Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alastor was no stranger to an empty library. He had spent many a night sneaking into the facilities in his neighbourhood, tucked away and reading by candlelight. Despite his lighter skin tone, they had all known his mother, and so, had turned him away during the day. Rather aggressively. That was fine. If they wanted him out that badly, though, they really ought to have invested in better locks.

Suffice to say, he much preferred reading by the light of the sun, these days. Or whatever passed for it in Hell. The hotel's library was... certainly a library. Modest, and certainly no one's priority. But it sufficed, when Alastor was bored and willing to try just about anything. Some of the books he had ended up enjoying (Orlando, As Simple As It Seems, Jonathan Livingston Seagull, to name a few), despite them being far outside his comfort zone. Alas, Charlie only had a handful of grimoires, and fewer historic and botany books. Frivolous things too, the grimoires. A mish-mash of any and every folk magic under the sun with little regard for the why and how.

Not at all helpful for the kind of miracle Alastor hoped to achieve.

“You... wanna see our library?”

“Precisely! I've grown quite bored with the little hole we have here. Perhaps we could convince His Majesty to let us smuggle a few new books over, hmm?”

“Hah, I dunno about that... that's all you wanna use your favour for? You don't want, like, an artifact, or... y'know what, nevermind! This is a great favour and I'd be happy to show you around our library! Dad used to read to me there, when I was little but then—” she had blushed, “Uh, nevermind. Heh. Phew, stop chattering, Charlie.”

“Now, now, Dear, don't stop on my account. Entertainment comes in many forms.”

“Heh, yeahhh... so, uh, tomorrow?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you, Charlie.”

The bright white eyesore Charlie called home had been blissfully empty upon his arrival. He had sensed wards while warping inside the gilded gate, but they had been deactivated. Thankfully. They were more complex than he could begin to understand. The golden stone walkway had been adorned with rose bushes on both sides, red and white. Several paths split off further into the garden. Apple trees and shaped shrubs as far as the eye could see. It was the only greenery Alastor had ever seen in Hell. Though, upon closer inspection, the garden was ill-maintained. Twigs and dirt littered the walkway and grass, which was yellowing under the unnatural sun. Rotten apples laid at the tree's feet. The shrubs were overgrown, leaves sticking out like split ends. Why go through all the trouble of making an oasis and not bother to care for it? Everything he learned about Lucifer made him hate him a little more.

He had barely had time to knock on the door before Charlie had swung it open and nearly dragged him in, vibrating with excitement. She had let him know that her father was around, but had no intention of joining them. Good. Alastor would not keep his gardening tips to himself. He had half a mind to take all the books Lucifer had on the matter. He clearly wasn't using them.

Charlie had given him a brief tour around the massive room. Towering white walls arched with golden flying buttresses. The glass ceiling provided a soft red glow in the late morning. Each row of books was labelled, something that took Alastor aback, until he noted the little doodles of hearts and stars on each and every strip. Charlie would take the time to personalize every little nook and cranny.

She had given him a strained look when he had tucked a few grimoires under his arm, but had said nothing. They were only glossaries, after all. No out-right instructions. Perhaps she had assumed he wouldn't even get to them, what with the monstrous stack of other books he had picked out. By the time he had picked up the first one, she had been nose-deep in a sapphic romance. He had finished the last one before she was done, and had swapped them with a couple others.

He swallowed hard around his leash. It was so tight. He could feel her tug on it occasionally. Watching. Fully aware of what he was trying to do. Fine. There was nothing she could do while Charlie was there. He was getting somewhere, now. Sketching sigils with his free hand, trying to find the right combination. Magic was intention, first and foremost. And he fully intended to get the fuck away from Lilith. But for now, breaking the Smite would have to do.

It had gotten worse the moment he had woken up. Breakfast had been dreadful. After speaking to Charlie, he had barely made it to the bathroom before doubling over and vomiting blood all over himself. What was worse; when he tried to snap himself into fresh clothing, his wards had fizzled out. Of course, Lucifer had been more than happy to set up several of his own, never letting Alastor hear the end of it all the while.

He had ended up sneaking the vial of Vaggie’s blood into his coffee to regain some energy. It had not tasted good; far too sweet, even with the bitter aftertaste. But he was not going to ask for more of her flesh. It was just so... He had only ever practised consensual cannibalism with Rosie before. It had been a lovely evening; the two of them knowing each other well enough to turn the other's flesh into a feast. And no, it was not a kink Vox, it was simply an unconventional way to appreciate the company of a friend. Even if it was only to save his life, and even if he was grateful, he couldn’t help but feel... unnerved? Off? The immense relief at the time had overrode any unease, but now that his head was clear…He wasn't sure how to describe it.

“Uh... Alastor?”

He twinged and forced his static to quiet. “Apologies, Dear, just brainstorming.”

“Oh?” She leaned over the table, then cringed as she examined his notes. “Uh... for what?”

“Why a new protection spell, of course! When those dastardly angels come back, I will not be letting them overpower my shield again.” It wasn't a complete lie. That was his second priority.

“Oh...” Charlie's lower lip quivered as she smiled like he had handed her a star out of the sky. “Oh, Alastor, if that's all you wanted to do I would have just invited you over!”

“Hah! Now where's the fun in that, hmm?” He scribbled down another sigil. No, no, that wouldn't do. Far too vague. Perhaps linking them would help? He hadn't learned how to do that before he died, but, well, desperate times. He furrowed his brows, sketching a few attempts. No dice. A frustrated huff.

“Can I see?”

He lifted a brow.

“I do know magic, you know. Dad and Mom taught me enough to get by. Maybe I can help?”

Alastor shrugged, sliding her the paper covered in sigils and a few loosely sketched veves. Nothing that would summon anyone; one did not call a lwa without preparing a proper offering. Unless one wanted to end up cursed. Calling them and finding a suitable sacrifice was the easy part. It was the making of his own magic that often left him stumped. “Knock yourself out, Darling.”

She lit up, dragging the pad towards her. He watched her ooo and awe, hem and haw, turn the paper upside-down and on its side. Then, she rolled a pen towards herself and began to sketch. Alastor pretended to read Not Wanted On The Voyage while he observed. Evidently, she had been taught how to link sigils. She drew perfect circles, just barely touching one another, housing symbols Alastor had fine-tuned. Each completed chain glowed in response, humming with energy. He could feel the heat on his face. But it still wasn't enough. Far too weak for someone like Lilith to concern herself with. He would need a longer chain. “If I may, try alternating between these.” He stood, making his way to her side of the table and pointing to each symbol. “Hook the tails and claws into the outer circle. Oh, and mirror it on the bottom. It'll be more sturdy, that way, help it conserve more energy.”

“Ooo, yeah! And what if we...?”

“Aces! And then...”

It took a much larger sheet of paper, but eventually, they finished the blueprint. 22 total symbols, linking hands and thrumming with energy. Alastor hovered his hands over the sheet and, oh, what power! It was almost too much for him to wield. Almost. Grinning wide enough to split his face, he clasped his hands, eyes flickering to dials as the spell matched his eerie red glow. It rose from the sheet, solid light, spinning faster, faster, faster until it was but a blur. He opened his palms, gave his command, and the light blipped into his staff. Perfect.

Or... it would be, if he hadn't gone and sold his soul to the very woman who was trying to kill him. She would wipe his power away before even showing up to collect him. He would need to make an offering to the lwa to have them charge the spell for him. And a big one. Typically, he would offer his own blood, or the blood of his fellow demons, but that wouldn't do. His own blood was nowhere near as valuable, now that he was owned. He had managed to find a few of Lucifer’s feathers scattered around the hotel (none of which had blood on them, unfortunately), but not nearly enough to pay for this. Hopefully his shadows returned from their escapades around the palace with more to offer.

“It worked!” Charlie bounded up to him, squeezing his hands in her excitement. Alastor grimaced, pointing to the small pin on his lapel. A golden pineapple. Charlie winced and released his hands.

He remembered describing the feeling of unwanted touch to Charlie and Vaggie during one of many late work nights. The Princess had brushed his hand while taking a pen and after a long day of dealing with Vox and Lucifer and every other little nuisance that had come knocking, the touch had nearly seen him biting her hand off. Literally. Charlie had apologised profusely. “We should come up with a code!" She had declared after recovering. “A way for you to let us know when you don’t want to be touched!”

“I’ve had no trouble enforcing such boundaries thus far,” he had insisted.

Vaggie had rolled her eyes. “Last week you threw Lucifer off the balcony for accidentally brushing you as he walked by.”

Alastor had sneered. “That was no accident. Besides, it made my point perfectly clear.”

“Okay, sure,” Charlie had allowed, her smile strained, “buuut, I think it would be a lot, uh, easier, if we could just use a code word? You wouldn’t have to use so much energy throwing everyone around, and it doesn’t have to be just for you, if that makes you uncomfortable! It can be for everyone! We all have days where we need space! Oh, oh, how about ‘rainbows’?” She had cringed at the spike in static. “Okay, uh…‘jamboree’! No? Hmm… maybe a numerical code? 1-4-5-2, uh, 8-9-3—”

“How about,” Vaggie had interrupted, “we keep it simple and easy to remember? Alastor, what’s your favourite pizza topping?” Her withered look at his answer still brought a smile to his face. “Don’t do that,” she had said, sounding like she had just lost 20 years of her life, “don’t you dare have something in common with me.”

Charlie had announced the new Special Code Word to the crew the next morning, and had given everyone little pineapple pins to wear if they didn’t want to say the word.

“Sorry,” she said, holding up her hands and backing away. “Is it strong enough? Do you think it'll hold off angelic magic?”

“Well, why not test it out?” He gave her shoulder a friendly, gentle slap. “Put those magic lessons to good use, hmm?”

“Oh, um,” she tittered, “I dunno, I only ever learned, you know, healing and stamina spells... Dad didn't want me getting too hurt.”

“And he thought the best way to ensure that was to teach you no offensive magic?”

“I know, right?!” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I mean, I know I was a kid, but come on! I can handle a little bit of blight! Or something.”

He followed her out the door, curling his lip as they passed a portrait of Lucifer and Lilith. “If I had known, rest assured I would have given you some lessons before the confrontation.”

“Thanks, Al.” She led him down corridor after exuberant corridor. Mahogany hardwood covered by elegantly hooked red velvet rugs that muffled the click of their heels. “I mean, Vaggie taught me some basics with my trident. And Angel's been trying to help me get used to guns...”

He couldn't help but chuckle. The image of Charlie with a gun was too ridiculous. “Charlie, Charlie, magic can be all of that and so much more! And really, you don't need all the fancy, complicated spells. Basics are the foundation of any art.” She held a heavy door open for him, and they stepped out into the largest backyard Alastor had ever seen. White brick walls towered over more neglected plants and trees. Outdoor furniture lay strewn about, broken and dirty. Some of the shrubs had chunks laying at their bases. As if someone had torn into them. He grimaced. The Devil would see fit to harm one of the only truly innocent things in Hell, wouldn't he?

“Now,” he twirled around her, taking a few paces back. “Watch me.” Exhaling, he lined himself up with one of the statues adorning the walkway. Marble, painstakingly carved in The King's likeness. He pointed at the head. “I've used this spell enough that casting it comes without thought. You will be casting it via a verbal command, like so,” he cleared his throat, “demolish the head.” He snapped his fingers. A thin beam of green light shot from his pointer, and no sooner than it touched the statue's eye did it obliterate the head. The stone fell apart as if it had been sliced with a fine knife, perfect pieces crashing to the ground. Charlie gaped. He preened under her awe. “Yes, quite impressive upon first viewing, isn't it?”

“That's the basics?! That's so cool!”

“Hah! Yes, well, Hellish magic is nothing to sneeze at, Darling. You can apply it in many different ways, as well. Like,” he swiped his finger across the air, and the green beam tore through the statue's torso in a clean line, “Slicing. Or,” He flipped his palm upwards and curled his fingers, setting the rubble ablaze with green fire, “igniting. Or, my personal favourite,” he outstretched his open palm towards what remained of the statue, and a jagged bolt of green energy struck a blackened burn onto the center. He curled his fingers once more, and the energy wobbled, coiling around the statue and squeezing until it crumbled. “Hooking. At least, that's what I've been calling it. Vaggie called it a Witchbolt, when I showed her. What is a Deeyendee, by the by?”

“A—Vaggie said—wait, what?”

“Deeyendee,” he repeated. “She said that was where she got the name.”

“... D and D?”

“Yes, Deeyendee.”

Charlie giggled, stepping over smoking rubble to stand by his side. “D and D is short for Dungeons and Dragons. It's a role playing game where you can pretend to be... well, pretty much anything. Witchbolt is one of the spells some of the guys get... I don't really know, she usually talks about it with Husk.” She gave him a curious look. “I didn't know you and Vaggie hung out? I mean, I'm happy, don't get me wrong! I just thought you didn't like each other?”

Well. If he had it his way, nothing would have changed between them, between any of the stowaways that had invited themselves along to his tower that fateful day. Still, he couldn't truthfully say he hated where they sat, now. Vaggie didn't go out of her way to seek out his company, but she didn't flee from it when it was offered. Not that he went out of his way to do so. She just so happened to be a night owl, like himself. And she preferred to finish her paperwork or play games on her phone in the kitchen, so that she could easily refill her coffee. Alastor preferred to get his cooking done in the early, early morning. Less crowded. It had simply become a routine. “Well, I can't speak for her, but I like her just fine. Very easily ruffled, that one.”

Charlie tittered, wilting a little. “Ah... right. Yeah. Entertainment. Try not to give her a hernia, okay?”

“Why Charlie, she doesn't need me for that!” Heat licked at his skin as red bled into Charlie's eyes. “Kidding! Kidding, Dear!” He held up his hands in surrender. “You have my word that I will not pester your dear girlfriend into any medical issues. Now,” he clapped once, sliding behind her and lifting one of her arms. “Stand like this. Yes, excellent. Just as you would cast a blessing, so too do you cast this attack. Let's start simple; melt a hole through the stone.”

“Okay, um... m-melt a hole through the stone?”

“Charlie, please, show a little authority.”

“But what if I lose control? What if it hits something else?”

“You will not, if you believe you won't. Magic is all intention, Dear. Be very clear in your demand, and take comfort in knowing you are in control. It will obey you.” She grimaced, eyeing her limp arm and the statue. Alastor bit back his frustration. If she was this wishy-washy while casting, it would careen out of control. She needed conviction. Confidence. “A-hah!” He snapped his fingers, startling her. “Sing it!”

“Huh?”

“Sing the command. You did say you're better at expressing yourself through song, no?”

“Oh!” She perked up. “O-okay! Uh, hang on...” She pondered for a moment, hand to her chin, pacing around smouldering rubble. Then, she assumed the position, her stance stronger this time, her eyes sharp. Again, red bled into her sclera, and horns sprouted from her head as she sang: “Read the intent in my bones/ melt a hole right through that stone.” In a flash, red light shot from her fingertip right through the statue. It sizzled; the hole quickly cooling to black. Charlie turned to him, glowing with pride and bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I did it!!”

“Huzzah!” He jolted as she spun around and very nearly rammed into him, arms wide open, beaming like the sun. She stopped right in front of him, eyes flickering to the pin. Before she could utter her first apology, Alastor held up a hand, unclipped the pin, and dropped it into his pocket. She squealed, and he caught her easily. The wound on his chest throbbed under the assault. He ignored it.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!!! Oh my god, I can't believe I did it! That was so fun!”

“Yes, yes, very well done, my dear.” He patted her head until she remembered herself and released him with a sheepish grin. “Now, now, put that modesty away, dear Princess, this is the Pride Ring, after all!” He pinched her cheek affectionately. “Let's see you do that again, this time with—”

“What the hell are you doing?!”

Gods, even now he shows up to ruin a good thing.

Lucifer Morningstar stood over them on his golden-accented balcony, gaping at the mess. “That took three fucking months to make, you dick!”

“Sorry Dad!” Charlie waved, cowering a little.

Lucifer immediately softened. “Don't you worry Char-Char, it's not like you broke it.” He unfurled his wings, leaping into the air and landing a few steps away from them. Alastor snarled when he carelessly stepped in a bed of flowers on his way over.

“Weeell,” Charlie said, caught between wincing and grinning ear to ear. “Alastor's actually teaching me some stuff. Watch!” She lined herself up again, Alastor adjusting her aim slightly before stepping out of the way. She sang the command, and again, a beam shot from her fingertip and burned a hole through a different part of the statue. She squealed, jumping into Lucifer's arms this time. The King was significantly less prepared than Alastor had been, nearly toppling over. “Alastor taught me a new spell! Now I can attack, too! If I need to. Oh! Oh!” She eagerly met Alastor's eyes. “Can I try slicing?”

“You may try whatever you wish, my dear. Just remember, intent is everything. Don't get too distracted by your excitement, though you certainly have a lot to be excited about!”

“Okay! Okay. Phew.” She took several deep breaths. Turned to the smouldering husk of stone. Aimed her pointed finger. “Let's make this an even dice/ carve me out a little slice.”

Alastor hummed as she cut a jagged line into the stone. It fizzled out when she was half way through. “Try again. Don't worry about us, it's just you and that stone. You are in control. It bends to your will.”

Charlie nodded, gave a thumb's up, and exhaled. She gave the command again, accompanied by red eyes and horns. This slice was much smoother, and managed to just barely dislodge a chunk of marble. She whooped nonetheless.

Alastor clapped when she turned to shoot him and Lucifer a grin. The other man followed suit, albeit reluctantly. His eyes were on the statue's perfectly sliced head. Once Charlie's back was turned, he nudged The King with his elbow. “If your idea of protecting her was teaching her a total of zero offensive spells, you're a bigger fool than I thought.”

“Oh, fuck you, shithead! You don't get to prance in here and judge me, you're not her fucking dad!”

Alastor simply smirked as Charlie successfully set some rubble on fire. “Well, someone had to play the part, and it seems I'm the only one who showed up to the auditions.”

He caught her as she threw herself at him again, giving her a spin and hugging her just a little tighter. “Ahh, I'm sorry about all the hugging, I'm just so excited!”

“Nonsense, Darling, you should be excited! You're a natural!” He settled both hands on her shoulders, giving her a smile that was far more genuine than he would ever admit. Children had never been his priority during life. It was the equivalent of keeping semen as a pet. Not to mention it required intercourse. He shuddered at the very thought. This, though... he believed he now understood why parents got so excited, watching their children take their first steps.

“Dad?”

Alastor hummed, perking up, only to freeze and go completely red when he realized she wasn't talking to him.

Lucifer stopped walking away, giving them a withered glance over his shoulder. Upon further inspection, he looked like shit. Uncombed hair, deep red eye bags, dried drool on the side of his mouth. He wore a white robe, open at the chest, and a pair of blue boxers decorated with little ducks. Had he been sleeping this whole time? It was nearly three in the afternoon!

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I uh... left something in the oven?”

Charlie gave him a dry look.

“It's, uh, a duck! One of my ducks. It'll, uh, blow up if I don't...” Ah, there it was. Charlie's famous Puppy-Dog Eyes. Not even The Devil himself was immune. “Charlie,” he whined, like a petulant child. He should be thanking Alastor for taking the paternal role in Charlie's life, if this was how he behaved.

“Dad, I know you two don't get along, but this is important to me. To us. Heaven won't give up because we beat them once, and I need to be able to fight alongside the others. Alastor's an average sinner—no offence Al—and he managed to hold off Adam longer than me! The Princess of Hell! That's just sad.”

Alastor tilted his head. Charlie didn't seem like the type to worry about those sorts of things. Always the first to remind everyone, himself included, that it was okay to ask for help. Perhaps it was the guilt over Pentious' death talking. Or perhaps Lucifer's laziness and Lilith's disappearance had a much larger impact on her than she let on.

“We have a plan, for next time. We made a shield that we think's gonna be even more powerful than the last one. But if something goes wrong, I need to be able to fight, too. And I... I'd really appreciate it if you could be there while I practise. Please?”

He could pinpoint the exact moment Lucifer's resolve crumbled. The Devil heaved a sigh, smiled in defeat, then turned around. Showing far more than Alastor would have ever wanted to see of his body. “Okay. I guess someone's gotta keep you two from destroying the entire courtyard.” He lifted his arms in surrender, causing his robe to fall open, and Alastor whipped his head away with an audible crack.

Charlie winced, then, quietly, “Maybe put some clothes on first?”

Alastor didn't need to see his face to know Lucifer was flushed to his ears. That squeak was universal. A snap, and the much shorter demon stood a few steps away from him. He wore his usual white pants, boots, dress shirt, and pinstripe vest, hair smoothed back and face clean. There was still a dusting of yellow on his cheeks. “So,” Lucifer began, keeping his eyes on Charlie. “Shield, huh?”

“A little something I pulled together before the attempt on our lives.” He hadn't slept for the weeks leading up to the battle. That wasn't unusual, but it was typically by choice, not necessity. He had gotten far too used to relying on Lilith's quick magic. Crafting a spell by hand felt almost foreign. He had spent the first few days simply trying to remember how to draw a sigil. A sigil! One of the most basic concepts of magic. And he had nearly forgotten how to make one. Careless. The sort of self-destructive ego he had come to expect from lesser demons, like Vox. Not himself. What had he been thinking? “Charlie and I made some improvements.”

The titular princess was circling the ruined statue, as if facing an actual opponent, and Alastor swallowed a chuckle. Adorable. She kept her arm raised, pointer finger up, as she sang, “Strike now Witchbolt coil 'round/ sink your fangs in till it drowns.” A staticy burst of red energy flew around the marble. It hissed, taking on the form of a snake as it curled around what remained. Bits of rubble bounced off Alastor's ears. Charlie grit her teeth, clenching her fist until it shook in the air. An ear-splitting slice was their only warning before the statue blew apart.

One chunk narrowly missed Lucifer, instead tearing down shrubs and a tree as it shredded its own path.

Another flew at Alastor, and crumbled into pebbles when it connected with the new and improved shield. Only large enough to cover himself. For energy conservation's sake. His wound still pulsed, and a wave of pain crashed over him. The carefully cultivated spell did not mix well with his given magic; water and oil fighting for dominance. It would have to do for now. “Bravo, Charlie!” He clapped, and she preened under his praise. “Now,” he hopped onto the pedestal, where the statue had once been, shield still up, “let's see you take a gander at this.”

She hesitated. “Are... you sure?”

“Positive, Darling. Do your worst.”

“Can I do my worst?” Lucifer asked, smirking mirthlessly. “Since you did just destroy my property.”

Alastor opened his mouth to retort, only to be cut off by a gasp from Charlie. Oh no. He knew that look. “That's a great idea, Dad!”

Lucifer frowned in confusion. “It is?”

“What better way to test out an angel-proof shield than by having an angel hit it really hard?” She turned that infectious enthusiasm over to Alastor. “Right, Al?”

He did not allow himself to slump. It wasn't that he was afraid Lucifer would hurt him. He wasn't afraid at all, really. Just apprehensive. His chest ached. There was no telling how much of a beating that spiderweb-stitching Angel had gifted him could take. In addition to the occasional nausea, cold sweats, and this morning, a fever, his power was cut in half. Even the slightest mistake could spell disaster, especially when facing someone like Lucifer. He couldn't afford to tear the wound open again, it would never heal in time.

But Lucifer was eyeing him, smirking like he had already won. And that just wouldn't do. “Indubitably, my dear! Let's see what you can do, Your Highne—!”

Holy light cracked like a whip, sending a jolt down Alastor's spine. The shield wobbled. He dug harder into his palm, and it solidified once more. Nary a blemish on its surface. He sneered at Lucifer. “You'll have to do better than that.”

The King of Hell stared, stunned. Then he chuckled. “Alright then.” His horns grew to their full length, eyes flooded with red as he grinned. He rushed Alastor, sending him flying over the courtyard. He crashed through shrubs, slammed into one of the trees. Grinned harder as the blinding light gave him no time to recover. He slipped out of the way, fire skimming his back as it hit the tree.

He bit his hand, blood dribbling down his arm, and the shield flashed once more. This time, he opened his palms like the mouth of a crocodile, sucking in the energy Lucifer threw at him, then hurling it back at him with a dash of hellish spice.

Lucifer flicked the inferno away as if it were a pesky fly.

Then, he was on Alastor again, unhinging his jaw and breathing hellfire directly into his face. The shield held strong, as did Alastor, digging his heels into the now scorched grass and slamming his cane down. Several chains of the spell hovered around him, spinning faster and faster until they shot into the shield. Spikes jutted out from the bubble, impaling Lucifer's hands and one of his shins. The King yelped, fluttering away. Alastor inverted the spikes, scooping up the precious golden blood.

His shadows trilled, gleefully crawling across the grass, up the walls, reaching for the fallen angel's feet. Sigils burned brighter, golden against the smokey bubble. Red tendrils burst from the shield, coiling around The King and dragging him into the darkness. Alastor grinned, his jaw cracking as he felt The King squirm in his grip. Then, he felt heat. Burning on his palms. A golden-white glow emerged from the writhing shadows, peeling them back bit by bit. Alastor cursed, withdrawing his puppets and shaking off his steaming hands.

“Gotta say,” Lucifer began, hovering just out of reach, “you're keeping me on my toes. No wonder Adam had to resort to such cheap tactics to keep you down.”

Alastor scoffed, slapping another blade of light away with a tendril. “That obnoxious pig had no tact.”

Lucifer hummed. “That, we can agree on.”

His little smirk gave him away. Alastor snapped his fingers and the shield spread over the grass, swallowing the circles of holy light blooming around his feet before they could erupt. It snapped back to him like a rubber band just as Lucifer unsheathed his glowing white claws. He raked them down the side, actually piercing the bubble. This time, Lucifer flew out of range before the spikes got him.

“Blood sacrifices? Seems a bit stereotypical, don't you think?”

“It's easier to come by.” He launched a tendril after The King, socking him in the back. As he fell, Alastor flung an elongated spike towards him. Just enough to graze his cheek. The bubble flashed gold, handily tanking the holy blade of light Lucifer flung at him in retaliation. “Alas, there isn't much time to pretty-up an altar with fine wine, cakes, and perfume in the heat of battle.”

“One would think you would do so ahead of time!”

“Who says I haven't?” He hadn't touched his altar in years. The last time he had tried, Lilith had dragged him away and kept him for... he wasn't sure. A month, maybe? Snarling, he dug harder into his own hand, black blood dripping into the grass. “A little extra kick never hurt, hmm?”

Lucifer grabbed the tendril Alastor flung at him, smothering it in light. The Radio Demon hissed and retracted it. Then, Lucifer was on him again, puncturing the bubble with glowing claws and hurling Alastor into the air. All he could do was hunker down against the barrage of attacks that followed. Blasts of holy light, hellfire, claws and teeth. The shield groaned, cracking in some places. Alastor clung tighter to his cane, slammed it into the side of the bubble, pouring all the magic he could into it. A chill rushed from the tips of his ears to the toes of his hooves as all his energy was redirected.

He caught Lucifer soaring above him, a shadowy blur, before a golden beam struck the shield, slamming him into the scorched ground. Pain, white-hot and bone-deep, tore through his chest. He gasped, and the shield flickered. A thin black tail shattered the bubble, coiling around Alastor's throat and ripping him out of the shield.

Shrapnel scraped his arms and legs as he hit the ground, pinned by the neck and wrists. Warm wetness stained his shirt. Cooper and ozone filled his mouth. Bugs writhed under his skin, gnawing at his insides, hissing at the holy skin pressed so tightly to his. Red static clouded his vision. He thrashed, and nearly choked as the grip on his throat tightened. He was trapped.

The thin, rubbery tail thickened, covering his entire throat, and burning it raw. He screamed. It strangled the sound before he could finish it.

The hardwood floor was cold where he lay, sticky with his own blood and sweat. Trembling without the protection of his coat and shirt. Whimpering at the caresses, the soft coos. “There's a good pet. Are you ready to behave now? Isn't this so much nicer than being ripped apart by all those mutts?” She stroked the inside of his ear. He bit through his lip, unable to stop the tears.

“Uh... Alastor?”

He froze. That wasn't... he blinked hard, shaking the static out of his eyes. Lucifer straddled him, still pinning his wrists, but had let go of his neck. The King's tail hung low behind him, swishing nervously. Alastor blinked again. Blades of charred grass tickled his cheeks and ears. Past Lucifer's head, a half destroyed apple tree shielded them from the sun. Alastor flexed his fingers. Twisted his wrists. The King's hands were softer than he had expected. Maybe Angel's talk of moisturizing had gotten through to someone.

His chest still burned. By the way Lucifer's nose twitched, he could smell the blood. Excellent. Just what Alastor needed. Grinning sharper, he tried to tug his own hands down. The King jumped, then quickly let him go. He stammered out an apology, face bright yellow as he scrambled away from him. Alastor paid it little mind, rubbing the tingling off his skin, when a golden glint caught his eye. He squinted. Snorted. Then laughed, loud and sharp. Lucifer eyed him warily as the laughter escalated into howling. “What?”

He fanned his face, pointing shakily at the small cufflinks that somehow hadn't fallen out during their spar. “D-duck!” Was all he managed to get out around mouthfuls of laughter.

Lucifer huffed. “So? I like ducks, sue me!”

“Oh my, first the undergarments, now the fucking cufflinks!” He wheezed, then hissed at the sting it sent through his chest.

Lucifer leaned back over him, biting his lip. “Shit, I didn't mean to actually hit you.”

“Sire, please.”

“I didn't! I thought your stupid shield would be stronger than that!”

“Mmhm.”

Lucifer scowled. “Fucking little... bastard shit... just, hold still—”

Alastor sank into the shadows and popped up several feet away, dusting himself off. “That will not be necessary.” He swallowed the blood in his mouth.

“Wha—? Are you fucking stupid?!” The shorter man marched up to him. “That shit won't heal on its own! You'll be dead in a week!”

“Why Your Highness, I didn't know you cared so much! I'm flattered! But worry not, I'm no mere sinner. This is not the first angelic wound I've healed on my own, and it will not be the last.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Fucking bullshit.”

Alastor grimaced. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can't fool the King of Lies, Dummy. Now hold still—”

He sank out of range once more, emerging far enough away that he needed to raise his voice. “As I said, that will not be necessary. Now, more importantly, who tends to these gardens? Well, tends is a strong word. Mutilates is more like it. Why keep so many botany books if you're going to leave Hell's only greenery to suffer a slow and painful demise—?!” Snakes sprang forth from the ether, coiling around his wrists. He snarled, tugging on the restraints as Lucifer hovered down, just a step away from him. His eyes were red, his glare sharp.

“The only reason I'm not letting you drop dead is because it would make my daughter sad.”

“Oh, what a fine father you are,” he hissed, yanking on the bonds. Lucifer raised his hand. Brought it towards Alastor's chest. The Radio Demon snapped his jaws at it, narrowly missing the flesh. “Do not touch me.” His breath came far too quickly. He fought to scramble backwards, ears pinned to his head.

The Devil eyed him up and down, expression unreadable. A growl like grinding metal emanated from deep in Alastor's chest. He fought against the living restraints, bared his fangs when they hissed at him; a warning. A demand. Alastor took demands from no one. His ears perked up at the snap of a twig. A grin stretched across his face. “Charlie!” He let some panic slip into his voice. Footsteps approached.

“Alastor? Where are you?”

Lucifer whipped his head around, cursed, then snapped his fingers. The snakes dissipated. Alastor collapsed to his knees with a grunt. “Fine,” The King hissed through his teeth. “Bleed out for all I care. Not my problem.” He turned on his heel and stormed off. Charlie rounded the corner, nearly bumping into him.

“Dad!”

The King jumped, his wings sprouting out in surprise. “Charlie!” His voice cracked. “H-hey, Honey. He's over there.” He jutted his chin in Alastor's direction.

Alastor snarled and pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his abdomen. Charlie bounded up to him, simpering as she took in his dishevelled state.

“Hey...”

He smiled with less teeth in response. “Well, that was enlightening. My sincerest thanks for the beta testing, Your Highness. It seems we have some kinks to work out.”

“Yeah, have fun with that,” Lucifer grumbled, spreading his wings and taking off.

Charlie watched him go with a sigh. Alastor limped to her side and rested a hand that was not shaking on her shoulder. “I wouldn't fret, my dear. Some men prefer the company of rubber ducks, I suppose.” He snorted, remembering the cufflinks. “No sense dwelling on it. There's work to be done, after all!” He walked ahead of her, subtly pressing a hand to his chest. The green of his power flickered under his palm, on and off. The Smite pushed against it, a barrier over his own skin. Shit. Shit.

“Alastor?”

He stopped, looking over his shoulder. Charlie hadn't moved to follow him. Her sullen face was tilted down, watching herself nudge a twig with the toe of her shoe. “Do you think he's mad at me?”

Record scratch. “Pardon?”

“My Dad,” she clarified, hunching in on herself. “It's just, I know you two don't get along, and you're teaching me stuff he never did, and I'm grateful! I really am. But now I'm worried he thinks...” She hugged herself, taking a step back. “Uh, nevermind. Haha, I uh—I'm just rambling, heh.” Red bled into her eyes, but not from anger. She half turned away, poorly hiding her strained breaths as she wiped her face.

Alastor sighed, long and slow, and walked back to her. Stopping just a step away, he hesitated before opening his arms. She peeked up at him from under her bangs. “Come here.” He said it like a sigh. A whimper, and then he had a face full of blond hair. He did not allow himself to wince at how tightly she hugged him. Someone needed to give the poor thing some damn time. “He is not angry with you,” he assured as he hugged her back. “He would have no right to be, under any circumstance. Solutions to problems you were left to solve on your lonesome are not for him to judge.”

“I know.” Her sweet voice trembled around the words. He tutted, smoothing some loose strands of hair down her back. “I just—he finally wants to be in my life after all this time and I can't help but worry he thinks I don't want him, because I have you. But I want both of you.” She wept quietly. Stifled whimpers and hitched gasps. He wondered how young she was when she had learned to cry quietly. Had she done so because doing it loudly would garner punishment? Or had she simply learned that she would be ignored no matter what?

Alastor didn't remember crying much, when he was young. Be it lost toys or broken bones, it hadn't felt all-encompassing enough to degrade himself to such weakness. He believed he had cried the night he found out his father was lynched. But not because he was sad. He had been sad, of course, but he had also been terrified. They were never convicted, but he knew who had done it. The same men that spat slurs at him and his classmates as they walked into school. Threatened to do horrible things to his mother, while he watched, and then to him, once they had killed her. He had been convinced they would, now that his father was gone. Who would protect them? Who would care about people like them? He hadn't been able to tell his mother all of that, he had barely been able to breathe. His mother had rocked him and hushed him until he fell asleep for nights on end.

But he couldn't rock someone on their feet. And he didn't want to make Charlie feel as though her tears weren't welcome. “There, there,” he settled on, patting her back. “Let it out.” It had felt good, in a strange way, when Vaggie had said it to him. If only she had come with them. “With how long he was absent from your life, it's only natural you would try to move on. It's his job to earn your trust, now. It takes more to do so than a few favours. If he cannot handle that simple truth, he does not deserve you.” Charlie sniffled, finally letting him go and stepping backwards, wiping her cheeks. Alastor fixed the collar of her shirt, smiling gently. “But I wouldn't worry. You do have a way of making people want to try. If our new patrons are any indication.” He winked, and was rewarded with a small smile.

“Thanks, Alastor.” She took the offered tissue, dabbing the ruined makeup off her face. “I know you have a reputation to maintain, but between you and me, you're a wonderful friend.”

His throat tightened, heart back-flipping in his chest. Alastor had many friends, but they never addressed each other as such. And none of them felt like this. The closest he could think of was Rosie, who had seen him frown a grand total of twice. He would rather die than sob on his knees before her, like he had done with Vaggie, Angel, and Husk. He would sooner kiss Vox on camera than say half the gobbledygook he was saying to Charlie, to her. Did Alastor have many friends, or did he have people to cash in favours from?

Charlie took a deep breath, then offered her arm. “Okay. Phew. No more being dramatic. Let's go tweak that shield!”

Alastor hummed, taking the offer and pretending not to notice the way she eyed the bloodstain on his coat. “Do let's.”

Chapter Text

The library was a mess by the time Charlie had finally tired herself out enough to fall asleep in her seat. Alastor waited until soft snores echoed through the room to carry her to bed. Not an easy feat while bleeding out, but he managed. Her room was just as plush and cluttered as her office at the hotel. Papers covered in doodles all over the floor, blazers strewn about, beanbag chairs and fluffy mats blocking every step. Heaven forbid the floor see the light of day. He wasn't sure where her pillows ended and the bed began. She didn't seem to mind as he set her down and tucked her in. He gave her head a parting pat. “Get some rest.”

She hummed. “M'kay... G'night, Dad.”

Alastor zipped out under her door via shadows. He pressed his clammy palm over his racing heart. People said the silliest things while delirious from lack of sleep.

That was what he told himself as he wandered through the halls, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Tacky, if he could only use one word. All marble countertops and stainless steel. White cabinets, false brick patterns on the white walls, high white ceiling that sported several chandeliers. None of them matched each other, or the theme of the kitchen. If one could even call it that. The stove was far away from the sink and fridge, tucked into the very corner of the room. How anyone got any cooking done in here was beyond Alastor. The King probably chose the fanciest furniture and left it where the poor movers put it. Leave the rest to the staff.

Did Lucifer even need staff? He could conjure anything his heart desired, did he even need a kitchen? Did he need to eat? Charlie did; she got quite cranky when she missed breakfast, but Lucifer? He never joined in on their meals in the staff kitchen. Which was fine by Alastor; considering the man was hardly a guest, much less a staff member. He had heard tales of post-extermination pancakes from Angel while the two of them had been destroying the hidden cameras in the porn studio dressing rooms. “ Huge fuckin’ stacks of ‘em, just, anywhere ya could look, ” he had told him. Alastor had hummed as he watched the spider take a bat to yet another vanity, crushing lenses and wires along with the glass. “ I mean, it was sweet of him, but holy shit. ” Having his chest cleaved apart could not have come at a better time, it seemed.

Said injury throbbed, as if activated by his very thoughts. Growling, he hunched forward, trying in vain to ease the pain. He brought a glowing palm again to his chest. The white light crackled to life, hissing and biting at his power. Eating it.

Alastor's legs gave out. His bad knee hit the floor, spiking his static and cracking the nearby plates. Warm wetness seeped into his shirt. He needed… no, there was no way he would be able to prepare an alter for the lwa on his lonesome before keeling over. Even his own Baron, low-maintenance as he was, would likely turn up his nose after the way Alastor had treated them. He would probably laugh while digging his second grave. Alastor briefly considered laying here and letting the infection take him. But no. He refused to die on a leash. He was better than that.

So, he clawed his way to his feet and limped back to the stairs. The bannister creaked under his weight. Lucifer was going to have a field day with this. The little king acted pathetic (and was pathetic, make no mistake) but Alastor was no fool. He was The Devil for a reason. He was just as capable of cruelty as Alastor himself. Arguably more so. What sort of twisted fun would he demand out of this favour? If he was anything like Lilith—Alastor's blood ran cold. Maybe dying on a leash wasn't so bad.

Soft, yellow light flickered through the bottom of The King's door. Large, white oak, decorated with golden trim. Somehow, even that was annoying. He bit his cheek hard and knock knock knock ed on the door before he could change his mind. A curse, the slide of frantic hooves on a hardwood floor, and then the door swung open. Lucifer was, once again, in only his white robe and rubber duck boxers. His hair was a mess, cow-licked to hell and back, with some strands stuck to his forehead with sweat. His yellow eyes were orange around the rim. Had he been crying? Over what? His own tantrum? His entire face burned gold as he registered the unimpressed demon before him. “Again with the undergarments?”

“Fuck you! What do you even want?!”

Alastor chuffed, standing up straight to truly look down at The King. His chest spasmed, and he hunched as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Lucifer staggered backwards, wide eyes scanning him up and down. Then he smirked. “‘ Won't be necessary,’ huh? Yeah, looks like you got everything under control.”

Alastor snarled, walking his free hand up the wall in an attempt to stand up straight. ‘ I would hate to leave Charlie without a father figure’ was on the tip of his tongue. “Ī ħⱥꝟē... ᵯīꞩȼⱥłȼᵾłⱥⱦēđ.”

“Uh huh.” Lucifer took a bold step closer. On instinct, Alastor scrambled away, ears flat on his head, baring his fangs. “Really? We're still doing this?” The King crossed his arms. “What is with you and the stranger danger, dude?”

He clenched his jaw. “I'm sure I haven't the ӻⱥīꞥⱦēꞩⱦ idea what you're talking about.”

“God, you are such an annoying piece of shit.”

Alastor only grinned wider. Hardly the worst thing he had ever been called. He was a little disappointed The King would put in so little effort. But not surprised.

“You know in order to heal you, I'm gonna have to touch you, right?”

Alastor grimaced. “You will be keeping your hands to yourself until you tell me what you want.” 

Lucifer blinked, froglike. “What?”

Alastor huffed, feeling a migraine coming on. “What inane nonsense would you demand in exchange for this? A duck-shaped radio, perhaps?”

Lucifer frowned, tilting his head. His eyes held nothing but confusion; glassy, open books. It made Alastor’s teeth itch. How comfortable one could get, with so much power at their fingertips. “What?”

It took every ounce of self-control he had left to not lunge for the throat right then and there. “I’d suggest you not waste my time any longer, unless you want your daughter to have to clean yet another one of your messes.” He clapped thrice. “Chop chop chop, we don’t have all night.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Alastor sighed through his nose and turned on his heel. “Very well. I do hope Charlie isn’t too upset to be woken up at this hour—!” He managed about three steps before being rudely grabbed and thrown into a wall. Pain erupted on his chest, pushing a static-laced yelp out of him. He dug his claws into the wall, refusing to fall to his knees in front of The King. The click of a door being shut made his ears perk up. He opened his eyes, hissing as the soft yellow light made his migraine flare up.

Lucifer had thrown him into his room. The light was coming from a lamp next to a workbench. Loose papers littered the table and floor. Lucifer's bed was large and well-kept, sheets pristine white with gold accents. Too pristine. It looked as though it hadn't been used in some time. Unless the rubber ducks counted.

A hand on his wrist snapped him out of his thoughts. He yanked himself free, snarling at the blood red eyes boring into him. “Do you want to be healed or not?”

“As I’ve said multiple times now, not until you disclose the terms and conditions.” He couldn’t be in debt to Lucifer, of all demons. One Morningstar breathing down his neck was enough.

“Sure, terms and conditions: hold the fuck still and don’t bite my head off while I’m saving your ass.”

Lucifer reached for his coat.

Alastor batted his hand away. “ What do you want? ”

Lucifer groaned, looking up as if exchanging an incredulous look with God Himself. “To heal you?? Have I not made that clear?”

“For fuck’s sake, are you really this incompetent? Do you know nothing about the workings of your own Kingdom?”

Lucifer scoffed. “If you think for a second that I’d make any kind of deal with someone like you, you’ve got another thing coming. What could you possibly have that I want?”

Alastor snarled. Oh, he could think of a few things. If the stitches would allow it, he would list them in alphabetical order and in detail. Oh to watch Lucifer’s little face crumble in horror at the revelation of his wife’s whereabouts. Of just who she had been showering with her revolting affection in her absence. The thought was almost enough to make the skin-shredding discomfort worth it.

“Exactly,” Lucifer huffed, misinterpreting his silence.

Alastor let him. Growling, he lowered his arms and averted his eyes. “Very well.” A free favour from The Devil himself. It would be wise to assume such a thing was too good to be true. But Alastor was no fool. The King was not doing him a favour; he was sparing his own pride. You don’t take shit from other demons. Charlie’s crude impression replayed in his head. Rumours tended to fly, especially in hell, and especially about The King. One of the few Alastor had confirmed was that Lucifer had not a single soul to his name. Because such things were below him. Even fallen, his power was beyond anything even the most heinous fiend could dream to acquire down here.

Hands fiddling with his buttons snapped him out of his seething. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Unbuttoning your coat—!”

Alastor swiped at his hand, narrowly avoiding piercing the skin.

“Dude!”

“You will not remove my clothing.”

“You want it grafted into your skin? Cuz that's what'll happen if I try to heal you over it.”

Alastor snarled. He knew that was a lie, he himself could heal over top of his own clothing, there was no reason Lucifer wouldn't be able to. Looking to humiliate him further, Alastor supposed. It wasn't as if he was in any position to reject him.

The King stepped aside, motioning to his bed. Alastor trudged forward, not looking at him. Waves of agony punched little groans out of him. If Lucifer noticed, he did not comment. Small mercies. The King did walk far too close to him for Alastor's liking, though. Not unlike the way Lilith would suddenly appear and grab him from behind. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Was that why Lucifer wanted him to take his shirt off? To touch him like she did? Make him squirm and beg?

And he was walking right into it. Willingly. But what other choice did he have?

The King brushed several ducks off the edge of his bed and sat on the far side. He looked at Alastor, cringed, stood up again, and rolled his office chair over to the bed. He stood between the two, fidgeting, suddenly very interested in the ducks he had knocked away.

Alastor swallowed static, limped over to the distracted king, and all but dropped into the chair. He could not hold back a wince, nor could he steady the shaky pants he uttered as pain wracked his core. The wound glowed white again, and this time, the light washed over him. A bleat caught in his throat. It was as though his very bones were red-hot, cooking him from the inside.

Lucifer turned back to him, arms full of ducks, which he dropped next to himself on the bed. “Fuck,” he muttered as the white light pulsed. “I didn’t do this. Who the hell did you piss off?”

“Ħⱥħ... ⱳħⱥⱦ ⱥ łꝋⱥđēđ ꝗᵾēꞩⱦīꝋꞥ, Ɏꝋᵾɍ Ħīꞡħꞥēꞩꞩ.” Hands on his torso, tugging at his buttons. Alastor's eyes flew open—when had he closed them?—and he just barely managed to keep himself from swiping at him. He did, however; snarl, low and deep in his throat.

Lucifer rolled his eyes and continued to unbutton his coat. “This is a nasty fucking Smite. I'm surprised you're still standing.” Cold air hit his bare chest. Or maybe it only felt cold because he was on fire. Lucifer rolled up his sleeves, only for them to roll back down. After trying, and failing, to keep them out of the way, he huffed and let the robe fall off his shoulders. Alabaster skin practically glowed in the dim room. Unblemished, aside from two thin, matching scars, right under his pecs.

Lucifer inched his hands closer and closer to the gaping wound. His fingertips glowed gold. Alastor couldn't help but shrink as he brushed the edge of the injury. At his touch, another white wave sent agony through his body. The King frowned in concentration as he poked and prodded at the flaky golden skin outlining Alastor's wound. Another flash of white. The golden outline ate away at his flesh, covering his entire chest now. Lucifer hummed, tilting his head. He pressed his fingertips against the edge of the wound. As if trying to force it closed. Warm, golden light poured from his palms. The Smite reared back like a snake, white glowing fangs digging into The King's wrist. Lucifer flinched, but didn't stop.

Nausea blurred Alastor’s vision. He swallowed a retch, taking shallow breaths through his teeth. Lucifer apologised, and it took Alastor an embarrassingly long time to recall what for. It did hurt, but he would take any pain The King could throw at him if it meant he would remove his hands from his person. As it was, he fanned his fingers over Alastor's chest, making him shudder. He bit his lip, black blood gushing down his chin and onto the backs of Lucifer's hands. “The fuck?” He looked up, then grimaced. “Jesus, dude.”

Alastor hoped his responding growl conveyed enough.

Lucifer glanced down, eyeing his hands. Clenched into fists, bloodied from the claws digging into his palms. “I'm trying to keep the blood in your body. Come on, if you need to hold onto something—”

Alastor didn't register his words. All he could focus on was the hand around his wrist. Yanking him forward.

A screech of feedback, static, and then, his back hit the wall. Cold. Solid. The ringing in his ears quieted to a buzz. He was snarling, he realised, and pressed as far into the wall as he could get. One hand covered his now burning chest, the other shook under his weight. His nails were streaked with gold.

Lucifer struggled to sit up, like a beetle on its back. He held his bleeding cheek, eyes blood red, horns out, fangs elongated. Alastor flinched and looked away as The King jumped to his feet. Would Lucifer go further than her? Touch him in ways he could never claw away?

A voice, muffled by the static in his ears.

Hands once again found his wrist.

He bit through his lip, allowing it. Not that it would make a difference, now. Lucifer was... not yanking him closer? He was... apologising? He sounded short of breath, despite the powerful grip on his wrist. Why was he apologising? Why wasn't he stopping? Alastor opened his mouth to ask, but stuttered over his own choppy breaths, and realised—“ ł'₥ ₴ØⱤⱤɎ, ł'₥ ₴ØⱤⱤɎ, ł'₥ ₴-₴ØⱤⱤɎ, ł... I'm...”—he had been the one blubbering like a fool.

“It's okay,” he finally heard The King say, “I'm fine, just, calm down, 'kay?”

Alastor yanked his wrist back, hugging himself tight.

“Does the touching bug you that much?”

He could only growl.

“Ooo-kay,” Lucifer held up both hands in surrender. “Okay. That's... new information. Look, just, grab onto my shoulders, okay? If you need to dig into something, I'll heal quick. You need all the blood you can get, at this point.”

Alastor squinted up at him. His eyes were yellow once again, and glowing with anxiety. Mouth a tight line. Kneeling a few steps away from him, with some pants on, now. Sky blue, still decorated with little ducks. His cheek was already scabbed over. There was no eager glint in his eye, no twitch in his hands. Alastor hesitated. He could just be better at hiding it than Lilith. He was The King of Lies, after all. But then, why would he need to hide it? There wasn't a damn thing Alastor could do to stop him from doing whatever the hell he wanted to him. He knew that. Yet there he was, sitting with his hands up, waiting.

Groaning, he pushed himself up, hissing at the small pool of blood left on the floor. He shuffled closer to The King, who kept his hands up, within sight. Slowly, he settled his palms over Lucifer's shoulders, digging his claws in. He took a little satisfaction in the way he winced. “Okay. Now, I'm gonna put my hands back on you. Is that okay?”

What does it matter? You're going to do it anyway. Alastor nodded, keeping his head down. He watched as cautious fingers inched closer to his torso. Golden light kissed his skin as Lucifer once again pushed against his wound. Warm, golden-white blood trickled out from under Alastor’s nails. He shuddered when Lucifer spread his fingers over his chest again. Perking up, The King squinted at him before saying:

“I'm trying to find where the Smite has taken root so I can rip it out. Kinda like trying to find a knot in a muscle.”

“I wasn't aware muscles could grow knots.” His voice came out breathy and ragged.

“Haven't you ever given someone a massage before?”

Alastor's smile thinned in lieu of a response.

Lucifer sighed as he pushed harder. “I don't know... like digging a bullet out of your skin?”

Alastor hummed. “Those can get—” a sharp breath, “...tricky,” he finished through gritted teeth. “Broken shells are a helluvan event.”

“Of course you would know that as opposed to a massage.”

“One is far more useful to know.”

Lucifer scoffed. “Why am I helping you again?”

Alastor hummed, tilting his head and saying nothing. He let The King poke and prod, never taking his eyes off him. Alastor wasn't certain he had noticed the myriad of scars littered over what remained of his skin. He didn’t seem all too interested in his body at all. Still, he had fallen in love with Lilith for a reason. They had been together for millennia. That had to mean something. He still wore the damn ring!

A simple gold band, snug around The King's finger. A bit bland for the demon he knew Lilith to be these days. She had spoken of Lucifer once, while Alastor had been under her 'care'. A spineless child with the power of a sun and nary a drop of ambition nor control to use it effectively, he believed were her exact words. It seemed a bit harsh, for someone she had loved for so long. Perhaps she had never loved him at all. What a performance, if that was the case. Centuries of flawless acting. He had rubbed elbows with her during Overlord meetings, before the seven years. She had been perfectly polite, if a bit aloof. He had assumed it was the exhaustion that came with running Hell on her lonesome.

She had spoken fondly, if guarded, about Lucifer when asked. Her eyes had softened, and her smile had settled into something with less teeth. He's very busy, she would tell them, working away on his next little project. He wondered if Lucifer had stayed holed up in the palace by choice. It was hard to imagine anyone forcing The King to do anything, but he supposed she would have the best shot.

Lucifer dug his fingers into the very edge of Alastor's wound, making him hiss. “Sorry. I found it. This is gonna hurt. A lot. I won't be able to stop once I start. Are you ready?”

“Do your worst, Your Majesty.”

Lucifer grumbled, took a deep breath, and then sank his claws into Alastor's chest.

Or perhaps it simply felt that way.

Regardless, Alastor screamed.

All the windows shattered, as did the glass of water on Lucifer's nightstand. Shadows climbed up the walls, bearing their grinning fangs, ready to pounce and protect. They kicked up a whirlwind, a dark tornado closing in on them. Lucifer unfurled his wings with a flick, and Alastor felt it as his minions were knocked away.

This was a trap.

It was a trap and he had walked right into it. What little soul he still had was in The King of Hell's clutches and he was ripping it apart—“It's okay,” Lucifer's voice pierced through the static. “It's okay, I know it hurts, just try to hold still, I don't wanna have to restrain you. Just breathe. It's okay.”

It was such an odd shift that for a moment, all Alastor could feel was confused. He blinked his watery eyes open. Lucifer's horns were fully out, his eyes red and sharp as he bored into the wound. White light snaked its way around Lucifer's arm, over his shoulder, up his neck, and into his nostrils. “I’m almost done.”

Alastor would have snapped at him if he weren't on the verge of losing his dinner. He took a slow, rickety breath through his nose, then exhaled through gritted teeth. Four, two, four, like Angel had shown him. He wondered if the other had finished all that paperwork. All sorts of new hoops for Overlords to jump through, these days.

As the last of the energy slithered out of him, the pain faded to a buzz. Little pricks of a needle stitching him up. The subtle burn of disinfectant. Then, Lucifer removed his hands. “There, that should do it... you, uh, you good there?”

He couldn't feel his legs. His arms were barely there, more pins and needles than limbs. His core ached. Every breath was like inhaling embers. His eyes and nose would not stop watering. The room spun. He barely registered turning over and vomiting.

Lucifer squawked, scrambling backwards. “Aw, fucking hell.”

If it wouldn't cost him his balance, Alastor would have flipped him off. He heaved until his throat was raw and his head was pounding. A hand on his back cut through any and every other horrid sensation in his body. He managed to throw himself backwards, landing in a heap of limbs and snarling. “ ĐØ ₦Ø₮ ₮ØɄ₵Ⱨ ₥Ɇ. ” He brought a shaking hand to where The King had touched and clawed at it.

“For fuck’s sake, I just healed you!” A sigh. “Okay, fine, I'm sorry, I forgot. Stop,” a tap to the back of his hand, “doing that shit.”

He snatched his hand away and bit it.

A long, slow sigh. Porcelain skin was shoved under his nose. On instinct, Alastor bit, hard. Warm, liquid gold gushed into his mouth. The flesh was tender as a lamb's. It came apart easily in Alastor's jaws. Saffron, lemon grass, and a hint of hibiscus. Blood dribbled down his chin as he gobbled down whatever he could snatch. A huff, and then the arm was pulled from his weak grip. He blinked sluggishly. Sunspots danced at the corner of his eye. He tried—and failed—to lift his heavy head.

Tired.

He was so tired.

“There. Now,” Lucifer's blurry face hovered over him, “I'm going to lift you up and put you back on the chair.”

Alastor furrowed his brows. How was a floating head to carry him? Furthermore, Alastor did not need to be carried, nor did he want to be. He was perfectly capable of walking. To prove it, he pushed himself to his feet. Or, he assumed he did, because he was moving. His cheek was pressed against something warm and solid. Soft, and smelling of hibiscus. He had thought Lilith would have driven him off of anything floral for the foreseeable future, but this was subtle enough to be nice. Warm like his childhood home after returning from school. Sweet like a freshly baked apple pie. He buried his face into the scent, his body buzzing pleasantly.

“If you fucking bite me, I'm biting you back.”

Alastor was dropped onto the chair, which spun under his sudden weight. He groaned, trying to sit up, and sank to the ground instead. The King's bare hooves stood before him, one tapping in agitation. He knelt, and Alastor writhed as arms snaked around him. Lucifer only grunted and dropped him onto his too-large bed.

Alastor groaned, rolling onto his stomach. A mistake; his chest immediately stung in protest. He turned back over with a whine. Lucifer sat as far away from him as possible. “So. Who'd you piss off?”

“Hah... getting me in your bed under the influence... what would Charlie say...”

“One, gross, you smell and look like shit. Two, answer the question or shut up.”

“Hah! How droll... coming from a man who spends all day in his undergarments.” He curled up, trying in vain to shield himself. Just because Lucifer had already seen him bare did not mean he needed to continue to do so. Something fluffy fell over him. White, with that same scent clinging to it. Alastor pinched the robe between his thumb and forefinger, furrowing his brows. Far too small for him, but it was better than nothing, he supposed.

He sat up slowly, still dizzy, and fumbled with the garment. Where were the arm holes? His claws snagged several times, but the downy fluff felt nice in his hands, so he couldn't be too cross. Lucifer, on the other hand, grumbled and snapped his fingers. The robe levitated and slipped itself over Alastor, nearly swaddling him. “You don't get Smited for no reason, and I highly doubt The Big Man pays enough attention to you to warrant something like this. So, what's the deal?”

Alastor squished the down he had ripped between his finger and thumb. “Angel's fur is softer.”

“...What.”

“Have you ever felt it? Truly fascinating. He goes to such lengths to keep it so silky! How he finds the time is beyond me. The things they come up with these days...” He flicked the fluff off his claws. “Ah, but he's so busy these days. Overlord business is such a drag. Hah! Oh, have you seen his drag shows? I was apprehensive, but the man knows how to work his audience, I will give him that! A shame the lipstick stained my monocle, though. I was partial to that one.”

“You... Angel does drag?”

“Hah! Oh, you truly know nothing of our residents. Day-to-days of lowly sinners still too inconsequential for his Highness, hmm? I do wonder where Charlie gets her charm from.”

Lucifer scowled.

“She must take after my side of the family!”

“Last I checked, she wasn't chopping people up and eating them, so that's out.”

“Oh, that skips a generation.”

Silence, and then, a snort. Lucifer's laugh was light and airy. A weak, nervous thing stepping into the sun for the first time in years. With a shake of his head, The King slumped against the bed frame. “Well, thank goodness for that.”

“ Puh-shaw. You could both stand to broaden your food horizons. One bite of my gumbo will have you singing a different tune.”

“I'll pass.”

“Hmm. Your loss.” Alastor studied the canopy; white, gold, and red, like the rest of the palace. Little duck-shaped string lights hung above them, glowing a soft pink. He recalled the cufflinks, and couldn't stifle a chuckle. It bloomed into a full-on laugh, and then cackling. His chest ached with every heaving breath, but he couldn't find it within himself to care. It was just too ridiculous! The Devil, Lucifer the Morning Star, a beast beyond comprehension; enamoured with little yellow mallards. Forget pigs, modern humans ought to get with the times and label ducks a sign of The Devil. Cloven hooves? Old news. Webbed feet? Sound the alarm!

“You're going to pop your stitches.”

Alastor turned his head, giggles still wracking his body. Lucifer had since found a shirt, plain white and far too large for him. It looked too formal to sleep in; ruffled chest and frilly sleeves. Certainly not the thing to match blue duckie pyjama pants. This only made him laugh harder. Who would have guessed The Devil would be so silly?

He crawled over to Lucifer's side of the bed, peering at his hooves. Not webbed. Shame. “You should give yourself duck feet.”

“I... why?”

“You like ducks.” The way his nose scrunched up as he struggled to follow Alastor's flawless logic left him glowing with mirth. “A bill, too, while you're at it. That way, if you're blathering on, I can just,” he pinched The King's lips between his thumb and forefinger. “Ahh, sweet silence.”

Lucifer's entire face flushed gold. His wide eyes flicked from Alastor's hand to his face. His corneas flashed red, then melted back into yellow. “You are high as a kite.”

It came out muffled, but Alastor had always had keen ears. He released The King, wiping his hand on the robe. “And who's fault is that, hmm?”

“Uh, yours? For fucking mauling yourself like a freak??”

Alastor hummed. “Funny. I distinctly recall telling you not to touch me, which was followed by you ignoring me and proceeding to do just that. Twice.”

“So that means it's fine for you to just claw yourself up after I just spent an hour healing you? I barely even touched you!”

“Barely touching is still touching. I did not think I had to spell that out for you.”

“ Uhg, you are such an insufferable little bitch.”

“Look at the pot calling the kettle black. One would think following a simple boundary would be no issue, even for you. Charlie only had to be told once.”

“Excuse me for trying to offer some comfort while you were vomiting on my floor.”

“You have a very warped idea of comfort.”

“Oh do I?”

“Yes. ' Take what I give you and be grateful to receive anything at all ' is far from what I'd call comforting. It's no wonder your daughter turns to me in times of emotional turmoil.”

A fist slammed into Alastor's face, sending him tumbling off the bed. He landed on his back, only flailing for a moment before he was pinned by searing palms and a furious glare. “Shut the fuck up! You think you can just prance in here, do a few magic tricks, and replace me? You're not her fucking dad! You didn't raise her! You weren't in labour with her for 32 fucking hours!”

“Yet I am who she first turns to when she needs help. She chose me to run the hotel by her side. She came to me when she was having issues with her girlfriend. She asked me to teach her the offensive spells that may have saved lives when the angels attacked. A fight you didn't even bother to turn up to until the last minute. She dreaded even speaking to you on the phone! I don't need to try and replace you, she can do so perfectly well on her own.” He panted, chest tight with anger and spite. The nerve of him. Thinking he had any leg to stand on just because he shared blood with her. Blood couldn't tuck someone in at night. It couldn't give someone a hug during a hard time. It couldn't listen to their ideas (cockamamie as they may be).

Lucifer's nostrils flared, lips curling in a snarl as his grip tightened. His horns had sprouted to their full height, a jewel of hellfire blazing between them. His chest heaved, every exhale smelling of brimstone as it fanned over Alastor's face. He did not dare speak, but held The Devil's hateful gaze. Arching a brow. Daring him to strike. See who Charlie called 'Dad' then. 

A throaty whimper. A splash of sorrow on Alastor's cheek. He stared, slack-jawed as The King's fury withered into something pitiful. His lip quivered around a tight breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing more tears out. They fell on Alastor's nose, on his forehead, on his chin. He blinked. Flexed his half-numb fingers. Opened his mouth. Closed it.

Lucifer rolled off of him. He uttered a sob and curled into himself, wings unfurling to swaddle him. The pathetic bundle of agony flopped against the bed, trembling with little whimpers.

Alastor slowly pushed himself up on his elbows. That... was not what he had expected. For all his flaws, Lucifer had at least appeared well put-together. Easy to annoy, hard to upset. Hell, The King had tossed him around like a chew toy just this afternoon! One little dig at his parenting skills—or lack thereof—and this was his response?

… He sounded so much like Charlie. Right down to the stifled gasps; trying in vain to cry quietly. “Sire, please, get a hold of yourself.”

A sob was his only response.

“This is hardly befitting of The King of Hell, don't you think?”

“I don't care!” Lucifer whipped around to glare at him. His cheeks were flushed and swollen. Red eyes shot with golden blood vessels. Throat bobbing with poorly-hidden sobs. “I don't care what 'The King of Hell' would do! I never fucking asked to be The King of Hell! I never asked to be The Devil! I just wanted to help humanity! I thought they deserved the right to choose! ” Fat tears streamed down his cheeks. “But I was wrong. I was fucking wrong. I fucked everything up, and now they've all become monsters! Like you! ” He thrust a trembling finger towards Alastor, who could only blink. “Yeah, I know what you did. 29 fucking people you killed, all because, what, you could? You were bored? And now—” he uttered a wet laugh, “—now, I get to reap what I sewed, because I'm trapped down here with you.” He buried his face against his knees. Shoulders heaving. Fists trembling as they clung to his sleeves.

A glint of gold caught Alastor’s eye as he sat up properly. The wedding band. He swallowed dryly, readjusting the robe. “Why do you still wear that?”

Lucifer sniffled, lifting his hand to stare at the ring. This was the man who had bested him in a spar, earlier? Without even breaking a sweat? What gave him the right to sit there, on the floor, like he was defeated? What did that say about Alastor's power? How pathetic was he, that he couldn't stand up to this?

“Why lug it around like some sort of chain? She clearly wouldn't do the same for you.”

Lucifer ignored his very logical suggestions in favour of heaving another sob into his crossed arms. Alastor's ears lay flat against his head. How annoying. He found himself grateful, not for the first time, that he had never been in love. It only led to trouble. Having Charlie and the others was bothersome enough.

“If you're just going to insult me, then leave!”

Go away, Alastor, I'm not in the mood for you being an asshole right now!

He settled against the bed, running his palms over the robe. Still so abnormally soft. It had to be charmed, or something. “My intention is not to insult you. I'm simply curious. Why carry around a reminder of your failed love? Does that not just cause you pain every time you look at it? Self-harm is not a healthy coping mechanism, Sire.” The irony of those words coming out of his mouth were not lost on him.

“Since when do you care?”

“Wrong c-word, Sire.”

Lucifer gave him an incredulous look.

“Curiosity! Don't you listen?”

Silence, and then, a sigh that almost sounded like a laugh. Lucifer brushed his fingertips over the ring, almost reverently. “We fell together. We built all this together. I can't just...” he shook his head.

“I was under the impression that she built all of this while you canoodled with your ducks.”

“I didn't wanna hold her back. I didn't wanna be like Adam. She was so excited to build something new, and I—I wanted her to be happy. She was the one good thing I had left. And then we had Charlie and I—I thought everything would be fine. But I couldn't... I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I tried to talk to Heaven and make them understand but they never listened. And every sinner I talked to was just so horrible. I thought about undoing it, or trying to, but...” he squeezed his own shaking hands. “But I didn't know what would happen to Lilith. Or Charlie. If they lost their ability to choose, God would... He would hurt them, He would probably make me hurt them. And He still wouldn't take me back.” He snarled at the roof. “And I don't fucking want Him back either.”

A bolt of white-hot lightning struck the garden below. Alastor did not miss how Lucifer jumped, then quickly rearranged himself. “I couldn't take that risk. Lilith worked so hard to make Hell into something... I couldn't take that away from her. I wanted her to have a choice.”

Alastor hummed, studying the patterns in the hardwood floor. “And she chose to leave you. And Charlie.”

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, pushing out more tears. “It was all my fault.”

Alastor tilted his head. The King of Hell, admitting to his mistakes? What an evening.

“I was... I was so caught up in Heaven and what we had done... I couldn't focus on anything else. She got sick of it. I couldn't take care of her. I couldn't take care of Charlie. Fuck, you've taken better care of her than me. Her own dad couldn't even leave his workshop to tuck her in... useless...” He grabbed fistfuls of his hair, rocking back and forth. Muttering under his breath. Weeping. This was no King. This was a lost little cherub desperate for approval. An angel at heart, even after all these millennia.

Alastor shifted to face him, sitting cross-legged despite his aching joints. It was hardly noticeable through the pleasant golden haze in his mind. “Forgive my curiosity, but if the two of you fell together, should you not be taking care of each other, as opposed to said burden being yours alone to bear?”

That got Lucifer to lift his head, eyeing Alastor like it was an absurd thing to ask. “I—I don't—”

“Need to be taken care of?”

“No, I don't—... I mean, I shouldn't... It was my own fault.” He uncurled from his self-imposed wing burrito. His horns sank back into his head, but his eyes stayed red. Wide and brimming with tears, with a hint of indignance in his furrowed brows. “It's not like she was never there for me. She...” He shook his head. “Why am I telling you this?”

“Perhaps you've spent too long not talking about it and are now desperate for any listening ear you can find!” He giggled at the other's glare. “Oh, come now, is it so bad to talk about your deepest regrets and sorrows? What could I possibly do with that information? Who would believe me?”

“Charlie would.”

Alastor shot him a dry look. “I have no intention of dumping this mess on Charlie. The last thing she needs is to get it into her head that she can or should fix her own father.”

Lucifer stared at him as though he had just spoken in tongues.

Alastor opted to ignore him in favour of the swirling patterns on the floor. He couldn't wrap his head around the idea of Lilith actually comforting someone. Much less someone as emotional as Lucifer. He appeared to enjoy touch, at the very least. But the way she touched him was hardly comforting. He had a hard time believing anyone would find that comforting. And the way he kept reiterating that this mess was his own fault... unease settled low in Alastor's stomach. Lucifer had clearly loved her. People did foolish things for those they loved. Allowed things they would never otherwise consider. Was that why The King was so wishy-washy now? Had she broken him and then gotten bored?

Eventually, Lucifer slumped and rested his chin on his knees. “I tried not to bother her with it, too often. She was building,” he gestured to the view outside his window, “all this and—and it was my own fault anyway. But she took care of me when she found me.”

“Took care of you?”

“Yeah... y-y'know,” he flushed, “hugs, kisses, hot cocoa, the works.” He hunched, as if trying to hide. Alastor wasn't sure if it was embarrassment, or a tell. “But, y'know, 's not her responsibility to constantly put me back together. It was my own fault.”

“You seem to imply that because it was 'your own fault' that you have no right to be upset with the results. Do you deny yourself the right to curse when you stub your toe?”

“I don't have toes.”

“Dodging the question.”

Lucifer sighed. “That's different. That's an accident. This was... they told me not to... not to mess with anything.”

“Did they?”

“Yes! I brought it up, and they were pretty clear that I wasn't to do anything like that.”

“Why?”

“Because then people like you happen.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“...No. They shouldn't have had to.”

“It seems to me, if the reasons not to give humanity the right to choose were so clear and obvious, they would have told you them directly, so as to avoid exactly what happened, don't you think?”

Lucifer hunched further into himself. “It doesn't matter what I think. I shouldn't have been thinking at all. I should have just listened.”

“Like all the exterminators who so joyously flew down here every year to slaughter every sinner in sight? Do you honestly think every sinner in Hell deserves such a fate? Even the children?”

Lucifer wrinkled his nose. “There are no children in Hell. Aside from whatever the Hellborn produce.”

“You've been locked away for quite some time, Your Majesty.”

The horns returned, intense red eyes locking on Alastor. “There are children down here?!”

“Plenty. Orphaned and alone, most of them. Poor, poor souls. I know a lovely couple who adopted one! Have you ever been to Chi-Miracle —?”

“What the FUCK?!” He was up, now, pacing, flames spilling out of his mouth. “What could a child have possibly done to earn a place down here?! Next to you!? ” He jabbed a finger at Alastor, who merely tilted his head, smiling easily. “You fucking killed a baby for shits and giggles and now actual babies are—!”

Feedback rattled the room as Alastor snapped his head towards The King. “ł ฿Ɇ₲ ɎØɄⱤ Ʉ₦ⱧØⱠɎ ₱₳ⱤĐØ₦?”

Lucifer jumped back a little, then righted himself. “Don't fucking play coy with me, I have access to every record of every single sinner that falls down here. I told you I know what you did.”

Alastor stood up, bones cracking as his anger overpowered Lucifer's blood. “I did not harm any children, much less an infant. Aside from the fact that it would be horribly boring, I have standards. ”

“Pfft, yeah, the serial killer has standards. ”

“I'll have you know the only 'children' I went after were those that had grown up and belonged to those who had earned themselves a bit of ꞩᵾӻӻēɍīꞥꞡ. ”

“Oh, yeah, that's so much better. Killing people's kids just to fuck with them.”

“You truly do know nothing about me, if you think I would harm an infant.”

“Oh really?” Lucifer snapped his fingers. A ball of light appeared between them, showing the interior of a dark house. The shadow of a man hefted an axe above his head. A scream. Frantic movement. The quail of a baby. Impact. More screaming. Crying. Pleading. Impact. Impact. Impact. Footsteps. The creak of a screen door opening and closing. The scene shifted, so that the man's frame was outlined by moonlight as he skulked away into the woods. “Look familiar?” Lucifer sneered.

Alastor took in the man's short, dirty blond hair, pale skin, and bright blue eyes. He returned The Devil's sneer. “That is not me, you imbecile. I did not kill with an axe, nor did I break into people's homes. Too risky.”

Lucifer lifted a brow, then snapped his fingers again. Alastor's eyes flashed white for a moment. When he regained his vision, he was left with a tickle in his nose and buzzing over his skin. He lifted a hand to scratch his antlers, and felt nothing but thick curls. Gasping, he brought his hand down to stare at it. Light brown skin, paler on his palm. Lucifer was staring at him, confusion written all over his face. He shook his head, then snapped again. This time, nothing happened. “Oh... shit.”

Alastor scoffed, crossing his arms. Still dressed in Lucifer's robe, which now fit him nicely. “Tell me again how that man was me?”

Lucifer's entire face went bright yellow. “Well—maybe—next time lead with 'I'm black', asshole!”

“Ah, but then I wouldn't have the pleasure of watching you squirm.”

Lucifer scoffed, snapping his fingers once more. Alastor's vision blurred as multiple new appendages—ears, antlers, tail—grew back in an instant. He sank down, landing on the bed with a grunt. His chest ached at the sudden movement.

“So,” Lucifer began, sinking into the chair he had pulled over, “you're not that Axeman guy?”

“Who?”

“The Axeman of New Orleans.”

“Hah! No. They called me The Bayou Butcher.”

“Bayou Butcher...” Lucifer squinted, rubbing his chin in thought.

Alastor pulled the robe tighter around himself. He couldn't help but feel exposed under those bright eyes. Flayed open and held under a microscope. Could Lucifer see every facet of his life, or just what had gotten him into Hell? What exactly had been the nail in the coffin of his damnation? He had never only killed for the thrill of it, though it had certainly been fun!

“Wait a fucking minute.” Lucifer's voice warped, his head snapped up to meet Alastor's eyes. “You're black. Why are you a deer?”

He hummed. “Oh, God and His twisted sense of humour.”

Lucifer snarled, and for the first time, it wasn't directed at Alastor. “That mother fucker.” Another bolt of holy light struck the garden. “Oh fuck off! ” Lucifer snapped at the ceiling, exhaling flames. The palace rumbled, the sky above clouded with black smoke. Lucifer merely rolled his eyes as acid rain began to pelt the wards. He stood, pacing a few steps away. “I still can't fucking believe they went through with that.”

Alastor tilted his head. “With what? Bigotry was a discussed feature in Earth's creation?”

Lucifer stopped pacing. His eyes flooded with too many emotions for Alastor to identify. After staring at him for several minutes, he sighed, slumped, and sat back down. “I don't think you wanna know what was 'supposed' to happen.”

“Do I, or do you just not want to tell me?”

“Of course I don't want to tell you, it was horrible. ” Again, those wide, sincere eyes knocked him off balance. “I even thought it was cruel at the time. When I still thought God and my brothers were brilliant and worthy of the utmost respect. They never... they never really cared for the things they created. After I gave humanity Choice, God's original vision manifested in the form of bigotry. It caused so much suffering... and they let it. Because they wanted to see what would happen. Like it was some sort of simulation and not real living things with—with thoughts and feelings and light inside them.” He heaved a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Alastor could only blink. “You are a fascinating man, Sire.” He snapped his fingers, dressing himself in a loose red shirt. The King's robe sat neatly folded on the bedside.

“Lucifer.”

Alastor paused.

“Call me Lucifer. Please.”

Alastor nodded curtly. He thought back to those thin scars on Lucifer's chest. Much smoother than Alastor's own; hardly noticeable through the myriad of other scars. His juvenile knowledge of anatomy via murder had hardly come in handy. If it hadn't been for his magic, the scar tissue would have permanently botched his chest. Lucifer's looked professional and clean. Did an angel even need such surgery to modify his body? Would shape-shifting not suffice? Had they known of this in Heaven? Was that why it had become such a point of contention on earth? To spite Lucifer?

The man in question sat up straighter, crossing his legs. “So. You didn't kill any children.”

“Of course not.”

“Because it would be boring.”

“And senseless. A child couldn't possibly do enough wrong to warrant becoming acquainted with my blade. And even if they could, it would be the fault of their parents.”

“So you'd kill their parents?”

“I would. I never had to, though.”

Lucifer frowned, looking him up and down. “You say that like... like it's a job. What, were you clocking in to murder people?”

“No. Simply taking matters into my own hands.”

“What 'matters'?”

Alastor felt his eye twitch and gestured to himself. “I'll give you three guesses.” It came out so easily with the lingering sweetness of Lucifer's blood on the back of his tongue. Emotions he went to great lengths to kill and bury clawed their way to the surface. Indigence that shielded offence that shielded anger that shielded shame that shielded hurt.

“Oh... so, you went after, like, r-racists?” Alastor couldn't help but chuckle. Lucifer looked for all the world like a long-tailed cat creeping through a room full of rocking chairs.

“I suppose. Admittedly not hard to come by in the 1920's. But there was a certain sub-breed of human that I simply couldn't stand. Most white faces I saw were racist. But most white faces would not go out of their way to hang black men and women from trees or rape little black girls and boys.” He grinned wide. “Made it quite easy to pick and choose who would be next! Half of them came right to me! Hah!”

Lucifer followed his gesturing, his eyes wide with an emotion Alastor could only describe as an inferno. “I'm so sorry.”

Alastor sneered. “Your apologies mean nothing.”

A sigh. “I know. I don't know what else to say.”

He supposed that was fair. Was it not Lucifer's own gift that had allowed such choices to be made? Perhaps, but the desire would have been there whether those people could act on it or not. God didn't make mistakes, after all. If anything, Alastor felt a little safer knowing he himself could act accordingly when someone showed him exactly what they thought of his skin.

“That's why you liked hurting them so much.”

“Oh, make no mistake, I enjoy causing pain regardless. What I don't enjoy are bores. Sure, I could hold down someone weaker than me and rip them apart piece by piece, but where's the fun in that? They've hardly done anything worth such effort. If I'm going to put on a show, I'll need a guest who gives just as much as I do!” Like the other Overlords. So used to their spot at the top. Oh what fun it had been, ripping their empires to shreds! How they had cried! Begged! Much like those in their employ, trembling under their raised hands. Delicious. Husk had been the first Overlord he had met who hadn't repulsed him. A decent man with an ego and vices. Hardly worth the effort.

Lucifer was shaking his head. “You are one weird guy.”

“Hah! You don't know the half of it.”

There weren't many beings Alastor could fully talk to. The closest he could think of was Rosie, and as delightful a dame as she was; she was still a fellow Overlord. There was only so much he could share. Then there was Charlie. She was still so young. Millennia older than him, yet months ago he had taught her how to file taxes. He couldn't look that girl in her perfect eyes and tell her that making those who insulted him tremble and cry felt infinitely better than her hugs. Husk and Angel... Well, Alastor felt it would be in poor taste to vent about his own shit deal to a man he had trapped in a shit deal of his own. Dangerous, too. Husk wasn’t above revenge, and neither was Angel. Despite the three of them (plus Niffty) being something like business partners now, Alastor knew not to get too comfortable. Angel on his own was a challenge. With Husk, and potentially Niffty, by his side? Alastor was powerful, but he wasn’t delusional. Angel could just as easily handle Vox’s technology and Alastor’s own radio waves, in addition to his new responsibilities running the studio and whatever poppycock Velvette took care of. Hell, Husk could take some of that power, ease the burden for Angel and reclaim his former Overlord title.

Lucifer used the tip of his hoof to spin himself in lazy circles. “Got one helluva God Complex, too.”

“I do not have a God Complex.”

“You tried to take on Adam, alone, like a dumbass. You seriously thought you could beat him by yourself? ”

Alastor's ears flattened. He had thought so. He had been certain, in fact. He had seen the first man in action many times, and hadn't been impressed. Lilith had called Lucifer a petulant child with the power of a sun, but Alastor didn't find that to be true. Lucifer had centuries of knowledge at his disposal. It wasn't that he couldn't keep up, it was that he chose not to. Adam, on the other hand, was nothing but a toddler riding God’s coattails. He had thought if he was quick enough, he could overwhelm him, wear him down, and earn another badge for his reputation.

“I mean, I get it,” Lucifer continued, “he's a fucking loser, but that doesn't matter when he's borrowing power from The Creator. I'm the literal sin of pride and even I'd never do something that stupid.”

Alastor scoffed. “Hardly a sin, that.”

Lucifer paused. Blinked. Tilted his head. “How so?” His tone was much softer than Alastor had expected. There was an unsteady lilt to it, as if he were trying to creep across thin ice. His eyes, though, were alight with curiosity. Yellow once again, and trained on him as he crossed his legs.

“Having pride in one's self is not inherently bad. Are we sinful for bowing after a standing ovation?”

Lucifer hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, I—I guess not. But that's not what I meant. That's not what you did. Or what I did.”

“Hmm. No, I suppose it isn't.” He examined his nails. “But let me ask you this; was it pride that pushed you to tempt Eve? Or was it a sense of injustice?” The King's eyes widened. Bingo. “Was it the way you knew her God-given husband would hold her back, dismiss her, and take whatever he pleased? Was it the knowledge that God had created such a being to begin with, the fact that He was moulding him to behave this way, and that neither one could choose to be anything else? This was the 'correct path' The Almighty Creator had chosen for his subjects? Is it prideful to simply come up with a better idea?” He met Lucifer's stunned expression with a smirk. “Sounds to me like He was a little bit jealous.”

The King opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard. “Jealous? Of me? ”

“Ironic that He would dub you the sin of pride when He couldn't even handle being so effortlessly outdone by His youngest star. Never have I witnessed a larger, more senseless tantrum thrown in my life and afterlife, than Him casting you out to Hell. And I was neighbours with Susan. ”

Lucifer guffawed, his shoulders bouncing with giggles. The apples of his cheeks touched his mirthful eyes. “Yeah, Charlie told me all about her...” He averted his eyes. Cleared his throat. Sighed. “Listen, just... thanks. For getting her the backup. And for staying to protect her. And everyone else. I know you've got your own reasons and I will fucking kill the shit out of you if you do anything to hurt her, but you were still there. You still helped. So, thanks.”

Alastor hummed, looking aside to brush imaginary dust off the comforter. “Of course.” A jab at Lucifer's piss-poor parenting was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. It wasn't as though Lucifer didn't care. He was simply very bad at caring. Alastor supposed it made sense, given that the one time he had cared in the company of his first family, he had been cast down into Hell. “None of the others had the experience necessary to stand a chance against Adam. Charlie could barely lift that trident of hers, and Vaggie wanted to be with her. So, that left me.” It was in large part thanks to Vaggie's insight that Alastor knew which attacks to watch out for. She had sparred with him well into several nights, ensuring he could keep up despite her wings. At the time, he had half-believed she was trying to finish him off herself. Now, he understood it as the care it was. She was a bit like him, in that regard.

“You couldn't have had someone there with you?”

“We were a bit scrapped for powerful bodies.” He made direct eye contact with The King.

Lucifer cringed. “Look, if I could have gotten there sooner I would. We made a deal, like a capital 'D' Deal, before all this started. So long as no hellborns were harmed in the exterminations, they were free to wreak havoc. So, until that shithead killed one of my dragons and put his hands on Charlie, I literally couldn't do anything.” He huffed, exhaling smoke. Even The King of Hell had been caught up in a deal? With angels? One could make deals with holy beings? Hell was just full of surprises. “Anyways,” Lucifer continued, pulling one leg to his chest, “Sorry for stealing your thunder at the end. I know you probably wanted the notability so people would be even more afraid of you.” He spared him a playful smirk.

Alastor returned it. “Is that so bad? I am charged with protecting the hotel, after all.”

“Yeah, that's why you get all giddy when people run away screaming.”

“I do not get giddy. ”

“Dude, last week that scout almost pissed himself after you threatened him and you practically skipped back into the kitchen.”

“Hah! I suppose you've figured me out. I do so enjoy making a disrespectful louse squirm.”

“That why you took up killing?” He didn't sound as peeved as Alastor had come to expect.

“Yes.” He thought of the men on the playground who had called him slurs. They had followed him home on multiple occasions. The men in his area had taken to spending evenings with him and his mother, just in case any trouble came knocking. Trouble had instead chased Alastor into the woods when he was freshly 13. Malnourished and terrified, he had fled as fast as his legs would carry him. They had caught him, of course. They had made well on their threats. Hours, it had felt like they had him. Dirty and sore and humiliated. He didn't know what had possessed him to bite down, in that moment the third had... he could still hear the pathetic wailing. Alastor had snapped plenty of chicken and rabbit necks before. He hadn't thought humans would be so similar. He didn't remember what he had done when the other two tried to pin him. He had come to while stumbling out of the woods, covered in mud and blood and something else. But he had smiled all the way home. Because they would never follow him again.

“I think they caught on that it was me, after a while. But there was no proof. They couldn't even get close enough to place false evidence on me. Hah! How pathetic. So-called police, trained and educated, unable to outsmart one ' uppity little girl '. My neighbour's pigs were well-fed with me around!” He played a laugh track from his mic, ignoring Lucifer's grimace. “They wanted so badly for us all to be satanic, you know. Hah! The irony! Light the torches! Grab the pitchforks!” He laughed, shrill with resentment. “If they wanted a ᵯꝋꞥꞩⱦēɍ so badly, I was ᵯꝋɍē ⱦħⱥꞥ ħⱥꝑꝑɏ to oblige.”

He panted, chest tight with anger and hot with vindication. He thought about his neighbour, about his neighbour's wife's broken weeping at the front door when he had shown up to tell her he had found his body. The responsible men's obituaries had shown up in the newspaper the next week. He thought about the people he had cut down from trees, their faces blotchy and eyes wild, chests heaving as they fought for the life they had almost lost. He thought of the little girl he had saved and carried home to her mother.

Lucifer was staring at him, caught between disgust and heartbreak. His hand was frozen between them, hovering next to Alastor's shoulder. “I don't think I'm authorised to say much, but Jesus Christ. ”

Alastor chuckled.

Lucifer flopped back onto his bed with a sigh. He landed a good few spaces away from Alastor. Alastor, who was coming down from his high, and who was suddenly very aware that he was sitting on The King of Hell's bed. With The King of Hell an arm's reach away from him. The fallen seraph had his eyes closed, hands folded over his chest, morning light peeking through his curtains and highlighting his frame. Sunrise... had it been that long?

Alastor rose, holding the bedpost to steady his wobbly legs. His chest throbbed in protest, but a flash from his stitches subdued the ache. He touched his chest, confused. Had Lucifer placed some sort of charm on them? How thoughtful. He took a few steps, the only complaint from his body being his own stiff muscles that hadn't fully regenerated yet. Snatching his staff, he gave it a spin, then eyed The King over his shoulder.

Lucifer hadn't moved. He stared up at his canopy with a tight frown. Alastor cleared his throat, demanding his attention. “Are you going to lay there like a lump all day, or are you going to come and make our daughter those pancakes she loves so much?”

Lucifer blinked several times. For a moment, he grimaced like he had taken a bite of something sour. Then, he shook his head, a resigned smile on his face as he hopped off the bed and followed Alastor out of his room. “Better be careful,” he said as they traversed down the hall, nudging Alastor's side with his elbow, “if you keep calling her 'our daughter', people are going to think we're together. ”

A brief screech of feedback. Alastor scoffed, waving his hand as if Lucifer were a pesky fly. “I see no downsides for me, in that regard. Who would be foolish enough to target The King's Beloved?”

Lucifer snorted. “ Beloathed is more like it.”

Alastor laughed painlessly for the first time in weeks.

Chapter Text

The King of Hell moved with purpose, gathering flour, sugar, eggs, even unravelling his wings so he could fetch the baking soda and baking powder stored in the higher cupboards.

Alastor spared him occasional glances as he rummaged through the fridge.

So he did use this cry for help disguised as a kitchen.

Of course he did, this atrocious layout could only be his doing. At least it made a bit more sense for his wings. Wings that, upon closer inspection, were ill-maintained. Old, dull feathers poked out at unnatural angles. Dandruff fluttered to the ground with every flap. Dried golden blood flaked off half-grown new feathers; mangled under the old ones. Too busy wallowing to preen, Alastor supposed.

Hmm. With no Smite to heal, he wondered what he could use those feathers he had gathered for? Any lwa would be happy for such rare mementos, he was certain. From what he gathered; they had no trouble breaching whatever barrier YHWH had raised around whatever He considered His, they simply chose not to, most days. Unless they were called. Alastor’s family had served the Ghede for centuries, specifically The Baron. His Maman had not actively served, too afraid of the white consequences, but she had taught him enough to do so himself, with the help of the very Priestess whose warning had been repeating in his head for the past seven years.

It was true that The Baron was a fairly low-maintenance spirit, but such a betrayal followed by seven years of radio silence was bound to irk even him. He could only hope he hadn’t squandered all his good will. He furrowed his brows in thought as he gathered cobs of corn, a jar of roasted peanuts, and every hot pepper he could see.

Would The Baron be able to break his deal? How would he stack against The Queen of Hell? Or, more accurately, how much would Alastor have to offer in order to get him to consider it? He would reach for Maman Bridgette first if he weren’t certain her reception would be far worse than The Baron’s. There was Met Kalfu and his vast arcane knowledge, but Alastor had no good will with him, nor did he know the proper etiquette. And he did not think Lucifer would take kindly to having such an unpredictable energy so close to his daughter. Frankly, Alastor wasn’t fond of the idea either. If Charlie wandered in, in all her optimistic, naive glory, she would lose far worse than her soul. 

Besides, The Baron was no slouch when it came to magic. Alastor’s shield was one thing; personal magic only as powerful as his own soul. If he could find an energy source outside of himself, he might be able to keep it fed long enough to gain the upper hand. Hold Lilith off long enough to get a finishing hex in. There were the feathers, of course, but Alastor was not so foolhardy to trust himself to wield angelic magic. The last thing he needed was another Smite. Or worse. And Lucifer certainly wouldn’t help him. 

But would the handful of feathers he had amassed be enough? Would it make up for such brazen arrogance and disrespect? The Baron may be low-maintenance, but he did not take well to broken deals. Well, it was more akin to a broken promise; Alastor knew better than to make an official ‘Deal’.

Or at least he thought he did.

A face-full of feathers dragged him out of his thoughts. Alastor staggered backwards, caught himself on the dining table, and shot Lucifer a glare. The King returned it and gestured to the grooves Alastor had left in his counter. Ah. Oops. “Apologies,” he bit out, spitting out a smaller feather. Lucifer quirked his brow as Alastor tucked it into his breast pocket. “I was lost in thought.”

Lucifer merely hummed and snapped his fingers. The claw marks disappeared. “You starting a new collection?” He gestured to the pocket.

“Perhaps.” He eyed the tangled and broken feathers along The King’s wings. Quite the disservice to his image; walking around in such a state. God’s most beloved, beautiful creation, temptation incarnate, gallivanting about like a freshly hatched bird.

Lucifer pulled a face as he scooped a ladleful of batter onto the pan. “Is this for, like, some weird ritual? Are you turning me into a damn-it doll?”

Alastor gave him a dry look. “What, exactly, do you think Vodou is?”

Lucifer opened his mouth. Closed it. Averted his eyes. Rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re, uh… that’s a thing? Like, an actual… thing?”

Alastor squinted at him. “What do you mean, ‘a thing’?”

“Y’know… real?” Alastor very nearly lost his smile. Lucifer held up both hands in surrender. “I’m sorry! I thought it was, like, an expression!”

“An expression. ”

“Yeah, y’know…” he hunched, tugging on his sleeves. “The Voodoo that he do, or however it goes.”

“Do not ever say that sentence in front of me again.” He shook his head, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “Even Heaven’s original doubter assumes the worship of his God is the only one on earth.”

“I don’t—! I know there’s more than just Christianity and Catholicism on earth!”

“Ah yes, we can’t forget Judaism and Islam. All those squeaky-clean Abrahamic religions wherein your God is still central. YHWH, Allah, however you call it. How characteristically arrogant of you.”

“I—I just—” Lucifer bit his lip, averting his eyes. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you your… religion?... is fake or anything, obviously it’s not. I’ve just never seen… I mean, we were there. For earth’s beginning. We literally made it.”

“Or did you barge into someone else’s domain without knocking or bothering to check and start reshaping everything in your own image?”

Lucifer blinked frogishly. “I don’t… I don’t know.” He frowned, rubbing his chin in thought. “I always assumed everything was just empty, before us…?” His frown deepened. “That’s what they said… Yeah, no, I hear myself. That’s dumb.”

“He can learn,” Alastor sing-songed, bending at the waist to pinch The King’s cheek.

Lucifer huffed and half-heartedly batted his hand away.

Alastor retaliated by plucking one of the twisted feathers out of his wing.

Lucifer squeaked, and jumped about six feet. He whipped around to gape at Alastor, saucer-wide eyes flicking from his face to the feather. “W-whu—what the fuck, dude?!”

“It’s hardly my fault if someone’s lacklustre preening has left a mess all over the hotel. Just think what would happen if some desperate fool got a hold of angelic feathers. Really, you should be thanking me. It’s hardly becoming of Hell's mighty King to have such a mess of one of his defining features.”

“Pfft, they're not that bad, assho— oh... ” Lucifer slapped both hands over his mouth as Alastor combed his claws through his top right wing. He flushed sunshine-yellow from the tips of his ears to his neck. Alastor hummed, twirling the bothersome feather between his fingers. He handed it off to his shadow, being careful not to wipe away the blood.

Lucifer squeaked again as Alastor tugged him backwards by the waist, settling him into one of the chairs. “If you insist on moaning like a wanton whore,” he removed the now charred pancake from the burner, “do it away from our daughter's breakfast.”

“I—I'm not— hhhng! ” Lucifer's hooves curled as he lurched forward. “'S your fuckin' fault, bastard! They're— fuck —they're sensitive!”

“Hmm. I hadn't noticed.”

“Ha, ha. Funny— eep! ”

Alastor chortled, tucking another handful of feathers away. “Who could have foretold that you quack like a duck, too.” The blush returned with a vengeance. After several aborted sentences, Lucifer hunched forward, grumbling under his breath. But he spread his wings, allowing Alastor easier access.

He combed each appendage carefully, being mindful of his claws. The skin underneath was so brittle, even the slightest brush could break it. Vaggie's weren't like this. He had gotten a good enough look in his tower, when she had draped one over him. Was there some sort of moisturiser needed? An oil of some kind? Husk used oil on his wings, though he didn't have many feathers. His were more akin to bat wings.

Alastor hummed as he commanded his shadow to set the corn cobs on the abandoned burner to roast. It did so with haste, then slithered over to the coffee maker to start a fresh pot. Alastor sent it off to search for rum with a flick of his ear before turning back to Lucifer’s hunched frame. “Do you have some sort of routine to maintain them?” After several moments of silence, Alastor huffed and poked The King's sides. “Lucifer.”

“ Hmwhu? ” He jolted upright, knocking his ankle against the leg of a nearby chair. He winced, rubbing the bone gently. “Dickhead,” he muttered.

Alastor rolled his eyes and flipped the corn. “Do you have some sort of lotion for your wings? Husker uses oil for his.”

“Oh...” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I, uh, ran out. Haven't gotten around to getting more.”

He squinted, brushing a flake of dry skin away. It began sluggishly bleeding. “How long has it been since you've cared for your wings?”

“I dunno.”

“You don't know.”

“Why do you care?”

“Wrong c-word.”

Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“But satisfaction brought it back!” He untangled a particularly nasty jumble of plumage. Lucifer groaned as the excess feathers joined the pile on the table. He sighed, slumping forward to rest on his crossed arms.

“I just never got around to it. 'S a lot of work. An' I can't reach, like, half of them. Fuck...” he winced as Alastor struggled to dislodge a smaller feather. It was half-buried in swollen skin, dried blood caked around the infection. Tutting, he sank one claw into the skin, pinching until the pus was drained. The feather came loose, and he yanked it out, thankfully in one piece. Lucifer shuddered, then sighed and went boneless against the table. “You’ve got nice hands.”

Alastor hummed, then furrowed his brows when the words registered. One of the stranger compliments he’d ever received. He supposed his own finesse with the piano and with knives (kitchen and otherwise) gave The King’s odd words some merit. Though, he imagined such sharp claws couldn’t be too terribly comforting to have so close to such brittle skin. Touch-starved indeed. “I would imagine having some adult-sized hands working through these travesties masquerading as wings would feel much better than those feeble little things you have.”

The following long-suffering sigh was music to his ears. “Can’t you just be normal about a compliment?” The question was muffled, spoken into his arms.

Alastor straightened the last of the upper feathers before moving on to the middle pair. “That would require receiving a normal complement.”

Grumbling was Lucifer’s only response. Alastor took it as a win and continued picking through the fallen angel’s wings. He had gathered enough feathers (and blood) by now, but, well. A little extra kick couldn't hurt. And Alastor never did things in halves.

Once he set the corn aside, his staff crackled to life and soft, mournful piano flowed through the kitchen. It was accompanied by a cello after several beats, the duet slow and melancholic. The King mellowed at the addition. “That’s nice. Who’s it by?”

“It’s an original,” he deposited another handful of feathers onto the table, “between myself and a friend. You’ve met Rosie, yes?”

“Hmm… the cannibal lady?”

“Hell has many ‘cannibal ladies’, Sire.”

Lucifer huffed, the breath jostling his hair. “The Overlord cannibal lady?”

“The one and only.” His shadow returned with a bottle covered in dust. Alastor nodded in thanks as it set it next to the feathers. He moved on to Lucifer’s lowermost wings as the shade began chopping the stems off the peppers.

They fluttered at the brush of his fingertips. Lucifer tensed, shoulders hunched and claws digging into his crossed arms. “Did that hurt?” Alastor tilted his head, studying the shivering wings. They didn’t look particularly damaged. A few crooked feathers here, a small cyst there. Certainly in better shape than the upper two pairs.

Lucifer shook his head, though Alastor could see him biting his lip hard. Shrugging, he continued preening. The King failed to swallow his little gasps and groans, which would have been fine, if he would just stop squirming. “Do I need to restrain you?” An empty threat; he wasn’t sure he could summon his tentacles without risking the wards around the hotel, and he would not be making that mistake again.

The King went entirely yellow and ducked his head into his arms. “Nope! Nope, uh-uh, we’re all good here! No restraints necessary!”

After a, frankly, disgusting amount of awkward laughter, Alastor wrinkled his nose and let his hands fall to his sides. “You know, I was being hyperbolic when I called you a wanton whore.”

Lucifer flinched, then flipped him off without lifting his head. “Fuck you! I haven’t been touched in fucking centuries, sue me!” Alastor didn’t need to see his face to know he was pouting. “‘S not like it’s voluntary…”

Alastor hummed, reaching out to pinch the small cyst until it popped.

Lucifer jolted, hissing through his teeth, then finally turned to level Alastor with a glare. Perhaps it would have been more effective if he weren’t flushed from his ears all the way down his neck. “All done!” He brought his bloodied thumb to his mouth and licked it clean. A bit too sweet for his tastes, now that his head was clear. Amazing what being delirious with fear could do to a man's taste buds.

“Eugh,” The King groused, sticking his forked tongue out in disgust. “I’ll give it to you; you know how to be a boner killer. Heh, that should have been your serial killer name. The Bayou Boner Ki—”

Alastor threw the burned pancake directly into Lucifer’s face. To his irritation, Lucifer was too tickled by his own juvenile nonsense to get upset. “King of Hell, Morning Star, and Frat Boy, evidently.”

“Hey now, is that anyway to talk to your Beloathed King?~ ” Lucifer emphasised his point by leaning far too close, batting his big, pretty eyes, and pouting.

Alastor pushed him back by the face. The King squawked as he flailed, landing on his rump with a grunt. Satisfied, Alastor gathered the pile of peppers and dropped them into the rum. He took the corn, peanuts, and bread, and plated it as neatly as he could. Surely Lilith wouldn’t show herself in front of Lucifer, right? It would cause her too much trouble.

How would The Baron take to being called into Lucifer’s—and by extension, YHWH’s—domain? It wouldn’t win him much favour, Alastor was certain. Then again, perhaps he would feel a sort of kinship with Lucifer; scorned by the same ultra-powerful narcissist. If the buffoon of a king could keep his mouth shut for more than two seconds.

Lucifer grumbled as he pushed himself up, dusting his sleeves and nursing his lower back. “You,” he shot a finger gun towards Alastor, “are a prick.” He was failing to fight a smile despite the insult.

“Nothing but the best for my Beloathed King. ”

“Watch it Buddy, I will start calling you Pookie-Bear in public.”

“I do hope you’re not too attached to your tongue, in that case.”

“Pfft, right, I’d like to see you try to land a hit on me.”

Alastor turned on his heel, setting the plate of food on the counter and strutting to the far end of the kitchen, feathers in tow. He had never led a prayer before, had never finished his schooling to become a Houngan like his mother had hoped, but he remembered all the steps. Lucifer’s gaze burned into his back as he made his way to the sink. He turned on the tap and cupped his hands, carrying as much water as he could. Such a precious commodity in this pit; few demons had access to fresh water. The average household taps spewed sludge, mud, and sometimes sewage; never water. It used to take Alastor days to purify whatever silt he had access to until it was suitable.

Gritting his teeth, he threw the water into the air. Familiar words fell past his lips as he spread the droplets with his magic, cleansing the room. He ignored Lucifer’s squawking as he shook the dew off himself and made his way to the kitchen table. “Uh,” The King began, sliding in front of him with his arms out. “What the fuck?”

“If it pleases His Majesty, I’d quite like to pray.”

Lucifer blinked, froglike. “Oh, uh,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, sure, g-go ahead. Should I gooo, or…?”

“Stay if you wish, just keep your inane drivel to yourself.” Turning away, he grabbed the exuberant table cloth and yanked it off the table. It morphed from patterned to plain white in his hands. Humming, he spread it out on the floor, sparing The King a glance over his shoulder. “And don’t expect to stand there gaping like a codfish the entire time. If you wish to stay, the least you ought to do is help.”

Lucifer visibly gulped. “I can’t—I mean, uh, w-won’t that, like… I dunno, upset them?”

“Upset whom?”

“Your, uh…” he gestured vaguely, “Gods? Deities?”

“They’re called Lwa,” Alastor corrected, arching a brow. “Why would it?”

“Uh, hello? I’m The Devil? From The Bible?? Isn’t that, like, a conflict of interest or something?”

“They are not nearly as close-minded as you seem to believe, Sire. So long as you are respectful, I see no reason why they wouldn’t welcome you as a guest.” If anything, it might be quite the novel experience for both parties. He couldn’t imagine the lwa spoke to many angels, fallen or otherwise. Quite the fascinating concept.

Lucifer continued to twiddle his thumbs as Alastor searched the kitchen for candles. “Are you sure?”

“You’re welcome to wait elsewhere if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No! No, I just… look, this is your thing, and I just don’t wanna,” he cringed, looking far smaller than Alastor had ever seen him, “overstep, and get you in trouble.” He muttered the last part, hunching his shoulders and crossing his arms.

Alastor spared him a glance over his shoulder as he gathered several white candle sticks. “Your concern is touching, but unnecessary. Now, make yourself useful and fetch some white flowers. Purple too, if you would. Do not place them on the alter without my say-so.” Lucifer frowned, opened his mouth, then closed it and brought both hands out before him, golden ribbons weaving and bobbing into tangible flora.

Satisfied, Alastor laid the candles on the kitchen table and set off in search of suitable clothing. Lucifer didn’t seem like a straw hat type of man, but there had been that atrocious statue in the front rooms that Alastor had refused to acknowledge even to himself. He found it after slinking through three doorways; a large golden duck. It seemed to be an asinine attempt at a self portrait if the top hat and apple cane were anything to go by. Alastor huffed as he stepped onto the pedestal and tried to wrench the cane out of the King Duck’s grasp. Ridiculous. The horrid thing sported a bean-shaped grin despite having a bill and wide pie-cut eyes. Like those moving picture shows Vox had forced him to watch. Dreadful and dull, most of them, though he had quite enjoyed those musical numbers with the young lady and cat fellow. Helped a great deal by Cab Calloway’s stunning performances, he was certain.

One more yank, and the cane broke free. Alastor’s chest throbbed in protest. He took a steadying breath as he leaned on the duck’s empty wing. The material was smooth and metallic; cool on his bare palm. Where had his gloves gone? Had he left them in Lucifer’s chambers? He couldn’t recall taking them off… or perhaps he hadn’t put them on that morning?

Gritting his teeth, he stumbled off the pedestal and made his way back to the kitchen. The Smite-induced brain fog must not have cleared just yet. No matter; he would recover shortly, he presumed. Lucifer’s magic was already quieting the sharp, throbbing pain in his chest. Still, best not to overdue.

He returned to find Lucifer holding two bouquets of flowers, eyes darting from the tablecloth on the ground to his own hands. The King’s head shot up upon hearing his footsteps, and Alastor swallowed the queer mix of annoyance and amusement that settled in his throat. “I must say, ‘Lost Puppy’ is not a becoming look, Your Highness.”

Lucifer pouted. “Well, s’not like I know what to do… you’re not gonna, like, kill someone, right? I don’t wanna fuck up my floors.”

Alastor huffed as he tossed the cane onto the dining table. “The only being in danger of dying is you if you keep making such asinine assumptions.”

“I’m not—! That’s not a Vodou thing! A-at least I didn’t mean it like that. I guess it’s just all I’ve ever seen… down here. It’s effective, I’ll give ‘em that.” He made a noise that sounded like it wanted to be a laugh.

Alastor hummed, trotting towards the coffee his shadow had brewed. It smelled rich and earthy, a tad thicker thanks to Hell’s not-quite-water, but it would do.

Lucifer squinted in confusion as Alastor snatched the pitcher and poured it into a large wooden bowl. Thankfully, he did not vocalize the many inane questions Alastor could see bouncing around behind his eyes. Instead, he worried his bottom lip, then asked; “Anything else I can do?”

“You wouldn’t happen to own a straw hat, would you?”

“Uh… no, but Li—mm… hang on.” He set the flowers aside, closed his eyes, and snapped. In a puff of red smoke, a small straw hat appeared in his hand. Well-tailored and definitely more suited for fashion than labour, but it too would do.

Alastor plucked it out of The King’s grasp and set it and the bowl of coffee with the cane. He directed Lucifer on where to lay the white flowers, The King thankfully not questioning why he couldn't do so himself. He then gathered the candles and arranged them as the Priestess had taught him. Each offering was arranged carefully on the alter. He grimaced as his leash tightened, burning his neck; a warning he would not heed. It disappeared in time with Lucifer’s sudden jump. “What was that?”

“Hmm?”

“I… I thought I felt something.”

“Then we’d best not keep them waiting. Now,” he knelt and patted the floor beside him, “come and join me.” Lucifer did so, glancing from the alter to Alastor and to his own hands. “Do not worry about mimicking my words. We haven’t the time to debrief you on proper etiquette. Now, be a lamb and conjure me a bottle of white rum?”

Lucifer shot him a skeptical look, but granted his request with a snap of his fingers. “Anything else?”

“Stop doing that with your hands,” Alastor said, pushing The King’s hands—clasped and pressed to his chest—down and into his lap. “Coming from you, it would send the wrong message.”

“Ah… right. Oops.” The iron-grip on his slacks was highly unnecessary, in Alastor’s opinion, but he had stalled long enough.

He recited the beginning prayer. The room’s temperature dropped the moment he uttered the first sentence. Swallowing his nerves, he reached for the white rum and began to sprinkle it around the alter as he continued to chant. The wind softened, just so. Alastor took that as his que to pick up the pace, drumming a familiar beat against the cupboards at his back. His ear flicked at Lucifer’s startled gasp, but The King did not lift his head. He did, however, shudder in time with Alastor once his prayer was answered, and the barrier between Hell and the lwa’s domain was lifted. Or, more accurately, the gate was opened.

Relief flooded Alastor’s veins. “Thank you, Papa Legba,” he said in Haitian Creole, “Thank you.” The wind warmed, smelling of tobacco and freshly cut grass. It whirled around Alastor, then settled all around the room, cloaking it in an extra layer of protection.

Alastor opened his eyes in time to catch the candles flicking in the dwindling gust. Beside him, Lucifer had squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into his palms, and appeared to be holding his breath.

He huffed and nudged The King with his elbow. The choked gasp he received in response made him chuckle. “Honestly, Lucifer, there really is no need for such drama.”

Lucifer peeked one eye open, studying Alastor for a moment before opening the other and tentatively looking around. There was nothing visibly in the room, but The King grew more frantic in his search, red bleeding over his sclera. “... It’s heavy,” he rasped, short of breath.

Alastor arched a brow.

“It’s—it’s everywhere. It’s p-pushing me down and I—I can’t—”

Alastor whacked the back of his head, earning him a grunt. “Well stop pushing against him, then. Do not forget you are a guest here, would you enter a home and push down its occupants?”

Lucifer rubbed the back of his head with a wince. “Okay, okay, fine.” He hunched, hugging himself as he took slow, deep breaths. Alastor watched in fascination as Lucifer literally dimmed: the spots on his cheeks faded to pink, wrinkles sprouted along his eyes and lips and forehead, his hair lost its volume and gained several white streaks. His breathing turned laboured. His hands grew brittle and bony. He refused to meet Alastor’s curious stare.

“Arcane cosmetics? How drolle!”

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, asshat.” His tone was oddly bitter, his voice gruff with age he apparently kept locked behind a spell.

“I meant no offense, Sire—” he tapped into a smidge of his own magic to dye the tablecloth and candles purple— “I simply never took you to be so looks-oriented.”

“Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say. You still looked hot even when you were puking on my floor.”

Alastor’s neck cracked with how quickly he whipped around to stare at The King.

Lucifer had the decency to look embarrassed; face dark gold and eyes wide as saucers. “ Wait no no no! Not that—you throwing up wasn’t hot, just you! Wait, shit, no, that’s not what I meant! I don’t think you’re hot, you just are? Like, come on, have you seen a mirror? It’s—it’s obvious! Like—like come on! You know, right? You get it?” Every plea grew meeker than the last. Lucifer seemed determined to shrink himself into non-existence.

Alastor… was not sure how to feel. The thought of Lucifer finding him attractive in any way made him want to peel his skin off. But watching him fall face-first into new humiliation with every breath was a joy he would cherish for years to come. He supposed it was flattering to have Temptation view him as attractive, though such a thing didn’t bring him any use.

He broke eye contact to place the offerings he had prepared for Baron on the tablecloth. “I suggest you let me do the talking when I call The Baron.”

Lucifer deflated, staring down at his hands, clenching his slacks even harder now. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, sure. I—yeah. Sorry. Yeah.”

“If you say ‘yeah’ one more time I will throw up on your lap this time.”

Lucifer slapped his hands over his mouth.

Satisfied, Alastor arranged the offerings in silence, his shadow picking up where he had left off on the drumming. Lucifer’s hands shook as Alastor directed him on where to place the purple flowers. The feathers were last, placed in the center carefully. He furrowed his brows. “You wouldn’t happen to own a purple shirt, would you?”

A snap, and then a silky violet blouse fell onto his lap. Alastor picked it up, studying it, then glanced at his companion. Lucifer was still adamantly avoiding eye contact, shoulders hunched up like a self-made fortress. Alastor rolled his eyes as he laid the shirt out. “Calm yourself, would you? It will do us no good in this prayer. And if you could, summon a black cloak and top hat. Perhaps some sunglasses, too.”

All three items appeared in his lap. Signing, he arranged them properly on the alter. Much better, though it still felt too small for a seven year absence. He huffed, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “I don’t suppose you have any ducks you’re willing to part with?”

That got Lucifer to look at him. “Why?”

“Baron is one of the few lwa who enjoys toys as offerings. It would put in a good word for you to contribute something of your own as opposed to pulling miscellaneous objects out of dust.”

Lucifer frowned in thought. “Well, I guess I have,” a portal whirred into existence next to him and he stuck his hand through it, tongue poking out in concentration as he searched what Alastor assumed was his hoard, until chirping triumphantly and yanking his hand back, “this!”

He presented an unassuming rubber duck. Its beady black eyes met Alastor’s scrutiny without an ounce of fear. “It can backflip,” Lucifer added meekly, tapping the toy’s beak and, sure enough, it flipped in his palm.

Why anyone would make such a thing, Alastor didn’t know, but it was certainly unique enough to earn them both some grace. He reached for it, and just barely managed to duck out of range of a flamethrower. Lucifer cursed as he bounced the toy from hand to hand, struggling with wires and switches until a click sounded and the duck stopped spewing flames. “Fucking damn it. I—I’m so sorry, I forgot it did that, I swear I didn’t mean to—!”

Alastor cackled.

He couldn’t help it! Why in the seven rings would Lucifer make such a thing? Who would want such a thing? Why, if some poor fool were to gift this to a child, oh the humanity! Alastor wiped a tear from his eye as his laughter subsided. “Oh, Your Highness, you are truly the gift that keeps on giving!” He swiped the toy from Lucifer’s limp hand. “Say, what inspired this delightful creature?” The wiring was too complex for Alastor to pick apart, lest he risk mangling it with his claws, but he did manage to switch it back on.

After settling it next to the feathers, he spared Lucifer an expectant look. The King was looking from the duck to Alastor’s hands, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing. “I, uh, I was off my meds,” he eventually said, and followed the admission by snapping his mouth shut and slapping his forehead with his palm.

For Charlie’s sake, Alastor kept his amusement to himself. “I see. Well, far be it from me to encourage you to do so again. Poor Charlie’s suffered enough for one year.”

He chanted under his breath, focusing on the skeletal face he was determined to meet. Would Baron show up without a horse? He had only ever spoken to Alastor through the Priestess; and neither Alastor nor Lucifer were equipped to house him in their bodies, even if only for a moment. Would Baron be insulted? Would he make Lilith’s torment seem like child’s play?

A rush of icy wind cut off Alastor’s spiral. He squeezed his eyes shut, voice catching in his throat before he could finish the chant. A heavy, prickly buzz settled over the room; not dissimilar to Alastor’s own aura, or so he had been told.

“I gotta say,” began a nasally voice, “I’m surprised you’re still alive.” The air vibrated with The Baron’s chuckle. “Or at least walkin’.”

Alastor opened his eyes.

The Baron’s skeletal body somehow filled out the blouse properly. The cloak draped over his shoulders did little to shrink his figure. Even behind the sunglasses, his glowing purple gaze pierced through Alastor. A grin that rivaled Alastor’s own split The Baron’s face as he popped the right lens out. Two pieces of cotton stuck out of his nostril holes. He swept his glimmering eyes to Alastor’s left and tipped the top hat in greeting. “Well, well. G’morning to you.”

Lucifer jolted, eyes locked on The Baron and mouth hanging open. He managed several aborted greetings before Alastor elbowed him hard enough to knock him off balance. “Ow! Fucker! Oh—uh—erm—I-I mean, uh, h- heyyy … dude?”

Alastor was going to kill him. Rind his flesh from his hollow bones, fillet him over an open flame, then serve him to the entire hotel—

The Baron guffawed. “Now there’s a new one.” He leaned over the offered food, hummed, and scooped a handful of peanuts into his mouth. “See you’ve been keeping good company,” he said to Alastor as he chewed. He couldn’t help his ears drooping at the words. “Come crawling back, eh?”

“…Yes, I have.” Admitting it was like swallowing rocks. It must have shown on his face, because Baron laughed again.

“Bah, don’t look so damn prickly about it. Ain’t nothing you ain’t asked for.”

Alastor bit back the instinctual anger.

“Now,” Baron gestured to the offerings, to Alastor, to Lucifer, who was nursing his side, “what’s the meaning of all this? Quite the fucking hello, by the way. How long’s it been? Seven years, just about?”

Alastor’s shadow twitched irritably, manifesting behind him with its arms crossed. Before he could scold it, Baron stopped pursuing the offerings and studied the shade. It glowered at him, much to Alastor’s chagrin, but the lwa remained unbothered. “Ain’t that a sunnuva bitch,” he muttered, then went back to the food. He stuffed the remaining peanuts into his pocket, running his free hand over the platter. His semi-translucent fingertips brushed the duck.

Arching a brow, he plucked it off the table cloth, examining it at different angles as he clamped a piece of bread between his teeth. He hummed. Tapped the beak. Perked up as it backflipped off his palm. Jerked backwards as a flamethrower shot out of its mouth.

Alastor bit back more laughter as Lucifer grabbed his collar. “Why did you turn it back on?!”

“You watched me do so, Sire.”

Lucifer’s sputtering was cut off by raspy cackling. The Baron flopped onto his back, howling his delight for all of Hell to hear. Alastor couldn’t help but preen at the reaction despite Lucifer’s brutish grip wrinkling his coat. The King’s slack-jawed awe certainly helped temper his irritation. Really, did he think so little of Alastor that he believed he would present The Baron with something he thought he wouldn’t like? Who wouldn’t be tickled by such a ridiculous thing? The King would do well to quit catastrophizing over every little thing. It was a wonder he ever got anything done if he couldn’t even find the humor in a fire-breathing rubber duck.

Lucifer shrunk as The Baron sat up, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Hoo-ee!” He slapped his knee. “How’d you go about findin’ something like this?”

“It’s hand-made by our very own King,” Alastor said, gesturing to Lucifer, who hugged himself and hunched his shoulders; his mouth a twisted, awkward grimace. “He wanted to offer a creation of his own to show his respects.”

The Baron hummed, tasting the new information while studying Lucifer, who was suddenly very interested in his own hands. “Alastor said you’d like it,” he murmured after several minutes of fidgeting.

Baron tucked the duck into his shirt, ripping off a bite of bread with his free hand. “King, huh?”

Lucifer flinched as though he had been slapped.

Alastor rolled his eyes and elbowed him, albeit much gentler this time. Would it kill him to not present himself as a sopping wet kitten in such mighty company?

Baron didn’t appear bothered, only squinting in concentration as he chewed. “Hmm,” he said after a moment, finishing the last of the bread and moving on to the corn. “You ain’t much of a goat.” His words left Lucifer visibly confused. No further explanation was offered as Baron finally acknowledged the pile of feathers, brushing his fingertips over it. “More like a lil’ birdie.” His gaze drifted up to meet Alastor’s once more.

He swallowed dryly. Now or never. He swallowed his pride and bowed until his forehead was pressed to the tablecloth. “Baron, I called you here to beg for your assistance. Those are feathers belonging to YHWH’s formerly most beloved,” he gestured to Lucifer, “a seraph who predates humanity. If I may offer you these,” he pushed about ¾ of the pile towards him, “to do with as you will, I humbly request that you help me turn these,” he held up the remaining feathers, “into some sort of vessel, detached from myself that will cause me and those in my circle no harm, that I may draw energy from for my spells.”

The Baron plucked one of the feathers out of his offered pile. He tosses it from hand to hand, letting his own essence sniff at it. “Fancy toys, fancy magic,” he snapped once again, pulling a long-forgotten pack of cigarettes out of Alastor’s pocket. He hadn’t indulged in months, far too busy trying not to die, but it was a vice he had carried over from his days on Earth.

Baron pulled two out, the tips smoking before he placed them in his mouth. In a flash of purple smoke, the spiced rum appeared at his side. He took a swig, unbothered by the burn and the heat. He slammed the half-empty bottle down, belching. “Fancy drink, fancy food. Feels like I’m interrupting, eh?” He nudged Alastor’s arm with his elbow, smirking and waggling his eyebrows.

Alastor did not let himself sigh. This again. “No, My Lord.”

“Bah,” The Baron waved a greasy hand at him. “Too caught up in your white suit ‘s what you are.”

“Perhaps.” He knew better than to argue; they would run in circles all morning. “I am simply here on business, not pleasure, My Lord.”

“You see, that’s your fuckin’ problem,” The Baron countered, swiping more corn off the platter and taking another swig of rum. “It’s business this, deals that, with you.” He took a bite, juice squirting onto Alastor’s shirt. “Productive, in this shithole, but a fuckin’ cancer on your own life.” He gestured to the invisible collar around Alastor’s neck for emphasis. “When you forget pleasure, you’re truly dead.”

“But I cannot embrace pleasure until I am safely in my own hands. Please, I implore you; help me—.” He cut himself off, eyeing Lucifer, who was watching him closely, suspicious but no less confused.

The Baron huffed and shook his head. “Seven years,” he echoed, shifting to his feet. “Seven years of silence and you still won’t sing me no tales.”

Alastor cringed, his throat going dry. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. “I can’t. ”

The temperature dropped. Baron’s visible eye was glowing violet when he turned a sharp glare onto Alastor, but his temper faltered. Alastor didn’t want to imagine what The Baron saw when he looked upon him; what sort of pathetic image he painted that smothered the lwa’s righteous anger. Baron made his way across the tablecloth and nudged Alastor with the toe of his shoe, signalling him to stand.

“You still remember my songs, yeah?”

Alastor nodded. As if he would ever forget.

Baron offered a rueful smile; an expression far too human for such an ancient spirit. His eyes lingered on Alastor’s neck, the weight of the collar visible in his slumped shoulders. “I’m not a jealous man, but I do get lonely.”

Alastor bowed his head. His dry throat clicked around each opening note; dusty but familiar. A well-loved record that scratched and skipped in some places. The collar tightened, burned as he continued to sing, but not enough to smother his voice. She couldn’t touch him here, not with Baron watching over him. He swayed to his self-made tempo as he began the second verse, movements ingrained into his muscles from the moment he could walk. The stitches holding him together tightened in protest, forcing the dance to stiffen.

Baron followed Alastor’s choppy movements, no judgement visible in his glowing eyes. He began to bob along to the tempo, sliding closer so that he could circle Alastor as he approached the chorus. Baron’s gloved hand meeting his sent a static shock up his arm and down his spine, blurring his vision and liquifying his limbs.

Once Alastor blinked the sunspots out of his eyes, he found himself suspended in darkness. Unable to move, but not feeling the need to do so. He was safe, somehow, he knew. Could feel it in the warmth seeping through his clothes and into his skin. Could see it in the playful purple light slithering up and morphing into Baron’s silhouette. He was not trapped; merely held. Pocketed away for privacy’s sake. He took what felt like his first real breath in ages as Baron solidified before him.

“You can.”

Alastor blinked, tilting his head.

“Embrace pleasure outside your own hands,” Baron clarified, tossing a cob of corn up and down. “You have. Wasn’t enough, was it? Only got what you wanted all your life cuz you got dragged kicking and screaming to home’s front door. And you won’t even let yourself enjoy it. If you’re so determined to make yourself miserable, what good’s my help gonna do?”

Alastor could only gape. Home? The hotel? That wasn’t—it wasn’t—home was… was the bayou, his mother’s hugs, and her fresh baked apple pie. Nothing could ever replace that. He wouldn’t allow it. If that part of him disappeared, then his mother was truly lost forever. Memories and the photo on his mantle were all he had left of his one true home. That wasn’t to say he hadn’t grown accustomed to his fellow staff and residents. They were… a home away from home, so to speak. But that didn’t make them Home. “I don’t understand.”

He squawked indignantly as The Baron used the tip of his corncob to poke Alastor’s forehead. “Get outta there,” he jabbed at his chest, “and into here. Keep yourself locked up in that fuckass bob and you’ll never smile again. Feel something. It’s good for you.”

Alastor furrowed his brows. He felt plenty. He felt enraged that he had been fooled so easily. Ashamed of how easily she could manipulate him. Humiliated that his friends and allies had seen his sorry state. Determined to free himself. What more was there to feel?

The Baron chomped on the rest of his cob, tossed it over his shoulder, and shoved his hand through whatever wall separated them from Lucifer’s kitchen to grab another. He downed the rest of the rum, eyeing Alastor up and down. With a grunt, he held the cob between his teeth and held out his hands. The feathers poured into his waiting grasp. He tossed them from hand to hand, never dropping a single one. He threw them higher, and fished a rich violet thread out of his pocket. Once the ball of loose feathers landed back in his hand, he slipped the thread around it and pulled. The mass condensed until it was a shimmering bundle; holy energy encased in an amethyst spike. The Baron mimed pulling taffy, and the violet string emerged from within the enclosure.

Alastor bowed slightly as he accepted the necklace. The spike pulsed as it touched his shirt, scalding one moment and ice cold the next. Some of the tension left his shoulders. “My most sincere thanks, Baron.”

The Baron waved him off and returned to his cob. Bit by bit, the darkness pulled itself apart until Alastor landed on shaky legs back in the tacky kitchen. He barely had time to catch himself on the table before he was tackled to the ground by his shadow. It glitched with anxiety, shoving its face into his neck and sinking its claws into his back in an attempt to pull him as close as possible. 

“What the blazes—?!” He flailed, more confused than bothered by the creature’s sudden clinginess. It typically got this way after witnessing a punishment from Lilith, but it always waited for his say-so to curl around him. “What has gotten into you?!”

The shadow whined, high-pitched and coated with static. Alastor was fairly certain he was the only one who could hear it. He supposed the creature was a tad traumatised, only ever losing access to him due to Lilith’s punishments. Perhaps it assumed Baron would do something to harm him. It had never met the lwa, after all; only joining him after he made his deal with The Queen. It would have no way of knowing the difference. Sighing, he patted the creature’s back and signalled mentally for it to release him. It did so reluctantly, shooting a hiss over Alastor’s shoulder.

Baron chuckled, saying nothing as Alastor pushed himself to his feet. His shadow remained glued to his side as he focused on the charred pancake Lucifer had left on the table. He aimed one finger at it. Melt.

The pancake remained in its sad, deflated state.

Frowning, he tried again. Nothing.

His eye twitched. Move.

Nothing.

Fly.

Nada.

Combust.

Zilch.

Alastor huffed through gritted teeth. He could feel the magic responding to his commands, but nothing was sticking. Ear flicking in irritation, he turned back to The Baron, who had perched on the counter and gone back to his cigarettes. “They never listen,” he lamented as he inhaled the last of them. “What did I tell you? Out of here,” he flicked the ash at Alastor’s head, “and into here,” then again to his chest, “or you get sloppy. You skip ahead without listening, ah?” He crossed his legs, leaning forward with his chin on his palm. “You fight for greed, or wrath, or pride, you get sloppy. You fight for home, for love, ” Alastor’s static hissed through the nearby radio, which The Baron dismissed with a wave of his hand,  “or whatever it is you feel, and the magic will come.”

He winked, and before Alastor could even think to say a word, he was gone. As were the feathers he had offered, the remaining food, and the duck. The air fizzled back to the grassy scent that followed Papa Legba, awaiting the closing ceremony. Alastor did so with haste, thanking the lwa sincerely before closing the spiritual gates, once again cutting himself off from them.

He sighed, clutching the necklace with both hands. Fight for home. For love. What in the seven rings was he to do with that? Damn his desperation. Had he learned nothing after his first bad deal?

“Sooo,” Lucifer drawled, shifting from his place knelt at Alastor’s side to instead sit cross-legged and facing him, “he’s not gonna do anything, uh, weird with my feathers, right?” He shrunk under Alastor’s glare. “Not trying to suggest anything! Just, y’know, they’re kinda sacred, and, y’know. Tend not to mix well with… well, most things. ‘S just how they were made. Lilith tried to use a couple once and almost brought the whole palace down—”

“Your concern is unnecessary, Sire,” Alastor snapped, that damned name being the last thing he wanted to hear right now. Taking a deep breath, he twisted the amethyst between his thumb and forefinger, letting its familiar buzzing heat calm him. “The lwa are far wiser and mightier than you and I and even YHWH could fathom, and Baron is no slouch when it comes to arcane studies. He and your feathers will be fine.”

After one last failed attempt to melt the charred pancake, Alastor sighed and picked it up. Charlie wouldn’t appreciate waking up to a messy kitchen; clean-up was always a group activity at the hotel. Not that Alastor minded, the monotony of cleaning had always put him at ease. Sometimes it was even enjoyable; after having Niffty for so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to hold a broom.

His smile softened at the thought.

With a crook of his finger, the garbage bin slid across the floor and to his side. He dropped the pancake into it, unable to resist sending it hurtling towards Lucifer on its way back to the corner. The King yelped and jumped onto the dining table, all six wings blooming to steady his landing. He shot Alastor a dry look. “What are you, five?”

Alastor merely grinned, chuckling under his breath and enjoying the warmth emanating from his necklace. “I certainly hope not; otherwise your earlier comments on my apparent ‘objective attractiveness’ would be quite worrisome.”

That earned him a vivid gold blush and a strangled, “We agreed to not speak of it!!”

“I made no such agreement.”

Lucifer wrapped his wings around himself and turned away from Alastor, grumbling and huffing.

Alastor snorted and made his way back to the stove. Someone had to make Charlie’s breakfast. Turning on the back right burner, he hummed to himself, combing through his last conversation with Baron in search of loopholes. The pancakes stacked higher and higher as he grit his teeth, finding no out from Baron’s specifications. To be expected, but no less frustrating.

At least Lucifer had been agreeable about the use of his feathers. Surprising, but Alastor was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Should he miraculously meet the magic’s expectations, he had little doubt he could wield it efficiently. Despite his scorn for her name, hearing of The Queen’s past error did bring a smug smile to his face. Hah. Imagine, bringing an entire structure down all from a few littl e—wait a moment. “The Queen tried to channel your feathers into a spell?” He had never seen Lilith wield component-dependent magic. Her own had always been more than enough.

Lucifer peaked between his wings, suspicion written all over his face. “Yeah?”

“Would her own have not sufficed?”

The King’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I mean, I guess, but not for a while. It took her a long time to grasp magic, cuz, y’know, human and stuff. It didn’t come naturally like it does for me. But, she kinda figured out one day that, uh, since God had a hand in every living thing, they all carried traces of His energy. So, if she could collect and control that energy once it lost its vessel, she could make her own, uh, crude version of magic.” He snapped a flame into existence above his finger. “Like, she would use lint and a match and I think some herbs to do something like this for the longest time. She learned how to do it with her own energy eventually, but it took centuries. ”

Alastor hummed, rubbing his chin. “The origins of what we now call paganism, I’m assuming?”

“Yeah. Spurred a lot of copycats once word got out,” he said while giving Alastor a pointed look.

Alastor furrowed his brows. “Something on my face, Sire?”

Lucifer smirked. “Actually,” he hopped off the table and slid up to Alastor, standing on his toes and bringing his hand into Alastor’s space. Alastor traced his movements as his fingertips brushed his forehead and came away pinching bits of chewed corn.

He scowled, not helped by Lucifer’s ensuing cackles as he brushed his face and hair, knocking away remaining bits of food.

“Um.” He and Lucifer jumped, spinning to face a gobsmacked Charlie in the doorway. “What?”

“Charlie!” Alastor kicked himself into gear, grinning wide. “My apologies, Dear, did we wake you?”

“Uh, nope! I, uh, woke up a while ago… whaaat was that?”

“Oh just your father being a dreadfully messy eater!”

“Hey!”

“Not to worry, I managed to fight him off long enough to save you a plate!” He presented the stack of pancakes to her, snickering as Lucifer whipped his head from Alastor’s hands, to the stove, to the now empty bowl of batter.

“Oookay. Uh, well, thanks, Al, for uh, the pancakes.” She forced an awkward smile that screamed regret and shuffled into the kitchen, taking the plate with some hesitation.

Lucifer snapped out of his stupor with a jolt. “When did you—!?” 

“It would behoove you to pay attention to your surroundings, Sire.”

“Hey, I can pay attention just fine as long as no Slender-Elmo looking fucks distract me.”

“Your inability to remain on task is not my fault.”

“Yeah, yeah, bite me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“He says to Temptation.”

“ Pah! You say that as if your two most notable ‘victims’ weren’t pressed for options. A two-party system is hardly an accurate judge of people’s desires.”

“Sounds like something the losing party would say~”

“ Guys, ” Charlie sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Worry not, Charlie,” Alastor said, wrapping his arm around Lucifer’s shoulders and yanking him into what might have passed as a side-hug if one was far away. “We’re simply ‘play-fighting’.”

Lucifer lightly smacked his chest with the still wet ladle. A high-pitched record scratch pierced the air as Alastor zipped out of range, snarling at the snickering king. “You little ingrate.”

The King smiled demurely, “N’aw, lighten up, I was just play-fighting,” he snapped his fingers, ridding Alastor’s shirt of the stain, then flashed him a Cheshire grin. “ Pookie-Bear. ”

Alastor did not appreciate the ensuing cackling from the diminutive little pest, as he was sure his expression demonstrated. “Pardon me while I vomit. ” Lucifer kept laughing. Still a little weak, but brighter than before. Alastor fought to keep his smile sharp as he shook his head and joined Charlie at the kitchen table.

“Oh, c’mon, Al,” Lucifer spun around, still giggling. He snapped the dishes clean and sent them flying back to their proper places. “Your face was too good!”

Alastor rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“ Dad, ” Charlie began, clearly holding back her own laughter for Alastor’s sake. She had always been much wiser than her father. “If Alastor says ‘stop’, we need to respect his boundaries. I’m glad you two are, uh, getting along? But don’t over-do it. I really would like to have a nice breakfast with no property damage—”

A jolt shot up Alastor’s spine. It forced him straight up, leaving his hair standing on end.

Charlie, too, shuddered before she could take her first bite.

Lucifer shot up-right, wings swishing, horns peaking out.

Something had crossed the wards in front of the hotel. Something powerful.

Dread sank its claws into his back. Alastor called his shadows to engulf him. He was met with silence. He called again. Nothing. Burning metal squeezed his neck; a warning bite. His hands shook as he dug groves into the kitchen table. Oh no... no no no—his shadow—the others!

Charlie pushed away from the table, bare hooves scraping the hardwood as she scrambled for the door.

“Charlie, wait!” Lucifer dashed after his daughter, Alastor close behind. “Let me portal us there!”

They caught Charlie halfway down the hall, her big red eyes wild with fear. Would she look at him like that, when she found out? What was he going to tell her? What could he tell her?

For the first time since he was a young boy, Alastor wished this could all be a bad dream. But Hell was an everlasting nightmare. And he had not survived this long by running and hiding like a coward. He would triumph over this, like he had with every problem he had faced down here. And he would be fine. Everyone would be fine. They had to be.

A flash of white and red light hit his eyes. Charlie leapt through the portal, followed shortly by Lucifer. Alastor took a deep breath, steeled his nerves, then stepped through after them.

The hotel was still standing, nary a scuff on the path. Alastor heard no struggling, no breaking furniture from within. The lights were on. The interior was immaculate as it had been when they left. Niffty had clearly been through once already. How Alastor wished he could pull her right to him. To see her face. To know she was alright. He scanned the vacant lounge, the empty balcony, the abandoned bar. Husk should be there. Where was he? Where was everyone?!

Calm down you fool, you'll give yourself away. He forced a wider smile; a give-away in its own right. Husk wasn't known for his work ethic. Perhaps he had simply slept in. Perhaps he had accompanied his lover to the former Vee tower. But they wouldn't leave the hotel completely empty. Vaggie, at the very least, would have stayed behind.

Lucifer stepped past Alastor. He glowed with power; eyes blood red and frantic as they flitted from corner to corner. “It's still here, whatever it is.” He took a deep breath. Pulled a face, as if he had bitten into a lemon. “Eugh.” He plugged his nose, waving his free hand in front of his face. “And it apparently wallows in compost.”

Compost? Alastor closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath through his nose. Putrid fruit. Too-strong perfume. Floral rot; so faint he almost didn't catch it. Shit.

Vaggie could not handle that on her lonesome. Even if the others weren't gone, there was little they could do to surprise Lilith this time. She wouldn't kill them, Alastor knew this for certain. But she would do far worse. Rip their minds to shreds and then feast on it before their eyes. She knew fear; it was almost like she fed off of it. One flinch was all it had taken to place his touch issue. She had detected his fear of dogs seemingly out of nowhere. How in the hell were the others supposed to defend against that?

“Alastor? Are you—? Alastor! Wait!”

He flew up the stairs, breathing deeply, following the stench. Clopping hooves were hot on his tail. They couldn't know. He couldn't do that to Charlie. Lucifer would kill him a hundred times over. But he couldn't melt into darkness. Couldn't even unfurl his tentacles to give himself a speed boost. All he could do was run. Three steps at a time, until there was a shfwsh, and Lucifer appeared beside him, wings keeping pace easily, Charlie in his arms. “Alastor, fucking wait a minute!”

Alastor ignored him, bursting through the door to the uppermost floor. His lungs burned as he dashed down the hall, towards his own room. The stench was thick like fog, forcing him to stumble to a halt and gag into his elbow. She tugged on his leash, pulled him towards his bedroom door. The scalding metal left angry bites against his skin.

“I said wait! ” Lucifer shouted, catching him by the back of his coat.

The chain vanished.

The stench faded.

Alastor's bedroom door whined as it slowly opened. Heels click click click ed as she stepped into the flickering hallway light. Dressed to the nines in royal purple, lips and nails painted black, long blond hair flowing behind her despite there being no wind. Her smile was small and coy. “Lucifer? Is that you?”

The King let go of his coat.

“I thought I recognized that voice,” she continued, snickering at the gaping man.

The hair on the back of Alastor's neck stood up as Charlie moved to stand beside him. Her eyes were wide as saucers, mouth agape, hands trembling. “Mom?” She sounded so small.

“Charlie!” Lilith threw her arms up and plastered on a wide smile. “There's my girl! Finally, some good customer service around here!” She laughed, the sound sharp against Alastor's ears. They flattened without his consent. “I kid, Darling. How are you? It's been too long!” She waltzed over, far too close, to sweep Charlie up in a hug, which was eagerly returned. Alastor couldn't help but bristle.

It did not go unnoticed. Sharp canines flashed at him as Lilith set her daughter back on her feet. “And Alastor! Keeping well, I see. I do hope you've been behaving for Charlie.”

She was in his space, pressing a kiss to his cheek before he could fully process the thinly veiled threat. She left a stamp of lipstick behind. He bit through his tongue. Charlie looked from her mother to him, gaping like a fish. “Uh... Mom? Alastor, uh, Alastor doesn't... like being touched.”

“Oh, really?” She shot him a too-wide grin. “And when were you planning on telling me that, you silly thing?”

Alastor smiled with more teeth.

“Wait, uh, how...?” Charlie gestured between the two of them, starting and stopping until she lost steam and just stared.

“Oh, Honey, who do you think sent him here in the first place?” She floated away from Alastor to fuss over Charlie's hair. “I couldn't leave my only daughter to fend for herself, even if I couldn't be there.”

“But, where were you?! I thought—I thought something awful happened!” Her eyes filled with tears, her lower lip quivering.

“Oh, something awful did happen!” Lilith turned to Lucifer, whose blood red eyes were boring into Alastor's cheek. Where the lipstick was stamped. “You were right about Heaven, Darling, it's so dreadfully bureaucratic. Seven years in the waiting rooms all for one little meeting! I'd call it ridiculous, but, at the very least, there's plenty to do while you wait.”

Charlie grasped her mother's hands, bouncing on the balls of her hooves. “You got into Heaven?!”

“To propose that little hotel of yours,” she said, fixing Charlie's collar. Satisfied, she sighed and averted her eyes. “They were not very receptive, in the end.”

Charlie sniffled, a wide, wobbly grin taking up her entire face. “Oh, Mom, i-it's okay! We made some progress of our own!” She bounded over to Lucifer and hugged him from behind. “Dad got me a meeting with Heaven!” Lilith's eyes widened, her silky smile sharpened, her hands clenched into fists. “And one of the seraphim stood with us! Most of Heaven didn't even know about the exterminations! They were so pissed! And, get this! No one knows what it takes to get into Heaven in the first place!” She laughed, a little manic. “So, they sent a hoard of exterminator angels down to wipe us all out, and we held them off! We WON!” She shook Lucifer by the shoulders, forcing The King's eyes off of Alastor's cheek. “Dad was so awesome! You should have seen him fight Adam! He danced circles around him!”

Lucifer smirked and settled his hands over hers. “Aw, c'mon Sweetie, we took him down together.”

Charlie giggled.

Alastor studied Lilith's tight smile, her flared nostrils, her calculated breathing.

“Oh! And Alastor was such a big help!” Mercifully, Charlie did not put her hands on him. She did stand far too close for his liking. “Without his shield, we would have been toast! I—I guess thanks for sending him over, he's been so great!” He kept a wide, blank smile on his face despite internally running in circles. It's not malicious, he reminded himself. Charlie had no way of knowing what Lilith—why would she assume anything of the sort? If Alastor had his way, she would never have a reason to. There was no need for both of her parents to so thoroughly disappoint her.

“That's wonderful,” Lilith purred, her voice like a worm that hit his nape with a wet slap. He could feel it slithering down his back as she stepped into his space once more. Quick as a viper, she pinched his chin between her thumb and forefinger, pulling him close. Sharp nails bit into his skin. “I must commend you then, Alastor. For your bravery, and your loyalty.” She sneered as she leaned in to kiss his other cheek. Alastor's eyes were unfocused, his head full of static, so when he was pulled back into his body by a face full of feathers, he stumbled a bit. Lucifer stood between him and Lilith, holding up a hand.

“Now, Lilith,” his voice cracked as he stumbled over his words, “Charlie did mention Al isn't a touchy guy. Give him a break.” It was a weak demand, but a demand nonetheless.

Lilith broke the silence by clicking her tongue. “Oh, Luci, come now,” she teased, “green is not your colour.” She bent down, down, down to plant a firm kiss to his lips. Lucifer squeaked, eyes melting back to yellow, his entire face flushing gold. His lips were painted black by the time Lilith stood back to her full height. “All better now?” She twirled a loose strand of his blond hair. Lucifer only blinked. She chuckled and tucked the strand behind his ear. “Cat got your tongue, Darling?”

Alastor watched The King's back tense, his shoulders tighten, his fists shake as they clenched his sleeves. He uttered a shaky laugh, pushing his hair out of his face. “Heh, uh, n-nope, just, uh,” his ears were flushed, “'s been a while.” Lilith hummed, and Lucifer's wings trembled. Like a rattlesnake.

“Well, then shall we make up for lost time?”

She could only brush his cheeks with her fingertips before Lucifer practically threw himself backwards, bumping into Alastor. “No!” He cringed, clearing his throat and straightening his shirt. “Aha, n-no, thanks, uh, not right now.” The King smoothed down his pants, then went completely yellow once more upon realising he still wore his pyjamas. With a snap, he was dressed in more typical attire; a white button-down, blue pinstripe vest, white pants, and his usual black heeled boots. The lipstick on his cheek was gone. “Why don't you let Charlie give you a tour? 'S kinda tradition, by this point, heh. C'mon, Sweetie, let's show off that ballroom!”

Charlie lit up, squealing at the pitch of fucking ow. “Ohmigosh you're so right!” She hooked arms with her mother and practically dragged her down the hall. Lucifer trailed behind, arms tucked behind his back. A thick, heavy aura radiated off The King as he observed. Alastor struggled to breathe around it. He had seen Lucifer angry before. It was a vibrant, lively thing. A spark that bounced from fuse to fuse until red and blue and green hellfire flashed over his eyes and spilled from his mouth. Even his tears had been brought on by passion, by overwhelm. So much colour intermingled with such pitiful whines.

The Lucifer before him was a shell. Cold and not quite empty, but hiding deep, deep within. No colour flashed in his glazed eyes as his daughter shook his arm in excitement. No sunshine flooded his face when his wife bent down to whisper something in his ear. This was not Lucifer Morningstar, father, terrible cook, and duck enthusiast. This was The King of Hell.

And Alastor liked him even less than Lucifer.

He turned on his heel, heading back to his room. The open door swayed, creaking occasionally. No one went into his room without permission. What had she even been doing there? There was nothing to find. He had no altars, no offerings, no signs of his culture laying around. He knew better than to leave those out, now. They would all be destroyed the next time it tickled her fancy.

“Oh! Alastor, wait up,” The King called after him, jogging to catch up. He pulled a folded piece of paper from a plume of red smoke and handed it to Alastor. “I had some business with that friend of yours, uh… Tulip?”

“Rosie.”

“Right! Right. Rosie. We were supposed to meet for lunch today.” Alastor nodded despite knowing The King was lying through his teeth; Rosie would have talked his ear off about a meeting with The King of Hell if it had been so. “But, uh, as you can see, I've found myself preoccupied.” He gestured to his wife and daughter, who were waiting by the elevator. “Would you mind running this errand for me?”

Alastor took the slip of paper. “But of course, Your Highness.” He bowed for good measure. A smidge of colour bled back into The King's eyes as he grimaced at Alastor's dramatics. “I'll do so with haste.”

“Thanks.” He offered a small smile, and a touch of heat permeated the chilly aura radiating off of him. It was gone by the time he turned around and walked back to his family.

“Don’t keep us waiting too long,” Lilith called out to him, flashing her sharp teeth. “You know how much I adore our talks, Alastor.” She fluttered her fingers at him as the elevator closed. Alastor did not allow himself to shudder as he shoved his creaking door open.

His room was tidy as he had left it; bed made, walls clear of viscera, floors clean aside from the cot. Blankets and pillows still littered his couch and the surrounding radius. The book he had been reading sat on his coffee table, marked as he had left it, beside the tray. It was still covered in crumbs. All the mugs sat on the far side of the table, bottoms still stained with tea and coffee. Niffty would not have left crumbs, much less stains.

Swallowing static, Alastor uttered a shaky breath and settled a hand over his racing heart, over the amethyst spike. They couldn't be far. It would take him ages to scour the entire hotel without his shadows, much less with Lilith on the property. Perhaps he could enlist Rosie's help, under the guise of a tour? Weak, but, what other reason was there to check every single room? Charlie had to be worried about the others, too.

Lilith wouldn't do irreversible damage, Alastor assured himself as he began to pace. She would be a fool to do so in her own daughter's hotel. But why else would she whisk them away if not to torture them, in whichever way she saw fit? Would they still be themselves when he found them? Would she dare try to Smite them, too?

Something cracked under his shoe. A piece of glass. Several pieces of glass. As Alastor knelt to scoop the debris into his palm, barely-there warmth hit his right side. He studied the embers in his fireplace with a lifted brow. He hadn't lit any fires before he left...

Alastor shot up so quickly he nearly lodged his antlers into his mantle. His mantle which was missing the framed photograph of himself and his mother. Pain erupted over his palm as he clenched his fists, the glass making a home in his skin.

Despite Charlie's optimism, Alastor knew he would never see the pearly gates. He had never imagined his mother would meet the same fate. What could she have possibly done to earn a spot down here, next to the likes of him? To be culled with other nameless sinners as if she were nothing? To be pulled from the pile of corpses by her son, who had only just started making a name for himself in this wretched place?

He would sell his soul all over again just to see her. They didn't need to talk. She didn't even need to look at him. He only wanted to hear her voice. Her laugh. See her smile. She had always had such a beautiful smile, always wore such joy on her face. That picture was as close as he would ever get again.

And now it was gone.

Alastor's breath hitched. He did not remember sinking to his knees. He did not remember punching his fireplace, only serving to break his skin and his knuckles. He did not remember when he started crying. It was surreal, wiping his tears away and wishing someone else was there with him. To hold his hands. They hurt quite a bit. He could not pick out the glass with how badly he was shaking. Rosie would be good at that.

Rosie... right. Biting his tongue, he unclenched his fists, smoothing out the crumpled sheet of paper Lucifer had given him. He flicked it open, dabbing at his cheeks with a handkerchief. After blinking away the remaining tears, he read the note. Hastily scrawled. Smudged in some places. Four simple words.

That's not my wife.

Chapter Text

[ Last Night ]

Lilith took the offered cup of tea with a small smile. She had never cared for tea; too dull. Especially in Heaven. No matter the flavour, it all tasted the same. After she had escaped, the first thing she had promised herself was a hot bath with a glass of wine and the strongest blunt money could buy. The second was to never touch a drop of tea again. But the woman with endless black eyes had gone through the trouble of preparing a fresh pot, and she didn't want to be rude.

The tea was spiced; cinnamon, nutmeg, and a hint of apple. She put the mug down, blinking until the sting in her eyes disappeared. Lucifer had never been one for tea either. She recalled his elation over their first coffee maker, how he had holed himself up until he created the perfect blend. Sweet enough for him with enough of a bitter kick to satisfy her pallet. Such a small gift, but one of her favourites. Not the coffee, the time he had taken to make it. He could have simply made two separate blends, but no. He had wanted something to be theirs.

She missed him.

She had been missing him for decades, even before their final fight. Though, it had hardly been a fight. She had certainly tried to turn it into one; had been frustrated enough to yell. But Lucifer had only flinched at her volume and kept his head down. He hadn't reacted to the ring hitting his cheek. Like her removal of the very symbol of their love meant nothing. At the time, she had been furious. This was not the man she fell in love with, she had refused to believe it.

But seven years in Heaven, alone on that beach that never ended no matter how far she walked, she had had time to reflect.

Lucifer always had nightmares. Even in her arms, he would only catch a few hours of sleep before the violent thrashing would wake them both up. He never talked about it, and had taken to sleeping alone after the first decade. It had hurt, but Lilith couldn't say the proper rest wasn't appreciated and sorely needed, so she had let it go.

Then there was the lack of meals. He wasn't human, so he didn't need to eat, but he had always enjoyed it. Preparing and sharing a meal was one of the many things they did together. But he had stopped coming down from his study. When she had tried to rouse him, he had only waved her off with a smile. She had stopped making extra for him after a year of dismissal.

The scariest part was what she now knew was called disassociation. The first time it had happened, she had thought he was ignoring her spitefully. After years of hiding himself away, avoiding her despite her constant efforts to engage with him, the seemingly malicious act had been enough to snap her patience.

She had slapped him.

Hard enough to send him tumbling off his seat and onto the floor. When he had looked up at her, eyes wide with shock, as if he had just been shaken out of a dream, she had fallen to her knees and cried. He had hugged her for the first time in years, asking what was wrong, what had happened, if she was alright. He had sounded as confused and distressed as she felt. It didn't make his behaviour hurt less, but it did make her feel guilty. She had kissed the cheek she struck, and he didn't even seem to register the pain. She had apologised (or, tried to while unable to properly speak), and he had forgiven her, but she doubted he knew what for. His eyes were still glazed when he walked them to their room. He had slept in bed with her that night. Or, tried to.

The following morning had been a dreadful waiting game, but Lucifer never brought it up. She didn't think he even remembered. It would be in poor taste to say the incident had left her more shaken than him. It had been the catalyst to her new approach to his moods, however. Despite loving him to her core, being around him left her feeling so lost and frustrated. She loathed the woman she became in his company. So, she had opted to leave him be and let him come to her. A rare event that became less and less frequent as the years went on. But she held strong to this new philosophy. For hers and Lucifer's and later Charlie’s sake. She would face every Archangel in Heaven alone if it meant she would never find herself in a position where she was so blinded by frustration that she would willingly raise a hand against her partner. Never, ever again.

Years passed with nothing but a passing glance from her husband, and Lilith began to wonder if this was the true Hell. If her own mortal soul was incomplete, somehow. Defective , like all the elder angels had declared. Was she herself the true Root Of Evil, winding her way into the hearts of others and eating their joy and dreams until all that remained was a shell? All without even knowing she had done so? It had seemed more and more likely each passing day.

Then, one chilly morning, she had woken up to find Lucifer already in the kitchen, making banana pancakes. His smile dazzling as the stars he had helped create. So surreal that Lilith had only been able to nod in acknowledgement at his ‘good morning'. The entire week had been more of the same. It had been so long since things had felt so easy. So long since he had curled up in bed with her and hummed along to the radio. He was always gone by morning, and every time she woke up alone she couldn't help but panic, dreading her trip to the kitchen. When would it end? When would they go back to their terrible normal?

“ Lili? ” he had whispered on their ninth night of peace. “ I want a baby. ”

It was a horrible idea. They could barely go a month without avoiding each other like the bubonic plague. That was hardly the environment to raise a child in. But he was looking at her, actually looking at her, with so much love and hope in his eyes. If she said no… would she ever see him again?

She had bent to kiss his head. “ You know I can't have children. ”

His countering smile could have toppled empires. “ But I can. ”

Lucifer was an attentive and thorough partner, to be sure. He knew what she liked and took great pride and pleasure in providing for her in such a way. He had called her beautiful, perfect, and clung to her until he fell asleep. But the evening had left a bitter taste in her mouth. She had felt raw, violated, like she wanted to peel her skin off to escape the sickening residue left behind. How could something she loved with someone she loved turn into something so… wrong?  

Lucifer had been too dead to the world to notice her slipping away to cry in the bathroom.

During his pregnancy and several years after giving birth to Charlie, the dreamer she had fallen in love with returned. He had spent an evening tidying the entire place because Lilith had mentioned wanting to hire a maid. He had started cooking with her and eating with her again. He had taken on the brunt of the work that came with caring for Charlie, and had taken such joy in it. And she had foolishly gotten used to it.

The late morning she had opened his study to find him hunched over his desk, head in his hands, staring at nothing, she had swallowed the hateful words that wanted to flow, closed the door, and let him be.

Lucifer had always been like this, she had accepted this during one of her many walks. He had just been hiding it. For her sake. For Charlie's sake. When it had gotten too big to hide, he hid himself instead. She wanted to be angry, it would be so much easier to be angry with him for not telling her any of this. But really, what could he have told her? She had been just as lost as him. She had only found out what depression even was a decade ago. And by then, Lucifer had been like this for hundreds of years. It had felt too late to do anything. It wasn't as though they could find good therapists in Hell, anyway.

The sound of chair legs dragging against hardwood snapped her out of her thoughts. The woman had removed her large, feathered hat; her thin white hair pulled up in a loose bun. She pushed a box of tissues across the table. It was only then that Lilith registered her wet cheeks and quivering lip. She took a tissue. “Thank you. I'm sorry to drop this on you so suddenly.”

“Don't you worry about that,” the woman's voice was soft despite the sharpness she exuded. Angular face, a long, pointed nose, and teeth like knives. Lilith could practically hear the questions bouncing around in her mind. She couldn't blame her. It wasn't everyday The Queen knocked on the door and asked for a place to hide.

Heaven would not rest until they found her and dragged her back to the god-forsaken beach. Especially now that she had seen the snake. Sir-something. She had been too busy fighting off the guards to commit his name to memory. But he was one of Charlie's sinners, he had said as much. He had died in the battle with the exorcists. He had been redeemed. And Heaven was desperate to keep that a secret.

The news would be all over Hell in a few days if Lilith had her way. She had not sacrificed her marriage and relationship with her daughter for nothing. The bureaucrats on the council could tsk and sing their honied lies all the wanted; none of them gave a fuck about her people. They clearly didn’t even see them as people. As if their God hadn’t decided their fates from day one. As if He hadn’t set them all up for failure and then laughed as they were culled like cattle. How dare they turn up their noses at her and her people when they would rather commit mass genocide every year than put in half the work her daughter was to help those who needed it? And the denizens of Hell were still called the demons.

“You said you've met my daughter?” She believed she had heard something along those lines, while being ushered inside.

“Oh, yes! Charlie's quite the character! Would you believe it, she convinced the entire town to fight alongside her when the exorcists came knocking! And won, too!”

Lilith smiled and took another sip of tea. That's my girl.

“She put up quite the fight against that Adam fella. Real pig, that one. Oh, but I'm sure you don't need me to tell ya that. Al's little maid got the last laugh, though.”

“Who?”

“Oh, right! Alastor, The Radio Demon, you remember him?”

“Vaguely.” She had rubbed elbows with The Radio Demon on occasion, back when she attended Overlord meetings. Not very talkative, but perfectly polite. That TV friend of his did most of the speaking. Unfortunate, since he was decidedly not perfectly polite. “He's still around?”

“Yes, Ma'am. He's got his hand in Charlie's hotel, if you can believe it. Cashed in a few favours to help her out!” The woman huffed and shook her head. “I can't say I understand what goes on in that head of his, but he seems fond of her.” At Lilith's dark look, the woman snorted and waved a hand. “Oh my stars, not like that Ma'am! He's not interested in anyone in that way.”

“Oh...” what was the term? It started with an 'A'... Heaven's sake, was this how Lucifer felt when he kept misplacing his things? “That's good, then. I'd hate to hear she ended her relationship with that girl.” Oh, what was her name? Maggie? Something like that. Nervous little thing. She had barely stuttered out a 'hello' the first time they had met. “I don't suppose there's any way to get to Charlie discreetly?”

The woman hummed in thought. “I suppose Alastor could take you through his shadows, next time he visits. It shouldn't be too long now, I'm sure. He'll be bursting at the seams to talk my ear off about his victory over The Vees.”

The Vees? Weren't they—? “Isn't that the TV-headed man?”

“Yeah, Vox. And Velvette and,” she pulled a face, “Valentino. Real pains in the derrieres, y'know. Good riddance. Especially that little bug. Goodness knows what he's put the working girls through.”

Lilith hummed around another sip of tea. “I thought Alastor and Vox were on good terms?”

The woman guffawed, doubling over and slapping her knee. “Oh, shoot! Don't ever let him hear you say that!” She wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “Oh, he’d never forgive me if I spilled all the tea, but just know it was a nasty spat. Not a denizen in Hell could have avoided it! Good for him, I say. That gaudy punk was always holding him back. Charlie’s much better company.”

“I see.” She sipped her tea, scanning the shop. Pristine white floors, polished glass display cases, spotless cherry wood furnishings. Red, everything was always red, here. Even the roses on the check-in desk… ah, that was right; Rosie was the woman’s name. She believed they had exchanged hellos once or twice before. Grunting, she pinched the bridge of her nose as another migraine flared up. They had begun plaguing her daily after her second year on the beach.

Her mind once again wandered to Heaven.

To the snake.

To Eve.

She hoped the other woman had made it out unscathed. Knowing the Archangels, they would seek any excuse to punish the poor thing for just existing. Choosing to stick by Adam even after her's and Lucifer’s gift of free will had not done her any favours. He had treated her about as well as he had treated Lilith herself. 

She had hoped the woman found peace, wherever she had ended up. What she hadn't expected was for Eve to find her. When she had shown up at Lilith’s motel door, all pure white robes and cold, crisp hues, Lilith had been relieved. Despite everything, the poor girl had at least earned herself a place in paradise. They had talked for hours, like they used to in the garden. It was on Eve’s request that Lilith had even been allowed into Heaven to speak on her daughter's behalf in the first place. What would they do to her, now that Lilith had escaped?

“He sure did get his revenge.” Rosie laughed and glanced at the radio on the nearby windowsill. “I ain’t heard him so eager to get to killin’ since the extermination. Those Vees sure did make a fuss.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right! It’s my turn to prep the dinner.”

Lilith tilted her head.

“Oh, it’s our little tradition. Every time Alastor topples a new Overlord, we celebrate! He cooked last time. My stars, that was about… 50 years ago.” She huffed out a laugh. “I might need to call in some reinforcements. Three at once ain’t nothing to sneeze at. Sure he had help, but knowing him he’ll drag them all over with him.”

Rosie was mostly talking to herself at this point. She stood, shuffling to the reception desk, and rang up a dial phone. “Hi Sweetpea, how are ya? I know it’s early, but I need some extra hands. Alastor’s bound to show up any day now and the man’s gonna want a feast—yes exactly! No, you can bring the baby, it’s no trouble! I’ll bet they’re missing their Auntie Rosie!”

Lilith was out of tea. Setting the mug down, she studied her own hands. Dirty and scratched to hell and back. Digging her way out of a pocket dimension had not been forgiving to her skin.

Would Charlie even want to see her after all this time? As far as she knew, she had up and abandoned them. Right after breaking up with her father for good. The two of them had always been two peas in a pod, despite Lucifer's depressive episodes. All it would take was one soft word from Charlie and he would perk up and offer a tired but genuine smile. It was as relieving as it was infuriating. She couldn't help but feel unworthy, unwanted, every time her husband rejected her attempts at comfort only for him to claw tooth and nail out of his spiral for Charlie's sake. Which, of course he would. She was his child. Their child. How pathetic was she, that she had been jealous of her own daughter?

Had Charlie known?

Had Lucifer known?

She shook her head. Stressing herself out over imagined scenarios would do nothing to help. She was here now. She was free. And she was going to see her daughter. Regardless of Charlie's feelings towards her, Lilith knew she would at least be happy to hear that her friend was safe. Er, as safe as Heaven's number one secret could be.

“Oh, you’re a peach! I’ll see you soon, thanks Dimple!” Rosie hung up.

Lilith stood, carrying the empty mug with her. She hoped this Alastor fellow would arrive sooner rather than later. It was only a matter of time before the angels tracked her down. Hell, they could be waiting to ambush her at the hotel. An ambush she would be powerless to resist without her magic.

The very first thing the angels had done was slap a pair of angelic cuffs around her, instantly sapping away her power. Eve had frantically assured her it was only until a seraphim could see her as she was ushered away.

It had taken her all of that first year to corrode the metal enough to snap them off herself.

When her power had not returned to her, she had screamed and trashed whatever was within reach until she passed out. Even now, she was too weak to reach for it. It would be her first priority in the morning. Perhaps she could find Alastor’s magic through hers and alert him to her presence. Rosie had said he wielded shadows too. A rare medium these days; it took far too much patience. It was reassuring to know the craft hadn’t been completely lost.

Rosie stopped her before she could pass the front desk and took the mug. “Don’t trouble yourself, Ma’am. Why don’t we get you some fresh clothes? And a bath, if you’d like? Acid rain ain’t kind to the skin no matter how tough it is.”

Lilith smiled, her throat tightening. She had been in the same dress for so long. Salt water did little to wash away sweat and blood and tears. She had gone nude for a while, out of spite, but the sun had always shined hotter, the water thrashing roughly, until she covered herself again. Petulant little creatures. It was their own God that had placed the cock between her legs in the first place. He had done the same to Lucifer, lifted his robe and slit him open for the entire courtroom to see. It had taken him longer to come around to it than her.

“I have some dresses that may fit you, if that’s your style. I can give that one a wash as well.”

“Don’t bother. I won’t be wearing it again anytime soon.” She followed Rosie through the tight halls until the woman stopped by a cherry wood door. She flicked on the light. A small tub sat snug against the wall, with golden legs and a detachable shower head. No curtain, but Lilith supposed there was no need, when one lived alone. Rosie dug into the linen closet to her right and pulled out several towels and a red robe.

“Just holler if you need anything, Ma’am.”

“Thank you. You’ve been wonderful, Rosie.”

Rosie beamed, flushing a darker grey and assuring her that it was no trouble. Once she closed the door, Lilith set the towels aside on the sink. She all but ripped off the dress, dumping it in a heap by the door. The bathtub was a bit small for her, but she wasn’t complaining. Small was a relief, after wandering that beach. She took her time scrubbing her body, minding the lingering burns. She washed her hair twice, and combed it as best she could with her fingers.

Charlie had loved to comb her hair. When she was young, she would sit for hours braiding and styling to her heart’s content. Once she was old enough, Lilith had enjoyed taking her to the salon. It had become a mother-daughter ritual, until Charlie entered her teenage years.

Lilith had never been a teenager, she had simply existed one day. All this anger had come out of nowhere, and she hadn’t known what to do. Of course, Lucifer had been no help. It was his other children, The Sins, that had really saved her. Specifically Asmodeus, and later, Beelzebub’s little niece (though Lilith was still cross with her for allowing a teenaged Charlie to get sloshed on Beelze-juice). But all of them had stepped in to get her daughter out of the palace at least once; had taken her on an adventure to let out some of that angst.

Satan still owed Lucifer a metric fuckton of money for the damages to LuLu World. Ain’t my fault, the ever wrathful beast had huffed while filling out paperwork under her watchful eye, that he’s too chicken shit to raise his own kid, an’ now she’s so pissed it takes destroying everything with his face on it t’ get a little smile outta her. I dunno how you put up with it, Lili.

Lils, c’mon, she’s stressed, Bee had argued despite the frigid glare from both Lilith and Bee’s aunt as an intoxicated Charlie drooled on the couch. Her vibe is like, all over the place. And it’s not like it’ll hurt her.

That’s not the point!

Isn’t it? I mean, no offence, but it’s not like she’s got much to look forward to sober. Why not let her have a break? Could be a fun way to bond, y’know? Mother-daughter margaritas—ow! Okay, okay, fuck, fine! But it’s better than just letting her rot in her room like you’ve been doing.

Lilith had not slept that night.

I didn’t have the heart to wake her, Asmodeus had whispered while leading Lilith to his enormous bed, where Charlie had curled up with a fantasy novel and fallen asleep. How’ve you been, Hon? Lu been treating you well? …Still? Asmodeus had tsked and shaken his head. I’m sorry. It must be so hard for all of you. Hm? Oh… well, you do what you have to do. You know you and Charlie will always have a place here. Oh, she didn’t tell you? She’s going by ‘Charlie’ now. It’s cute, don’t you think? It suits her.

Lilith had not thought it suited her then. They had argued about it when they had gone home. Loud enough for Lucifer to snap out of his funk and break them up. He had taken Charlie’s side. Of course he had. Lilith hadn’t even cared about the name. She was just so frustrated. She had needed something to be angry about. But Lucifer had been indigent, outraged even, that she would suggest barring Charlie from picking her own name. He had put his foot down in the first real show of emotion she had seen from him in decades. Anger. Towards her. It had been the last straw for the night, and she had stormed off.

When she had returned in the early morning, the palace smelled of baked goods. Lucifer had evidently spent the night doing damage control. Brownies, cookies, pies, and of course, pancakes littered every kitchen surface available. Charlie was sitting at the table, gnawing on one of the cookies. Despondent as he usually was. It satisfied something dark within Lilith to have Lucifer be given a taste of his own medicine.

“ And you can be whoever you wanna be, ” he was saying as he toothpick-tested a cake. “ Charlie, Charlotte, Spoon, whatever you want, Sweetie. I didn’t crash and burn down here for not giving people free will, may as well use it, right? ” He had laughed, though it had sounded more like a wheeze. Charlie had hummed noncommittally. “ So, uh… how’s the cookie? ”

“ Good. ”

“ Good! Good… ”

She stood. “ I’m going to bed. ”

“ O-okay! Okay, yeah, uh, that sounds… good. Get some rest. ” She was already halfway up the stairs. “ Hey, uh… goodnight, Charlie. I love you. ”

“ ...Night. ”

Lilith drained the tub, wrung out her hair, and stepped over the lip. Her apology the following morning had not been accepted right away, but Lilith didn’t blame Charlie for that. She had known even at the time she was being unreasonable. It had been a chilling reminder of why she had vowed to keep her distance from Lucifer in the first place. If her frustrations with him were contaminating her relationship with Charlie, she had clearly needed a wider birth from her husband. Physically and mentally. A sisyphean feat considering how much Charlie resembled her father, but Lilith had managed. They had been close, before Heaven had captured her, that was all she could ask for.

The cold floor grounded her as the room warped and shifted. It almost looked bigger. Emptier.

No. She wasn’t on the beach. She was home, safe, in Hell. Those prissy angels wouldn’t dare sully their feathers in this weather even if they did know where she was. She wrapped a towel around her body, and another over her head. Sat on the lip of the tub. Tapped her feet against the floor and listened to the acid rain hiss as it pelted the roof. Lightning cracked. Wind howled.

Lilith slumped forward. She felt her horns burst forth, curled and sharp and red. She felt her teeth sharpen as she fought to sniffle quietly. She felt her eyes heat up, and knew the sclera was now black as a starless night. Her claws were long and sharp as she dug them into her scalp. Throat tight and head pounding, she wept.

Lightning cracked again.

She was brought back to a stormy night years ago. They had been arguing (rather, Lilith had been arguing at him and Lucifer had kept his head down), and it had woken up Charlie. Not wanting their daughter to cry, Lilith had shoved aside her frustration and Lucifer had snapped himself out of his funk. They had let Charlie lead them to the living room and danced with her until she fell asleep. Lilith had intended to take her back to bed, when Lucifer had shyly asked if she would share a dance with him. Like they were on a first date, and not a married couple with centuries under their belt.

They had ended up sharing five dances. He had kissed her more that night than he had in the last ten thousand years. He had told her he loved her, and had sounded so genuine that it hurt. But she had been tired of hurting, and hadn’t wanted to ruin the nice moment, so she had said it back, and they had kissed again. When he had fallen asleep on her shoulder, she had cried quietly into her hands. Such a beautiful moment, and all she could think about was how long it would be until she had something like this again.

And here she was, centuries later. Crying quietly into her hands again. Part of her withered up, ashamed to be showing such weakness in the home of her people. A bigger part of her was just so tired. She missed who her husband once was and loathed who he had become. She missed her daughter and loathed Heaven for keeping her away when Charlie needed her most. She missed her people and all the ridiculous red they kept everywhere. She missed her home. She missed coffee. She missed feeling whole.

She didn’t register the knock on the door.

Nor the creak as it opened, the quiet gasp, or the click of the door being shut once more.

She should not be feeling this way. She was home now, she was safe. She had to start making preparations. Be the queen she had built herself into. Heaven wouldn’t rest until she and her daughter were erased. Her people needed her. Charlie needed her. She had to get up…

She closed her eyes. Just for a moment. If she still had her power, she could have melted into the shadows. Sought out her own bed. Curled up in the silk sheets and remained there for days. But that would run the risk of bumping into Lucifer. He likely hadn’t left the palace. Would he even let her stay? …Of course he would. Sentimental angel that he was. But she couldn’t face him. Not now.

Not as her racing thoughts finally quieted, and she slumped against the still-warm tub. She dreamed of endless sand and frigid waves. Of shadows gnawing at golden chains. Of musty, heavy blankets and whispered comfort. And then she dreamed of nothing at all.

—

The toddler on her knee was staring at her.

They had been since she had stumbled into the kitchen, nursing her stiff neck. Her people always seemed to recognize her on a subconscious level. No matter how young. How such a small child could have been deemed a ‘sinner’ was beyond her. Their guardians, too, were none-the-wiser. The short, frail-looking imp with pierced horns (Dimple) had apparently found the toddler (Quinnton) in the aftermath of an extermination. They and their partner, a bigger, burlier imp (Piper) had since accepted the child as their own.

Neither one had expected their apparently fussy child to sit so perfectly still on The Queen’s lap while they assisted Rosie in the kitchen. “Alastor will only eat sweets if it’s from them,” Rosie had explained while flipping a slab of meat, “took our local delicacies to heart real quick, these two!”

Dimple had chuckled, eyeing Quinnton with poorly-masked worry.

Piper had preened at the praise and wrapped her arm around Dimple’s shoulders. “What can I say, sometimes blood just has more kick than a plain old egg!” Her voice was thick with a wrathian accent. The smile on her face never faltered even as she shoved her arm elbow-deep into the carcass of a deer and ripped out some innards.

Lilith tried not to let her disgust show as Piper tossed the guts into the garbage. She thanked whatever was listening that the bacon and eggs Rosie had offered her earlier were about as vegetarian as the cannibal colony could get.

There had been no real food on the beach. Nothing above bland tea and finger foods they hadn’t bothered to replace after the first year. She had died of hunger several times on that beach. On her back, with sand soiling every inch of her body, and the white sun glaring down at her. Every new breath had been agony. Especially without her power.

She could sense it now, chained and weakened. It reached for her. Could she reach back? How was she to summon and control her own magic without her own magic? It wasn’t an innate skill like Lucifer’s, she had worked to nurture this power. To make it her own. But human-made magic never did get attached. It was fickle.

Simple spells, like summoning small objects from nothing or creating a small flame, were one thing. Those tended to stick.

But teleportation? Shadowy tendrils that guarded her blind spots? She couldn’t fathom how to reach it. Still, she had to try.

Quinnton didn’t fuss when she placed them on a separate chair. They had crawled onto her lap of their own accord, much to their parent’s embarrassment, and she hadn’t minded. It was kind of nice to hold a baby again. She hadn’t held Charlie much; hadn’t wanted to re-trigger Lucifer’s depressive episodes by taking her out of his arms.

Exhaling, she closed her eyes and reached into The Void. Her magic reached back. The shadowy tendril that represented its arm quaked with exhaustion.

Come to me.

The tendril lurched forward, then hissed as it was yanked backwards. Lilith wrinkled her nose at the too-sweet smell that followed. What wretched carcass were Rosie and Piper mutilating now? Something from Lust, maybe, or perhaps Gluttony. That would explain the syrupy smell. Almost rotten in its intensity.

Wait. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the edge of her seat. Come to me, she commanded again. The tendril stretched, its tip trembling as it struggled to grasp her outstretched hand. Golden light flooded her mind, making her gasp sharply at the immediate headache.

It couldn’t be the exorcists; those little brats could barely wield their own weapons, much less capture her power. And a seraph would sooner welcome demons into Heaven with open arms than set foot in Hell.

Her magic whined, a raspy, ragged thing in her mind, and, to her bewilderment, reached backwards. Stretching just as valiantly as it had for her, only to be lashed with gold (she could see it now, from behind; chains that whipped forward like snakes). Was someone else reaching for her power? Who had the capability…? Was it Lucifer? Charlie? No, she was certain Lucifer would have no issue calling it forward, and Charlie could barely use her own magic.

Strangely, her magic still responded to her call, reaching back for her just as desperately. Frowning, she cast the mystery aside. There were more pressing matters to deal with. So long as this holy being wasn’t a seraph, Lilith had little doubt she could break these chains. Heaven used magic thoughtlessly. Recklessly. Mighty beams of powerful light and blasts of energy. Demonic magic was patient. It could chip and chip and chip until the finest holy blades crumbled to dust.

Contort.

Her shadows hissed, condensing into a writhing ball, smaller, smaller, until she could feel the pressure behind her eyes. It waited. Shook. Exuded waves of energy as it struggled to keep curled up tight. There was a flash of gold as the chains materialised, clamping around the much smaller mass.

Expand.

Her shadows burst forth, flooding her vision, her mind, and The Void’s walls. The magic screamed, thousands of overlapping voices covered with static. She didn’t have time to note the curious change as she heard the telltale crack of holy steel. She grinned. Contort.

Her magic obeyed once again, swirling back into itself. The chains groaned under the condensed pressure, its glow dimming as the darkness swallowed it.

Expand.

An awful screech echoed through The Void as her shadows clawed at the steel. It bent under the pressure. Contort.

The chainlinks trembled as the shadows sucked up their light. The bright gold metal whined as black rust bloomed on its surface.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Expand.

A rip, like tearing fabric with the bass boosted, followed by a blast of inky shadows. Lilith had just enough forethought to grab Quinnton and shield them from the explosion. What classified as a supernova in The Void was but a mighty gust of hot wind in Rosie’s kitchen. Still, corroded golden shrapnel bounced off the newly free shadow tendrils, off the walls, off her own hands and horns. It sizzled as it struck her, marring her skin with more burns. Then, darkness. Cold and dry. Her magic swirled around her like overzealous cats, nuzzling and purring and shrieking its delight.

She laughed with it. Nuzzled it back. Barely felt it when the shadows scratched up her arms in their excitement. They had always played rough; had always been unaware of their own strength. Her head spun as every last speck of darkness rushed back into her body. The familiar weight settled at her back, incorporeal eyes blinking open just in time to see Dimple charging her.

“Quinnton!”

Ah, right. She uncurled, allowing the toddler to rub their eyes and pout up at her. Their own shadow writhed as a shard of metal touched its arm. Loud. Scary. No like, her shadow translated for her.

She simpered and kicked the shrapnel away. “Sorry, little one. I would have warned you if I knew. Are you hurt?”

They shook their head.

“Good.” She turned around, barely managing to make a sound before Dimple yanked Quinnton out of her arms and scrambled backwards. Lilith blinked, unsure what to make of the young imp’s expression. Terror and fury all at once. Even Quinnton was giving them a confused look. Well… she supposed it was just parental instincts. She could only imagine how horrified she would have been if one of the seraph had pulled something like that while holding Charlie.

“I’m sorry,” she said, standing to observe the kitchen. Thinner cuts of meat and assorted spice jars had been knocked to the floor. The rue Rosie had been stirring had splashed over the stove and onto the poor woman’s dress. Bits of intestine dripped off of Piper’s hair. Wincing, Lilith’s shadows sprang into action without needing her command, sweeping up the mess and restocking what had been lost. “Is everyone alright?”

Dimple shuffled away, not taking their eyes off her until they were behind Rosie. The Overlord balanced herself with one hand on the island, the other tucking loose strands of hair out of her face. “Looks like it. Oh!” She jumped, and her grey face flushed darker. Lilith frowned, confused, as she stumbled forward. It was then that Lilith’s primary shadow revealed itself, rushing around Rosie like a dark tornado. It chittered in a way Lilith understood as delight; purring up a storm. By the widening of her endless eyes, Rosie knew what it meant too.

Embarrassed, Lilith clicked her heel, calling it back. Yes the woman was kind and attractive; she wasn’t blind, but this was hardly the time. Worse even, her shadow ignored her and started nuzzling its face against Rosie’s. “Stop that!”

Her shadow hissed at her.

Lilith grimaced, taking a half-step back.

Before she could even begin to question its behaviour, her shadow whimpered an apology for her ears only, but did not let go of Rosie. In fact, it started pulling her by the arm, frantically pointing towards the main parlour. “Whoa, now,” the Overlord soothed, bringing a hand up to scratch the shade’s head.

The sensation ghosted over Lilith, making her shudder. Her shadow, though, melted at the touch. One of its horns morphed, shrunk down and flicked with every brush of the woman’s fingers. Was that an ear? When had it learned to do that?

Rosie gasped, stopping just short of touching the new appendage. She blinked. Squinted. Leaned into the shadow’s space. “Alastor?”

Lilith’s shadow nodded frantically, beaming like the sun and backflipping on the spot. It yanked on Rosie’s arm again, then sank into the floor, grabbed Lilith’s arm, and dragged her forward as well.

The other pull.

How in the seven rings had this Alastor fellow gotten a hold of her magic? Had he stolen it? That was impossible; the angels… had they given it to him? Why? Why soil their hands dealing with sinners? What sort of character was this Radio Demon, that he had gained favour with the angels? And this was who was with her daughter now?

But, if he were truly in their favour, why would her magic reach back for him? It wouldn’t have, had he partnered with the angels. It would have lashed out until he was nothing but dust. Yet here it was, dragging her and Rosie towards the front door, gesturing frantically up the street, away from the rising sun.

“The hotel?” Rosie guessed.

Her shadow nodded again. When its rapid pointing was met with confusion, it hissed, sank back into the ground, back to its place at Lilith’s feet, and shrieked in her mind.

GO GO GO DANGER DANGER DANGER HURT FRIEND HURT FRIEND GO DANGER DAUGHTER DANGER DANGERDANGERDANGER!!!

Lilith grunted, clamping her hands over her ears futilly. “Okay, okay, I hear you!”

HOTEL DANGER HOTEL DANGER HURT FRIEND HURT DAUGHTER DANGER GO GO GO!!

“Ma’am?” Rosie touched her arm, concern evident in her gaze.

Lilith felt her shadow—was it even hers anymore?—relax at the touch.

Friend, it said, invisible eyes locked on Rosie. Friend help friend, good friend, danger, go, we go, now!

“Okay,” Lilith assured, running a hand up and down her own arm, trying to sooth it. It purred, a rumble deep in her chest. Whatever the circumstances that allowed it; this Radio Demon had clearly treated her magic with care. If it was worried enough to defy her, she supposed she could intervene in whatever trouble Alastor had gotten himself into. She had been going to the hotel anyway. “Thank you for everything, Rosie. I’ll make sure you’re properly compensated once I’ve sorted this mess out. I should be going.”

“Wait!” She tightened her grip on her arm. “That shadow, it’s—is Alastor alright?”

“I’m not sure.” Her shadow popped out of the ground again, yanking the both of them by the arm. Lilith tsked. “Impatient.”

It yanked harder.

“Ma’am, those angels that followed you; what if they went to your daughter’s hotel?”

Her shadow sank back to her feet and crept up her legs. She allowed it, welcoming the cold grip of darkness as her sclera blackened and her horns extended. “Then they will wish they had been slaughtered with the rest of their kind at my daughter’s hands, when I’m through with them.”

Rosie hesitated as the inky shadows snaked up Lilith’s torso, arms, shoulders. Then, she turned to shout: “Dimple, Piper! Watch the shop!” The shadow took her extended hand the moment it was offered. “Take me with you.” Lilith had no time to object. She didn’t think Rosie would listen even if she did. In a blink, her vision swam with darkness. Her shadow zipped from block to block, jostling her and Rosie around like loose cargo. It raced through darkened corridors, uncaring of who it tripped in its rush. Then she saw it. Taller than she remembered, and bright enough to serve as a beacon to rival the heavenly embassy. Lucifer’s influence, no doubt.

Lilith barely had time to take in the extravagant exterior before her shadow scurried under the door and spat them into the lobby. Red, always red with her people. Red couches, red rugs, red wood adorned with gold and white fixtures.

There was sulphur in the air, as was usual with Hell. Every surface smelled of something apple-pie-sweet with a kick of spice; Lucifer’s magic. And a thicker, deeper musk; swamp and petricor. Alastor, she presumed. If the magic hadn’t been ingrained so deeply, she would have never noticed over the reek of rotting flowers.

Traces of angelic spells littered every surface, like mould. Scouting wards hung above every shadowy crevice, eliminating any chance at stealth. A silencing spell coated the entire room,  perhaps the entire hotel. Lilith squinted, studying the rippling air just before the staircase leading up to the balcony. A familiar spell. The very thing she had clawed her way out of in Heaven. Easy to spot after seven years at its mercy.

She strode forward, feeling the prickling along her back that indicated her spines were extending. The dress Rosie had loaned her tore easily as they protruded. Violet claws sharp and gleaming; she dug into the writhing air. It howled; high-pitched and reverberating throughout the lobby. A small gash formed under her claws, and she pulled. The spell shrieked, hissing frigid air into her face. Snarling, she tore harder, deeper, paying no mind to the transparent blood soaking her sleeves.

One of the few advantages of her brand of magic; it was an entity entirely separate from her. Its pain was only her problem if she allowed it to be, and vice versa. Angels instilled bits of their own essence into their spells. Every broken ward left a scar.

The scouting spells opened their eyes, blinding white with golden irises and lashes, all boring into her. Behind her, Rosie yelped, backing up against her. “What in the Hell is this?!”

Lilith grunted, ripping the wound wider, soaking the carpet and the bottoms of hers and Rosie’s dresses. “Scouts.” The spines on her back elongated, flexed, then shot in every direction. She pierced any eyes close enough, gritting her teeth as they too shrieked before melting into more transparent blood. It would leave less of a mark than destroying the illusion, but any damage was acceptable.

More shrieking assaulted her ears. “When I get my hands on that man,” Rosie muttered, pointing her umbrella towards another eye, under siege from a spindly minion gnashing its razor-sharp teeth against the oozing flesh, “he’d better have a damn good explanation for all this new-fangled trouble.”

A sharp tear pierced the buzzing atmosphere.

Lilith ripped the illusion in two, shoving the living air aside as it melted into nothingness. Her knuckles ached, wounds reopened from the magic’s attempts to fight her off. She rubbed her hands as Rosie continued snuffing out the prying eyes. “I mean, honestly,” she continued, grimacing as one of the eyes popped, dripping ooze on her arm, “he up and disappears for seven years an’ shows back up like nothing’s amiss. Won’t even talk about where he’s been or where he learned—!” she ducked as one of the eyes flung a golden lash at her, “how he managed to land The Queen of Hell’s powers? The Alastor I know would be bragging for decades.”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to blame him entirely,” Lilith said, though she wasn’t sure she believed herself.

Rosie scoffed, batting another eyelash away with her umbrella, scoring a direct hit on one of the scouts on the ceiling. “Trust me, Ma’am, once you get to talkin’ to him for a few minutes, you’d feel the same.” She sighed, fixing her hair as her minions dissipated. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s a dear friend, but that man’s head is bigger than Hell itself. When those exorcists came knocking, he took on that brute Adam on his lonesome. Almost lost him for good, all of Hell saw it. How he managed to stay alive after a hit like that is beyond me.” A soft, fond smile spread over her face. “I suppose he’s just too stubborn to die.”

Lilith felt her shadow purr in agreement. It broadcast its fuzzy memories to her; adrenaline, delight, surprise, pain, and fear. Familiar fear. Bitter and angry; like the first time that pig had forced himself on her in the garden. She wondered if Alastor had truly wanted to face Adam on his own or if her magic had influenced him subconsciously. After all she had shared with it, the both of them had been itching to sink their teeth into the waste of skin.

“Let’s hope that stubbornness prevails,” she said as she started up the stairs. “This isn’t the work of the exorcists that followed me down here. We’ll need all the help we can get.” Her spines shivered, and one sprung forth to impale yet another scout stationed just above a framed photograph. It showed Charlie smiling wide enough to split her face next to—Angel Dust? Charlie had recruited Angel Dust?

She stifled a chuckle. Not at the spider’s expense, it was admirable of him to give it a try. Braver than most of the poor souls trapped down here. But she had a feeling Heaven would sooner start mass exterminations in their own domain before letting the likes of him up there. Based on the one time she had interacted with him (which had ended abruptly when she found out he was under duress and was wholly uninterested in women) he would loathe it up there.

More photos adorned the hall as she and Rosie made their way eastward. Charlie and her girlfriend hugging and smiling, the former with cake all over her face and confetti in her hair. Her girlfriend was simpering, her eyes averted and her face flushed dark. A banner behind them read “It's A Boy! 1st Year Anniversary”.

Charlie with her arm around the shoulders of a black and white chimaera. Lilith recognized him; the up-and-coming Overlord who was struck down before he could truly carve out a place for himself. By Alastor, if she recalled correctly.

A tiny maid smooshed between Charlie, her girlfriend, and Angel Dust, all with face masks on, beaming for the camera.

The snake she had met in Heaven, waving shyly. His portrait was surrounded by flowers. A snuffed out candle sat under it. Still smoking.

Lilith studied it as she walked. There was no breeze in here. The air was dead. Did this angel know about the snake? Was that why they had come here? To destroy whatever it was that had earned a sinner a place in Heaven?

Her spines trembled, making her shiver. Static crept through the empty air, prickling her skin. Her shadows perked up, pooling at her feet and peeking out from behind her legs. Rosie, too, paused, her gaze shooting up, her mouth a small ‘o’.

The static grew louder, thicker. Heels clacked against hardwood. Shallow pants echoed through the hall. A man came skidding to a halt just before them. Dressed to the nines in—what else?—red. The ears her shadow had mimicked were pressed to his skull. His jaw-splitting smile was adorned with glowing green thread.

“Alastor!”

His wide, frantic eyes flicked from Rosie to Lilith. Upon registering her, his entire body tensed and he scrambled backwards. His back hit the wall with a thunk, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Alastor?” Rosie stepped forward, brows furrowed in concern. 

Alastor flinched.

He dug grooves into the wall as he trembled, eyes never leaving Lilith’s. She furrowed her brows. Was he afraid of her? Was it the form? She supposed most sinners, Overlord or otherwise, would be uneasy in the presence of a visibly angry queen. Before she could raise both hands in surrender, her shadows rushed forward. Alastor tried to bolt, shoes scrambling for purchase on the rug, but he wasn’t fast enough. Lilith’s magic tackled him to the ground, trilling and chittering, rushing over him like overly excited cats. She could hear it cheering in her mind, and huffed out a laugh.

It was cut short when a distorted snarl tore through the air.

Cringing, Lilith rushed to his side and clicked her heels. “Get off this instant!” Her shadows whined, releasing the trembling man and sulking at her feet.

Alastor scrambled to his hands and knees, scooting as far away from her as possible. She winced, stepping back.

“I’m so sorry. Alastor, was it?” The man blinked several times, eyes overlaid with red static. Her shadow, which had fully taken on Alastor’s silhouette, whined again, squirming in place. His eyes cleared somewhat, meeting the shadow’s glowing gaze in confusion. Lilith patted its lowered head, trying to soothe. “This impatient thing only missed you, that’s all. Are you alright?”

Alastor’s gaze darted to her hand. His smile tightened, more a snarl than anything. 

Lilith frowned, slowly lifting her hand away.

It didn’t settle Alastor’s heaving chest, his nostrils flaring with every pant. He didn’t move to stand, only dug harder into the wall with shaking hands. “... Where is Charlie?” His voice was raw, words minced between choppy breaths.

Lilith tilted her head. “We were hoping you’d know.”

Alastor blinked again, his eyes clearing just in time for Rosie to drop to her knees before him. “You,” she began, jabbing his chest with one finger, “have got to stop getting yourself into trouble with angels, Alastor.”

“...Rosie?” His voice dipped, akin to a fussy radio with a bad signal.

Rosie tutted, prying his claws out of the wall and squeezing them. “What have you done now?” She was referring to his hands, turning them over and studying them with a frown. They were quite damaged; knuckles swollen and already bruising in some places. Glass was embedded into his palms. Dried blood flecked off the backs of his hands as Rosie ran her thumbs over them.

Alastor only blinked. “Èske ou vrèman isit la?”

Rosie’s brows arched in concern. She leaned in closer to whisper, “nan kou mwen ye.”

At that, Alastor relaxed some. His breathing evened out, though his teeth still chattered with residual nerves. He peeked over Rosie’s shoulder, studying the shadow that had tackled him. Its ears perked up, and it gave him the widest, cheesiest grin.

Lilith gave it a stern mental pull to keep it at her side, despite its whining. Wait until he gives you permission, she reprimanded. Alastor was looking at her now, ears pinned to his head, back pressed as far into the wall as he could get.

Rosie looked over her shoulder, arching a brow at her.

Lilith shrugged and backed further away until she was leaning against the wall opposite to Alastor. Based on what Rosie had said, she hadn’t thought The Radio Demon would be so rattled by her mere presence. She would have assumed it was residual fear from whatever angelic magic he had faced on his lonesome, but then he wouldn’t be burning a hole through her head with his eyes, would he? She cleared her throat, averting her eyes. “I’m very impressed. It never even missed Lucifer this much. You must have been an exceptional caster. Shadows aren’t easily won-over, especially mine. But I’m sure you figured that out.” The following silence sat heavy in the air. Lilith couldn’t help but pick at her nails. This was not how conversations typically went. Had she said something wrong?

She glanced up, watching Rosie haul Alastor to his feet. He still stared, sparing Rosie the occasional glance. “Oh, come now, Alastor,” Rosie began, nudging him with her hip, “where are those manners of yours?” She gestured to Lilith, who looked down at her hands again. “We didn’t come all the way here just for you to stare.”

“I… yes, my… my apologies. Why… have you come?”

Rosie pointed to the sulking shadow with her thumb. “Little one insisted. Half-dragged us over. Not a moment too soon, it would seem.”

“It said you and Charlie were in danger,” Lilith added, “and I was planning to see Charlie myself, once I was able.”

“Able?” Alastor furrowed his brows, looking from her, to her shadow, to Rosie. “Have you…? When did you encounter…?”

“Last night,” Rosie said, lifting a brow. “Apparently Heaven’s been holding our Queen hostage for some time.”

“Heaven…” Alastor studied Lilith one last time, his nose scrunching as he put some invisible puzzle together. He turned back to Rosie. “And you have been with her the entire time?”

“Yes?”

Alastor visibly swallowed. He scanned Lilith up and down. Lingered on her face, horns, and her scratched up hands. He mouthed what looked like ‘red’ while eyeing a larger cut along the back of her hand, still sluggishly bleeding. Gulped again. Brought his hands up to rub at his throat.

“It’s kinda thoughtless,” Lucifer had explained once after shape-shifting for the first time. “My body’s not really physically here, like yours. I’m a little too big for that, heh. But I gotta walk around in something, y’know? So I choose this, most of the time. It’s less shape-shifting and more of an illusion.”

It had fascinated her at the time. She had poked his cheek, his arm, his sides; which had earned her a snort. “Can you still feel?”

“Yeah. It’s still me, just… I dunno, I’m not the best with explaining stuff like this. I can technically look however I want,” he had exemplified his statement by shifting into a cat, a horse, and then back to his more humanoid form. “But, uh, I like this one best.”

Lilith had smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Me too.”

The growl that shook the walls was involuntary.

Those repulsive vultures. How dare they touch her sinners?! Centuries of genocide, and now this? And to wear her face while doing so? No. This would not stand.

A high-pitched whine broke her out of her seething. Her shadow, still wearing Alastor’s silhouette, yanked on her sleeve, flicking its ear towards the others. Crowded against the wall, eyes wide; Alastor standing in front of Rosie protectively despite how badly his own legs shook.

Lilith grimaced and took a deep breath, reigning in her temper. Such displays were likely the last thing either of them, especially Alastor, needed to see. The poor thing was still struggling to breathe. She rested a hand over her racing heart. Withdrew her talons and spines. Pulled in her horns until they were no longer curled like a ram’s. Exhaled the purple embers in the back of her throat.

Alastor took half a step back, his breath hitching. She met The Radio Demon’s frantic eyes, unable to force the black within her own to melt away. “I am not angry with you,” she assured, though she couldn’t be sure how comforting it was while she was still radiating murderous intent. “I only want to know one thing.”

Alastor’s ears flicked as she squinted at his neck. Her shadow whimpered, cowering at the memory of the invisible collar. Heavy and thick and so cold it burned. “I cannot guarantee an answer.”

She could barely hear him over the static. The stitches, too, glowed brighter, and Alastor grunted as they tightened of their own accord. Lilith tilted her head, allowing her shadow to circle Alastor’s feet once again. It purred, settling over his shoulders like a living boa. Only once she felt it melt enough into his essence did she ask:

“What did they ask of you in exchange?”

Chapter Text

The thread tightened before he could fully open his mouth. He hissed, clawing at his face to no avail. The shadow around his shoulders whimpered, curling closer.

It had done the same thing when he had first met the woman he had believed to be Lilith. The very moment she had bestowed it upon him, he had been convinced she had played him, somehow. All it had done was whine and cower and cling to him like a frightened child. Weeks later, it had emerged from under the table and nodded along to some of his music. With some prompting, it had danced with him, and even laughed at his jokes when he was broadcasting. He hadn’t discovered its affinity for violence until several months later. Some overzealous thieves had thought it suitable for ‘The Great Radio Demon’ to die by their blade after such a humiliating defeat at the hands of The Vees.

The shadow had laughed at their screams, too.

It had taken to his commands so quickly; rarely disobeying him. Even while directly opposing… whoever this mystery woman was. No hesitation, only remorse as it was forced to witness his punishments, and distress if it was taken away from him. He had never told the shadow that being wrapped in its wispy embrace after a terrible night with his patron had soothed him far more than he thought possible, but he had a feeling it knew. It had kept doing it, after all.

Even now, it nuzzled his cheek with its own, purring like a motor boat. A living spell crafted by The Queen herself… and it had missed him.

The Queen, who was studying him as the shadow showered him in affection.

In his seven years under 'Lilith’s' thumb, he had never seen her sprout horns. He knew she had them, had seen the pictures, and had assumed they worked similarly to Charlie’s and Lucifer’s; emerging during moments of high emotion. He had also never seen her willingly go without makeup, much less show a visage that was less than immaculate. Not helped by the multiple bruises and cuts adorning her face and hands. Cuts that bled red. Not that tempting golden-white that had come out when Vaggie had thrown that knife.

Golden-white, like Vaggie’s own blood.

Like Lucifer’s.

Why would an angel—why would any holy being want to make a deal with him?! What in the Hell could he offer them?

You are nothing, his patron had said to him the night she found him rummaging through the garbage. She had said it like it was a favour to him, with pity in her eyes and a shake of her head. Poor thing. Your empire has crumbled. Your primitive little rituals have done you no favours. Hell has outgrown you. Wouldn’t you like to show them how wrong they were to doubt you? The television would be nothing without the very radio waves you control. You should be the primary source of Hell’s entertainment.

I still am, he had tried to argue.

The woman wearing Lilith’s face had tutted, as if he were a stubborn child. Oh you poor, dear man. Who would be caught dead listening to a word you say, after a display so pathetic as that?

Alastor’s answering snarl had been all the confirmation she had needed.

You’re smart, Radio Demon. You know what’s left for you now. Really, you should be thanking me. This is quite the generous offer, and from your own Queen. More power than you could ever hope to borrow, and all yours to do with as you please. All I ask is that you keep our home entertaining for the both of us.That should be simple for a man of your expertise. She had offered him a glowing golden hand. Take it, and live, Alastor. Live as you should with Hell as your stage.

Her hand had been cold when he shook it.

“I see,” Lilith murmured. The shadow chittered in a way Alastor recognised as confirmation. Lilith looked him in the eyes, her gaze sharp and determined. “It works.” She turned to Rosie, who had taken to picking the glass out of Alastor’s hands. “Charlie’s hotel works. ” She looked over her shoulder, at the portrait of—

No. Surely not. She couldn’t mean—!

“I saw him up there. Before I escaped. Sir…?”

“Pentious,” Alastor breathed. “He’s alive?”

“As alive as Heaven’s most precious secret can be.” Lilith’s frown was bitter and cold. “They have him locked away in the same type of prison I was in. The very illusion they’ve cloaked the hotel in.”

“Illusion?” Alastor felt faint.

“The endless halls and corridors that lead to nowhere. I destroyed one on our way up. I doubt it was the only one.”

That was why the halls stretched on and on. When the hallway outside his room had never ended he had lost his wits and burst through the wall. Embarrassing as it was, he was sure Charlie would understand. “I’m afraid I took to destroying something else in my ignorance.”

Lilith hummed, likely eyeing the dust and insulation stuck in his hair. “So it seems. Not a bad strategy, all things considered. Do you have any idea where Charlie could be?”

Alastor shook his head. “My best guess would be our ballroom, if these illusions were cast before she and The King took their leave—”

Lilith’s eyes widened. “Lucifer’s here? ”

“Yes?” Alastor swallowed dryly, willing his racing heart to settle. “Charlie called him in for a favour and he’s been a consistent thorn in my side ever since.”

Before Alastor could worry about how that sounded, considering his intentions when he had first arrived, Lilith snorted. “Well, I’m glad he’s found the energy for that, at least.” There was a melancholic lilt to the words that Alastor could not trace. Her eyes had yet to lose their demonic edge, but they were glazed as she stared at the ground.

“He was the one who asked me to fetch backup,” Alastor admitted. “I believe he saw through the illusion rather easily.”

Her eyes softened. “Being The King of Lies has its perks. Though, he was always a dreadful liar.”

“Oh, the irony.”

They shared a chuckle.

Icy breath hit the back of his neck. He jumped, whipping around with his hackles raised, only to be met with an empty hallway. His throat tightened by no fault of his own. “She’s watching—!” The stitches pulled his lips shut, forcing his teeth to clench with a snap. The ladies stared, concern and horror on each of their faces. Lilith’s hand twitched, as if she meant to reach for him.

“Despicable,” she hissed, her horns elongating. “They slaughter us for sport and call us savage, and then use our own currency against us. Worse even, they lie like cowards. ” She began to pace, exhaling violet fire on every breath . “They knew. They knew redemption was feasible. They just didn’t care. They wanted to slaughter us. As far as they’re concerned, my sinners are no longer human. Just a bunch of mistakes. ” A rich purple wave shot out from her feet, cracking the walls and shaking the building. “That was why they sent you here to sabotage Charlie. They didn’t want to lose their annual sport. ”

Alastor’s jaw dropped. How did she—?

Lilith gestured to the shadow, still curled around Alastor’s shoulders. “What it knows, I know.”

Alastor could only gape. Of course, he had expected there to be a mental connection between The Queen and her own spell; he had not expected the shadow to tattle on him. Could she read his every thought through it? His every feeling? Would she know his every passing observation? The creature was attached to him now, she had said so herself. Were his thoughts even his, now? 

A slap to the back of his head snapped him out of his spiral. “Alastor Michèl Magnon!” He cringed as Rosie glared up at him. “You made a deal? With an angel?! ”

“I did not know it was an angel.”

“ Please tell me you didn’t—!”

He looked away.

Rosie’s concern morphed into horror. “Oh, Alastor, you didn’t. ”

“I had no choice.” He slid off the wall, pressing forward with his head down. “There is no time to discuss this now. Charlie and the others need help.” Fighting the way his own legs shook, he trudged down the hall. There was no sound to indicate the ladies following him, but the shadow let him see through its eyes. Rosie jogged until she was walking by his side, and he fought to ignore her burning gaze.

“You know I would have done what I could to help.”

Alastor sighed. “I know.”

“I looked for you, after that battle.”

They had planned it together. Months of preparation, and Alastor had thrown it all away. For his ego. He had wanted the glory of defeating his enemy and everything he held dear for himself. He had felt he deserved it. He hadn’t wanted to owe Rosie anything.

As if she would pull such tactics on him. Loyalty was her greatest virtue; a rarity in Hell, and one Alastor exploited often. Of course she would do the same, had done the same, but for far less nefarious deeds. Rosie had always been frugal; unwilling to pull Alastor into her business unless absolutely necessary. Yet, when he came knocking, she always provided. Far more than he bargained for. Perhaps more than he deserved. She had sent her people to war for him. She had rushed into a death trap for him. For Hell’s sake, she had left Franklin for him! The stocky man had never liked Alastor, had never liked how close he and Rosie were. He had demanded she stop talking to Alastor all together, or he would leave.

Alastor still remembered sharing the roast with her that night, asking about Franklin’s whereabouts. She had simply grinned and taken another slice of meat.

Oh dear, again? I thought this one was working out for you.

Rosie had shrugged, doing her damndest to appear nonchalant. He thought he ought to have the right to decide which friends I keep close. I set that man straight. He had still seen the anger and hurt behind that devious smile. If he had waved his usual Five Foot Rule that night and held his dear friend while regaling her with tales of his greatest kills, that was their business. “If I could have told you, I would have.”

“Now, Alastor, don’t you lie to my face like that.” She nudged him with her hip. “You would have bottled it up all to yourself until I forced it outta you.”

He nudged her back. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” She asked, shooting him a small, fond smile.

He returned it, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. Thank goodness she had come. Loath as Alastor was to admit it, he would have likely driven himself insane if left to his own thoughts. She would have overpowered him easily. Revulsion crawled up his spine at the thought. The horrors she would put him through for his insolence. What she was likely doing to the others. To Charlie.

An arm shot out in front of him. Alastor would deny stumbling back and squawking until the end of his unlife. The Queen didn’t draw attention to it, mercifully. Her more demonic traits returned as she sank her glowing nails into—what appeared to be—empty air. Only, a gash formed, and the air came alive with overlapping screams, and a blast of frigid wind hit his face. He shielded himself, struggling to peek through his fingers. Glimmering, transparent ichor sloshed from the gash onto the floor, soaking his shoes and socks. It, too, felt alive against his skin, snap-crackle-popping until the carpet absorbed it.

Rosie unsheathed her umbrella and whacked something away from the back of Alastor’s head. Another scream, this time from a single source. It sounded like it was coming from behind a wall of jello. Alastor spun in time to catch an eye; golden eyelash sticking out of its pupil, weeping itself dry. Literally. It dissipated into golden dust.

Another blinked into existence on the opposite wall. It glared, flinging several golden lashes at the three of them. Alastor hesitated. Fight for home… he still didn’t understand. And he would not stand for looking a fool in front of the ladies. His hesitation cost him a gash across the cheek, but he caught the other projectiles with only a scratch on his palm as compensation. He hurled both spikes into the eye, causing it to burst like a zit.

A horrid shriek met his ears. He turned in time to catch Lilith ripping whatever had been blocking the hallway wide open, flooding the floor with ichor. She bent forward, hands on her knees, panting.

He wasn’t sure what to make of her. She had the horns, the black eyes, the purple magic. She bled red, like a sinner. But what if it was all another mindgame? What if she had manipulated Rosie? Such a thing was difficult to fathom, but if anyone could do it, The Queen of Hell could.

“Are you alright, Ma’am?” Rosie asked, placing a hand on The Queen’s shoulder.

Lilith stood up straight, heaving a heavy sigh. “I’ll be fine.” Her hands were covered in blisters. Her teeth chattered as she took slow breaths. The shadow whined, slipping off Alastor’s shoulders and curling around hers instead. Unnervingly, it remained his silhouette as it did so. She smiled, lopsided and soft, as she stroked its head. Thankfully, Alastor did not feel it, this time.

She spoke in a tongue Alastor did not understand, but the living magic preened and sank back into the floor. The spines along her back shuddered and slipped into her skin. “These spells are powerful,” Lilith continued, “but whoever set them did so recklessly. They would be much more effective containing an enclosed space, not blocking hallways.”

The angel must know that, whoever she was. Just another attempt to slow them down. To allow her free reign. Surely she must know destroying the hotel itself wouldn’t end Charlie’s efforts. And she must be smart enough to know not to attempt to go after Charlie herself. Not unless she wanted a very pissed off Lucifer at Heaven’s gates ready to raze every last structure to the ground. Hell, Alastor would be right there with him, and wasn’t that just a revolting thought that he promptly shoved aside and vowed to never acknowledge again.

Where was Lucifer? Surely he would have taken down the angel himself by now after seeing through the illusion so quickly... Had she overpowered him? That was impossible! He was The King of Hell! A Seraph! Fallen or not, he was undoubtedly the most powerful being on this plane. Though, Alastor supposed that meant little when talking about other angels. Lucifer was skilled, but he was not crafty. He had never needed to learn to fight smart or dirty. With how quickly Alastor himself had gotten under The King’s skin, the angel would have no trouble at all. Raw power was nothing if one was too flustered to focus.

And if Lucifer was gone, and Lilith presumed captured, there was nothing that would stop the angel from going after Charlie.

Alastor sped ahead of the ladies. So help him, if that creature touched a hair on Charlie’s head, he was going to rip her throat out with his teeth, leash be damned. Promises to his mother to never strike a woman be damned.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He side-stepped one of the scout’s golden lashes and gouged it out of the wall with a swipe of his claws. The two behind him were mauled by an overzealous shadow before he could turn around. It grinned at him, almost childlike as it licked the ichor off its claws. He offered a small smile back, and turned on his heel to continue forward—

“ ALASTOR! ” He barely had time to grunt before he had an armful of Charlie Morningstar. The force of her tackle knocked them both to the ground. He tensed, throat closing up as she blubbered into his suit. “A-A-Alastor it’s—I can’t f-find anyone and—and—and Dad—Dad, he—he— I’m so glad you’re oka-a-ay! ”

Too-strong perfume hit him like a fist. The angel must have made an attempt on Charlie’s life already; she reeked of holy magic. Shaking his head, he returned the embrace, examining her as best he could from the awkward angle. No visible injuries, and he couldn’t smell any blood. Though, it was hard to smell anything over that putrid rot. “Likewise, Darling.” He tucked loose strands of hair back into her braid. “You’re all giving me grey hair.”

“Alastor, it—Dad’s gone, I don’t—” her rambling died off with a squeak.

Alastor lifted a brow, following her gaze over his shoulder. Lilith peered down at them, gaping like a codfish. “It’s alright,” he rushed to reassure Charlie, “The woman who appeared earlier was not your true mother. Your father knew this, it was why he sent me off in such a rush. We’ve all come to help.” He gave her one last squeeze before standing and pulling her to her feet. She whimpered, attempting to pull him into another hug. He acquiesced, trying to ignore the feeling of ants crawling under his skin. He was far too on edge to entertain tactile affection for longer than a few seconds. She snivelled as he pried her off of him, trying one more time to wrap her arms around him. “No touching right now, please, Charlie.”

Charlie frowned, lower lip quivering, but did not try to grab him again while he fixed her collar. “Now, what was that about your father? He’s gone?”

“Y-yeah, he—Mom was, uh… She went off with him somewhere. I tried to follow them but I couldn’t get out of the hall and it just—it just kept going and I couldn’t find anyone!”

He set his hands on her shoulders, trying to offer what little physical comfort he could tolerate. “Hush, now, no need to work yourself into a panic. We’re here now, we’ll sort this out. Everything is going to be fine.” He let go, holding back a cringe at how wrong the words tasted.

Charlie only sniffled. “I’m scared, Alastor. What if he’s dead?”

Alastor grimaced, adamantly ignoring the unease twisting in his gut at the thought. “I highly doubt it.”

“But if he wasn’t he would have come running by now!”

“Or, he is trapped somewhere.”

Charlie’s golden eyes were wide and wet when they met his. “Trapped?”

“Yes, like your mother was.” He gestured to Lilith, who stood up straighter and averted her eyes. As if she had only just remembered where she was and what they were doing. “It seems we’re dealing with something of angelic origin. It’s powerful enough to cut up reality and trap multiple demons in different pieces of it. I see no reason why it wouldn’t see fit to lock your father and friends away as well.”

“Oh…” she wiped her eyes on her sleeves. “That’s what this is?” She gestured to the surrounding halls.

“I believe so.”

Charlie’s claws dug through Alastor’s sleeve, pressing hard into his arm and shoulder. “Then—what do we do?!”

Alastor grimaced, gingerly peeling her off him once more. “We,” he began, patting her hands before pressing them to her sides and releasing her, “are going to find this creature and figure out what it wants, and then we will move forward accordingly.”

“He’s right,” Lilith interjected, stepping forward. Charlie’s gaze shot up, and she took a half step backwards. “You were right, Sweetheart. Your hotel works. I’ve seen it. Up in Heaven. They—”

“I know,” Charlie cut in, much sharper than Alastor had ever heard her speak. She paused, clearing her throat, before continuing, softer, “the—the angels I met with called, earlier. They told me already.”

Alastor cocked his head. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

“I’ve been a little preoccupied, Alastor,” Charlie replied without looking up.

Alastor furrowed his brows. He supposed that made sense, but it was still odd. She couldn’t have gotten the call while trapped in here; all radio waves were jammed. If she had gotten the news last night, would she not have rushed to wake him and Lucifer in her excitement? Perhaps she would have wanted to let them rest… but then what of breakfast? It would have been the first words out of her mouth, surely.

Unease crawled up his back as she, once again, clung to his arm and pressed herself against him. “Can we please just hurry? I wanna find Dad.”

“...Of course.” He grit his teeth and trudged forward, not bothering to peel her off this time. Not a word about Vaggie and the others. Very strange. Perhaps she thought higher of their skills than Lucifer’s? No, that didn’t sound like Charlie. Charlie worried for everyone regardless of how competent they were.

It couldn't be…

He couldn’t blame stress; he had seen Charlie stressed. She wasn’t favouring any limbs. There was no twitch or wince that indicated pain. Not even the red that usually accompanied her distress was visible in her eyes.

“One moment,” Lilith said, stopping the two of them with an extended arm. Alastor eyed the rippling air before them, blocking the entrance to the ballroom. The Queen stopped in front of the double doors, claws and spines extended once more. She exhaled, long and slow. “I believe this one was cast properly. It’ll take me a minute to fully destroy it.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Rosie asked.

Lilith shook her head. “I wouldn’t risk getting too close. It burns even for me, I can’t imagine what it would do to you all.” With that, she sank her claws into the living air.

Charlie twinged, her grip on his arm tightening slightly. Were it not for his keen ears, he would have missed the sharp inhale. He squinted, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to find any hint of Charlie under the floral rot. Holy magic stained her very essence. He couldn’t even detect the shampoo she and Vaggie shared. He couldn’t smell brimstone.

“Pineapples.”

Lilith stopped ripping through the barrier, eyeing him with a lifted brow.

Rosie tilted her head, taking a half-step away from him.

Charlie didn’t move, didn’t even look at him.

He cleared his throat, tugging himself out of her hold. “ Pineapples. ”

This time she graced him with a frown. Tilted her head. Glanced from her mother to Rosie, then back to Alastor. Frowned deeper in confusion.

A mirthless grin split his face. “You don’t remember?” He took several steps back, tucking Rosie behind him as he did so. “I would think such an important word would never slip your mind, especially since you’re the one who insisted on it, Charlie. ”

Charlie blinked, her eyes wide and glassy as she scanned them, scanned him, up and down.

And then she smirked.

CLANG!

Alastor hissed, fighting to keep his outstretched palms steady as golden chains battered his shield. Lavender energy pulsed from his necklace, shaking the walls. Red-tipped tendrils sprung forth, twisting around the holy steel and ripping. Several broken links bounced off the bubble. As the shrapnel rained down, Alastor caught glowing gold eyes squinting from across the hall. The being wearing Charlie’s face walked forward wearing a wide, sharp grin. Her hair whipped in the chaos of their clash, one finger still extended. She tsked. “Clever little pet. ”

The lights flickered, then died, one by one. Cracks rushed up the walls. A tendril snatched the being’s wrist and dragged her forward, face to face with Alastor. How dare she speak to him that way in Charlie’s voice. How dare she touch him using Charlie’s hands. How dare she wear Charlie’s face. He wanted to scratch off his skin. Rip it from his bones with his teeth. Fall into a pit of lava and fester until all that remained of him was ash. But most of all, he wanted to plunge his hand into this angel’s chest, rip out her heart, and take a bite while it was still beating.

He slammed her to the ground, pinning her with the shield’s tendrils. Something snapped on his face, but the pain was far away. “ Where is she?! ”

The holy being laughed despite the golden-white blood dripping down her chin. “My, my, so aggressive.” She shimmered, then, she was gone. Alastor barely caught the whistle in the air before the being landed atop his shield, raking golden claw marks over it. A pair of stark white wings flexed behind her as she twirled out of range of his tendrils. “Perhaps I should reinstate the shock collar, hmm?” She manifested his leash, yanking until he stumbled forward. A bolt of golden lightning shot down the chain.

Alastor shrieked, high-pitched and laced with static. White-hot pain coursed through his body. It burned like bare feet on sunkissed asphalt. Stuck to his skin like the needles of a cactus. He collapsed in a heap, ears ringing, vision blurred. He did not drop the shield, did not lower his open palms. Hands found his shoulder, rolling him onto his back. It took him several seconds to register Rosie’s distressed face. Her mouth was moving, frantic, but there was no sound over the buzzing in his head.

Until more searing pain fried his insides, and his own scream breached the static.

The shield flickered.

The necklace flashed, matching Alastor’s energy as he grit his teeth and rebuilt the bubble. The angel raked her glowing claws down the side of the shield and Alastor felt it on his back. He arched, hissing, but did not drop his hands. Rosie mouthed his name, shook him by the shoulders, spoke far too quickly for him to read her lips. A holy blade of light struck the shield. Alastor shuddered, his teeth chattering. Get up, he thought as he spat out a mouthful of blood, you’re better than this.

Another bolt of agony. He could only whimper, throat far too raw and the rest of him far too drained to scream. Above him, Lilith knelt next to Rosie. She furrowed her brows, black eyes studying his face, his neck, his trembling hands. She picked up the glowing golden chain. Hissed and let go as it singed her flesh.

Sonorous laughter echoed around the room. The angel sent another bolt down the chain. Alastor shook, gritting his teeth so tightly he worried they would crack. “Naughty thing,” spat the angel, yanking his limp body across the floor. The shield moved with him.

Lilith snarled, shooting to her full height. Her crimson horns curled as they grew, shadows rising at her feet and snapping their jaws. They regarded Alastor’s prone form with shock and worry. “You creatures are vile.” 

The angel snarled, tightening her hold on the leash. Alastor gagged as the clamp tightened around his throat. “ How dare you take that tone with me, scum. ”

“Get my daughter’s likeness off your face, coward!” The shadows tore their eyes away from him, responding to Lilith’s rage in kind. A tendril shot out of the ground behind the angel, lashing her back with a CRACK! The angel cried out, snarled, then mowed the shadows down with a pulse of holy light. They sprung up from under her feet, thrashing and whipping and coiling until her wings and arms were bound. So quick and efficient, that Alastor would have missed it if he had blinked.

The angel that held his leash roared and thrashed against the shadowy restraints. “ How dare you touch me with such filth! ”

Lilith growled, a rumble so deep it shook the walls. “ You do not make demands of me in my domain. You threaten my daughter for daring to challenge your little walled garden, and now you come here and deal in souls like a common sinner?”

The angel sneered. “ Your little pigs had no souls to begin with. ”

SNAP!

The angel howled, her right arm bent at an unnatural angel. Alastor gasped, choking on his first real breath in what felt like ages. He shuddered as Rosie helped him onto his knees, keeping his palms up to maintain the shield.

Lilith exhaled flames. “My people have always been above you.”

The angel’s eyes glowed gold. “ You blasphemous wench! ” Streaks of light slithered out between the gaps in shadow, coiling around the tendrils until Lilith hissed and withdrew her puppets. The magic engulfed the angel, blocking out her mask until she was nothing but humanoid light. Shimmering blades of wind whipped out, striking the bubble hard enough to send it crashing through the ballroom doors. Alastor hissed as Rosie cradled him close, cushioning his landing with her body. He kept his hands up still, despite how they trembled. Another bolt of light shot down his collar. He flinched, squeezing his eyes shut and bracing for agony.

It never came.

He peaked through his bangs. Lilith had clamped her hand over his leash, somehow blocking the attack on his very soul. It sizzled; smoke rising from her cooking flesh. The Queen grit her teeth and whipped the chain against the floor; sending the lighting back up and into the angel, who cried out. The magic burned through the dark hardwood, leaving the subfloor exposed and scorched. Lilith snarled, guttural and sonorous. “You little maggots have no right to touch my sinners.”

Golden eyes pierced through the smoke. “ Wretched thing, ” the much shorter silhouette spat as it marched towards them. Short, coiffed blond hair. Red cheeks. A sneer far too mean for the man Alastor knew Lucifer to be. “ It was your trickery that birthed this disgrace in the first place. I loved you so purely and you soiled me. Ruined me. There is nothing for me here. You took everything from me! ”

Lilith’s shadows faded. She took several steps back. One hand covered her mouth.

L I E S

The radio by the stage hissed around the word.

Alastor’s joints squeaked like rusty hinges as he turned towards her. His throat was raw and blistered, but he forced the words out. “ I’ve been living with that insufferable man for months. Lucifer still wears his wedding ring. He cries over your absence. ” The angel sneered and snapped her fingers. Alastor felt something pull on the skin of his face, but it fizzled out before it could turn painful. He snarled, palms pressed against the shield, meeting the cruel golden eyes. “ If Lucifer’s own redemption rested on him leaving his love for you behind, I have little doubt he would face God and walk backwards into Hell. ”

The angel sported a twisted sneer. “ It looks like my pet needs a new muzzle. ”

Alastor dug his claws into the bubble and twisted his wrist. A spike jutted out, piercing the angel between the eyes.

She howled, stumbling into the waiting puppets. Little creatures just as ravenous as their mother, clamouring over one another to get at the fresh meat. Rosie’s pitch black eyes opened wide, flashing the singular white pupil that split between the bridge of her nose. The large, gnarled mouth at the back of her head—so carefully hidden by her hair—opened its jaws, snapping several rows of thin teeth that went all the way down her throat. Her puppets sank their long, needle-like teeth into every part of the angel they could reach. Glazed, off-white, pupiless eyes bored into her back, where her wings trembled in agitation. “Some angel you make, with a filthy mouth like that.”

The angel shrieked, tearing a puppet off her back and ripping its head off its body. “ Do not speak to me about filthy mouths, you wretched cannibal! ” Holy light reared back like a snake and sank its fangs into the bubble. Alastor shuddered, feeling it on his neck. His head lulled to the side, heavy with static and exhaustion.

The angel rushed the shield, glowing claws raised high, and slashed. Alastor did not have time to hit the ground before her hand was around his throat. She slammed him against the wall, embedding his antlers into the brand new wallpaper. Lilith and Rosie were brushed aside by massive wings, crashing onto opposite sides of the room. The angel squinted, and golden chains erupted from the ground. The living metal bit into wrists, ankles, necks, until his allies were properly restrained. “You fucking coward,” Lilith spat, her voice raw. “You have plenty of your own power, and you syphon from his soul just to watch him squirm!”

The angel hummed, smiled sweetly, and snapped her fingers. An iron gag materialised over The Queen’s mouth. She yelped in pain, struggling in vain against the chains now branding her skin. “ Adam had the right idea with you, ” the angel cooed, “ A mockery of a woman and a mockery of a wife. ”

Alastor thrashed, managing to nick the angel’s cheek before his own limbs were shackled and pulled taunt. Cold metal replaced the flesh of her hand around his neck. She smiled, tracing the links of the chain with her fingertips and tugging harshly. Her wings shivered in anticipation. The feathered glinted like knives held up to the light. If Alastor squinted, he could see his own furious expression reflected. Eyes pitch black. Antlers fully extended. Black blood dripped down his cheeks and chin, staining the broken green thread hanging out of his skin.

Running on instinct, he lunged forward and sank his teeth into the left wing. Bones crunched in his jaws. Golden ichor flooded his mouth, much sweeter than Lucifer’s. Artificially so. It was not helping his migraine.

The angel shrieked and backhanded him. His jaw popped, but he did not let go. Not even when the chain around his neck began to constrict. “ You wretched little leech! ” She yanked his head back by the ear. He bit harder. She roared as bloodied feathers fluttered to the ground. Flexing her claws, she grabbed his jaw, pressing her thumb and forefinger into his cheeks. He snarled, fighting to keep his jaw locked despite the pain. His efforts were in vain; sharp nails pierced a nerve in his cheek, forcing him to gasp in shock. The feathers, it appeared, were knife-like in more than just appearances. Several nicked his face as the angel pulled her wing away from his mouth. He coughed, spitting a mix of golden ichor and his own black blood onto himself and the angel’s hand. He gagged around the leash searing his neck. He wasn’t crying so much as his eyes were leaking; every muscle, every bone, every atom ached.

“ Pathetic, ” she hissed through her teeth, “ A foolish little pet throwing a fit. Oh, once I raze this blemish to the ground, demon, I’ll be sure to thoroughly remind you of your place—! ” She was cut off by her own shriek.

The shadow, still using Alastor’s silhouette, had climbed onto her back and torn into her other wing. It spat out mouthfuls of feathers as it shredded whatever it could reach. She roared, releasing his face to claw at the shade. Alastor’s head fell forward, limp, as he blinked sunspots out of his eyes. He gulped down breath after breath, fighting the nausea it triggered by biting through his lip. The shadow latched onto her other wing; the one Alastor had mauled, and seemed determined to finish the job.

Clenching his shaking fists, he sank further into his body. Searched until he found the warmth of his gift from The Baron. For home. The shadow melted away from the angel’s claws and resumed tearing into her other wing. A warbling shriek from Rosie steeled his resolve. For love. The magic curled around his heart. Smaller. Smaller. Smaller. On his exhale, he released it. It buzzed over every aching muscle, every fractured bone, every bruise. Then it seeped outward, coating his skin in a thin, purple hue. He yanked his arms towards his chest. The chains creaked and groaned in protest. He pulled harder, stepping off the wall with one, shaking leg.

One of the angel’s feathers snapped under his heel.

A shrill, echoing caterwaul hit him like a fist, leaving his ears ringing and his head throbbing. Frigid wind slapped him back against the wall, and in an instant, the angel was snarling in his face. “ Insolent thing, ” she roared, grabbing him by the face and slamming him antlers-first back into the wall. “ Didn’t your mother ever teach you manners? ”

Alastor ripped his arm free of the chain and slugged the angel across the face. “ DON’T YOU DARE BREATHE A WORD ABOUT MY MOTHER! ” He lunged, sinking his claws into both wings to pin her down. He thought of the photo. The smell of smoke. The fresh ash in his fireplace. Red-tipped tendrils shot out of his back and impaled the angel’s hands. She screamed, trying and failing to throw him off. More tendrils coiled around her legs, her wings, squeezing until bones snapped. Alastor shivered as a familiar chill settled at his back.

Inky black tendrils joined the red ones. He felt the shadow’s rage alongside his own. MY friend, it hissed, though Alastor was certain he was the only one who could hear it. MINE.

The angel convulsed, sobbing into the floor. Alastor grinned, wickedly, genuinely, and ripped out feathers closest to the angel’s back. He and the shadow chuckled at the resulting whimper. What he would give for the radio waves to snap back to life. For every demon in Pride, in all of Hell, to listen as he ripped feather and flesh from hollow bone. “ Alastor, ” the angel sobbed, trembling under his assault. “ Alastor, please. ” Her voice warbled. Shifted.

Alastor paused. It was a familiar voice. Painfully familiar.

The angel wearing Lucifer’s face began to glow once more. Her mask melted away, revealing dark brown skin and thick, curly hair. She looked up at him over her shaking shoulder. Her brown eyes wide, her teeth chattering. “ Please, why would you do this to me?! ”

Alastor felt sick. The last time he had seen her face, it had been sullen and cold and covered in dried blood. And here she was, warm and alive and hurt because—because—just like last time, he was fucking it all up again—!

A chill settled over him, sucking every noise out of the room. Half-solid hands found his shoulders. Alastor’s necklace beamed as The Baron peered over his shoulder, lips curled up in a snarl. The angel whimpered, her facade flickering.

“My boy,” he soothed, nasally voice gentler than it had been in Lucifer’s kitchen, “it lies. She’s gone. Nothing but fancy tricks, same as everything else.” He gave Alastor’s shoulders a squeeze, the touch leaving warmth that buzzed with life against his skin. “I’ll be digging its grave.” He faded, his lingering energy shooting down Alastor’s arms and into the angel. She screamed, her disguise flickering once more. Alastor watched with glassy eyes as The Baron’s spell took root at the nape of the angel’s neck, manifesting as a purple cross adorned with three dots. Two on top, one below. The nails that would ensure death. The angel snarled, face half covered in her disguise.

Alastor’s blood boiled.

The shadow picked up on his rage, extending from his back and slamming the angel’s head into the floor. Alastor refused to acknowledge the ache in his chest at the action. “You repugnant creatures have no soul,” he spat, uncaring that he was crying in earnest, now. “You dare wear her face? My mother is long gone; your little yearly sports made FUCKING SURE OF THAT! ” The angel shrieked, flexing her wings as best she could. Holy light gnawed on the shadow and Alastor’s own magic. He ripped out more feathers. “You have the gall to assume I would believe such a blatant lie?! You have the gall to associate my mother with your perverse fantasies?! That woman had more light in her fingernail than you could ever hope to have in your entire body, and you killed her anyway! ”

Before he could slam her into the floor again, something reared up from the mass of shadows and whipped him across the cheek. He stumbled just enough for the angel to finally throw him off her back. She disappeared in a flash of light and reappeared several feet away, panting.

What remained was a woman Alastor did not recognise. Pale and thin. Piercing blue eyes. Long, fair black hair, some of the strands standing on their own accord. No, not strands, he realised. Snakes. Beady, green eyes reflected the contempt on the woman’s face. She wore a white, sleeveless dress, now stained gold and black. Her wings hung in bloody tatters. She placed a hand against the wall for balance, legs shaking as her chest heaved.

Alastor felt the static indicating the shadow’s arrival before he heard the clang. Lilith materialised next to him, free of her binds. Angry red burns littered her skin; the chains having scorched through her clothing. She gaped at the woman, who looked upon her with a fury Alastor had never seen, even directed at himself. “Evening?”

The angel only growled.

Another clang, and then the shadow transferred Rosie to Alastor’s other side. He caught her before she could fall, ignoring his own aching body, and never taking his eyes off the other woman. Evening…?

Rosie gasped, straightening despite her own blackened skin. “Eve,” she breathed, muffling the name behind her hand.

Eve turned that furious gaze onto Alastor, pulling his leash from the aether with a snarl. It fizzled into glimmering dust the minute she tried to yank it. Her eyes widened, and she gaped at her empty hand. She stumbled, catching herself on the wall before trying again. This time nothing appeared at all.

Alastor swallowed dryly. The leash was still there, he could feel it. Had they truly done such severe damage? She appeared unscathed other than the wings… and then it occurred to Alastor that perhaps there was a reason The Baron was so generous with his gift, after he had offered him so many of Lucifer’s feathers. A reason why Eve had screeched like a banshee the minute he had snapped one of her own.

“Evening,” Lilith said again, more firmly this time. “What are you doing? ”

If looks could kill, The Queen would be dead a thousand times over. Eve’s wings flexed,  what few feathers remained were matted with blood. “What am I doing?” Her voice was meek and light despite the venom behind her words. “I’m taking back what you stole from me.” She cut a wing across the air, sending a blade of light into the carpet before them. Alastor raised both hands, his shield snapping into existence in the nick of time. “Even now,” Eve rasped between pants, “you ruin things for me even now. ”

“What are you talking about?” Lilith stepped forward, a small, tight frown on her face. “Evening, I thought—the other angels took you away. I thought you were—I thought…” she shook her head, confusion morphing into anger. “Why were you wearing my daughter’s face? Where is she?”

“You are truly sick, calling that thing your daughter.”

The temperature dropped several degrees. “ Excuse me? ”

“Fooling an angel to stoop so low as to bear your children. As if it’s the place of God’s mightiest beings to serve humanity and not the other way around. Fawning over the half-breed like it’s anything less than a stain on our Lord’s great image. Even now you turn your back on Him and drag His most precious creations down with you, you wretched, twisted, selfish beast!”

Another blast of light hit the shield, hot against Alastor’s palms. “Evening,” Lilith stammered, stepping back as Eve marched towards the bubble, wings trembling in agitation. They were less bloodied, now; already beginning to heal. “What has gotten into you?!”

Sharpened feathers pierced the bubble, shredding it with a mighty flap. Alastor could barely process the thin arm wrapping around him before he fell into darkness, into the shadows, and emerged several metres away from the fuming angel. Lilith pushed him and Rosie out of the way of another holy blast, wincing as it skimmed her shoulder. Her shadows—they were undoubtedly hers, now—sprang up, swallowing blast after blast and picking the energy apart until it dissipated. 

Eve panted, hunched over with her hands on her knees. “You have the gall to ask? After everything you and your little doll did to me? To Adam? To God and His angels?”

“We’ve done nothing to you!”

“Nothing?!” She quailed, hurling another blast of light into The Queen’s wispy tendrils. “Was you dooming the human race so inconsequential to you that you’ve already forgotten?! You fed us our demise! You left us with nothing!” She sliced a shade apart with her wing. “And I had to pay the price for it! Centuries I spent in this rotten pit, abandoned by my own creators, my own husband, all thanks to your lies! You stained me with your filthy hands just like you stained God’s most beloved Morning Star. And somehow, you still fucking won!” She clawed through a tendril like tissue paper. The snakes reared back, some finding purchase on Lilith’s extended arms. Her primary shadow—finally resembling her once more—growled and pounced onto Eve’s back, ripping away whatever it could reach. More snakes bared their fangs and bit the shade, making it whine. But it did not retreat. “You,” Eve spat, eyes flaring bright gold, “had the audacity to rival God with your rings, building your disgusting vermin and forcing His former brightest star to submit to you, all because you were too prideful to accept the place He had chosen for you!”

Black bled over Lilith’s eyes, her spines extending to impale the wings that threatened to cut through her shadows. “I did not force Lucifer to do anything! We were a team throughout this whole ordeal! He wanted to let me take charge because he loved me! Not because he was told to, like you were with Adam, but because he chose to! That was all we wanted for the two of you! To be free to choose your own paths!”

“You never gave me a choice, you ruined my life! ”

“Evening, I’m sorry that you’ve grown to regret your choices, but that’s not our fault. You chose to stay with Adam. You chose to play the angel’s game knowing it was rigged against you. It’s not too late for you to make a different choice. Hell isn’t the end. For us, it was just the beginning. It could be a new beginning for you, too.”

“ Shut up! ” Eve yanked one of her hands back and slashed Lilith across the face. “I let you fool me once, demon, I won’t be fooled again!”

Alastor shot to his feet, palms up, and deflected a blast that scorched him even through the shield. It was weaker now that he was feeling his injuries. Borrowed power could only do so much if his own body would not cooperate. He remained rooted in place, knowing if he moved, he would collapse. The blurred shape of Eve’s wing collided with the shield. Feathers pierced just far enough to brush the tip of Alastor’s nose. He clenched his fists, and the bubble solidified, slicing the blades like butter. The tips clattered to the ground, one catching on his pant leg and searing his shin.

Eve let out a shriek as Lilith ripped her spines away, tearing through her wings. She fell to her knees with a whine, tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks. “Y-you—you vile, sadistic, bitch! ” She heaved each word out around guttural sobs.

Lilith’s arm against his chest was all that stopped Alastor from sending a tendril through the angel’s eye. The Queen observed with a tight frown, cold rage and pity battling for dominance in her eyes. She studied the feathers littering the floor. Nudged one with her foot. Winced as white light burned her on contact. Rage simmered to anger, to frustration, then finally, to melancholy.

“They told you they’d let you in if you did this, didn’t they?”

Eve looked up, glaring, but sounded in confusion.

“Heaven,” Lilith clarified, gesturing to the feathers. “Shoddy craftsmanship, those things. How long have they had you dressed in them? How long have they kept you on a waiting list? It has to have been at least seven years.”

“ Shut up! ”

“They lied to you, Evening. They were never going to let you in. Have you seen what they did to the one soul who earned it organically? Why would they treat you any differently after what happened in the garden? You’ve only been wasting your time.”

“ Liar! ” Eve crumpled forward, weeping into her hands.

Alastor stumbled a bit as Lilith pushed him to stand behind her. Rosie steadied him before he could hit the floor. He gripped her forearms for support, leaning heavily against her shoulder. He could hear the thmp thmp thmp of her heart. The puff of her laboured breaths. The swishing of her… of… wait, what?

The shadow at Lilith’s feet perked up, morphing to Alastor’s silhouette and popping up at his back. Alastor scanned the perimeter with its eyes. Nothing on the stage. Nothing in the darkened corners. He looked up just in time to spot the faded white feathers of a retreating wing.

“I should kill you,” Lilith said, her voice empty. “Fortunately for you, I feel I’ve wasted enough time as is, so I’ll give you one more choice: release my daughter and my sinners,” she paused to gesture to Alastor, “ all of my sinners, and I’ll let you walk out of here with your life.”

Alastor stared hard at the ledge cloaked in darkness. The swishing was still there, overlapping with frantic whispers and one muffled giggle. He strained his ears, the appendages flicking in agitation as he failed to make out any words. So focused was he, that he neglected to catch the flick of Eve’s wing.

Scalding metal clamped around his neck and dragged him into deceptively strong arms. He gagged, thrashing uselessly as metal feathers pinned him down by his pant legs, and searing gold bound his hands behind his back. Floral rot flooded his nose, churning his stomach and making it even harder to breathe. Eve yanked the chain, forcing his head up, face to face with one thin blade positioned above his right eye. “How about I give you a choice?” The angel growled, tightening her grip on his collar. “ You can kill him quickly,” she pressed the blade to Alastor’s eyelid, “or I will kill him slowly. ”

Alastor grit his teeth, adam’s apple bobbing as he failed to take in any air. Eve gripped his jaw with her free hand, piercing unhealed wounds left by the stitches. “Well?” She pressed her wing harder against his eye, drawing a thin trail of blood. “Make your precious choice, demon—!”

A thunderous boom tore through the air.

Alastor hit the floor chin-first. For a moment, all he could do was gasp, coughing and sputtering as he gulped down breath after breath. He tugged his arms to his sides, surprised to find them unbound, and pushed himself onto his knees. Ears ringing, vision blurred, he tried to take a deep, deliberate breath through his nose. Floral rot. The coppery tang of blood. Gun powder.

His arms gave out, and he hit the floor with a grunt. Hands, far gentler than Eve’s, rolled him onto his back. They remained on his shoulders as the face he couldn’t make out stared down at him. Another hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head up towards the figure. A voice buzzed over his skin. Nasally and loose. No words registered in his scrambled mind. What did was the new scent; cotton candy sweet and so thick he could taste it. It rushed down his throat, leaving him warm and tingly. The bone-deep ache in his body began to ease. His next breath came easier. The feeling in his limbs returned.

Muffled words sharpened until his ears popped and he heard, “C’mon asshole, stay with me, don’t die on us, don’t you fucking die on us!” Angel Dust knelt above him, pink smoke still pouring out of his mouth, gripping Alastor’s shoulders like he might disappear if he let go. Neon pink blood dripped down his chin. One eye was swollen shut. He was shaking Alastor with one upper arm and one lower arm, his unused upper arm tucked away in a make-shift sling: the jacket he had adopted after becoming an Overlord. His other wrists were caked with dried blood, the fur there singed dark brown. “Alastor? Talk to me, bud, say something!”

“Did you just… drug me?”

Angel guffawed, visibly restraining himself from crushing his fellow Overlord in a hug. “Course that’d be what you focus on.”

Alastor pushed himself up, surprised to feel only a dull ache. He lifted his hands, his arms, twisting to examine himself. All of his injuries remained, yet he felt very little. He eyed Angel with a lifted brow.

Angel smiled and shrugged his good shoulder. “Toldja I could help with pain, didn’t I?” He stood, offering Alastor a hand. He took it, not missing that Angel’s boots had been burned through at his ankles; the skin just as bloodied and singed as his wrists.

A powerful gust blew his hair out of his face. It carried the scent of brimstone, molasses, and brandy.

Vaggie and Husk landed in front of him, equally burned at the wrists and ankles. Vaggie’s wings were torn and bloodied, her face littered with cuts, her bad eye bleeding sluggishly. She snarled, baring her fangs and gripping one of the many feathers they had ripped from Eve’s false wings like her own throwing knives.

Husk favoured his right leg, patches of fur torn off, his tail bent at an awkward angle. His claws were dripping with gold, a matching slash traveling from Eve’s shoulder to her collar bone. He winced as his battered wing was jostled, and Niffty popped up from under it. Wrists and ankles burned like the rest of them, bruised purple and blue, but still grinning maniacally as she played with a very dead black snake, its emerald eyes glassy and empty.

Eve stared at them, eyes bulging out of her head as she staggered backwards. “No… How did you get out—?!”

“ Strike now Witchbolt, coil ‘round. ” Red lightning struck Eve right between her wings, pushing out a startled cry. Alastor’s ears flipped up and he frantically scanned the room. The shadow directed him to a ripple near the double doors; glowing red nails prying the barrier open.

Charlie stepped through the illusion, eyes blood red, horns fully extended, and a beam of jagged light emanating from the jewel of hellfire dancing between said horns. She raised both hands, palms out, and grit her teeth as more bolts shot out of her nails and coiled around the angel. “ Sink your fangs in, bring her down! ”

Eve reeled around, snarling. “You—you vile little snake—!”

Charlie’s arms were shaking. She had a black eye. Her nose was bleeding. There were red, hand-shaped bruises around her neck.

Alastor snatched his staff out of the aether, slammed it to the ground, and a twin bolt of lightning coiled around Eve. She screamed, more in frustration than pain, and the remaining serpents in her hair spat at him. He gripped his staff tighter, his necklace flashing, and a streak of purple coiled around his usual red. The collar tightened. He snarled, and the shadow reacted in kind, pouncing the angel and taking a bite out of her wings. Eve slumped, and the collar dissipated.

“You… can’t kill me,” Eve rasped. “I own you, you foolish thing. I… control your power. You are nothing without me—!”

A thick, black bolt of lightning struck her back. Lilith stepped out of the rippling shadows, one long nail pointed towards Eve. Her pitch black eyes held nothing but contempt as the magic began to spread. Black and maroon and crimson splotches formed on Eve’s legs, arms, neck, like a rash. She shrieked, shattering nearby glass. Charlie nearly lost her footing, only Alastor’s extended free arm keeping her steady.

“No—!” Eve gasped, gurgled, then spat up golden blood speckled with red. “No no no—!” She coughed, shaking against the infective magic. More blood dripped down her chin. She whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to look over her shoulder. “Please—” another cough. The blood was more red than gold, this time. She sobbed, lower jaw trembling as she met the frigid glare of The Queen. “Please, Lili, please—!”

The black lightning surged forward, its corruption spreading faster. “ Do not use that name with me. You betray me, you use my people like toys, you attempt to kill my daughter, and now you have the gall to beg for my mercy? Me, when the two beings you’ve hurt most are right across the room? Why don’t you ask them? ”

Eve hissed, throwing one last glare in Alastor and Charlie’s direction. The infection began to spread over her face. She wailed, red spittle flying from her mouth. “Nonono, you can’t—you can’t—!” Red blotched over one eye. “Stop it! Stop it, stop it, please!” Black spread over the other. “ Please! ” Eve screamed as the last of her face was taken over.

Alastor, Charlie, and Lilith yanked their respective bolts back, dragging pieces of Eve’s soul with them. Brittle and withered, it crumbled to dust and disappeared. Her physical body collapsed, deflating like a balloon.

The golden collar snapped off his neck, clattering to the ground and disappearing. Power rushed back into his body so quickly it knocked him off balance. He gasped, throwing a hand over his racing heart as his battered body adjusted. Blood red thread sewed him up of its own accord. Living bandages wrapped around his burns, cool and soothing. The warmth of The Baron’s gift spread once more through his body, humming over his aching muscles. Then, with a final flash, the magic went dormant.

Alastor returned to his body in pieces. He was still sore, but no longer in danger of collapsing. The ringing in his ears morphed into familiar static. The radio near the ballroom stage, as well as every radio in the Pride ring, buzzed back to life. A jovial fiddle and piano announced its master’s return.

Alastor flexed his fingers, feeling coarse fabric bunched in his fists. He inhaled through his nose. No lingering floral rot to churn his stomach. Only smoky-sweet magic, coconut and vanilla shampoo, and brimstone. He blinked his eyes open, squinting until he could make out Charlie’s worried face.

“Alastor?”

Her voice was coated with feedback.

Alastor cringed and shook his head, dragging himself all the way back into his body. Hands, Charlie’s hands, gripped his elbows. Attempting to steady him. He was clinging to her sleeves just as hard. “Are you, uh, feeling okay?”

He let go of her, taking his time to stand up straight. His head swam, but the pressure faded after several deep breaths. “I believe so.” It seemed newly regained power could not fix the mess that remained of his voice. He coughed into his elbow, winced, then rubbed his throat. The burn had scabbed over, but was still tender. He paused, then looked back at Charlie. At the hand-shaped bruises around her neck.

Alastor burned, but not with rage as he had come to expect. His throat tightened. His ears drooped. His jaw ached with how hard he was clenching his teeth. Charlie hesitantly reached for his hands. He let her take them. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” The softly-spoken words tasted strange, heavy with lingering fear and what-ifs that refused to quiet down.

Charlie sniffled, giving a wobbly smile and squeezing his hands. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

A muffled click was Alastor’s only warning before whatever magic had been holding the silencing spell together collapsed. It was heavy, thick, and alive with glee; perverse and sour. He hissed as it coated his skin, shaking not unlike a wet dog to rid himself of the horrid sensation. He’d had more than enough of that woman marking him. It would take ages to scrub that perfume away. He sincerely hoped he would not need to burn his coat. Perhaps it was high time he implemented stronger scents into his bathing routine. To make doubly sure the angelic odour would never pass his nose again. Perhaps Charlie and Vaggie would tell him where they got their shampoo.

A scream rattled the building. Wallpaper peeled of its own accord. Cracks snaked across the floor. Rubble crumbled from the ceiling, narrowly missing the ballroom’s occupants. Alastor had barely uncovered his throbbing ears before he felt the shadow perk up, then zip under the door and up the walls. He closed his eyes, letting it show him its steps as it slithered up to the highest floor, where his and Lucifer’s rooms sat. It raced down the hall and wriggled under The King’s door. Multi-coloured light blinded him, forcing him back into his own body with a grunt. The shadow popped up next to him, holding its head and whining. “Seems we have a bit more damage control to take care of.”

“What? What was that?” Charlie asked as Vaggie laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Your father seems to be in distress.”

“That was Dad?! ” Charlie exclaimed. “We have to find him!”

“He is in his room,” Alastor said, motioning for the others to gather around. “I can get us up there,” he turned to The Queen but did not meet her eyes, “if you would permit me use of your shadows.”

Lilith nodded, shuffling into the huddle and looking rather uncomfortable. “Of course.”

Alastor exhaled, concentrating on the hallway outside of Lucifer’s room. It would be an arduous journey with so many passengers, even if he were in good health. Still faster than the elevator or the stairs, but it would do his battered body no favours. Regardless, he commanded the darkness to swallow him and the others. A crumbling hotel would do Alastor more harm than over exerting himself, he was certain.

The wailing was worse up close; heavy enough to punch the air out of his lungs and sharp enough to worsen his headache tenfold. Lucifer had damn well better be on the verge of death, screaming like that.

Mercifully, the door opened easily as Charlie clamoured inside. “Dad?!”

Alastor followed close behind, ears pinned flat and occasionally flicking in irritation. As spectacular as that display against Eve had been, he was hesitant to allow her so close to Lucifer while he was this unstable. Who knew what sort of power he could unleash, intentional or otherwise? And Charlie, with all her reckless optimism, would likely barrel right into it.

The King was not hard to spot. He knelt at the foot of the bed, which had been crushed under a large piece of rubble. He was slumped forward, the only sign of life being the choppy sobs pushing his chest out and in. His eyes were wide and glowing bright gold, but Alastor felt hundreds of others boring into him, piercing him to his core. Whispers bounced off the walls, spoken too quickly for him to make out. Every window was shattered. Scorch marks littered the floor. Lucifer’s clothes were clawed to ribbons. Dried blood stained the fabric and floor. His hands, limp at his sides, were caked with gold.

To Alastor’s surprise; the sweet, temping smell did not reach his nose. In fact, the room was devoid of any scent. The closest approximation was the energy buzzing through the dry air; anxious and aimless. He imagined if battery acid were to smell how it tasted, it would be something like this.

Charlie pressed on, unaffected or unwilling to let it stop her. “Dad?”

The invisible eyes widened, burned with an almost feral despair. It left Alastor frazzled, being so thoroughly seen by something far bigger than he could fathom. Not an unfamiliar feeling, but not as pleasant, this time. Lwa never looked unto Alastor as a threat. Only as a familiar but insignificant vessel. He could never dream to match them in power; he would never be a threat to them. Hell, despite himself, he doubted he would ever pose a physical threat to Lucifer, either. Yet The King still watched him and the others as if they were the most dangerous beings in the room.

Go away

                                           Leave me alone

                                                                                                                           Stop it

                                                                    Please

                                 Please not them

                                                                                       Leave me alone

                                                               Stop it

                                                                                                                       Please

                                                                                            Please

                                    Please

…Ah. Eve’s illusions hadn’t only affected them, it appeared. To leave him this discombobulated despite him knowing of her ability… hmm. Perhaps it had less to do with Eve’s illusions and more to do with The King’s own hangups. Their little talk the night before had proven just how unstable Lucifer truly was. It wouldn’t take a genius to find his weak points and exploit them. Really, he made it too easy.

“Dad!” Charlie rushed forward despite her mother’s hold on her shoulder, dropping to her knees in front of The King. She shook him by the shoulders. “Dad, what’s wrong?! Dad!”

Alastor cringed and stumbled through the heavy air, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not give him whiplash, hmm?”

Charlie sniffled, opting instead to cling to Lucifer’s ruined sleeves as if he would disappear if she let go.

“Sweetheart,” Lilith began as she approached, “this… this isn’t your burden to bear. Your father will be fine, he always is. Why don’t we leave him be—?”

“ No! ” Charlie whirled around so quickly Alastor feared she would get whiplash. “He’s hurt and upset, that’s the worst thing I could do!”

“Charlie, I know you want to help, but this isn’t—” She paused, eyeing the other occupants before kneeling close enough that only Alastor and Charlie could hear. “He’s your father, you’re his daughter, it’s not your job to take care of him like this.”

Alastor found himself nodding along. He had meant as much when he promised The King he would keep quiet about his outburst. Charlie was taking on far too much as it was; bound to crash and burn any day now, really. This was the last thing she needed after narrowly escaping death at the hands of who she had thought was her mother.

The Princess clearly disagreed, red bleeding over her eyes and horns springing out of her head. “Well someone has to!” She tore herself free of the hands on her shoulders, opting instead to pull her father into a hug.

Alastor blinked owlishly. Such defensiveness was… not unexpected, from a young woman so empathetic as Charlie Morningstar, but it certainly left him speechless. Much as The Princess cared for everyone, Alastor had been under the assumption that Lucifer’s neglect had left enough of a rift that such grandiose displays of worry were out of the question. Perhaps he should have known better.

Charlie clung to her father, soaking his shirt with tears and muffling pleas into his shoulder. Ever the responsive partner, Vaggie skirted her way around The Queen and Alastor to kneel by Charlie’s side and rest a hand on her back. “Easy, Hon. Remember those breathing exercises?”

Charlie sniffled, lifting her head to take a shaky breath in.

“Yeah, just like that,” Vaggie praised, guiding her girlfriend with her own exaggerated breaths. Charlie leaned into her touch, calming remarkably quickly. Her iron grip on her father turned to more of a cradle, smoothing his torn and ruffled sleeves down his arms.

“Y-you weren’t there when we—talked about this. In group therapy. B-but, you take a deep breath in for four seconds,” she demonstrated, “hold it for two seconds,” she paused, “then out for another four seconds. Can you copy us, Dad?”

Lucifer did not respond, did not even blink.

Charlie visibly swallowed a sob, exhaling long and slow. “That’s okay, Dad,” she whispered, scooching closer and gathering The King in her arms, “I know this stuff’s hard. You come back when you’re ready. I’ll be right here.”

Biting his cheek to keep from grumbling, Alastor settled at Charlie’s other side. She  would not be dissuaded, he knew her too well to hope for such things. The least he could do was brave the storm with her. She offered him a grateful smile as she scooped her father into her lap and began to rock him. Not unlike the treatment she had likely received, when she was young. An ironic twist that would be much easier to appreciate if it weren’t coming at the cost of Charlie’s own peace.

Still, if there was one thing Alastor had learned, it was that Lucifer would rather be erased than confide in his daughter about his own hardships. It made it easier to swallow his anger. The King hadn’t wanted this any more than Alastor or even Lilith had. And, well, he supposed Charlie wasn’t wrong in her outburst. Lucifer did not appear to have any friends; at least not those he was close enough to for such vulnerable times. He hadn’t made much effort to assimilate himself with the rest of their motley crew.

“ Til the very next day, ” came Charlie’s shaky soprano, startling Alastor out of his thoughts. “ The duck walked up to the lemonade stand/And he said to the man running the stand/ ‘Hey,’ bom bom bom, ‘Got any grapes?’ ”

Alastor only had time to blink before Vaggie chimed in, “ The man said ‘No, like I said yesterday/We just sell lemonade, okay?/Why not give it a try?’/The duck said ‘Goodbye.’ ”

“ Then he waddled away/Waddle waddle, ” they sang together, leaving Alastor flummoxed. What in the Mother Goose…? He took a moment to flip through his internal radio, failing to come up with a title, or even a matching tune. A modern song? And such a juvenile one, at that? How did one even go about finding something like this? Who wrote things like this?

Charlie gasped. Alastor turned back to her in time to watch Lucifer slowly lift his arms to return the hug. His eyes were still empty and gold, but his grip tightened on Charlie’s scorched blazer. She took a sharp breath and continued to sing; “ The duck walked up to the lemonade stand/And he said to the man running the stand/‘Hey,’ bom bom bom/‘Got any grapes?’ ”

“ The man said ‘Look, this is getting old/I mean, lemonade’s all we’ve ever sold/Why not give it a go?’/The duck said ‘How about no?’ ”

“T hen he waddled away/Waddle waddle, ” Angel joined in, quiet and unsure.

Husk and Niffty followed suit, one gruff and the other enthusiastic.

Alastor felt the static fly up his back as Rosie settled next to him, smiling demurely as Charlie struggled to get the lyrics out through her tears. “ Then he waddled away/Waddle waddle/Til the very next day. ”

Lucifer blinked, and one shimmering golden tear fell down his cheek. His breathing slowed. The jewel of hellfire between his horns began to flicker and fade.

Charlie beamed despite her own tears and began to sing louder. “ The duck walked up to the lemonade stand/And he said to the man running the stand/ ‘Hey,’ bom bom bom/ ‘Got any grapes?’ ”

Lucifer blinked more gold out of his eyes. His red irises peaked over the tears, brows furrowed as he took in Charlie’s face. Her black eye. The dried blood under her nose. Her neck. He glanced to his right, catching Vaggie’s eye and blinking when she offered him a smile. He looked at Alastor, then had the audacity to grimace. His answering glare earned him a quivering smile and an almost-laugh. Charlie sniffled and continued to sing. “ The man said ‘That’s it if you don’t stay away, Duck ,” Lucifer darted his gaze back to her, blinking away the last of his tears, “ I’ll glue you to a tree and leave you there all day stuck/So don’t get too close.’/The duck said ‘Adios.’ ”

“ Then he waddled away/Waddle waddle, ” Vaggie sang, rubbing Charlie’s back.

“ Then he waddled away/Waddle waddle waddle, ” Charlie continued, holding her father’s gaze with a blinding smile.

“ Then he waddled away, ” Rosie chimed in.

“ Waddle waddle, ” Alastor acquiesced when she shoved her elbow into his ribs.

Lucifer’s eyes widened and a flash recognition crossed his face. He sat up straighter, gaping as all but one occupant carried on the asinine song. The corners of his mouth twitched. His eyes crinkled at the edges. The horns sunk all the way back into his head. He cleared his throat, coughed, then cleared it again. “ Hey, ” he rasped, “ got any glue? ”

Charlie half-squealed half-sobbed and buried her face against Lucifer’s neck, her shoulders shaking with hysteric giggles. He huffed out a light laugh of his own, hugging her tight.

“ What? ” Vaggie continued the song.

Lucifer cleared his throat once more. “ I said, you got any glue? ”

“ No, why would I—? Oh. ”

“Then one more question for you…” Lucifer snapped his fingers, and in a puff of red and white smoke, he sat before them in the shape of a duck. Well, ‘duck’ was a strong word. More like an approximation of a duck based on a small child’s memory. The King’s bean-shaped smile was toothy despite having a bill as he continued; “Got any grapes?”

Charlie laughed, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks, and pulled her father into a hug. Lucifer grunted, eyes bulging and body flattening like a cartoon, then chuckled and returned the embrace. 2D wings and all.

Alastor kept his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, giving the occasional pat when she hiccuped. He watched Lucifer take in her injuries with more clarity, eyes darkening with each observation. Alastor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He liked to think he wasn’t in the business of making assumptions, but really, what did Lucifer expect when he left his daughter alone with someone he knew was dangerous? The very daughter he had never formally trained in combat. He was lucky she was a fast learner.

Come to think of it, Alastor would have to ask Charlie how she managed to escape Eve’s clutches later. How she managed to track the others down, too. Just because she was new did not mean he, too, couldn’t learn from her. With all that power in her blood, it was only natural some things came easier to her than most. Lucifer was a fool to not take advantage of that. Sitting up here cowering when he had more power in his thumb than the wannabe angel carried in both her wings… hmm. Perhaps he ought to further look into this ‘trauma’ mumbo jumbo. He could no longer deny its existence; Lucifer, for all his many flaws, would never want to leave Charlie to fend for herself. If it was powerful enough to incapacitate him, Alastor ought to learn to combat it for himself.

The duo separated enough for The King to poof back into his usual form. He shook his head, blond strands limp with sweat. Gaze lingering on his daughter’s bruised neck, his jaw locked in a tight frown. He brought one hand to Charlie’s face, stroking his thumb under her black eye and healing it. “Where is the angel?”

Charlie leaned into his touch, pressing his hand into her cheek with her own. “Dead. For good.”

Lucifer sighed in relief.

“Alastor and Mom helped me kill her.”

The Devil tensed all over again, eyes darting from face to face until he spotted her over Charlie’s shoulder.

Lilith averted her gaze, fidgeting with the tattered sleeves of her dress and a lock of singed hair. She shrunk, taking a half step back before pausing, taking a breath, and facing The King once more. Lucifer did not take his saucer-wide eyes off her as she shuffled a few steps closer before losing her nerve and freezing. Her eyes, Alastor realised, were locked on the shiny gold band around The King’s finger. Throat bobbing, she brought both hands to her chest, fidgeting with her fingers before finally opening her mouth.

The language she spoke made no sense to Alastor’s ears, but Lucifer perked up, and his eyes flooded with tears. He spoke it back, one or two words by the sound of it, his voice thin as he failed to fight back more hiccups.

Whatever he had said gave Lilith the strength to walk the rest of the way over and kneel behind Charlie, so as to better meet The Devil’s eyes, which had gone red once more. The lingering anxious energy spiked, making Alastor shudder. He felt all those eyes open up once more, hunching as they pressed into him in their attempt to hone in on The Queen. Lilith lifted a brow, glancing over her shoulder. Huffing fondly, her horns extended, but did not curl as they had in battle. Heavy warmth coated the room. The scent of lilacs and dark roast coffee flooded the air. 

Lucifer uttered a shaky sigh, and everyone melted under the invisible weight. The Devil muttered, nothing Alastor could understand, but Lilith’s smile softened. She eyed the hand clinging to Charlie’s sleeve; the ring around his finger, and her brows pinched together. She lifted a hand, hesitated, shook her head, then settled it over his. Lucifer’s eyes shot open and he stared as she brushed her thumb over the little golden band. His hand twitched, and for a moment, Alastor thought he might pull away. Instead, he flipped it to hold her hand properly, hiding a wobbly smile against Charlie’s shoulder.

Charlie beamed like the sun and pulled both of her parents into a suffocating hug. Both laughed and returned the embrace.

Alastor took that as his cue to remove his hand from Charlie’s person and scoot away. Between the whispered words he still couldn’t understand and the crying, he felt quite like he was intruding. Titillating under normal circumstances, but as of now, he simply didn’t have the energy. Angel’s smoke had completely worn off and every breath was, frankly, agony.

Vaggie seemed to have the same idea, shuffling backwards until she was far enough to stand. Alastor limped to her side, cringing as his heels clicked against the ruined floor. Rosie, who had been using her umbrella for support, gestured to the door with a tilt of her head. He nodded, and headed after her.

Vaggie was the last one out, closing the door softly behind her. “We should all give them some privacy.”

“Indeed,” Alastor said, lifting his cane to twirl it then nearly toppling over from the pain in his bad knee. He caught himself on the wall, smile sharpening in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. “What say you we find ourselves some first aid, hmm? If you’re all still up for dinner, I’ll be in the kitchen. Do let me know if you’ll attend. I’m sure Charlie will cook up some activity to brighten the mood, once she’s ready.”

“You gonna need another hit?” Angel asked him, pointing to his mouth as he exhaled a cloud of smoke. Apparently it came from some nifty mandibles that were only visible if Angel was to attempt to bite. If he could only convince the spider to let him dissect him some time…

“Not at the moment, but thank you.” In truth, some pain killers would be much appreciated. Alastor wasn’t sure why he was turning him down. It wasn’t as though everyone here hadn’t seen him in worse condition. Still, it felt… he felt… well, it didn’t matter. No changing his mind now; he was already making his way down the stairs. Rosie caught up to him quickly, wincing as her bloodstained dress brushed against still fresh wounds.

Alastor made quick work of snapping himself and Rosie into lounge-appropriate clothing. Some new slacks, a black turtleneck, and a crimson shawl for himself, and an evening dress and a maroon house sweater for Rosie. She stroked the material, then winced as it brushed the blackened skin of her wrist. Alastor grimaced and took her hand, casting a healing spell on both wrists and, once they reached the landing on the fourth floor, both ankles. He shivered as the shadow once again popped up behind him and settled at his back. It handed him bandages and disinfectant. He took them, thanking the creature before wrapping Rosie’s injuries.

“Thank you,” she said, and Alastor nodded in acknowledgment.

He allowed the shadow to sink further into his consciousness, and it in turn allowed him to manipulate it to swallow the two of them, carrying them the rest of the way downstairs. When they popped up in the kitchen, Rosie turned to the shadow and patted its cheek. “Thank you, too.” The creature beamed, nodded rapidly, dashed around her legs, then gave Alastor one last nuzzle before zipping back upstairs.

He huffed, wiping the static off his cheek as Rosie giggled and followed him to the fridge.

He began the familiar routine of gathering ingredients to prepare dinner. Flour, eggs, some sugar and salt, any vegetable that hadn’t gone bad, whatever non-demon meat was left in the freezer. Ramen, he decided. He had never been a fan, he preferred rice as a base to any meal. But Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Lucifer, Hell even Niffty all swore by that ‘cup of noodles’ drek and he was determined to show them the real merits of their so-called favourite meal. And no, Angel Dust, adding chopped up vegetables of one’s own to the disaster did not make it better.

Rosie took to chopping the green onions while he began mixing the egg and flour. He had watched Angel do so enough to pick up the technique. His own noodles were uneven and a tad too thick, but he was in no mood to try again. It would drive him crazy in the morning, but for now, he was certain the others wouldn’t mind.

The titular spider wandered in with Husk and Niffty on his tail as Alastor was salting the pasta water. He had tucked himself into a large pink hoodie with extra arm holes at the bottom. His left upper arm was now settled in a proper sling, and it looked as though he, Husk, and Niffty had bandaged their own burned wrists and ankles as well. The old cat had clearly enlisted his lover to groom his fur, looking much fluffier despite the missing patches. Niffty wore her nightdress and had the remnants of a face mask stuck to her cheek. Alastor couldn’t help but chuckle as he bent down to thumb it away. Niffty giggled, waiting until he stood up straight before dashing from the kitchen to tidy the disaster of a lobby. Angel offered an approving hum at the noodles and stumbled towards his usual place at the table, Husk close behind.

Alastor turned his attention back to the stove. He stirred the noodles with one hand, handing Rosie the vegetable stock with the other. She had just begun thickening it into a suitable broth when Vaggie entered the kitchen with Charlie in tow, both dressed in pyjamas and bandaged up. Alastor tried not to let his unease show when he caught a glimpse of Charlie’s unhealed neck.

“Oh, Alastor, Rosie, you guys didn’t have to cook! We would have ordered take-out!”

“And cut into the hotel’s budget? I think not.”

Rosie scoffed and offered the ladies a wide smile. “It’s our pleasure, girls. Don’t worry, we’ll keep it vegetarian. ” She winked, and both she and Alastor delighted in the cringe Charlie couldn’t quite hold back.

“Yeeeah, haha, thanks, uh, please do.” She rubbed the back of her head. “Sooo, who’s up for a game night?!”

Alastor hummed noncommittally as he fetched the chachu and kamaboko from the freezer. With a snap of his fingers, the meat thawed enough for him to slice and sear it on a separate burner.

“Ooo, can we play gin rummy?” Niffty asked as she zipped back into the kitchen.

“No!” Everyone but Alastor and Rosie shouted in unison.

Niffty pouted and crossed her arms. “You’re no fun.”

“Sorry Nif, maybe next time,” Angel said, not at all meaning it if the tightness in his brows was anything to go by.

“The last thing we need is another fire to put out,” Vaggie mumbled.

Alastor snickered at the memory.

“What about Cards Against Humanity?” Angel suggested with a smirk.

Alastor quirked a brow. He had never heard of such a game. It did sound rather enticing, though. Charlie seemed to agree, perking right up at being offered a suggestion instead of having to drag the guests kicking and screaming into participation.

“Cards Against Humanity! Perfect! Let’s do it!” She leaned closer to Vaggie. “What’s Cards Against Humanity?”

Vaggie smiled and took her hand. “A party game. The goal is to make people laugh. Funniest person wins.”

“Ooo, that sounds perfect!! Great suggestion, Angel!”

“Oh, my pleasure, ” he purred.

Husk snorted and shook his head.

“I got it in my room,” Angel turned to Alastor, who was scooping a ladleful of pasta water into individual bowls to warm them up, “if you can send ya shadow dude up to get it.”

“It is not my ‘shadow dude’, I’m afraid.” He topped Charlie’s bowl with two marinated eggs, knowing she wasn’t fond of meat. “It belongs to The Queen. How they managed to plant it on me is a mystery.”

“But it likes ya, don’t it? Can’t ya, like, call it or something?”

Vaggie, Rosie, Niffty, and Husk weren’t picky, the latter two not even bothering to double check how vegetarian his dishes were anymore, so he served them the chachu and kamaboko. “I suppose.” In truth, he wasn’t certain he was comfortable opening his mind to The Queen’s magic at every opportunity. He most certainly had not come to the hotel with good intentions, she had to have figured that out by now. What would she do if she found his buried thoughts, every idea he had considered, in the beginning, to bring ruin to Charlie and her dream? There would be nowhere in Hell he could hide. “But it did zip back up to our dear monarchs in such a hurry. I’d hate to be a nuisance.”

Rosie barked out a disbelieving laugh. Alastor’s glare did little to damper her amusement, but she said nothing else, simply adding the chopped onions to everyone’s bowls. He scoffed and plated Angel’s dish, replacing the meat with thinly sliced leftover beef tongue (the man was a surprisingly lax eater aside from his pork caveat). The spider took his bowl with a put-upon little pout. “Aww, c’mon Alastor, pleeease?”

“Put those away,” he commanded dryly, turning around before Angel could finish unbuttoning his top.

“Nothin’ you ain’t seen before,” Angel scoffed without malice.

A gasp from his dear Rosie had Alastor’s hackles rising. “ Alastor! ”

“WHAT?!” Charlie blurted, immediately covering her mouth with both hands and flicking her eyes from Alastor to Angel and back to Alastor.

“I assure you, my dears, it is not at all as crass as he’s making it sound.”

“Aww,” said Niffty as she lingered in the doorway, pouting. “I was hoping you’d pick a badder boy.” She giggled, singular eye sparking with mischief as she cooked up fantasies Alastor was happy to remain ignorant to. He tried to ignore her mutterings as she scuttled off; something about restraints, the shadow, and what sounded far too similar to Lucifer’s name for Alastor’s liking.

Footsteps, too heavy to be Niffty, echoed down the hall.

Speak of the devil. Hah. Alastor’s ears flicked to attention as Lucifer and Lilith approached the doorway. He stood up straight and gestured to the remaining bowls as they made their way inside.

“Good evening, Your Majesties. Preferences?” The shadow popped up behind him, using his shoulders as a perch for its elbows and resting its chin on its palms.

“Holy fucking shit,” Lucifer said.

“Fresh out, I’m afraid.”

Lucifer paid him no mind, staring at the shadow. “I thought that magic felt familiar. How did—?” He turned to look up at Lilith. “How…?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Lilith said. Alastor watched her fidget with her sleeves, pulling them over her hands as she continued. “Evening had something to do with it.”

“ Oh… ” Lucifer frowned. “That’s who that was.”

Alastor turned away from them, opting for the chachu and kamaboko as he dressed their bowls.

“I thought she was… did they change their minds?”

“No. They were dangling a carrot in front of her.” Lilith’s voice was sharp and bitter.

“... I’m sorry.”

Both monarchs jumped as Alastor pushed the bowls into their arms. He had had quite enough of that woman looming over his life like those cockamamie sleep paralysis demons the younger souls in his employ often joked about. Snatching his own bowl, he settled next to Rosie at the table, ignoring the ache in his back that the cheap wooden chairs offered no relief for. “Come join us, Your Majesties. You’re just in time for a game.” He looked to the shadow. “You remember where Angel’s room is, yes?” It nodded. “Could you fetch a card game…what was it again?”

“Cards Against Humanity.” The way Angel sing-songed his response promised an evening of entertainment. Alastor’s smile sharpened, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. He hissed through his teeth and pressed his fingertips to his aching cheeks. “Right. If you would, go and fetch it.” The shadow nodded again and zipped out the door and down the hall.

His fingers came away dotted with blood. Ah… he had forgotten about the stitches. Huffing, he lifted his fingertips back to his face, glowing softly with a healing spell. A frigid gust of magic washed over him before he reached his cheek. He shuddered, dropped his chopsticks, and whipped his head towards Hell’s rulers.

Lilith offered him an awkward but genuine (as far as he could tell) smile. She had changed clothes somewhere along the way, now draped in a long-sleeved black dress and matching choker that looked tailor-made. There was no click as she walked, so she must have opted to remain barefoot. All of her injuries were gone.

Lucifer had yet to acknowledge him, too busy drowning in the silliest, brightest yellow hoodie Alastor had ever seen, complete with a duck bill and eyes on the hood. He too was bereft of any injuries. “Uh… against humanity? ” He asked, frowning.

“It’s a funny game!” Charlie butted in, her smile blinding in the dimly lit room. “It’s to make people laugh! Angel was nice enough to let us borrow his copy.”

The shadow chose that moment to spit the requested black box of cards onto the table.

Lucifer and Lilith shot each other hesitant looks.

Charlie dimmed, slouching into her chair and hiding behind her singed bangs.

Alastor clicked his chopsticks against his bowl, drawing everyone’s attention. “Don’t tell me our mighty king is afraid of losing one card game to the rabble?”

Lucifer perked up, a smirk lighting up his face at the challenge. Alastor understood, to a certain degree. Challenges were easier to bear than whatever little group therapy activities Charlie tried to strong-arm them into. “Hah! You wish, Be—Buddy!” He took a seat at the head of the table, chest out and head held high like he had already won.

Insufferable dolt. Though, Alastor wondered when The King had decided ‘Bellhop’ was off the table.

Lucifer looked over his shoulder. Lilith shrunk under everyone’s eyes, then shuffled over, taking the remaining seat between Lucifer and her daughter. Across from Alastor. Charlie lit up and sat up straight as she rushed through reading the rules.

Alastor only half listened, unable to fully relax. It hadn’t really been her. He knew this. He had proof. Yet when he looked at her, he felt phantom hands smoothing up his arms, down his sides, up his back. Nails biting into his jaw. Canine teeth sinking into his neck. He took a bite of his ramen, chewing slowly, grasping at the warmth, the taste, anything to tether him to the here and now. Despite the lingering warmth in the air, the familiar voices, and the bowl held close to his nose; Alastor smelled floral rot.

It’s just the lingering magic, he told himself. It has to be. She’s gone. She’s dead. You ripped her soul apart. She’s dead.

Lilith hummed around a bite of ramen, and the room’s occupants kindly did not draw attention to Alastor’s flinch. Rosie did shoot him a concerned look and rest her hand on the table, within holding distance if he so desired. He swallowed a too-big bite and switched the chopsticks to his left hand, linking his pinkie finger with hers then tugging her hand under the table. Her only response was a fond smile.

“This is delicious,” Lilith said, and somehow it still chilled Alastor to his core. She offered him a light smile, though her pinched brows gave away her nerves. Or was it concern? Wariness? “How did you manage to find all these ingredients? I don’t remember Pride stocking all this variety.”

Lucifer uttered a long-suffering sigh. “He needled me, relentlessly, until I called Satan and Leviathan and had some delivered.”

“Now, now, Sire,” Alastor forced his voice not to shake, “I simply made the point that if we’re to offer such fantastic ideas as redemption—” he cut himself off, grimacing. “...Well, I suppose it’s not so fantastical anymore.”

Silence stifled the previous chatter. Alastor looked away from his meal to find each of his battered allies staring at him with furrowed brows. “What?” Charlie finally asked.

Lilith shot up right, spilling broth in her haste, and sending Alastor’s heart into overdrive. “Oh my stars, that’s right!” She turned to Charlie and grabbed both her hands. “I completely forgot—when I was in Heaven, I found one of your sinners, Sweetie. The snake? Serpent? Is that his name?”

“Sir Pentious,” Rosie corrected, squeezing Alastor’s hand under the table.

“Yes! He’s up there. He’s been redeemed. You were right, Charlie. It works. ”

Angel gasped.

Husk’s eyes widened almost comically.

Vaggie gaped.

Niffty pouted, muttering about the loss of a ‘bad boy’.

Charlie’s eyes filled with tears. “He’s okay? He’s alive?! ”

“He’s alive,” Lilith confirmed, then grunted as she caught an armful of Charlie, who clung to her dress and wept into her shoulder. Vaggie was on her feet immediately, hands on Charlie’s back, stroking her hair, her mouth a tight grimace. Angel dug his phone out of his cleavage, rushing out of the room and bringing it to his ear. Husk was left to half-heartedly pat Niffty’s shoulder as she mourned the loss of her fantasy.

“Wh-whu-what did he s-say?” She barely managed to speak around her sobs.

Lilith cringed, searching everyone’s eyes as if they could help, somehow. “Well, he gives his regards to you all. Particularly whichever one of you is named Cherri. He wishes to see you all again.”

“W-why hasn’t he?!”

“Heaven won’t allow it.” Charlie backed away enough to meet her mother’s eyes, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “They have him trapped up there in the same prison I was in, ‘until they figure out what to do about him’.”

“Prison?! Why is he in prison?! He’s been redeemed! He—he didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Unsurprising,” Alastor chimed in, coughing to clear his throat. “Given Heaven’s history with being proven wrong. Why, if I recall correctly, your father and mother were banished down here for allegedly ruining humanity, but there are still Winners, aren’t there? Unless Heaven’s invested in hyper-realistic cardboard cutouts. Yet, here they remain, despite time proving the merit of their actions. Curious.”

“Exactly,” Lilith said. She cringed under Lucifer’s unrelenting gaze. “I… I’m sorry for keeping you two in the dark for so long. At the very least, I should have told you what I was doing, so you knew where to find me.” She looked down. “And—and I’m sorry for how things ended, last time we spoke, Luce.”

Husk took that as his cue to grab Niffty and book it out of the kitchen. Lucky bastard. If not for Rosie’s iron grip on his hand, he would have joined them.

“I let my frustration and pride cloud my judgement, and I hurt you,” she turned to Charlie, “and you. I can’t take that back. But I’ll do whatever I can to make up for it, if you’ll have me.”

Charlie pulled her mother into another crushing hug. Alastor wasn’t sure there were words behind her sniffling, but it brought a watery smile to Lilith’s face regardless. She returned the hug with a sigh of relief. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too.”

Lucifer continued to stare, mouth opening and closing. He stuttered, clamped his mouth shut, and scrubbed his watery eyes with his free hand. He shot occasional glances at Alastor and the others, flushing darker with every glance. “I—I’m sorry too, I didn’t—I never meant to—to—I-I lo—I—”

Lilith pressed a finger to his lips, instantly shutting him up. “We should talk later. Once we’ve all had time to settle. It’s been a dreadfully long day.” Her voice was gentle yet firm, and Alastor wasn’t sure if she was trying to take Lucifer’s anxiety into consideration or if she was simply uncomfortable receiving an apology from her ex-husband in front of what was effectively a group of strangers and her daughter.

Lucifer slumped, sighed, and leaned against the table. “You’re sure it was him?”

Lilith nodded. “He mentioned Charlie by name. Her and every sinner living here. There's no other way he'd know that.”

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, scrubbing his face as if trying to wake up. “...All these years. It’s been possible for all these years… why didn’t they tell us?”

“Why would they?” Alastor and Lilith asked in unison, startling one another. “You know they think so little of us,” Lilith continued, “why would they want to encourage ascension? They harassed you into signing each and every human soul down here up for a yearly purge, Luce.”

Lucifer flinched, curling further into himself. “I know.” His voice was small. “I guess… I just thought they’d at least…” He shook his head, eyes going glassy as he rested his head on his palms, lost in thought.

“Maybe they didn’t know?” Charlie suggested.

“They did,” Lilith insisted, black bleeding over her sclera. “They couldn’t have been ignorant to something this monumental.”

“And even if they were,” Alastor cut in, “the way they’re behaving now proves they would have acted no differently. A man freshly redeemed certainly has no place being held in prison like some sort of criminal.”

“They’re terrified of others finding out,” Lilith said, “especially other sinners. If we can prove ourselves worthy of Heaven at the end of a blade, what does that say about every single exterminator and archangel and even the seraphs who signed off on the yearly massacres?”

Alastor’s eyes widened. Of course… it would stand to reason—if a sinner could go to Heaven, then… He grinned, unable to smother the laughter filling his chest. Well, well, well. How very very interesting! All those hoity-toity angels with their silk robes and shiny halos could bleed at the tip of a holy blade, just like a sinner. He wondered what the cosmos would have to say about a war profiteir’s place in Heaven?

Rosie patted Alastor’s back as he coughed, unable to fully stop laughing. “Apologies for the outburst, but my, what delicious news!” He was so tickled that meeting The Queen’s bewildered eyes did little to unsettle him this time. “If I may be so bold, Your Grace, my business partner and I have recently come into ownership over Hell’s many forms of media. I’m sure once he’s finished up his personal business,” he gestured to the door Angel had scurried through, “he and I would both be delighted to have you on our respective programs for an interview on the subject!”

Lilith blinked, her gaze shifting from Alastor to Rosie, who gave a small nod. “I’ll take you up on that, thank you.”

“My pleasure!” Alastor leaned back in his seat, falling into the shadow’s waiting arms. “Angel~!”

The spider poked his head in, phone still pressed to his ear.

“We’d best get to clearing our schedules for tomorrow; you and I have some very important interviews to conduct!” He gestured to The Queen, who was picking her nails and avoiding eye contact.

Despite the stress creasing his brows, Angel snorted. “Ya opportunistic fuck. Wait till the lady finishes her dinner before ya proposition her, why dontcha?”

“No rest for the wicked!”

“Yeah, yeah, gimme a sec.” He ducked back out.

Alastor was po-si-tively buzzing with excitement. Oh, the hotel would need a staff increase, no doubt. He had some lingering favours to cash in for just such emergencies. He would get in touch with them tomorrow, preferably before conducting his interview. Did Angel know how to run a television broadcast? Alastor certainly wasn’t going to, despite it being his domain, now. Uhg. Perhaps he could recruit some outsourced help for that, too.

“Dad?” Charlie’s worried voice cut through his stewing. Mercifully, Alastor managed to stop himself from perking up, again, and looked to The King.

Lucifer jerked to attention; blinking the gold out of his eyes and shaking his head. Charlie’s hand sat on his shoulder, her brows pinched together. “Ah—aha, s-sorry, Sweetie. I’m okay. I’m just… thinking.” He frowned, staring down at his now cold bowl of ramen. “They never mentioned this. When we fell. It had to have been possible then, too. Can’t just rewrite this stuff, right? Hah, haha, no, no, He wouldn’t. That’s basically admitting He was wrong and we all know that’d never happen.” Lucifer chewed his nails. “Why would they let so many people die? What's the point? Wouldn't they want them to be redeemed and—and live happy after lives? They were still human…Oh fuck, there's kids down here. They could've been…but now… ”

Charlie squeezed his shoulder, shooting a worried look at Vaggie, then at her mother. Lilith frowned at the sight of her (ex?) husband, melancholy rolling off of her in waves. She pushed her bowl aside, taking Lucifer’s trembling fists out of his hair and into her own hands.

“You did warn me,” Lilith said. Lucifer glanced up at her. “About their bureaucracies and cruelty.” She flipped his hands to link her fingers with his. “You were right,” she continued, “to have no faith in Heaven.”

She turned back to Charlie, her eyes gleaming with pride.

“But Charlie was right to have faith in sinners.”

Chapter Text

Despite the threat of a holy army looming over their heads, the Hazbin Hotel resumed its typical schedule. At 4am, Alastor surveyed the rooftops and disposed of any explosives or debris he came across (and what a strange thing it was to remind himself he needn’t worry about drones anymore). He had run into Niffty, tangled in some wires and giggling after one of the faulty bulbs in the “A” of the “Hazbin” sign shocked her. He helped her mop up spare pools of blood and stuffed severed limbs into trash bags until the furniture and gardens were presentable.

At 4:15, he made his way to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast; an old favourite that his mother always made when he was feeling glum. The radio crooned one of her favourite songs as he thickened the gravy. He sang along as he set individual servings of biscuits aside. Charlie would need more; she burned calories like they were nothing when she was stressed. Vaggie was the opposite; they were lucky to see her have a glass of water if she was anxious enough.

At 4:22, he greeted Angel, Husk, and Niffty again and handed them their own servings. Angel glazed his coffee, Husk inhaled his food, and Niffty sat on Alastor’s shoulders and giggled until they took their leave to the studio. Earlier than usual, but Angel had wanted to redecorate as much as he could before his interview with the royal couple. Alastor would have chipped in if he didn’t have his own broadcast to attend to first.

Charlie and Vaggie appeared at 4:45, one chipper and the other dead on her feet. They went over the day’s plans, which involved taking care of odd jobs and paperwork, and reviewing the script for Alastor’s morning show.

Vaggie read it over with a frown as she nibbled on one of her biscuits. “You’re sure we’re ready for this?”

“War seldom waits for one to be ready—”

Charlie choked on her food.

“—Best to strike when they’re least expecting it.”

Vaggie huffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.” She did not meet his eyes while uttering the weak demand.

“Come now, you know as well as I do that this is where we’re heading.” Charlie’s hands began to shake. Alastor reached for them and gave them a squeeze. “And we will win. It will be worth it.”

Charlie offered him a wobbly smile. Then, she excused herself and pushed away from the table. Vaggie made one last note on his script before scooting her chair out and trotting after her girlfriend. Before she left, she shot him a tense look over her shoulder. “Don’t make her any promises you can’t keep.”

Alastor smiled with more teeth despite his still aching jaw. “I would never dream of it.”

He wasn’t sure how to feel about the fact that Vaggie seemed to find this response comforting instead of off putting; as she huffed out a half-laugh and shook her head before chasing after Charlie. He pursed his lips in thought as he pulled his script towards himself. Reasonable edits; mostly cutting out unnecessary adverbs and correcting some grammar. How out of character for him to have missed it during both of his own personal edits. Perhaps the lack of sleep was catching up to him.

Alastor had yet to work up the nerve to enter his own room. It still reeked of her. The rot was so all-encompassing, it was like she had embedded her very essence, her very soul into his chambers. It wasn’t impossible. And the very thought left him trembling with dread. He couldn’t be alone with any part of her. If she was somehow still there, somehow able to come back from annihilation, she would…

He didn’t need sleep. Not yet, anyway. There was plenty to be done around the hotel, especially now that Niffty was otherwise occupied. Nevermind that Lucifer has snapped most of the damage away the moment he was able. There was food to restock, forms to be reprinted and resigned, and a reputation to rebuild. Two angelic attacks in two months didn’t quite scream “safe” to the masses. They had quite the task ahead of them.

Speaking of.

Lucifer and Lilith wandered into the kitchen the moment the digital clock on the stove struck 5am. Lucifer’s eye bags were a deep red-orange. Dried drool stuck to his cheek. His rubber duck boxers and stained graphic t-shirt were wrinkled and carried the faint scent of caramelized apples; proof they hadn’t been washed in some time.

Lilith appeared to have covered the cuts and bruises marring her face with some glamour courtesy of the shadow (Alastor would recognise a spell he had used daily a mile away), leaving a sheer layer of purple over her skin. She was dressed in a long-sleeved black dress, and combated the wide neck with a sheer black shawl thrown over her shoulders. The click as she approached the table gave away her heels. Arcane cosmetics could only do so much, though, as she stumbled into the edge of the table on her way to fetch some coffee; exhaustion leaving her clumsy, especially in the new environment.

Despite this, she greeted him with a smile and a nod, which he returned, biting his cheek to keep his hackles from raising. The shadow sprouted up from the ground and greeted him with a big grin and exaggerated waving of both arms. He relaxed some, shaking his head and pointing it in the direction of the coffee and the plates he had set aside for the royal pair.

“What do we think?” He asked, pushing the script towards them. Lilith accepted it and began to look it over while Lucifer chugged his coffee like his life depended on it.

“I think you should have a special place in Hell for waking us up so fucking early.”

Alastor tsked, more amused than irritated. “Perhaps if a certain little king would spend less hours painting ducks, he would be well-rested enough to face the day.”

Lucifer flipped him off as the shadow placed his refilled mug in front of him. This time he drank at a reasonable pace.

Rustling papers diverted Alastor’s attention to Lilith, who had set the script back on the table. “It seems straight-forward enough.” She fidgeted, eyeing the script, then her own mug, then the script again. Alastor swallowed his own nerves. Despite knowing it hadn’t really been Lilith holding his leash, he couldn’t help but feel… jittery, around her. Senseless. Eve’s disguise had been flawed, now that he could see The Queen up close. Too short, wrong scent, voice too high and far too cold. Wrong blood. No horns. Hell, her eyes had even been the wrong colour. Yet, whenever Lilith looked at him, he felt as though he was about to be yanked by the neck out of a pleasant dream and back under her thumb. Every glance felt like a judgement. Every breath felt charged with venom. Every movement felt like a threat.

“Are you certain people will be awake at this hour to hear it?”

His static pitched in surprise, and he cleared his throat. “I plan to keep the broadcast circulating throughout the day. If not, I doubt they’ll pass up the opportunity to watch the live interview on those dreadful televisions.”

Lucifer groaned, still latched onto his mug.

Alastor rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so childish.”

Lucifer stuck his tongue out at him.

Alastor retaliated by kicking his shin under the table.

Lucifer jumped, spilling the coffee on his lap. “Dickhead!” He exhaled fire.

Alastor laughed. “Oh come now, surely a little coffee stain is nothing our king can’t handle.”

“I swear God sent you down here just to make me suffer,” Lucifer muttered, his cheeks flushed gold despite the scowl staining his face. He snapped the coffee off his person and sipped the last of the mug.

“Well, then at least one of us is competent at our job.” He cringed, having momentarily forgotten Lilith was there until he caught the offense that flashed over her face. Before he could further dig his own grave, his hair and back were splashed with scalding liquid. He hissed and toppled out of his chair, whipping his head around until his gaze landed on The King’s smug little face.

“LUCIFER!”

“Who’s ‘bad at his job’ now, huh? Hi, I’m The Devil, nice to meet you, how’s the suffering—?!”

Alastor lunged for his throat. The little shit had the audacity to squeal and cackle, as if Alastor were nothing more than a irate kitten pouncing on an unsuspecting foot.

“You obnoxious, disrespectful little—!” a record scratch cut through his static as Lucifer, eyes thin with mirth, attempted to knock him off his feet. Alastor tightened his grip on The King’s wrists and dragged him down with him. Lucifer yelped as his back met the tiles. Drops of lukewarm coffee fell from Alastor’s hair onto his face and neck. “Ingrate,” he finished, snarling around the word.

Lucifer’s wide eyes darted over his frame, chest heaving, skin still warm from the adrenalin. Then he began to snicker. Alastor’s static jumped moodily as the snickering evolved into proper laughter. “You look like a drowned rat!”

“You’ll soon be one if you don’t remove this mess from my person this instant!”

“Hah! Okay, okay.” Still snickering, Lucifer snapped the lukewarm stickiness away.

Alastor huffed and stood, brushing off his sleeves. “Such bratty behaviour ought to be above you.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Alastor hummed, fixing his collar and turning on his heel. He took a little satisfaction in the shadow donning his silhouette to nip at Lucifer’s ankles as it slithered by, making him yelp and jump. The creature fetched the script and brought it to Alastor before dropping into the ground and returning to Lilith’s feet.

The Queen looked between the two of them as if they had both dropped into a perfect split and then went about their mornings as if nothing happened. Lucifer, the bastard, was too busy chuckling to himself to notice her scrutiny, leaving Alastor to bear the brunt of it. He tensed and shuffled half a step backwards.

She tossed one last glance to Lucifer, who finally met her eyes. Shoulders still bouncing with residual giggles. Face still golden and warm with amusement. He tilted his head in confusion.

Lilith’s frown melted into a small smile. Her eyes took on a glow, as if she had just pieced together some sort of vexing riddle. Alastor averted his gaze before she could turn that knowing look onto him and cleared his throat. “Shall I escort you both to the Radio Tower?” He wasn’t sure what puzzle she believed she had put together, and he was wholly uninterested in finding out. He had enough headaches to combat as it was.

Mercifully, Lilith seemed content to keep her revelation to herself. “Yes, please. Let’s not keep your listeners waiting.”

—

“... Greetings and salutations, Pentagram City! You’re tuning into 666.3: The Radio Demon’s Morning Show! That was Bye Bye Love by the iconic Everly Brothers signing off our very first music segment. Such deep impressions they left on the worlds of country and rock and roll. Why, nearly all musicians that came after them lost their battles with drug abuse as well! Truly trend-setters to the bitter end. Ha-HA!”

Alastor adjusted the sensitivity of his microphone as he glanced at his script.

“Now, my dear listeners, I have a truly special show for you this morning! Be sure to fetch your morning coffee and get comfortable, you’ll want to catch every word of what Hell’s very own royal couple has to say.” He paused, giving his listeners time to gasp and whisper to one another. The radio waves began to buzz, making his fur stand on end as more and more people tuned into his broadcast. “Please allow me to welcome not only His Majesty, but Her Grace as well, onto my humble broadcast!” He played the canned applause before flicking both extra mics on. “Good to have you both on!”

Lucifer immediately started to squirm, eyeing the microphone as if it might try to bite him. “Uh… Hey.”

Lilith sat up straighter. “Thank you, Alastor. It’s good to be back.”

“Ah, yes, our denizens have been wondering after you, Your Grace. Why, it’s been seven long years without a hint of your songs.” Alastor’s grin widened as more and more sinners joined his audience. “I hear you’ve had quite the unfortunate adventure!”

“That’s putting it kindly.” She took a slow, deep breath, crinkling the script in her clenched hands. Cringing, she smoothed it out over her lap before catching his gaze. The visible anxiety in her creased brows and fidgeting hands made it easier to swallow the unease that came with meeting her eyes. “If I may address our subjects directly?”

An adlib? How bold! Alastor nodded and motioned for her to take the stage. He knew she was no stranger to public speaking; he had heard recordings of her speeches before and after exterminations. How titillating to witness one in person! He leaned back in his seat as she stood, black bleeding over her sclera as she brought the microphone to her mouth.

“As you all know, Princess Charlie Morningstar has been making an effort to stop the barbaric yearly slaughter of sinnerkind. Following The Good Book’s implications, she, with our support, has built a safe haven for repenting sinners, and has asked only for your best efforts in return.” She paused, letting her words wash over listeners who were likely questioning their own callous dismissals of Charlie’s hotel. “Despite every conceivable odd being stacked against her, Hell’s Princess wants to work with you, work with Heaven, to create a better life for those who are willing to help work for it. A nobel, selfless cause.

“And in response, Heaven sent a fleet of exterminators to her front door and tried to wipe out any remnant of hope she tried to build for you all.” She snarled, violet-tinged smoke puffing out of her mouth with every irate breath. “When I met with Heaven’s executives on my daughter’s behalf, they slapped angelic cuffs around my wrists and threw me into their pocket. Perhaps I’m simply a wretched temptress who wouldn’t know womanhood if it stood bare before me , but I’m fairly certain that asking for mercy is not a crime punishable by kidnapping.”

The radio waves roared with life. Alastor was certain every device in the Pride Ring was tuned in.

“Nore is it punishable by genocide. Does thou shalt not kill only apply to the souls that obey? Are we undeserving of life the moment we forge our own paths? What gives them the fucking right to hand us shit on a platter and then turn their backs on us when we refuse to eat it?!”

Alastor thought about his father’s corpse, his mother’s tear-stained face, the sneering man who had taken them both away from him, and swallowed his pitching static.

“What of you, with scars left behind by your so-called guardians? What of you, who’s innocence was ripped away far too early? What of you, who earned the ire of spite? If God doesn’t make mistakes, this is exactly what He wanted, for all of you. How fucking dare He punish you all for following the only path He offered you? And how fucking dare He hide away from it while His children carve a bloody path through our bodies? He and the sycophants that worship Him are nothing but a bloodthirsty cult! ”

A violet shockwave rocked the radio tower. Small bits of rubble fell from the roof and bounced off Alastor’s nose. Strangely, he felt no fear, witnessing Lilith’s loss of control. Her anger was bitter and acidic, not rotten and putrid. Her magic was hot, scalding, as it shot through the room like irate wasps. Not the icy heaviness he had come to know. He felt not lethargic, like his ears were full of cotton and his legs made of jelly; but invigorated. Like he had caught a whiff of Rosie’s personal smelling salts.

Lucifer stood and approached Lilith, who had taken to pacing in front of the wall-length windows. He took her shaking fist in one hand, meeting her burning gaze with solemn acceptance. The Queen took a moment to catch her breath, closing her eyes and squeezing his hand in return. Her knuckles whitened with how hard she was gripping her microphone.

“I refuse to let them get away with this any longer. They have proven time and time again that their morals will shift and morph as they see fit, and I refuse to play by their impossible rules. They tell us Hell must be a pit of eternal suffering? Of misery and woe and anguish? I ask you all; since when have we ever given a fuck about what they want us to do?”

Alastor looked at his own hands in his lap. Remembered how grounding it had felt, when Vaggie held them despite their mutual dislike of one another. How clammy Charlie’s had been, when he had tried to comfort her in the garden. How calloused his mother’s had been when she had cupped his face or stroked his hair. He thought of Angel’s reassurances despite his own dislike of Alastor at the time. Of Husk’s silent comfort. Of Rosie’s unwavering loyalty. Such thoughtless kindness, even down here. Perhaps demonkind weren’t as wretched and cold as they had come to believe after all.

How queer, to envision the faces of his fellow staff and colleagues, and to feel his heart burst, as if it could spread itself wide enough to pull them all close and keep them all safe.

How chilling, to realise that Alastor Altruist was no myth of the headlines, but his own reflection staring back at him from his dashboard.

“Hell is changing,” Lilith said, staring out the red-tinted window as if she could meet every sinner’s eyes. “I invite each and every one of you to change with it. And if Heaven has a problem with that, if God has a problem with that, I invite Him to stand the fuck up and say it to our faces.”

—

In the lobby, the Hazbin’s remaining crew sat around the TV, watching Lilith expand upon her speech from that morning. Alastor had made the ladies a quick lunch—egg drop soup—before the program began. Charlie was chewing through her third bowl. Vaggie had barely touched hers despite how loudly her stomach rumbled. Alastor opted to let her be, for now.

The studio (at least what was visible on the TV) was cleaner than Alastor ever remembered seeing it, and much more tastefully decorated. It appeared that Angel’s experience in the makeup department had also come in handy: Lucifer and Lilith had more life to their features than they had that morning.

Angel steered the conversation easily, his smile relaxed and body language welcoming. He bounced off of Lilith’s points, drawing comparison to an online phenomenon that Alastor had heard about via one of the younger souls in his employ. Something about an orphan-crushing machine.

Charlie wrung her hands together, rocking slightly and biting her cheek. Beside her, Vaggie watched in clear concern. Her gaze flickered over to Alastor, to Charlie, then back to him. As if asking him for help, for advice. As if he had the power to ease whatever was ailing their princess. Her lip was quivering, now, as she listened to her mother speak of Sir Pentious, of what little she had seen of him before escaping.

Without thinking, Alastor placed his hands on Charlie’s shoulders and spun her so that her back was facing him. She didn’t tense at his touch, only looked over her shoulder, blinking in confusion as he began to comb his fingers through her ill-maintained hair. She accepted it with a twitch of a smile and turned back around to face her girlfriend. They rested their foreheads together, basking in the comfort of one another as the interview filled the silence. Alastor picked up on a few whispered assurances as he looped Charlie’s hair into a fishtail braid.

“ ...You’ll do great… So proud of you… I love you… ”

Warmth settled in his chest at the scene. He was glad his previous assumption had been proven correct: Charlie wouldn’t have fallen for someone unkind. And thank goodness for that; Alastor himself was not known for his comforting presence.

Even over the radio, the idea of public speaking left Charlie frazzled, especially after her mother had so effortlessly captured all of Hell’s attention. They had only just gotten through all the phone calls inquiring about redemption, vacancies, and policies. It had left the poor girl nearly falling apart with nerves. Her own interview had to be pushed back so that she could take a few hours to calm down.

As the TV cut to a commercial break, Alastor undid his own short ponytail and used the elastic to hold the braid in place. He conjured a hand mirror, offered it to her, and preened at her excited gasp. “Oh, Alastor, it’s beautiful! Thank you!”

“Of course, my dear.” He shuffled closer to fix her collar. “Your mother’s interview is almost up. How are you feeling?”

She visibly gulped. “I… I think I’m okay. I just don’t wanna fuck it up. Mom’s so good at this stuff… people are gonna think…” The rest of her fears went unspoken. Alastor understood regardless.

“The way I see it, unless they were here, fighting with us when Heaven struck the first time, they would do well to keep their blithering nonsense to themselves.”

“Agreed,” Vaggie said. She very slowly moved her hand towards Charlie’s and linked their pinkie fingers. “Hon, you could bomb the interview and it wouldn’t change the fact that you were right. There’s hope. Redemption is possible. They would be stupid to ignore that because you stuttered a little.”

Charlie sniffled, and Alastor only barely managed to find and offer her his handkerchief before she could use her sleeve. She buried her face in it, then slumped into Vaggie’s embrace. 

This would simply not do. Much as he wanted to believe otherwise; the denizens of Hell already thought of Charlie as a joke. If she was this morose during the interview, they would have little faith in the hotel’s ability to protect them. In addition; it was simply uncomfortable to listen to someone utter such pitiful noises. Especially someone as powerful as Charlie Morningstar.

Unbidden; a memory rushed to the front of his mind. Himself as a young boy, moping about in the backyard after a terrible day at school. His usual bullies had been spitting filth about his mother and father, about him, and the educators had taken their side, like usual. His mother had failed to cheer him up, and he had left the kitchen after saying some awful things. Words he had not truly comprehended until he was much older, and it was much too late to apologize. It was the first time he had felt inhuman, evil, a mistake better off forgotten.

And then, his mother had come rushing outside, looking rather scandalized. She had shouted his name, the one he had been saddled with back then, and Alastor had gritted his teeth, unwilling, unable to look at her—but then…

He smirked, and then slapped both hands to his cheeks, as if scandalized. “Oh my, Charlie!”

She removed the handkerchief from her face.

“You’re naked!”

All hints of woe fell from her visage, replaced with confusion as she scanned her wrinkled red suit. “I… what?” She barely had time to blink before Alastor pounced, digging his fingers into her sides and startling a squeal out of her.

“What do I always tell you, my dear? You’re never fully dressed without a smile!”

“Ahahaha! Alastor!” She squirmed, kicking her legs and failing to push his hands away. “Okay, oka-hay-hay! I’m—pfft!—I’m smiling! Sto-ho-hop!”

He scribbled his fingers over her stomach one last time before pulling away. She gasped for breath, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, residual giggles rocking her frame. Her brilliant ruby eyes shined with mirth as she squinted at him. Alastor sat up straighter, feeling lighter under the glow of her joy. His own nerves settled, and his jaw ached as he unclenched it, allowing his smile to loosen. He gently pinched the matching red dots on her cheeks, (much like his own mother had after tickling him senseless in the garden), making her giggle again. “There’s my girl.”

While his process of reconnecting with Baron was slow, the more he prayed, the more Alastor recalled of his mother. She had been Baron’s too, after all, and he held her in a similarly high regard despite her lack of direct service. Alastor wasn’t sure why Baron was tossing these buried moments back to him, but he would never reject the opportunity to relive them. Was this how she felt, those nights she had stayed awake with him after a terrible day? Was this what she meant, when she had whispered into his hair; “ Seeing you smile makes it all worth it ”?

“ What a fuckin’ sham, ” Angel’s tinny voice interrupted them, making all three occupants turn back to the TV. “ Seems like Heaven’d do anything to stay on the top of the food chain. I ain’t read the bible since I was a kid, but that don’t seem too ‘Holy’ of ‘em. ” He faced the camera. “ If yas agree, be sure to tune in to our friend The Radio Demon’s upcoming broadcast for an exclusive interview with Princess Charlie Morningstar. Pride’s de facto leader—up until recently—will give her thoughts on how this’ll affect her business, what you can expect if ya opt to give it a shot, and how Hell’s relations with Heaven will be changed thanks to Queen Lilith’s discovery. All that and more, comin’ atcha live in 15 minutes. ”

The finger guns were a bit juvenile, but otherwise a perfectly suitable sign-off. Alastor rose and popped his back. “I do believe that’s our cue, ladies.” He pulled his cane from the aether and used it to steady himself; sitting for so long never did his knee any favours. He ignored the part of him that screamed to stand up straight, to push through the pain, to not show any weakness. There was no need for it, not here. “Shall we?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah. I think I’m ready now.”

Alastor offered a soft smile and led the way to the elevator. 

“ I think I’m ready now, ” he had said to his mother one evening, after bandaging her injured hands—courtesy of their local miscreants. She had been too hurt to finish the repairs to their neighbour’s work uniform. He hadn’t paid much for the favour, but Alastor’s mother had always been eager to serve her community. She had insisted it was important. The unfinished project sat in its place along the ruler of his family’s sewing machine. It had been an ornery old thing; passed down from his grandmother with a grudge against him specifically. It always found some reason to malfunction if he so much as looked at it wrong. His mother had never forced him to use it; satisfied with his finesse with a good old fashioned needle and thread, but had encouraged him to learn every facet the craft had to offer.

He had ended the night with his hands just as injured as his mother’s, but she had grinned so widely, had cradled his face in her bandaged hands and kissed him all over until he was laughing. “ I knew you could do it, Bébé. ” He hadn’t understood the gleam in her eyes, the warmth, the joy. It was just a sewing machine. Just a stitched up pair of pants. Nothing to get so worked up over.

He shook his head as he led the ladies to the guest seats in his studio. Watched fondly as Charlie began to say her ‘affirmations’ as Alastor woke his consol. The airwaves buzzed to life, and he took his proper seat across from his guests, keeping his smile docile so as not to cause Charlie more stress. Like his mother had as he had pressed his foot into the pedal of the machine for the first time that night.

She had always wanted grandchildren. She would have loved Charlie, he was certain. He liked to think Charlie would have loved her, too.

—

The moment he flicked the ‘On Air’ sign off, Charlie slumped in her seat. It creaked in protest as she sighed, shoulders relaxing as Vaggie took both her hands and squeezed. “You were amazing, Sweetie.”

“I think I blacked out the entire time.”

Vaggie huffed out a laugh and leaned over to kiss her temple. “Whatever works for you.”

“I think I forgot to talk about the ballroom. And that Dad’s living here now. What if people are too intimidated to check in—?!”

Vaggie cut her off with a gentle kiss, and Alastor had never been so grateful for PDA in his vicinity. “You,” she booped Charlie’s nose, “are hereby forbidden from catastrophizing until we get at least one night of rest.”

Charlie pouted.

Vaggie kissed her again, and it quickly melted away. “Hmm, I guess that’s fair. Buuut, y’know, an extra kiss couldn’t hurt. To seal the promise?” She leaned into Vaggie’s space and batted her eyes. The fallen angel huffed and shook her head, then leaned in for a much more saccharine kiss.

When it didn’t end after a few seconds, Alastor loudly cleared his throat.

Both girls flushed and turned their wide eyes onto him. He offered a toothy smile. “Far be it from me to impede on your personal affairs, but perhaps it would be better suited to your own rooms, hmm?”

Vaggie covered her face with both hands and shrunk into her seat.

Charlie broke into a manic grin and waved her hands, as if trying to erase herself and her girlfriend from his view. “OHMYGOSH I am so sorry Alastor, we—we totally forgot you were—well, we were—I mean, uh…” She whined and hid behind her hands as well. “Sorry.”

He waved away her gabbering, holding back laughter. “Not to worry, my dears. There was no harm done.” He strode back to them and spun both their chairs around, towards the hatch leading back into the hotel. “Now, if you can spare the rest of us sinners a few more moments of your time, I do believe we promised our ever-persistent spider a card game this evening.”

The black box was still in the center of the dinning table, untouched. They hadn’t managed to even start their game the night of Eve’s death; too wrapped up in the redemption bombshell. Angel had been quite cross; had spent the next few days bemoaning their lost ‘bonding time’, much to Alastor’s chagrin and Charlie’s sympathy.

“Ohmigosh you’re right!” Charlie shot out of her seat and scurried towards the hatch. “We’ve gotta get ready—we’ve gotta order food!”

Alastor grimaced. Any demon with half a brain and two working hands could cook; why they felt the need to inhale such slop was beyond him.

“I’ll worry about food,” Vaggie said, trotting after her girlfriend. “You should get a head start on the rules; make sure no one can cheat.”

“Right! Yeah! Okay!” She squealed, scrambling back up the ladder enough to smoosh another kiss against Vaggie’s lips before dropping down quickly enough to kick Alastor’s heart rate into high gear. “I’ll make hot chocolate! Do we have marshmallows?? Ah, I’ll just check when I get there. I love you…!” Her voice carried as she rushed down the hall.

Vaggie shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Love you too, Hon.” She shuffled her way down the hatch, catching his eye when only her head was visible. “How do you feel about pizza?”

“It’ll do, I suppose.”

“Pepperoni, Italian sausage, pineapple, and red onion, no mushrooms or you’ll be adding the incompetent chef to your toppings?”

“You do listen!”

She rolled her eyes, “See you in a few,” then slid the rest of the way down the ladder.

Alastor took his time organising the loose papers Charlie had left behind. Half-written ideas and juvenile doodles made up her notes. How she could decipher any of it was beyond him. Smiling softly, he clipped several stacks together and tucked them into a drawer for safe keeping. Just in case she wanted them back. And if she didn’t, well, he saw no reason to throw them away when they weren’t taking up any needed space.

—

“You [blank], bro?” Angel read from the black card, smirking as everyone slid their responses towards him, some (Charlie) more hesitant than others. The poor girl had suffered quite the shock upon reading her staff and guest’s various responses to ‘ Why am I sticky? ’ (a round Alastor had won, naturally; Bees? had never steered him wrong).

“You [edging], bro?” Angel read, snorting. He scanned the group, as he always did when he was the czar, trying to sus out who had submitted what. It’s a house rule, he had proclaimed once they had all gathered their decks, I guess your card, you don’t get the point. His gaze fell on Alastor, who tilted his head to the right, flicking his ear once, twice, until Angel’s scrutiny landed on The King himself, who was trying so very, very hard to act nonchalant, examining his nails and refusing eye-contact. Again, Angel snorted. “In front of your daughter, Ya Majesty? You got balls of steel.”

“Bu—whu—? I-I didn’t—how did you know?! ”

Alastor snickered, and the shadow peeping over Lucifer’s shoulder snickered with him. Honestly, he didn’t need the shade’s eyes; Lucifer was obvious enough on his own, but he was curious to see how long it would take him to notice.

“You ain’t subtle, Toots,” was Angel’s response before tucking the black and white card in the quickly expanding ‘null’ pile. “It was funny, though.”

Lucifer grumbled as he plucked another black card from the pile. Charlie rubbed his back, smiling warmly, attempting to comfort. Lucifer returned her smile, though it wobbled when he caught sight of the five black cards tucked in a row before her. Even Alastor had not expected such quick wit.

“Men like [blank].”

Alastor had never put down a card so quickly in his life. To his left, Rosie chuckled, plucking her own choice out of her hand and setting it daintily atop his. She had been stopping by frequently the past few days, eager to help out wherever and however she could. Sending her townsfolk (minus Susan) to help clean and repair the walls and floors, giving Charlie the moral support Alastor was ill-equipped to provide, and spending a noticeable amount of time with The Queen. He saw no issue; if Rosie wanted to make a political play, it was only favourable for him. If anyone could charm Lilith, it would be her.

Lucifer squinted at him as the others quickly contributed. “Men like [body shaming].” He tutted. “Then call me The Queen of Hell.”

“That title is taken, I’m afraid,” Lilith quipped.

Lucifer laughed, that wheezy, awkward thing he often did when he was nervous. “R-right! Yeah, right, uh, o-of course!”

Alastor arched a brow, studying the blush that now took up The King’s entire face. He glanced at Lilith, who seemed just as confused as him by the reaction.

“M-men like [toddlers].” Lucifer wore a dry frown. “That’s fucked up.”

Alastor flicked his gaze towards Angel, who smirked and averted his eyes, humming under his breath.

“Men like [muh truck].” Lucifer snorted, failing to muffle more giggles behind his hand.

Alastor caught Charlie giggling a bit too hard for it to not be her’s.

“Men like [the patriarchy]. Okay, I’m sensing a theme here.” Alastor hummed noncommittally, grinning wider as Lucifer switched to the last card in the pile. “Men like [committing suicide]—Alastor!”

He tilted his head, Cheshire grin betraying him. “What? It’s true. Have you seen the statistics?” Rosie whacked his shoulder good-naturedly.

Lucifer sputtered despite the muffled laughter of the hotel’s other occupants, Charlie notwithstanding, of course. Though, she wasn’t frowning at him like he had come to expect after such an off-coloured joke. She was studying him, quite obviously now that he was paying attention. Her mouth quirked into a small pout. Eyes tracking every move he made. Squeezing her own hands in her lap. She seldom looked away, even when drawing her own black card after winning the round yet again.

Hmm. He would no doubt be soothing whatever woes plagued her before retiring to his room… eugh, on second thought; perhaps he would stay awake tonight. There was plenty to do. Walls to repair, singe marks to clean, pipes to fix. Breakfast to prepare. Maybe he would try his hand at pancakes. As a show of goodwill.

He could cleanse his room later… perhaps dig through his grimoires and try to find a spell to revive the photograph Eve had burned. Unless she had foreseen such attempts and barred it before he could even try. He gritted his teeth.

One wayward little wannabe angel had fooled him well enough to infiltrate his territory and abduct his allies and put her vile little hands around Charlie’s neck. How could he have been so idiotic? Had he been so blinded by his own frivolous emotions that he had just opted to ignore the inconsistencies? Pride so tender and bruised that he had walked right through a field of red flags with a single-minded foolishness that he would expect from lesser demons?

Much like the night of his last kill.

He hadn’t cared to wonder why such an influential man was wandering through such thick woods so late at night. Hadn’t cared to be mindful of the crickets announcing his every step, of the twigs snapping beneath his shoes. Hadn’t cared to look over his shoulder, to make sure he wasn’t being followed. All he had cared about was gutting the pig who had dared take his mother away from him.

The man: Governor Daniel Dupre, had always had a perverse fascination with his mother. With Alastor himself, too, before he had become ‘Alastor’. He hadn’t thought the pig would even recognise him.

You still got ‘er pretty doe eyes, the filthy louse had purred next to his ear after pinning him with the help of two other men. Wonder if you’ll have ‘er tight little cunt, too?

He had never found out. Too busy choking on his own blood to follow through. How sad for him. The memory of his shivering, pale form still filled Alastor with vindication. The other men had landed a few blows with their own blades before Alastor had snuffed them out. It had been while disposing of the bodies that the police dogs had caught him.

Not his first encounter with gnashing teeth and snarling muzzles; but by far his most unpleasant. None of the bite marks had faded upon his fall. Though, he could hardly call them mere ‘bite marks’. The first and only person who had seen the blemishes had worried her cannibals had gotten a hold of him.

A warm hand covering his own brought him out of his head enough to quiet his own rising static. He offered Rosie an apologetic smile and placed a random card on the pile. Despite decades of searching, he had never managed to find the governor in Hell. He didn’t dwell on it; couldn’t. He had to just believe he’d overlooked him. Because if that slimy little roach wasn’t down here, neither holy steel nor Smite would keep Alastor from ripping every single archangel's wings off and displaying them on his wall.

Dupre was behind his father’s lynching, Alastor was certain. Jealous and unable to prove himself worthy; he had cheated. Like people like him always did. Much like a toddler breaking a toy: If I can’t have it, no one can. As if his mother was nothing but a prize; a possession. His mother, who had worked herself to the bone to provide for him after his father’s murder. His mother, who had created art with every breath she took; be it flowers in the garden, embroidery on the wall, or dinner on the table. His mother, who had been cast aside to rot down here, just like him, for crimes Alastor could never fathom.

The memory of her wearing his mother’s face surfaced unbidden. He clenched his fists, attempting to stave off the scream of static that rumbled in his chest. Had she looked similarly, when the governor had killed her? While Alastor had been off applying for yet another job at yet another radio station? His mother had been dubious about it, had encouraged him to search more locally, but had ultimately supported him and his dream. If he had listened, would it still have happened?

…No sense dwelling on it. It wouldn’t bring her back. There was no undoing what had been done.

Except.

Except Pentious was alive. Alive and trapped up there. After perishing at the hands of an exterminator.

It couldn’t be… it couldn’t—if it was true… if there was even a slight possibility… She would have made it up there, Alastor was certain. She had to have made it up there. If she was up there, alive and whole… if he could see her again…

No, he would never see her again. Even if she was in Heaven, he would never follow after her. He would never regret his crimes. He would never give up the power he had amassed. No matter how much he wanted to, if he ever did want to.

Heaven had routinely demonstrated that they were just as, if not more unjust than Hell. At least down here, it was easy to solve such problems. Alastor had had more than enough of sparkly-white bureaucracy when he was alive. If he somehow made it up to his mother, would he still be himself? The only reason he had grown into the man he was now was thanks to Lucifer and Lilith’s gift of free will. If he left their realm, how much of him would remain? He had always been action-oriented; would he even be capable of taking action should it betray the whims of YHWH? Would he even be permitted to think about it?

And where would that leave him and his mother? Why, they would be no better off than they were on earth. Powerless. And that just would not do. Alastor would never be powerless again. No matter what he had to sacrifice. He would not— could not allow it.

He chuckled and rubbed his aching temples. How appropriate of God; dangling the one person he had truly loved above his nose and demanding he submit himself to more chains to see her again. One last laugh at his expense. One last eternal punishment.

He blinked away the sting in his eyes. It didn’t matter. He had no reason to believe she was even up there in the first place. If God hadn’t wanted her the first time, how could He so quickly change his mind? She was probably dead for good. Alastor swallowed bile at the realisation that he would prefer it that way. Of course he would, really. The only thing worse than losing someone he wanted was to have her alive and well and far away from him. He had always been greedy like that.

And his mother deserved better.

Warmth trailing down his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts.

Without looking up, he pushed his seat out and slipped away from the table. The communal chatter quieted, and he could feel their eyes on his back. Biting his cheek, he croaked; “I’ll retire for the night. Do enjoy the rest of your game, chums!” He heard the tell-tale intake of breath that preceded one of Charlie’s well-intentioned ramblings and made his exit, not caring if his abrupt pace gave away his intent to flee and hide.

He made his way up the lobby stairs and took a sharp right turn. His bad knee ached, and he welcomed the sensation. Physical pain had always been a reliable anchor. A tried and true method to keep him from losing himself in frivolous thoughts and feelings. Within reason, of course.

Layered whispers alerted him to the shadow’s presence. It had donned his silhouette once more, pouting up at him and pawing at his feet. He sighed, unwilling to send it away, but far too uneasy to allow it to sync fully with him. The last thing he needed was to be seen by The Queen.

The library was small and stuffy as he remembered it. It smelled of mildew and petrichor. Warmth hugged the room like a blanket; emanating from a charmed keychain that hung from the doorknob. One of Charlie’s own spells. A few books had fallen off the shelves. One of the red leather lounge chairs had been knocked over. A chunk of debris had snapped the front desk down the middle. Alastor took to dismantling the chunk of ceiling with his magic while the shadow scooped up the fallen books.

Plenty to do. He ought to focus on his work. Spending time fretting over impossibilities would only drive him the rest of the way mad. 

He had promised Charlie a mental health professional as well; to better help the residents and staff adjust to being Heaven’s favourite punching bag. He knew just the sinner for the job, too. Not a professional by definition (having dropped out of college after three years), but they certainly liked to babble about unhealthy coping mechanisms and trauma responses , which was good enough for Alastor. And they could be polite, when they wanted to be. Charlie would like them. It would be one less activity for her to worry about running.

Without therapy on her plate, perhaps she would have time to get to work on instating those Hobby Hours she had been so keen on. Alastor hummed, sliding around the rubble and snatching the pen and a sheet of paper from the dusty sign-out binder. She would want arts and craft supplies for such a thing. Some form of comfortable seating. Snacks and beverages. Perhaps a form of more unconventional entertainment. She had been rather fascinated with ceramics, lately, going so far as to show Alastor several listings for pottery wheels…

He blinked, stopping half way through the note. The paper was half covered in his swooping handwriting; a list of supplies needed and dealers he could exploit. He dropped the pen, stepping away and pressing against the cracked wall.

Just how did this happen? When had he so gracelessly fallen from his place as The Radio Demon and right back into the shoes of Alastor Magnon? That boy was dead, yet he was all Alastor could see when he looked at his reflection in the window. That same carelessness was what had lost him his soul in the first place. Not that he thought his fellow staff capable nor willing to do such a thing. But those who wanted them dead would have no such qualms. When they went to war with Heaven… if another angel backed him into such a corner… how would he even begin to combat that?

‘ ! ’ the shadow said, tugging on his consciousness. He shot his head up, to find Charlie but two steps away from him. She yelped and stumbled backwards, landing with a grunt on her behind. The bruises on her neck, visible now with the low collar of her pyjamas, had darkened to purple and blue.

“Jeez, Alastor!” She laughed, then cut herself off with a cough, rubbing her neck with a wince.

His ears drooped, and he bent to offer her a hand. “Apologies, Dear. Are you quite alright?”

“Yeah,” she took his hand and let him pull her to her feet, “sorry for, uh, sneaking up on you.” She rocked on her heels, avoiding his eyes. “Are, uh, are you okay?”

He curled his lip in distaste.

“Hey, come on, don’t give me that look. You left so suddenly and you looked…” She puffed out her cheeks and let the air out slowly, waving her hand vaguely, “ Upset. ” Her awkward grin did little to smother the revulsion that crawled up his spine at the suggestion. “And, well, uh, I… uh…” She steeled herself with a deep breath. “I need to talk to you. About everything that happened. I’m not mad!” She rushed to say after he failed to smother a blast of static. “I just wanna make sure I understand. Please?”

He couldn’t look at her. Of course, Eve would have told her… any manner of things, really. How much did Charlie believe? He liked to think very little; the woman had tried to strangle her, after all. Surely Charlie’s unyielding optimism couldn’t excuse that.

 “Alastor? Please don’t leave!”

He blinked, shaking his head and dismissing the shadows that had begun climbing the walls. “I’m not leaving,” he assured, stamping down his nerves and turning his body towards her, keeping his eyes on his hands as he gripped his microphone. Hands that she had covered with her own. A thoughtless action, he was certain. One he did not particularly mind, for the moment. “What is it that you wish to know?”

She squeezed his hands. “You’re going to be honest with me?”

“As much as I can be, my dear.”

There was a pause before she asked, “Are you still bound? Was there some, like, fine print or something?”

“No. If there was, it would have been void after we killed her. Deals need batteries, Darling.”

“Oookay. Then, um, why did you leave the kitchen like that? Did we do anything to—?”

“No, no. I simply needed a moment alone with my thoughts.”

Her hands twitched. “Okay. That’s totally fine! Uh, sorry to intrude, then, I’ll be quick.”

He grit his teeth, swallowing the sentimental drivel flooding his mouth, and nodded instead.

“I just… whoo boy, I don’t really know where to start. I’m confused, I guess? I mean, I didn’t even know you could make deals with angels, nevermind sell them your soul. You, uh, she wasn’t lying about that, was she?”

“No.” His voice cracked around the admission.

“Why did you do it?”

He sighed, hunching further into himself. “I’ve been asking myself the same thing for the past seven years.” He didn’t need to see her face to know she was pouting. The poor girl had almost died at the hands of his own idiocy; he could give her this. “It was a foolish attempt to ‘reclaim’ power that was not mine to begin with.” The pendant around his neck pulsed with warmth. It did little to quell his embarrassment. “You’d be surprised what a man with a freshly bruised pride will do to feel… in control.”

Her hands tightened around his. “I’m used to it.” Spoken quietly; an admission for his ears only. It left his stomach knotted. His tentative understanding of The King did not eclipse the pain in those words. He risked a glance upwards, only catching a glimpse of Charlie’s quivering lip before losing his nerve and looking away again. “Did you… like it here?”

Alastor furrowed his brows. Of all the questions to ask… how very Charlie of her. “I did. You were all an enjoyable collective. Could do with a few lessons in interior design, however.”

She laughed, tentative and soft. One of her hands left his, and a sniffle hit his ears. She made to wipe her soiled hand on her shirt. Alastor tsked and pulled a handkerchief out of his breast pocket. Another sniffle, then she took it.

“She sent you here.”

He cringed, knuckles whitening around his microphone. “She did.”

“You were supposed to let the exorcists kill us all.”

“I was.”

She took a shaky breath, blowing her nose into the handkerchief. “But you lied to her. You put yourself in so much danger to help us.”

He groaned, looking at the overturned chair. “Don’t remind me.”

Her laugh was brighter, fond, this time. “So… what are you gonna do now?” It was impossible to miss the hope in her voice.

Alastor sighed, long and slow. “Well, there’s been a leak in 309 for five days now. With Niffty’s new duties at that dreadful tower, I suppose I’ll have to act as temporary handy man until we settle into the new routine. As well as those overdue stocks from Greed; they’ve been stalling on our delivery for far too long. I should make an example of them. They ought to respect a traditional chef enough to supply him with ingredients in a timely manner—!”

Charlie threw herself into his arms, crushing him in a hug. Her smile fell away as she hid her face against his chest and wept. “‘M sorry, I-I know, should’ve asked, p-pineapples an’ stuff, I just—I’m so glad you’re staying!”

Alastor smiled, small and genuine, and returned the hug. He settled his chin atop Charlie’s head, recalling their motley crew’s gathering in the lobby, the night before the extermination. It felt so far away, now. An enjoyable collective. He patted her back as she lost her battle with the hiccups. Accustomed. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Excellent use of magic, back there. I told you you were a natural.”

Charlie giggled despite her tears. “You were right about intentions. I would have never been able to see that cloaking spell if you hadn’t taught me all that. I never would have gotten out, or been able to hide from Eve, or been able to find everyone else.”

“Come now,” he gave her a squeeze, “if there’s anything I know about Princess Charlie Morningstar, it’s that she always finds a way.” Charlie uttered a weak laugh, sniffling once more. Alastor fought the urge to lift her up and spin her, opting instead to pat her head and hug her just a little tighter. “I’m proud of you.”

Charlie half-gasped half-whimpered, fisting his coat in both hands and hiding against his chest once again. He allowed it, ignoring the prickling of overstimulation on his skin. Briefly, he recalled Eve’s hands clinging to his arm, her impression of Charlie enough to have him fooled. So many illusions… he shook his head. 

This was real. Charlie was real. He was being ridiculous. There was no coming back from soul-erasure. Eve was as dead as dead could be. He had seen it; had helped it happen. One wannabe angel would not be coming back from the wrath of The Baron and Hell’s Princess and Queen.

Muffling another hiccup against his torso, Charlie peeked up at him. Eyes still red and gleaming, she sniffled as stray tears stained his coat. The sight squeezed his heart, and he found himself wiping away the tears with the clean end of his handkerchief. Charlie offered a wobbly smile, dazzling as the stars that reflected off the bayou surface. “We love you, Alastor.”

Alastor’s heart stuttered, then flipped. He hadn’t heard those words since… oh golly. He hadn’t heard those words, period. He had not had the luxury of being ‘Alastor’ while his mother was alive, and certainly not while his father was alive. There hadn’t been a word for it back then that didn’t double as an insult. He had refused to put his mother through that. She wouldn’t understand. No one in his community had. It was the reason he had moved to a new city once he was able. Had started a new life as ‘Alastor’ and had never been known as anything else. Had left any semblance of his roots behind, aside from the Priestess he had failed to heed the warnings of.

We love you, Alastor.

A horrible decision, really. He wasn’t built for those types of things. It would only end in disappointment.

We love you, Alastor.

He did not appreciate being lied to. It was crueller than he thought her capable of; saying such things like it was easy, right to his face, when there was no conceivable way for it to be true.

We love you, Alastor.

He didn’t know what constituted ‘love’. Was he even capable of such things? Vox had thought not. The women in the speakeasies had thought not. The men who had chased him into the woods had thought not. His entire life and afterlife, people spoke of love like it was God. The ultimate power, a feeling so Good and Righteous and Universal. To be without it was an inherent flaw, an evil so unheard of that it justified any kind of treatment one was put through.

Alastor had loved his mother, but that hadn’t been enough for the world. It had wanted him to find another: a man; a husband (and later, a wife), to value over everything, everyone else in his life, himself included. A rather ridiculous notion. Why pull himself apart and piece together a new man to another’s liking? Why blindly follow the example of those before him? He had not needed a spouse, or even a lover to find purpose.

He missed none of the men who had accosted him in the school halls, nor did he miss the women who would invade his personal space in the speakeasies. A ring on his finger would not have changed that.

But as Charlie shifted in his arms to dab her cheeks with the ruined handkerchief, his heart swelled. He would miss her voice, her gumption, her greetings in the morning. He would miss Rosie’s charm, her advice, her conversation. He would miss Angel’s wit, his casual wisdom, his ever-amusing attempts to guess whatever secret buttons he was convinced The Radio Demon had (amusing now that Alastor knew he meant nothing by it). Niffty’s manic energy. Husk’s dry sense of humour. Vaggie’s tenacity. He thought he might even miss Lucifer’s stupid ducks.

Was that right? Was that ‘love’? Was it enough?

…Charlie was staring at him, brows furrowed at his continued silence. He cleared his dry throat, his microphone creaking in protest at his tightened grip. He couldn’t say it back. It was… it just wasn’t how he worked. He hadn’t felt love since he lost his mother; had vowed to stay away from it. It would only be used against him.

Except.

Was it not the reason he stood as a free demon, now? No more chain to choke on, no wannabe angel demeaning him with every breath, no strings to yank him along to another’s whims? Of course, he could make the argument that Charlie and Lilith had helped him kill Eve out of obligation. She had intended to destroy them both, after all. But then Charlie wouldn’t be here checking after him. Lilith would not have taken the time to assure him she meant him no harm in the hall, nor would she have allowed him the use of her shadow multiple times.

Rosie had many reasons to help him plot the downfall of fellow Overlords, but to accompany Lilith to certain death, just to find him? Hardly profitable on her end.

Angel, Husk, and Vaggie had plenty of incentive to follow him on his errands, but to sit with him while he cried? To stick their necks out to whom they assumed was their Queen, for him?

Perhaps there were benefits to attachments.

Perhaps, if demonkind was not as wretched and cold as they had come to believe, some could also find it within themselves to value another. To value him. Beyond what he could provide, and simply for… being there. Being The Radio Demon. Being Alastor Magnon. Enough so that they would willingly risk their own safety for him. And if they could do such a thing, perhaps he ought to allow them a bit of grace. A bit of trust. It wasn’t love, he didn’t think; not entirely. The term was far too small for all the tangled up feelings thumping in his chest: an incomprehensible, multi-coloured mass of confusion and fear and aching desire. Yet Alastor found he didn’t need it to be anything else.

“Thank you.”

Charlie offered a wobbly smile. “Of course.” She fully released him and wiped her cheeks on her sleeves. He plucked the handkerchief from her grasp and sent it to his hamper in a puff of green smoke. Sheepishly, she simpered and offered him an arm. “I know you’re probably tired, but we were gonna play Clue, if you wanted to join.”

Alastor hummed in amusement. “Oh, twist my arm, why don’t you?” He offered a softer smile as he linked elbows with her. It was no secret that Clue was his board game of choice, should he be obligated to participate in game nights.

Charlie beamed and tugged him out from behind the crushed desk. They maneuvered their way around piles of rubble, kicking a more suitable path to the door as they walked. It squeaked as Charlie shut it behind them. “After we play,” she began, leading him down the hall, “I was thinking we could all listen to this podcast Vaggie and I have been keeping up with—oh, a podcast is like a radio show, but it’s online. There’s, uh, a lot less censorship to work around… though I guess that’s not really a problem in Hell, huh? It’s a DnD thing, remember how we talked about that? Vaggie wanted to try to run a game for everyone! Would you wanna play?? It’s basically playing pretend for adults, but with, uh, rules?”

“Hmm… perhaps.” It had sounded interesting the few times he had heard Vaggie talk about it. If nothing else, it would be much easier to bag their potential therapist with the promise of such things.

Chatter rang through the lobby as they approached the glowing dining room doorway. Rosie had moved to lean against the counter, cradling a steaming mug of tea that Alastor could smell from across the room. She was watching Niffty attempt to pry a character card—Professor Plum; Alastor’s preferred character—out of Angel’s hand, proclaiming that she wanted to be the one to hold it for him. Husk and Angel were playing keep-away, knowing her history with easily damaged things. Angel cursed as she grabbed a fistful of his hair and ripped it out in retaliation.

Vaggie sat at the table, head in her hands, shoulders slumped in meek acceptance.

Lucifer and Lilith watched the chaos unfold while leaning as far back in their seats as they could.

“Oh, shit,” Charlie hissed, dropping his arm and racing into the fray.

Alastor chuckled, chest light and heart warm. He followed after Charlie, plucking Niffty off of Angel’s head and giving her a light scolding. She pouted, and he quickly gave in, allowing her to hand him the mangled card with a delighted giggle.

Rosie returned to his side as he took his seat, snickering at his attempts to smooth out the card. She held her own between two fingers, keeping an eye on Niffty as she dashed around the table, picking up crumbs and wiping up spills (mostly caused by her).

Angel returned to his seat, grumbling to himself as Husk awkwardly held onto the hair Niffty had ripped out. After a beat, he tossed it into the garbage and shuffled back to his seat.

“Okay!” Charlie began, her voice boisterous yet wobbly, “Now that we’ve, um, calmed down, let’s play! Everyone ready?”

Alastor settled in, letting himself forget about war and grief and fear, for the moment. He had a game to win. “I’m ready, now.”