I run. So... I guess get ready, Al. I'll carry him out there over my shoulders or jump out of the window if I got to."

Any response Alastor might have made was instantly drowned out by a booming laugh. Husk watched with sinking dread as the camera feeds blacked out before restarting, switching to all collectively display a familiar face.

"Ha, Ha! Will you, now?"

Chapter Text

Husk felt his mouth go totally dry. Nothing could stop his vision from tunneling, his hands from shaking, his heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly in his chest. This was the absolute worst-case scenario. Unless he got really fucking lucky right now, this was game over. Just like that. "Shit," he rasped out.

Through the multitude of high-quality screens Vox's gloating smile widened, array of sharklike teeth on full display. It distinctly reminded Husk of his boss' own slasher smile, and he was suddenly thankful that unlike his boss, these weren't splattered with unknown viscera. It wasn't a comfort that extended very far. Vox may not be a cannibal, but there was a great number of things he was capable of, many arguably worse.

"Ohhhhhh buddy, 'shit' is right!" came the television overlord's crowing voice, pitched higher than usual. Whether it was due to rage or pleasure was indecipherable. "Unbelievable, isn't it? It's hard to believe that you thought your little 'plan'-" and here Vox made exaggerated finger quotes, "-Would work! Seriously, a henchman of the radio demon thinks he can slip and slide into our property unnoticed? In full view of our security cameras?!"

"I've gotten pretty far, haven't I?" Husk pointed out, spine completely rigid. His hands were sweating so badly the radio he still held was threatening to slip from them. "Your 'security' ain't shit, the staff here are bumbling horny idiots who couldn't see in front of their own dicks if they tried. It wasn't tough to get this far." It was likely unwise to antagonize the other man, but Husk saw nothing he could do regardless. Vox moved through channels and cables with the same speed and ease that Alastor went through shadows and radio signals, so nothing could stop him from simply appearing in the surveillance room and zapping Husk into a pile of ash with a million volts. Grovelling would get him nowhere, even if antagonism was certainly no better. All he could do for now was stall and keep talking.

Vox's smile twitched at the edge, eyes narrowing as he leant further toward the monitor screens. "You won't catch me laying my heart out to defend them. But seriously, level with me. What are you doing? You come out here, miles from the safe territory of your little hotel, to... what? Rescue some whore from his job? Jeez, what do you even see in him? You know there's a dozen of him on the street right outside, yeah?"

Indignant fury coursed through Husk like wildfire, and though Vox's tone was surprisingly neutral and even tinged with a genuine interest, all Husk could see and hear was the way everyone treated Angel Dust. Like he didn't matter. Like his life was forfeit to the pleasures of others. That it was inconceivable that anyone could care for him beyond the service he provided apon payment. It had wormed its way into the spider's own mindset, and Husk would be damned before he let any more of it slide, even - no, especially - if it were the last words he would get to say.

"Listen here you oversized CRT, that kid is worth more than a hundred of you." The feline snarled, the hand that wasn't cradling the radio beginning to show his claws extending. "I don't know what kind of sick thrills you lot get out of doing what you do to him, beating him down, breaking him, and I don't care. Take out your inferiority complex elsewhere. What I'm willing to do for him is more than yours would ever do for you, so why don't you focus on that instead of continuing to hurt someone you've already ruined?"

Vox's brows rose, smirk faltering. "You don't know anything."

"Yeah?" Husk hissed, trying to take the chance to glance about the room for a way to flee. The door was nearby, but not near enough to dart through. "We've all seen your posts on social media, you don't exactly hide your interpersonal problems from the rest of us." There were good odds that he could outspeed Vox if he went for it and used his wings, but the stupid oversized hoodie was covering them and removing it would slow him down significantly to do, not to mention the narrow walls, all within a building layout Vox would be intimately familiar with. "I guess I understand why the idea of going all-out for someone is foreign to you when you spend most of your free time taping your face back together after Valentino's done smashing it in." vitriol oozed from his every word.

Was it even provocation if it was patently true? That Valentino and Vox were in a comically abusive situation had never been hidden... by Valentino, at least. Husk wasn't the type to doomscroll on his time off, but he did own a smartphone (it was tough not to in this day and age, really... unless you were Alastor.), and it was impossible to avoid the occasional word about the rocky and very public 'personal' lives of Hell's most dominant media overlords. That Valentino updated his Sinstagram every few weeks with a new photo of the damage he'd done to his 'partner' was a known fact.

Husk couldn't feel bad for him if he tried.

Vox was clearly wrestling for a scathing response, so Husk snapped in before he even got the chance- "Is that why you take everything out on Angel? Because you know what I think? I think even when Valentino's torturing him, he's paying him more attention than he's ever given you."

That one hit. Vox looked like he had been struck.

Then, all at once, the monitors began to glitch. As the television overlord straighened up and his pupils constricted, the surrounding screens began to flash a dizzying red and blue. Sparks flew from the plug sockets and wires, error messages popping up and dissapearing as soon as they appeared.

"You thx-think you're fz-fx-funny, huh?" there was audible inteference in the overlord's voice, replaying words like they were on a busted disc. It grated the senses to listen to, and Husk resisted the urge to clap his hands over his ears. It would also help against the static buzzing that had started, sourceless but building until it started to form a band of pressure around his skull. "Oh, I'll show you funny. All of tz-tx-this was for that Angel Dust? What'll yz-yx-you do if I go right now and take him off air bz-before you get there?"

Husk stared. "You wouldn't."

A cruel smirk ripped through Vox's face, the static slowing, a sadistic glee at having gained the upper hand. "What, you've never broken your toys before when you were having too much fz-fx-fun? Val'll believe it was an accident. And if not? I bet I cz-cx-could give you to him to give him sx-someone to take his anger out on."

Husk's mouth felt like parchment. All of the heat from the stress and anger sept out of him, and he was strikingly cold. And terrified. More than he had ever felt. More than he'd felt during the war. More than any threats Alastor had inflicted.

Something. He had to do something. Stall, distract, sic the television overlord back onto himself. Anything.

"Don't you dare lay a motherfucking hand on him you filthy piece of-"

"MY, MY. SUCH LANGUAGE!"

Husk could have jumped a mile. His heart felt like it had, flipping violently in his chest, fur springing up to stand on end.

From where it remained in his tight grip, the little kitchy travel radio Alastor had given him was vibrating with a strange frequency.

For a moment, there was silence. Husk couldn't breathe even if he wanted to, and from his periphery he could see that Vox had went completely still, all emotion wiped from his face. The overlord stared at that strange little radio with an intensity that could melt steel.

Alastor's voice broke through again, still at the ear-bleeding volume Husk could have sworn the little machine hadn't prior indicated being capable of outputting. "TESTING, TESTING?"

"Al?" Husk managed, trying to force himself to move, but he was utterly paralyzed with terror. Alastor wasn't supposed to out himself like this. This wasn't in the plan.

"OH, SO I AM AUDIBLE!" Alastor crowed. "I STARTED TO WONDER! THERE'S NO NEED TO LEAVE ME HANGING, HUSKER."

Alastor's tone was completely casual, as if he was merely calling while off for a walk in the park, yet his voice continued to carry through with deafening volume. Husk flinched a way a bit, even, and his movement seemed to jerk someone else back to reality.

Vox spoke, "You."

Husk thought he might have heard Alastor inhale. It was a quiet, sharp sort of sound that the radio demon was likely not even consciously making.

"...DEARIE ME! IS THAT WHO I THINK IT IS?" Alastor said. There was something incredibly peculiar in his tone. "VOX, OLD CHAP! WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN UP TO SINCE WE LAST SPOKE? DISSATISFIED WITH YOUR PLUMMETING RATINGS, STILL? BEMOANING YOUR FAILING MEDIA EMPIRE? WAS THERE NO OTHER USE FOR YOUR TIME THAN OCCUPYING MY CHARGE?"

"Alastor."

"HMM?"

Vox was shaking, ever so slightly. "Are you here." It didn't sound like a question. In fact, it didn't sound like anything. The overlord's entire voice sounded off, drained of recognizable emotion.

"I DON'T SEE HOW THAT IS RELEVANT."

The trembling in Vox's shoulders intensified, becoming more obvious. "You piece of shit. Vox hissed, and Husk twitched as a cord next to him jumped once more, bursting with sparks. "You make that op-ed about me after you vanish for 7 years without a WORD to me, and then rock up on my territory then next day? Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

There was something in his voice that made Husk feel like he was hearing something he couldn't understand the breadth of. There was a context, a history between them that he was not privy to.

"OH, VOX." Alastor said. "YOU WERE ALWAYS SO DREADFULLY PETTY AND SINGLE-MINDED. WAS IT TRULY A WONDER THAT I BORED OF YOU? DO YOU STILL HOLD ON TO THE PAST?"

"Where are you."

"WHAT WOULD IT MATTER?" The voice of the radio demon became impossibly tender, even as it continued to boom through the device at a deafening volume. It was a tenderness like flayed meat. There was no kindness in it. "IT ISN'T AS THOUGH I'D TALK TO YOU."

Vox looked sick, desperate and furious, reaching out toward the screens, and Husk's stomach dropped as his hand began to emerge from it in 3D space. "Alastor-"

A wave of static erupted from the device in Husk's hands. He winced and fumbled with it, watching as the electronics struggled under a barrage of intense inteference. One by one in quick succession, the screens before him blacked out and then burst, glass spraying the room. Wires caught aflame. The light fixtures broke from the ceiling, a flourescent hanging half-down and raining glass dust onto Husk's stock-still head.

Silence, aside from the buzzing of the surviving overhead lights as they flickered, and the sounds of things popping and sparking.

Husk waited for Vox's face to reappear. Despite the inky blackness of the broken screens, it didn't seem like enough to stop him.

Nothing.

Vox did not return.

Dread opened a hole in his stomach.

"Husker." Alastor said. The level of his voice had returned to normal, but there was still that odd quality about it. Like he was forcing his tone even. "You need to move. Now."

Staring at the radio in his hand like it was foreign to him, Husk stiltedly nodded despite knowing that Alastor couldn't see him. Taking one last look at the wrecked state of the room, he turned tail and ran.

"...Thanks, Al." he rasped, tearing his way down the halls, trying to mentally map out where he had spotted Angel. "I really fucked up. You might've saved both mine and Angel's heads." No guards that he could see. Likely that they were concentrated more to the lower levels, and it would mostly be 'working girls' up at these heights, as well as special visitors and higher paying guests. He took care not to listen at any doors he passed. Keeping the pace, he elevated to floor 4, taking the stairs three at a time.

"Thank me with your success." Alastor told him.

"Fair." Husk hesitated, brows drawing together. "Are you going to be good where you are? After what you just said, antagonizing him-"

"Don't you worry your little head about me. Run."

Husk shut his mouth and did exactly as he was told.

Stumbling into a large room ahead in pursuit of the stairs upward, he came to a grinding halt, practically skidding across the floor with the way he dug his heels in. Wings spreading to balance, he threw his gaze about the room. Something had called out to him. Something had attacked his senses with such vigor that he couldn't possibly ignore-

There.

Husk swallowed thickly, staring. The room he stood in was clearly a filming area, done up entirely in clinical shades of white. The only pops of colour were the sandstone-coloured faux wood flooring, a stark and obnoxiously pink throw rug hanging off the couch, and- and fur. Little pieces of torn-off fur, in pleasing shades of pale and pastel pink. Familiar shades.

Angel Dust.

Husk had never felt anger quite like this before, taking in the rest of the scene. Small dried splotches of blood dotted the scene. A pair of fuzzy handcuffs hang from the headboard. A whip poked out from beneath the bed. Looking away, Husk swallowed thickly, sure he didn't want to notice anything else. This was already too much.

The feeling inside of him was like fire as he turned back toward the stairs, about to move further.

Despite the spellbinding terror at having come face to face with an overlord, despite his lacking abilities to defend himself against Valentino if he did appear, Husk suddenly sorely wished the moth was there so that he could tear his antennae off with his own hands.

If that piece of scum would just appear-

Husk staggered back, losing his balance at an abrupt gust of wind that flooded the room from the direction of the stairs upward. Reeling, it took a moment to re-orient. When he did, he was struck dumb.

There before him was the exact product of his vitriol.

Valentino stood, coat torn, wings at full spread. And he looked furious.

----

Michael radiated displeasure. It was his inherent state of being, Lucifer thought, since the dawn of creation all the way until the digital age of today. It had actually been a peculiarity, way back when. Not everything was so militant in The Dawn Of Time as it would become now. There was a frenetic energy to the first beings to be granted life, a shared wonder between Lucifer, Raphael, Jophiel - there had been differing temperaments, certainly, and Lucifer had been alone in the sheer extent to which his enthusiasm reached, but Michael had always stood out as the sternest of them. Even Azrael, presiding over death as xe did, had more humour to xem than xyr elder.

Why couldn't it have been xem to come confront him, rather than the objectively worst possible option?

Lip curling, nose wrinkling, Michael finally met his eyes. "Hello." he said, his voice carrying a weight that felt as if it would sink into your very bones. "I wish I could impart some familial sentiment, but i'm afraid I have none in me."

Wow. That was a cold opener. Lucifer didn't know what he expected.

"Why are you here?" he asked, cutting right to the chase. Any time spent with his elder brother was bound to be time he regretted, he could scarcely even meet his eyes without cowering away. Lucifer wasn't frightened of him, of course, but there was an aching feeling in his gut when he looked at the being who had meant so much to him, once apon a time. "I would have thought your carefully planned schedule would keep you from penning in time to visit the family." bitterness crept into his voice.

Gathering the silken opalescent material of his sheet robe around him, Michael's face twisted up in abject dislike. "I have no desire to be here, any more than you have to see me. I was alerted to your trespass apon this plane and broadened the scope of my sight to survey your purpose, when I caught sight of The First Man in your party." turning his gaze, Michael affixed the one in question with a piercing stare, ice-blue eyes seeming to freeze him in place. Adam gave off the impression of a man who was not so easily intimidated, but even he wilted down in his seat.

"So?" Lucifer scoffed. "You can see that Sera is here handling things. Do you not trust her?"

Sera gave him a strange look. "Lucifer-"

"I trust Sera's judgement well enough, but I am also not so naïve or cruel to leave her alone in the presence of The Adversary and his thralls." Michael sneered, raising his nose at him. So tight was his grip on his sheet robe, Lucifer wondered if he might tear it. "Your presence here will not be long tolerated. Now that you have delivered Adam to us, you should be on your way."

"What?" Charlie exclaimed, making both of them startle as she jumped up from her chair. "No, no, we need to talk so many things through! So much has happened, with Pentious, with Adam, with the battle-" Sera winced, "These are all things we have to discuss, here!"

"I see nothing to discuss with you, half-breed."

Charlie recoiled at the term, and in quick succession Lucifer rose to stand in front of her protectively, noticing in his periphery that Vaggie had instinctively moved to do the same. A warm feeling wriggled in his gut, a pride. She would do well by his daughter. It was quickly smothered by the frustration he felt toward their opposition.

"You will speak to my daughter with respect." Lucifer warned, not attempting to hide the threat in his voice. "I do not care how you speak to me, but you will not treat her the same."

"And who are you to make such demands?"

"Michael." Sera hissed, catching their attention. She had stood as well, bracing her palms against the table, her divinity leaking out in pulses. The rings of her hundreds of eyes were flickering into existence, a dizzying sort of rainbow from chromatic abberation. "Sit down. If you wish to participate in these affairs, you may, but I will not tolerate your continued interruption. These are serious matters, and they must be addressed."

The archangel looked at her with incredulity, the hand not bunched up in his silks flexing by his side as if he longed for his flaming broadsword of old. "You cannot be serious, entertaining these... these..."

"Nothing more is happening than verbal discussion. If you like, see yourself as my protector, as you said." Sera's tone brokered no room for argument. "If you wish to stay, please do."

For a moment, Michael seemed primed to object.

Then his scowl depended petulantly, harsh lines carving unnattractively through his face, and he stepped closer.

Lucifer tried to keep his breathing even.

---

"Hello." Valentino said. His voice was syrupy sweet and dripping with venom. Every part of his body spelled a threat, his shoulders raised, both sets of his fists clenched tightly, ramrod straight with the great breadth of his unfolded wings sweeping the room as they moved behind him. The too-fluffy too-sheer pink nightrobe he wore would have damaged the threatening aura on anyone else. "How surprising to run into you like this. Are you lost, kitty cat?"

Husk wondered if he had already burnt out his terror reserves on Vox or if his rage at this particular overlord simply overpowered it. "You're right, I'm lost." He snapped, stepping closer instead of further, allowing himself to fully sink into the shadow Valentino cast. Not for a second did he allow himself to break eye contact. "I need to be on the top floor, but right now I'm being blocked off from it by a huge fuckin' eyesore. You wanna help me with that?"

Valentino rasped out a laugh, rough and harsh and grating, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. His entire body shook with a visible rage. "Now now Cariño, it's no good to break in and make such demands. You know you won't be making another step."

Husk didn't falter. "I'm going to get Angel out of here, and there's nothing any of you chucklefucks can do to stop me."

"Ooh, I don't see why. Angel-baby is right where he belongs." Valentino leant in, snarling with such intensity that the skin of his lip peeled back. The great expanse of his wings continued to flit above them, towering, blotting out the bright white light from the ceiling above. The span of them had to be at least 20 feet, and Husk was all too aware that he'd be brained if struck with them. "I can't let you see him... but really, if you insist that you must, I could always bring him your head...?"

"Go fuck yourself." Husk said, and darted back.

It was lucky timing, watching those razor-sharp claws arc through the air where his face had just been. Slipping, aggrieved once again that his attire limited his movement and prevented his wings from balancing him, Husk tipped his arm, letting familiar cards slip out of his baggy sleeves and settle into his palm. They would do very little against a demon of this caliber, but Husk wasn't labouring under the misconception that he could kill him. He just had to get past him. Whatever he would be able to do after that point with an alive overlord on his tail was a problem for future him.

Valentino looked like an abomination as he shifted, allowing his true form to begin to show as his bones cracked and shifted, growing even greater in height, eyes glistening a poisonous neon pink. Still halfway transformed, likely more doing it as a physiological reaction to stress rather than as a conscious choice, Valentino reached to the hilt at his hip and withdrew a pink and zebra-print revolver, his signature weapon for 'taking out the trash.' Raising it without much preamble, he fired once, twice, three times, and Husk threw himself behind a flight case beside a C-stand braced with sandbags, counting each shot as they whizzed by. 3 of 6, or more likely of 10. There was no reason to believe Valentino's gear wasn't kitted out to the maximum capacity, though he might not have thought or taken time to reload before seeking Husk out, likely directly after seeing whatever had happened on Vox's end after the blackout.

"The knight in shining armor, cuddled up behind a box!" Valentino called out, and Husk heard the click-clack of his heels approaching. "Baby, really, you think Angel belongs anywhere else? He's made to be here, he couldn't survive any other way!"

Husk swallowed his retort, considering his options. Right as the shadow of the much larger figure engulfed him once more and the familiar click of a firearm sounded near the back of his head, Husk spun around and let fly the paper bombs at his wrist, not waiting to see how they burst in Valentino's face. Hoping and praying for more than a few moments of disorientation, if not outright injury, Husk threw his leg out as he moved away, tripping the C-stand and sending it right at the moth demon, sandbags and all.

With Valentino swearing profusely behind him and no further gunshots, Husk sprinted for the stairs. He only made it a few quick paces before a vicelike grip manacled his ankle and broke his balance, sending him crashing to the floor. Rolling over, he caught side of Valentino looking significantly more bedragged, his face caked in ash and one of his eyes swollen half-shut, halfway tangled up in the rig Husk had sent flying at him but bent over holding onto the cat with all his might.

Husk mourned the stupidity of not having brought a gun. Alastor had never trusted him with them, and though he certainly still possessed some, they weren't typically on his person and hadn't been when he'd went out with this plan in mind. There were still darts and other card bombs squirreled away in his pockets, but-

Kicking the moth demon in the face, Husk took advantage of his startle and leapt up, feeling the heat of a bullet skid past his face, cutting open his cheek, as Valentino regained access to his firing hand. That made 4, still nowhere near 10. And Husk had no reason to believe Valentino only had the 1 gun, either way.

"ALASTOR!" he snapped, shelving any embarassment at having to call on his superior for help after it had already been granted prior. The radio was shoved into his pocket, but he trusted in the other's ability to hear him despite the muffling and further distance. "LITTLE HELP?"

"Are you- fucking- SERIOUS?!"" Valentino snarled, lips peeling back to reveal his gums. "Can't face me yourself, Cabrón? Need daddy to do the heavy lifting for you?"

Looking at him, Husk was struck with how both... simulatenously terrifying and pathetic he was. Certainly he posed a significant threat, and yet he spoke and emoted like an infant. It was a contrast Angel himself had mentioned many time, showing off their text exchanges.

"Husker-" Alastor came through. He probably said more, but Husk didn't get a chance to hear it, back to diving for cover as two shots fired off where he had stood. The first missed him entirely, the second catching him in the arm right before he was able to leap over the bed and duck his head down. Cradling his arm close to himself, Husk swore profusely and finally tore the hoodie off in one fell swoop, disregarding the cards and darts as they fell to the panelled floor, tearing off the sleeve to wrap tightly around the entry wound, stymying the flow as quickly as he could. Looking over his shoulder he caught the movement before it struck, reaching down and throwing a dart with all of his might.

It struck true, if Valentino's hiss of shock was anything to go by. Vaulting back over the bed, Husk took in the reflector panel next to him, towering at twice his height. There was another a few metres away. They were unfortunately made of a light, styrofoam-esque material, so it wasn't likely they would be of much use. Otherwise there were a lot of tangled wires on the floor, another camera rig on a dolly, fill lights, an umbrella and a boom mic up high on a stand. Without hesitation he tore the boom mic from the base, holding the teloscoping stand in front of him like a club.

Waiting for Valentino to spin around to him, he swung with all of his might and struck him right in the face with the blunt end of the mic. Taking advantage as the overlord stumbled back, Husk braced his foot against the camera and booted it as hard as he could, sending it flying off the dolly and into Valentino's legs. The sound it made was viscerally satisfying - Valentino howling in pain as what could easily be over 50 pounds of metal equipment struck him. Caught up in the flurry of desperation to keep him down, Husk reached down, grabbed hold of the wires and pulled with all his might, swallowing the gasp that threatened to exit at the strain put on his injured arm.

It all came tumbling down. The reflector boards were first, lighter and stood on a less stable base than the rest. After them came the fill lights, teetering on their stands before toppling. The stands, remaining camera equipment, large umbrellas - it all came down.

Stood in the wreckage he had caused, the tens of thousands of dollars worth of damage, Husk waited, breathing heavy. Valentino had been struck heavily in the head and now lay half-buried beneath the mess, but he couldn't relax. Couldn't.

Valentino twitched. Husk turned tail and ran, leaving the portable radio behind.

---

"Husker?" Alastor spoke, bewildered at the cacophany of sounds. It was at times like this that he did somewhat envy Vox's ability to see through the devices he commanded - he had absolutely no idea what was going on on the other end, aside from the obvious that he was being pursued by Valentino. There had been a moment where Husk had tried to contact him, and Alastor had attempted in turn to provide advice, but there had been no response. Evidently, the cat was too busy to listen to a plan right now.

Sighing, he tilted his head to the side and tried to focus his senses upward, through the devices inside the tower, but the inteference was so great that it felt like grasping at water.

"I can't believe it."

Alastor went stock still. Was that-?

"You're actually here. Actually fucking here. Stood right in front of me."

Alastor turned. A great coldness took over him.

Vox stood at the entrance to the building.

Alastor felt his grip on his staff tighten, overcome with the sudden and uncharacteristic urge to bolt.

Vox's expression changed, from blankness to rage. "Say something."

But Alastor had nothing to say.

---

Up in heaven, Lucifer twitched. There was an odd feeling washing over him, something foreboding. Something was about to go very, very wrong.