Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lucifer watches as the residents of the hotel fret around the common room from the couch. His arms resting on the back of it as he looks over to see everyone moving around. Angel is doing his makeup at the bar before closing his eyeshadow palette and turning to Charlie “How’s my makeup, dollface?”

“You look great! Your eyeliner is great as always!” Charlie says with a bright grin, “How’s mine?”

“Lookin’ fine enough, but come over here,” Alastor leans in to dab some spare glitter on Charlie’s cheeks, “There, now you’re sparkling.”

Vaggie walks back down from the hallway, adding a few more bobby pins to her up-do, “Husk, have you locked down the bar yet?”

“Ugh! I’d love but I can't find the fucking key!” Husk groans, “It’s like it sprouted legs and walked away.”

Niffty hops up to put the key in Husker’s palm. Husk glares down at the object, and mutters, “Fine. Ok, guess I’m locking down the bar now.”

Niffty chitters with a delighted little grin on her face, her feet pattering against the floor. Her little eye zips across the residents and lands on Alastor. She crawls up Alastor’s side like a particularly demented bug, straightening his tie. If it were anyone else, Lucifer is sure that Alastor would have them gutted and strung out in front of the hotel, but Alastor seems to preen underneath Niffty’s attention. He sets Niffty on top of the bar counter, “Thank you my dear.”

“Okay, headcount.” Vaggie declares, “We got Husk, Niffty, Alastor, Angel Dust, and Charlie. That everyone?”

Charlie makes eye contact with Lucifer and he starts to panic from the concerned look on her face. Shit, no, no, no, it’s fine. They talked about this. There’s a honk outside and Lucifer’s heart rate decreases, saved by the car. Vaggie starts shouting “Alright everybody, let’s start moving! Hussle! Hussle! Limo’s here! Niffty, there will no bugs inside the limo and if I find a bug inside the limo I will-” the military voice drops as Vaggie thinks for a moment “,honestly, I’m not entirely sure how to punish you.”

“I like punishment!” Niffty declares.

“We know that dear.” Alastor pats Niffty’s head, careful not to mess up the style, “Now, let’s all move along. Mimzy would be so terribly disappointed if we were late.”

They start lining up out the hotel and Lucifer watches everyone go out the door, all fancy and dolled up, ready for a fun night on the town-- as much as an Alastor-sponsored clubbing could be fun. For a moment, Lucifer thinks he’s successfully avoided the situation, until he follows Vaggie’s line of sight to Charlie walking up to him. Shit, calm down, Lucifer. What’s this? A slightly uncomfortable situation with his daughter? It’s fine! People have these things all the time and not explode!

Charlie just looks at him as she softly asks “Are you sure you don't want to come?”

Lucifer cannot explain how much he does not want to go. Not just because of it being Alastor’s small shouty friend’s club! But also because he knew he wasn't a fun drunk to be around, especially after the divorce, and people always drink at these sorts of things and if people start asking questions about why he isn't drinking and then-- okay the silence has gone on long enough, it’s starting to be awkward. He should say something. Anytime now. C’mon, say something! “I’m fine!” He blurts, “I’ll be soooo fine, you wouldn't even believe. I’ll be the finest whore in Hell, don't you believe it!”

From the blank look on her face nothing he said assuaged Charlie’s concern. She moves to tuck hair behind her ear, though it’s all braided back so there’s nothing to tuck. “Dad, I know you and Alastor aren't,” she purses her lips as she tries to think of a Charlie-appropriate word other then Lucifer fucking hated him, “on the best of terms. But I have checked with him on this. And Mimzy too! Multiple times. They wouldn't mind if you came to her club. In fact, I think Mimzy would be delighted to have you there-- even if I think she’s going to try to seduce you because of your money?”

Lucifer breaks into a laugh, “Ha! No! Like that'll ever happen.”

He dusts imaginary grime off Charlie’s shoulder, “Look, I’ll be fine.” He grins up at her, “You and Vags can go out and have fun, and I’ll hold down the fort while everyone is gone.” He fixes the lapels of her suit.

“It’s just…” anger, despair, guilt, pity, a plethora of emotions pass across Charlie’s face as she thinks about what to say and Lucifer can feel the time apart between them like a physical weight. The years of depression that left him rotted to his bed and the mess the palace has become as he struggled to get up everyday. She hates him for it, in her own Charlie way, and she has every right to. But since this is Charlie, hate is rarely a solitary emotion.

“I don't want you to be alone.” she concludes.

He looks at Charlie, he looks at Vaggie, still waiting by the open door as the familiar sounds of bright conversation come in from the limo outside. His heart aches. Anxiety still churning in his stomach. Lucifer smiles and looks up at Charlie, “I’ll be okay, kay? I don't want you to worry about me. You should go out, have fun, be with your people.”

Charlie looks at him with a slight furrow of her brow. She’s looking at him for bullshit, but Lucifer is the Lord of Lies and daughter or not, he can spit bullshit like the best of them. (Which he is.) She sighs, and Lucifer is thrown for a loop when she pulls him into a hug. It lasts for a blissful few seconds, a feather light feeling of love in his shoulders and arms, before she pulls away, holding Lucifer by the shoulders,“Just promise to call me if something happens.”

“And-- and you too!” Lucifer flounders, “If this isn't just Alastor opening up to the hotel like you said.”

Charlie huffs, slightly irritated at the continued hatred but she smiles none the less and returns to her girlfriend’s side. “Okay, I’ll do that.”

Vaggie gives Charlie a little kiss on the cheek as she leaves before turning to Lucifer, “Take care, big man.”

And she closes the doors behind her.

Leaving Lucifer all alone.

A pit of void sits just below his ribcage as Lucifer stands there, staring at the closed doors. A mottled blackness of depression gnawing at his heart. He doesn't want to be in a crowd of people. He doesn't want to drink. If he really doesn't trust Alastor to mean this outing as a good thing, then shouldn't he also go? Shouldn't he be trying to protect Charlie? But no! She’s a grown woman! She’s strong and tough! She can do things by herself.

Lucifer can’t though.

The radio on the mantle irks him so he tosses a throw blanket over it before sitting back down on the couch, kicking his feet up. He finds one of the throw pillows he and Charlie spent weeks designing. He brushes a thumb across one of the little embroidered bugs Niffty added whenever there was a new hole. All of the throw pillows and blankets were like that. He screamed when he first saw an embroidered little bug, which Niffty loved.

He looks around the common room. Angel’s makeup is still on the bar. Expensive looking eyeshadow palettes sit barely closed, with a little mirror tilted upwards that it caught the light of the chandelier. Husk left the key to the liquor cabinet in the lock, though a bottle of cheap booze sat barely hidden behind the corner of the counter. The coffee table has a dish filled with Vaggie’s bobby pins and scrunchies. (And a few condoms of varying sizes, courtesy of Angel Dust.)

The hotel is different from the palace. Lucifer wouldn't be able to tell you how they're different for the life of him, but they’re different.

Determined to not be sad, Lucifer sets himself up a little rubber duck creation station in the common room. A handful of blank ducks, with painting supplies, sketchbooks, and simple machinery laid out on the low table while Lucifer sits on the floor with a blanket draped around his shoulders. Making things felt good, this was a fact Lucifer has known since he was created. Maybe it was just an instinctual byproduct of being an angel, a child/creation/servant/thing of God’s meant to assist in the creation of all things. Lucifer didn't know. He did know that when Hell began to just run itself, he felt bad. An indescribable sense of purposelessness that drove deep into his core as Hell started to just exist without needing a patch every other decade.

Hence the rubber ducks.

They were easy, small, and you could throw a dozen ideas into one and have it still remain a duck. You could squish it, squash it, name it George, it was a rubber duck. There’s a reason why people sell them as souvenirs. It’s meant to be an endless project. So he just makes rubber duck after rubber duck. Depression makes it harder than it used to be, an endless critic nagging into his ear. But he gets into the zone, and the “bad” ducks start being “path to improvement” ducks.

He’s not happy. Though he’s not sad either. It feels like Lucifer is sitting in companionable silence with his depression as it stretches its arms across the table like a languid teenager. He’s…content, he thinks. He’s not entirely sure though. He looks down at his ungloved hand and doesn't immediately recognise it as his own. That’s…bad???? He thinks? He doesn't know.

There’s a ringing. It takes Lucifer a minute to realize it’s his phone.

“Daughter calling?” He reads, before he jerks into realizing what’s happening, “Daughter calling!”

He fumbles his phone before answering. “He-hey, Charlie. Um. Whatchu…whatchu callin about, gurl? I’ve been…” he’s surrounded by a surprising amount of rubber ducks, how long has it even been, “...normal.”

“Hey Dad, you know when earlier you said to call if something bad happened?”

“Did I?” Lucifer asks, genuinely not remembering.

“Yeah-- it just.” A tense exhale of air, “The exact wording doesn't matter. What matters is that I need you right here, right now.”

So Lucifer is.

He looks over Charlie immediately. She smells of alcohol-- though it’s unclear if it’s because of how much she’s drunk or the company she’s kept. She doesn't seem drunk, her brow creased and a frown on her face. She looks serious. Not, like, business serious, like barely-holding-it-together serious. Her eyes are wet, her shoulders tense. Something happened. Lucifer moves to comfort her but she holds up a hand to stop him. She gestures to the sinner next to her. “Tell him what you told me.”

A dark gray rabbit demon stands next to Charlie, about Lucifer’s height, top hat included. One of their ears is heavily torn, and there’s a kind of device that’s attached to the inside of it, Lucifer only recognizes it as something that Belphegor made one time but this machine distinctly isn't from sloth. They’re shivering so badly Lucifer thinks the poor thing might faint. It takes a minute for him to tune in and actually hear what they're saying though, “-and I’m so sorry, I should've known better, if I knew better I wouldn't have come here but I can't control it and suddenly there it was just everywhere and one of the other demons tried to intervene but it got real bad at that point and I started having a panic attack and I-” “Do you need to breathe?” Lucifer asks somewhat amazed at this sinner’s ability to talk for so long.

The rabbit demon appears speechless, opening and closing their mouth several times before squeaking “I don't know?”

“Are you new?” he asks.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“I’m Lucifer Morningstar!” He introduces himself.

Their eyes widen in horror, “Like the devil?”

He chuckles to himself, “The one and only. Well-- unless you count Satan because people are aaaalways mixing us up. Which is ridiculous, like we’re brothers but we don't even look the same, especially after the fall. I mean, the man invented steroids and I’m over here at 5 foot fucking negative two. Anyways,” he holds out a hand, “What’s your name?”

“I just? Um.” They nervously glance at the proffered hand, “Lewis, sir. My name is Lewis.”

“Wonderful to meet you Louise!” He forcefully shakes their hand, “Now, how are you involved with my daughter?” he asks with a tense, cheery smile.

Louise pauses for a moment, doing mental math in their head, looks at Charlie, looks at Lucifer, takes a deep breath and proceeds to make eye contact with neither of them, “I. I may have fear gassed the entire club when somebody tried to uh. Come onto…me?”

Lucifer looks around the club and finally takes in the surrounding environment. Yup. Definitely looks fear gassed. Broken glass. Chairs splintered into people’s heads. Dead bodies. And what remained of the living were cowering into corners and underneath tables. He doesn't recognise a face between either groups. He thinks he’s starting to understand a little bit. He turns to Charlie, “Where are you friends, honey?”

“I don't know.” Charlie states as plainly as she can. “I don't. The fear didn't affect me.”

“It’s a preventive measure. Can’t have sinners knocking up in our royal noggins.” Lucifer knocks his own head for effect.

Charlie nods, “We need to find everyone. We need to find them before they get hurt but there’s five of them and I can't be everywhere at once but I can’t just leave Lewis here, I know that one of the other overlords is going to try and scoop them up and we can't afford to let their power get into somebody’s hands and I-”

“Hey.” Lucifer grabs Charlie’s hands and looks up at her. “You can do this. We can do this. Because you're not going to do this alone. Now, who are we going to find first?”

Charlie blurts “Vaggie, but what if Angel-” “Then we are going to search for Vaggie.” Lucifer reasserts, waving his daughter’s arms in his hands to make a point.

“But what about Angel?” Charlie worries, “Or Alastor! I didn't see alot of how he reacted. It got so dark but he’s not okay.”

Lucifer offers an idea, “We can split up. Cover more ground that way. Are you okay with that?”

Charlie grimaces, “Do I have much of a choice?”

“Of course you do,” Lucifer reaches up to kiss Charlie’s forehead, “Freewill and all that.”

Charlie takes a deep breath. She runs a hand through her mussed up hair before standing resolutely, “Okay. Let’s do this.”

“I have an idea. You take Louise here to the hotel and I’ll go make a call to Uncle Ozzie.” Lucifer says.

“Ozzie? But why?” Charlie asks.

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Lucifer says as an excuse not to explain his half baked plan, “Feel free to take the limo, I’ll be using a shortcut. See you soon.”

He gives his daughter a side hug and opens a portal straight to Asmodeus’ penthouse. As he closes the portal behind him, Lucifer summons a megaphone and screams “OZZIE!”

Several thunks, thuds, and squelches later, Asmodeus opens the door to his bedroom, his mane in a roaring inferno that might’ve been intimidating if the sin didn't have a shibari harness across his chest and still buttoning up his pants “LUCIFER, I KNOW YOU DID NOT JUST INVITE YOURSELF INTO MY--” “Charlie’s in trouble and I need you to make one of your aftercare rooms.”

Suddenly Asmodeus’ flames are back down to the feathered mane around his three heads. Fizzarolli pokes his head out from behind Ozzie’s shoulder, still adjusting his jester’s cap on his head “Charlie’s in trouble? Aftercare? What, she get into a bdsm orgy? I thought she wasn't that much into it.”

“Yes- no.” Fuck, listening is hard, “No orgies happened…I think? Yeah, no. Her people got fear gassed and we gotta make sure they stay in the same place while we go round the others up.”

“You mean the hotel residents?” Asmodeus says as Fizz unties the ropes off his back, “Yeah I suppose an aftercare room could help out with that.”

Fizzarolli hands Asmodeus his coat “So I’m gonna assume that fear gas is what I think it is and then ask how the fuck did they get fear gassed? Don't they have uh, what’s his name? Albert?”

“Alastor.” Lucifer tersely corrects before continuing on, “A newbie freaked out when somebody propositioned them and the entire club they were at got gassed.”

As Asmodeus shrugs on his coat Fizzarolli asks, “Are you sure this isn't a kink thing?”

Lucifer nervously laughs, “I’m not sure of anything really, haha! Where are your pants.”

Fizzarolli curses, “Fuck, knew I was forgetting something.”

Fizz stretches away to fetch his own clothing as Asmodeus zips up his thigh high boots. “What can you give me? Good aftercare is specialized, y'know?”

Lucifer pauses to think for way too long. Asmodeus cries out “Seriously? You’ve been livin with these guys for months!”

“Give me a minute! Uh. Okay. Husk likes alcohol. Angel uh… I dunno. And Niffty likes…bugs?” Lucifer hesitates, “I think?”

Asmodeus shakes all three of his heads, “Luci, what am I to do with you?”

Fizz stretches back over to the pair of sins, turning his back to Asmodeus to get the back of his suit zipped up, and with a phone pressed against his ear, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know that everyone and their grandma’s left tit is going to be freaking out, but I will come personally give you a lap dance if you can keep the goetia off of Ozzie for today, mmkay? Kay. Bye.”

Fizz hangs up the phone and stretches up onto Ozzie’s shoulder with a content sigh, “Okay, now I just gotta call everyone else to tell them shit’s been canceled.”

Oz’s ram head kisses Fizz on the cheek, “Thank you, my little Fizzie Frog.”

Fizzie smiles a little bit as he scrolls through his phone, “No problem, I’m not leaving our girl, Charlie, out to dry in the sun.”

Lucifer claps his hands together, opening up a portal to the hotel “Wonderful! Now let’s get this rock show moving!”

Chapter Text

Charlie reads from her notebook, tapping her pen against the table, “So Husk is very hot and cold in regards to physical affection, he likes it but he doesn't like how it makes the cat part of him reacts. So allowing him space to change positions and spots would probably be ideal.”

Fizzarolli moves around the various summoned furniture to cater to this concept. Ozzie asks, hands up as his magic still rang through the place, “You were saying how he has wings earlier?”

Charlie flips the page, “Yeah. Between 6 or 8 foot wingspan? Hard to say, he doesn't really use them much, but they do need to be preened, I know that.”

Ozzie alters some of the furniture to be more wing friendly and conjures a wing care kit. Fizzarolli drops himself into the chair across from Charlie, “What about movies? How are we feeling about movies?”

“That,” Charlie exasperatedly mentions, “is an entirely different book.”

Fizzarolli chuckles, “Wow, you have a book for everything.”

Charlie smiles nervously, “It isn't creepy, right? I just want to keep track of all these things with people. Especially my residents. Even if Alastor doesn't count.” She turns to Alastor’s section of the book.

“I think it’s charming,” Fizz comments, “Shows that you care. Now about that movie book.”

“Right.” She summons a small portal to pull it from her personal library and pulls another, heftier book, after it. “Here we go.”

“Woah, what’s with the textbook?”

“This is everyone’s likes and dislikes on a scale of one to ten, with the occasional review.” Charlie puts a hand on top of the book, “This is the list of banned movies.”

“Woah-ho-ho. That’s impressive, girly.” Fizzarolli marvels, starting to turn through the massive movie night tomb before remembering he’s not here for the drama and turns to the smaller likes and dislikes notebook.

“How does that one saying go?” Charlie considers, “All safety procedures are born in blood?”

And tears, though Charlie isn't particularly keen on sharing the night the hotel watched Bambi together. Ozzie slides in next to her, cracking his knuckles from all the conjuring he’s been doing, “How are you feelin though? Y’get the booze outta your system?”

Charlie refrains from gritting her teeth, “I understand why you and Dad think I should wait out being tipsy, but I’m still upset.”

“Well hey, at least consider this. It takes you alotta less time to get sober.” Ozzie says.

“Yeah, you sins and your alcohol tolerance.” Fizz rolls his eyes before leaning forward conspiratorially, “Y'know, I drank Blitz, let’s say he’s an old frienda mine, under the bar the other month cause I’ve spent far too much time drinking with the King o’ Oz, here.”

Ozzie bashfully chuckles, “Oh, stop.”

There’s a muffled sound, it catches her attention like a searching ping. Charlie turns her head toward the door. “What’s wrong, Charlie-bear?” Ozzie asks.

“I heard something.” Charlie says, standing up from the table.

Fizzarolli stands up with her, “I didn't hear anything.”

It sounds like her name. Cautious, Charlie opens the door, and there’s that low, raspy, voice calling it out again. She recognises it. Her heart leaps out of her throat, “VAGGIE!?”

She hears Vaggie’s response, a sob ridden screech “CHARLIE!”

Charlie’s on her feet, sprinting down the halls to reach the sound of her girlfriend’s voice. They find each other on opposite ends of a hallway and Charlie sees the glinting spear in Vaggie’s hand which sends panic through Charlie’s ribs until her girlfriend comes missling through the air at her. Her arms open and Vaggie’s spear drops as she knocks them both over and onto the floor. Charlie brushes away stray hairs out of Vaggie’s face and the exorcist lets out a desperate wheeze. Her eyeliner is streaked down her face and she’s warm and sweaty like she flew all the way here and Charlie wants to press Vaggie against her body until they’re absorbed into one being because she doesn't want to let her go but Vaggie keeps awkwardly patting her down like she’s looking for injuries. Charlie pulls away to ask Vaggie what she’s doing when her eye narrows down on something behind Charlie.

Charlie turns to see her uncles stop running at the same time Vaggie lunges at Asmodeus and Fizzarolli, angelic spear in hand. Fizz dodges, and looks surprised that he did so when Vaggie pivots on one foot to stab him. Asmodeus grabs her by the wing and throws her against the wall. “Vaggie!” Charlie cries.

“Shit, sorry Charlie.” Ozzie hisses out.

Charlie runs in front of the raging exorcist, “Vaggie, stop! Can you breathe for me? Ine for one one, out for two--”

Vaggie points her spear behind Charlie, shouting “No, Charlie! You don't get it! They’re here to ruin everything! Everything you’ve worked so hard for! You can't just let that slide!”

Charlie’s voice cracks “They’re my uncles, Vaggie! Uncle Oz and Uncle Fizz? I told you about them, remember?”

Something passes across Vaggie’s eye. “They’re here to ruin everything.” her voice wavers and her teeth clench, “They’re pretending, like everyone else.”

“Why would they do that?” Charlie asks.

“Nobody cares.” Vaggie chokes, “Nobody else cares like you do.”

Charlie’s floundering a little. From what little Lewis was able to tell her, the fear gas did more than trigger a panic attack. It made them loose their sense of reality. “What do you think is happening?” Charlie asks, soft.

“They- the hotel. Everything you worked so hard for. Everything that you’re trying to do! I.” A sharp intake of breath, “I need to stop them.”

“They’ve been stopped!” Charlie declares, “We’re safe.”

“It’s not. It’s not and it will never change.” Vaggie sounds so resigned as she says that.

“Things will change!” Charlie desperately hopes she’s saying the right things, “Everything that’s happened is proof of that! If we weren't bringers of change then people wouldn't be fighting against us so hard.”

“They’re going to try and stop you.” Vaggie states with a slight snarl, “I have to stop them.”

“And you’ve been the biggest help!” Charlie resolutely declares, “You’ve been my number one supporter for years. I wouldn't be anywhere without you!”

“They. I.” Vaggie chokes a little, focus wavering, “I could've stopped them.”

Charlie’s confused for a moment before she remembers, “You mean Adam?” Her voice melts, “Oh, honey.”

She reaches out to Vaggie, and she’s still so tense, glancing between her uncles and Charlie. Hesitant. Charlie waits for Vaggie to close the distance, “Vaggie, I have never blamed you for what Adam and Lute did.”

She wavers on her feet, “I lead them right to you and. And, I. I thought.” her gaze glances back at Ozzie and Fizz.

“Eyes on me, Vaggie.” Charlie waves, “Eyes on me. What do you see?”

“Exorcists. They’re here to hurt you and. And take me back.” Vaggie’s voice wobbles.

Charlie takes a deep breath, worried that she won't say the right thing but saying in anyways, “They are my uncles, Asmodeus and Fizzarolli. Asmodeus is the lord of lust and Fizzarolli is his imp boyfriend. They’ve recently come out as being in love the past year. Which is very impressive for two people from the Lust ring! Romance is a bit of a taboo subject there, so even if the circumstances of it weren't the most ideal, they have been in love for a few years now.”

Vaggie’s white knuckles grip on her spear falters for a second and Charlie continues, “Asmodeus is a big demon with the most fluffiest mane of feathers you’ve ever seen. He was my favorite pillow as a kid, so soft! And although Fizz wasn't around when I was a kid, he’s hilarious once you get to know him and he gives the best hugs!”

Vaggie’s shoulders untense and Charlie keeps going, “And they came here to help me out. All the way from Lust! They built this wonderful room to help everyone feel safe and it’s been coming along nicely. We were just working on it! Do you want to come see?”

Vaggie dismisses her spear and falls to Charlie’s side, grabbing her hand. Charlie grins and turns to her uncles, who each give her a thumbs up. They go to the aftercare room.

Charlie and Vaggie sit down on a couch, holding hands, and Vaggie slowly leans her head against Charlie’s shoulder. Ozzie and Fizz leave, and for a moment the two sit in silence. Charlie runs a thumb across Vaggie’s knuckles, “I really don't blame you, you know.”

“I made it worse though.” Vaggie’s voice is raw as she speaks, “They hated me for what I did. Who I am to you. They used me to hurt you.”

“They would've done anything to hurt me.” Charlie justified, “It’s not your fault that they used you.”

“I hurt you.” Vaggie repeats.

“And?” Charlie brushes a strand of hair out of Vaggie’s face, “aren't I all about redemption?”

“But I’m supposed to be better than that.” Vaggie groans, looking up at Charlie.

Charlie smiles sweetly, “Perfection is not redemption. If it was, we wouldn't have seen half of what we saw in heaven.”

Vaggie snorts, amused, and Charlie grins, pressing a kiss against Vaggie’s forehead, “Besides. What relationship isn't full of ups and downs? We had a fight. It got better.” Charlie holds both of Vaggie’s hands, staring deeply into her eye to will some sense of safety to return to Vaggie.

Small tears start to pearl in her eye and Charlie reaches a hand up to wipe some of the runny mascara away, “And even though we will fight in the future, we’ll be okay. It’ll be hard. And I will probably cry, but at the end of the day we’ll be together and that’s all I can ask for.”

Vaggie bursts into a wretched sob and grabs onto Charlie like she’s about to vanish. Charlie can feel herself start to tear up as well, because she’s never seen Vaggie cry like this, because now she knows Vaggie is here. She is safe, even if she doesn't believe it, and she’s in Charlie’s arms. A hiccup ratchets up her throat and she curls over Vaggie, her girlfriend, her lover, her guardian angel, her everything. Then she starts to sob, because if Vaggie is here, then things are okay. If Vaggie is here, everything else can happen.

The two sob into each other's arms for a while, only starting to stop once Fizz and Ozzie returned with a tin of chocolate covered strawberries. Store Bought, because Fizz can't cook for shit, a fact that Vaggie found hilarious. Everything warmed up after that. Although Charlie was well aware that she had other residents to wrangle, she decided to be a little bit selfish for once and be held in her girlfriend’s arms.

Chapter Text

Finding the radio prick is actually really easy, considering everything. Just follow the trail of mutilated corpses! It’s like that one fairytale, Hendrix and Greece? Henry and Grace? The one where they left breadcrumbs behind them to keep track of where they were. Though when the trail of mutilated corpses begin to dry up and all that’s left is blood stains-- which really aren’t that hard to find on a normal day in Hell-- Lucifer thinks that a similar situation has happened to the bodies. He could’ve told you Alastor was eating them by the bite marks left on the previous corpses, but now it seems like he isn’t readily tossing them the second another demon catches his eye. Lucifer doesn’t know if that means Alastor’s mental state has improved or not.

Without the obvious trail of mutilation, Lucifer is left walking in an empty city block. The cars stalled in the middle of the road. It feels…odd, to see the busy city stripped of its inhabitants. Not unnerving, no, that’d be giving the radio demon too much credit. It felt more like stairwells and hotels. Like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be.

The street lamps are broken, though Lucifer doesn’t know if Alastor or the lack of caring infrastructure caused it. He stopped counting after five of them were broken in a row, which has to be a pattern of some sort right? The oozing brain matter on the bike rack was definitely still fresh, so should he just start looking for that?

Lucifer stops walking. The snake around his hat flicks a tentative tongue into the air. The temperature dropped. He takes a step back and the temperature returns to the ambient heat of hell. He steps forward and there was that few degrees of temperature difference.

Ha! Take that Alastor! Can’t lose him that easily!

Lucifer listens and hears a distant static. He walks straight towards it, the buzzing getting louder and reverbating in Lucifer’s bones. It’s definitely darker now. He would’ve just pawned it off as the alleys not having good lighting but the shadows pool with a physical presence. Forcing him to step just a little bit more forcefully to walk. There’s voices in the air, distant, and muffled, like there’s a crowd dancing to jazz just in the other room. Alastor is always about the ambience, Lucifer supposes, so even if the sinner is currently (more) out of his damned mind there’s gotta be music coming from somewhere. Heaven forbid the man let a moment of silence speak for itself.

The stench of blood and meat hits Lucifer like he just walked into one of Beelzebub’s meat lockers. He retches slightly, a hand to his chest as he tries to sooth the bile down his throat. Okay, he honestly should’ve expected that. He just wished it wasn’t so gross. The tangy smell is just so invasive like it’s trying to lodge itself in the back of his throat along with all the other smells one gets from dead bodies.

He’s getting closer though so he should probably start coming up with a game plan? He kinda just was thinking of grabbing Alastor and teleporting him to the hotel and maybe tying him down. That will probably get a few sexual comments from Angel Dust, but as long as it made the radio demon uncomfortable Lucifer was fine with it. Wait, wasn’t he supposed to be trying to calm the guy down-- oh, fuck.

Alastor’s back is turned to him, arms and face deep into the abdomen of some sinner. Intestines spill around his knees, a stray digit lay nestled inside of it. The shadows dance around him, flickering to the tune of music in the other room. Alastor sits up onto the back of his heels, licking blood off his slender wrist as his ears flick behind him. Antlers sprouting another branch with the motion.

Okay, so Alastor obviously knows he’s here already. Might as well just go for it. He strides for, hands in his pockets, “Heeeeey, Bambi. Howya doin?”

Alastor turns his head to look at Lucifer, eyes pitch voids and wow. Lucifer should not find Alastor attractive but damn is that blood soaked look working for him. Lucifer snaps his fingers, about to say something witty before a black tendril throws him into the wall.

As Lucifer catches his breath Alastor stands up, a motion involving too many joints. A loud crackling static hits Lucifer and he grits his teeth, the noise burrowing into his skull. Lucifer flexes his magic, a glowing gold aura fighting back the shadows, and instead of backing off Alastor lets out a deeply animalistic growl and lunges.

Lucifer consciously remembers to NOT smite Alastor as he kicks Alastor in the stomach. A tendril grabs Lucifer’s shoulder and pulls him to the ground. He shifts into a snake just as Alastor’s cane comes down on the concrete. The sounds of elk screams fill the ally. Alastor’s smile rips his face open, as shadows race across the ground to capture Lucifer who flips into the air with the shape of a bird.

A quick glance to the walls and the shadows have multiplied. Alastor shoots tendrils into the air, the wail of moppets as they reach for Lucifer. The king drops into his normal form, slicing through a blackened tendril with his cane as he falls. He swipes at Alastor, who bends backward as he lands a kick against Lucifer’s chest. “Fucking, ooooooowww.” Lucifer whines as he recovers. “That hurt, you know?”

A tendril grabs him by the ankle and Lucifer stomps it out with his cane. Alastor lunges at him, and Lucifer is taken off guard when the guy actually headbutts him. Pronged antlers stabbing into his body, Lucifer shouts as he’s flipped over Alastor. He rolls onto his feet, wiping golden ichor off his suit. Shit, he just got this dry cleaned. He looks up at Alastor to find the man eyeing him oddly, breath hitched.

Shit. Cannibal plus exposed blood equals Lucifer REALLY is not supposed to smite him. Alastor grins with too many yellowed teeth and Lucifer spits. Alastor jerks to his left, Lucifer countering a laughing moppet when he feels a stab into his abdomen as Alastor digs his claws into his side. A distorted laugh track plays right next to ears and Lucifer elbows Alastor in the face. “Can you calm down for like five seconds?”

The laugh track grows in volume, and Alastor just crackles with what might’ve been his voice, black blood running down his nose. A moppet latches itself onto Lucifer’s arm and he tries to shake it off “I’m trying to help you! Believe it or not, Charlie would be sad if you died.”

Two other moppets grab Lucifer’s legs and Alastor digs his claws into Lucifer’s wrist. Lucifer growls and subsequently chokes when Alastor lunges for his neck. Teeth ripping open skin and tearing through muscle as Alastor latches onto his neck like a leech. Lucifer repeats, moreso convincing himself more than anything, “Charlie would be so sad if you died.”

Lucifer wraps a hand around one of Alastor’s antlers and yanks the deer demon away from him, moppets melting with the movement. Shoving him over with a thunk as they both tumble to the ground, Alastor’s claws digging into Lucifer like he’s hesitant to let the potential meal out of his grasp. Alastor ends up with his head pinned against the concrete ground, a bloody, grinning, snarl, slashing across his face as he glares up at Lucifer.

Lucifer, who is sitting on top of him, returns the expression with a snarl of his own, hissing “You are lucky I haven’t found a way to reverse what ever the fuck deal you made with my daughter, else you would be so fucking double dead.”

Lucifer pulls Alastor’s head up by the antler again and knocks his skull against the ground. Alastor’s ears pin back with an audible growl and Lucifer laughs, jostling Alastor “Oh, now I have your attention? Is this what it takes when you’re not trying to tear up my curtains?”

A chorus of hissing voices emits from Alastor, like a bad echo effect. Lucifer can barely make out what Alastor is trying to say “--on’t.”

In different circumstances, Lucifer might’ve been nicer. But this was the man who was trying to steal Charlie away from him and also five seconds ago tried to rip his throat out, so please, forgive him for being a little mean. Or don't, he is the literal devil. “Oh, what was that? I can’t hear you.” He singsongs, relishing in the ability to make Alastor shut the fuck up with a little yank of his horns.

The radio static rumbles, a keening sort of whine. A brief few notes of jazz that confuses Lucifer, until it all turns into a sharp shriek that stabs into his ear drums like a needle and he feels something pop. Screeching moppets writhe, clawing at him and he reaches to cover his ears. As soon as his hands are off, several tendrils have impaled Lucifer to a wall.

Alastor stands up, and Lucifer is about to give another mean retort when he notices Alastor shaking. That’s not normal. Through this entire interaction Alastor has been doing what Lucifer expected of him, murdering blocks of civilians, being a creepazoid, eating people, trying to eat him, but now Alastor is shaking. Now Alastor is visibly unsettled.

The distant music and voices that Lucifer was starting to tune out whir together in a dizzying headache of noise until one, single, clear voice comes through. It sounds as if somebody is stepping into the alley with a small set of high heels, just on the edge of Alastor’s horror-game aura of darkness.

“Hello?” A kind inquiry, filled with genuine concern. What is going on?

Alastor stops breathing.

The voice sounds strange, like a delayed echo “Hello? It’s your mother.”

What.

“Alastor, darlin, are you comin home?” A saccharine southern drawl in an empty room, “I miss you.”

Alastor’s eyes are wide, without any hint of angry black or radio dials. Just wide. Horrified.

“The girls miss you.” A soft laugh, “Auntie Perlie still has a bottle of rye waitin’ on ya. Y'know I thought she woulda just drank it by now, y’know how she is, but nah. She keeps it on her shelf, next to a picture o’ you an’ me.”

Alastor takes a step back.

“We could catch up like the olden days.” A voice filled with pride and warmth, “I’m sure the club would love to see you again. It’d be a bit of a hassle, but I just know everyone would drop everything just to see ya again. You always knew how to light up the room.”

Alastor runs down the alleyway. Lucifer doesn't even know if it's away or towards the voice. The tendrils follow their master, retracting.

Lucifer falls to the ground. He sits on the back of his heels, trying to put all of his thoughts in order, to make sense of what he bore witness too, but he can barely make anything out beyond the steady stream of what in the absolute fuck?

Chapter Text

Charlie steps through the fifth club of the night. She’s contacted Cherri Bomb to get her hunting for Angel too, though he hasn't been answering either of their calls. She’s worried and guilt ridden and confused because it feels like she’s chasing empty leads. She’s known him for about a year now, but it feels like there’s nothing she can draw upoun to tell her where he is now.

She gets that he’s probably looking for comfort, and as much as she’d love for that area of comfort to come from the hotel he is very obviously not there right now. Angel likes clubbing, though so maybe that. He’s also probably drug seeking. Would he be looking for sex? He seems to have a more complicated relationship with sex then just ‘he likes it’ but sex is a subject that Charlie struggles to not get nervous about. It’s like getting a vaccination shot, you know it’s fine but your heart is still beating outside your chest.

She gets jostled by the throbbing crowd and finds Angel sitting amongst a thrall of people in a corner booth. There’s visible cocaine residue on the table, with various alcoholic drinks lining the table. She approaches him and he seems to do a double take. He leans forward across the table, smiling “Charlie! Didn't think I’d see you here. Whatchu doin’ doll, where’s your galpal?” He turns to one of the shark demons he was talking to, “Never see one without the other, y’see?” He turns back to her and she doesn't miss how he slides the cocaine paraphernalia underneath the table, “How ya doin’? Didn't think this was much of your scene. Thought you’d prefer a smaller club.”

He snaps his fingers, turning to one of the sharks with a salacious smile, “Yo, Brucie baby, why don'tcha get the princess a drink. Somethin’ sweet.”

“On it.” The shark stands up to fetch a drink.

Charlie picks at the skin around her nails, feeling nervous. She doesn't know what to do, this place is so public. “Are you okay, Angel?”

He barks out a laugh, “Am I okay? Babe, you’re askin’ if I’m okay. D’ya see where ya are?” He gestures widely with all of his arms, “I’m in my element! Don't get better then this.”

He’s regressing is what he’s doing. He’s been decreasing his intake of cocaine and who knows how much he just took? A brief flash of panic crosses Angel’s face and he shoves some of the shark demons out of the booth, “Move over! Make room for her highness.”

He pats the seat next to him, “C’mon. Sit down. Stay a while! We can uh- um bond! Y’like bonding activities!”

Angel Dust lets out a nervous giggle and Charlie hesitantly sits down next to him, maneuvering past a few of the shark demons. They don't seem too happy that she’s here. She shoves down her fear, it doesn't matter if these sharks don't like her what matters is that she needs to take Angel home. Another shark returns with Charlie’s drink and Angel sips at it before dumping it on the shark’s lap, “Try again, pal.”

The shark demon wipes the whip cream off his suit, snarling “What the fuck? You bitch!”

“Not tonight, doll.” Angel smiles sweetly, “I mean, you're more than welcome to try again but honey, bud, pal, friend, amico, I will tear out your tongue and shove it up your ass if you try that shit again.” Angel laughs, “Or not! I mean, fuckin’ with an overlord, you’re practically beggin’ to be strung up by your toenails. What, y’got a kink for gettin’ maimed?”

She puts a tender hand on his shoulder “Angel…”

“Shit.” His attention snaps back to Charlie, “I’ve been talkin’ to much have I? Don't worry, I’ve been saying all good things about the hotel and how great it is. Beyond the going sober and tryna be a good lil sinner, it’s been a wonderful experience! It feels great to be sober, kinda, I mean I haven't even wanted to snort a line for like a week!”

Why is he lying? Why is his hand on her thigh? He looks at her, searching for something that he can't seem to find, he giggles nervously, “Hehe, but enough about me. How’s your night going?”

Before Charlie can respond, Angel Dust blurts out, putting a hand on her other shoulder and leaning into her space that he’s practicing in her lap, “Terrible, right? Vaggie leavin’ ya all alone on a friday night-- that bitch.”

“Vaggie didn't leave me. She’s just resting at the hotel.” Charlie explains.

He smiles disarmingly, rubbing her cheek, “Right, right, you’re just havin’ a break. All couples do, honey. S’normal.”

Charlie takes Angel’s hand off her face, “We’re not having a break, I still love my girlfriend.”

Angel pulls back off of her lap and Charlie finds herself relieved, “Right, right. You look lovely tonight, here lemme fix up your makeup,” he delves into his chest fluff and pulls out some mascara.

Charlie grabs his wrist to stop him, “Angel. Stop.”

His pupils contract in fear and Angel jerks away from Charlie’s grip. She continues, firm, “We need to go home.”

Angel huffs, “Home? I’m fine, Charlie. I can take care of myself. I’m a big strong boy, you don't need to worry about lil’ ol’ me.”

Charlie tries to be soft, “It’s not that I don't think you can handle yourself-” “-then what the fuck is it?” Angel snaps.

“I’ve told you everything you wanna hear, so why aren't you getting off my fucking back?” He shouts.

“You think I’m just a- just a pathetic fag?” He accuses, “You don't know anything, you’re just a stupid, sheltered, princess who thinks she can shove herself into the lives of mortals and make everything better.”

Charlie can feel tears starting to well up in her eyes, hurt at his comments. She’s not running away now, she can't afford to. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself “Angel, I’m not mad at you.”

Angel Dust shudders at that, relief turns into fear, “Yeah, everyone fuckin says that before I get thrown into a ditch or somethin’.”

“Well, I’m not going to do that.” Charlie states, uncomfortable from the people around her, “Do you want to go smoke outside?”

He blinks, surprised. “You smoke?”

Charlie pulls the small box of cigarettes outside of her coat pocket, “I mean, I don't know if you’d like the apple flavored ones I got, or how nicotine interacts with cocaine--” “-I’m not high, I don’t know what makes you think I’m high. I am stone cold sober right now.” She looks at Angel, visibly high as he is, “...yeeeah. Let’s keep saying that.” She offers Angel a cigarette, “But do you want one?”

He looks down at the cigarette. He looks up at Charlie. She smiles at him, and Angel just lets out a huff of air that reads of pure resignation. He takes the cigarette, “Everyone move over, gotta talk to the princess.”

He doesn't wait for the shark demons to move before sliding across from them, ignoring their pleas for him to stay, and he doesn't comment when one of them touches his ass. Charlie follows him outside of the club. It’s a relief to have some actual physical space to herself, rubbing the feeling of stranger’s touch out of her arms. Although pentagram city’s air could never be described as fresh, it felt better than the stretch of hundreds of club goers dancing and taking every drug imaginable.

Angel leans against the club’s brick wall, holding the cigarette to his lips. Charlie lights it with a flick of her fingers. She lets the sound of cars and a mumbling crowd wash over them as she fishes out her own cigarette. She’s a lot more comfortable already, the pressure of other people’s gazes or the loud music banging into her skull gone. It’s more intimate like this. As much as Charlie loves parties and fluttering from person to person like the social butterfly she is, the young girl starved of social connection yearns for these quieter moments.

Angel exhales a plume of smoke, “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn't do anything wrong.” Charlie insists.

“Bullshit,” Angel snarls, tired. “I know I have to have done something wrong to piss ya off.”

“I’m not angry with you.”

“Yes, you are.” Angel barks like she was in the wrong.

Charlie thinks she should try a different route. “What makes you think I’m angry?”

Angel chuckles, “I mean. Look at me.” He takes a drag from the cigarette, “I’m a terrible rep for your hotel, I make you look bad, like Vaggie said. I’m sure if y’ain’t pissed at me for tonight, I did or will do somethin’ wrong. Was it for callin’ Vaggie a bitch? It’s prolly cause of that weren’t it?”

“Angel, you are a flawed person and that’s to be expected, we all are deeply flawed individuals. Like I can not tell you how sorry I am for fucking things up with Valentino,” she tells that part to her shoes, “but none of what you said actually involves anything about me. What about me makes you think I’m angry?”

Cigarette hanging off his hand, Angel furrows his brows, not entirely sure what Charlie is getting at. “I just told ya, I make you look bad.”

“I can look bad entirely by myself, thank you very much.” Charlie puffs out a cloud of smoke before side eyeing Angel, “I mean, did you see the fight I got in with Katie Killjoy?”

Angel hazards a grin before schooling his expression, “I called your girlfriend a bitch?”

“My girlfriend is a bitch and I love her so much!” Charlie pridefully assures.

Angel lets out a laugh, nearly dropping his cigarette, “Okay, okay, okay. I think I’m gettin what you're puttin down. But like, Charles, would you even let yourself be angry at me? You’re not exactly known for lettin’ in on all of these negative emotions.”

“Angel, I love you, but I cry like thirteen times a day.” Charlie retorts.

She inhales on her cigarette, letting the sweet apple flavor roll over her tongue before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I know I have…certain hang ups on things.” Her relationship with her father for one, “But I don't pretend to be feeling what I’m not. Not around you.”

A pensive look crosses his face, his shoulders still tense as he feigns a lax demeanor. Charlie doesn't think she’s getting through to him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, “Can we…can we go home? I’m worried about you and after what happened at Mimzy’s, I want you to be safe.”

An exhale of smoke, “I know something happened at Mimzy's. Something fucked to high heavens in a definitely not fun way, I tell you that. But all I got is this…this fog of ‘oh my god I fucked up.’” Angel runs a hand through his hair.

Charlie kindly looks at him, bits and pieces coming together in her mind. She rubs his back, “You didn't fuck up. You and everyone got hit with this fear gas of sorts, and everything just went downhill after that. Me and Dad are trying to bring everyone back to the hotel so that we can all be safe.”

“So you’re not,” he looks at Charlie and it reminds her of that night at Valentino’s, “you’re not mad at me?”

“No. No, I’m just worried. Because even though you do make mistakes, I want you to be okay.” she takes the cigarette out of her mouth, “I want you all to be okay so badly.”

He bites his lip, wanting to believe her but being scared about what happens if he does. Charlie smiles, she can work with this. She has worked with less. “Look, how about we go to the hotel? My Uncle Oz and Uncle Fizz have set up an aftercare room for us all.”

This confuses Angel Dust. “Wait, aftercare room?”

“Yeah, Uncle Ozzie has a lot of opinions on aftercare and kink negotiations, and well.” Charlie can't help but blush, discarding her cigarette into an overstuffed trash can, “you’d probably like him.”

“Wait.” Angel senses an opportunity, “You mean like like? Tell me, what’s he like? Is he a hunk? A hottie?”

“I guess so?” Charlie surmises, having never thought of her family that way, “He can be whatever he wants to be.”

Angel squeaks in excitement, “A shapeshifter! Ha! Don't see those often, now I gotta meet him.”

Charlie smiles, feeling like this conversation is gonna be a long one, but if it gets Angel back into the hotel, then it’d be one she’s willing to make a thousand times over. But somehow through the hour it takes to walk back to the hotel, Charlie neglects to mention that Uncle Ozzie is in fact, the sin of lust himself, Asmodeus. After the initial shock of Angel being knocked speechless, he, Ozzie, and Fizz got along like a house on fire.

Chapter Text

Vox first felt the cameras burning out on the edge of his awareness, quickly spreading into a migraine as entire blocks of security cams were cut until Vox dropped them out of the network entirely. He knew who did it instantly, and he got the rest of the information he needed off of people’s search historys and social media posts.

Alastor was massacring his way through the city, killing entire blocks of people. Vox was able to scrape some stills from his destroyed camera feeds, though he couldn't make much out beyond the fuzzy glitches of Alastor’s natural fuck-you-Vox aura. Something set off the old prick and he doesn't know what.

First things first, Vox sends his recon team to investigate the area. Second things second, he makes a total media blackout on the event. Anyone talking about it on Voxtagram or Vitter find their posts mysteriously deleted, and what little distorted pictures there were wiped from people’s phones. Alastor is a pathetic piece of shit who doesn't need the free press and if any news channel knew what was good for them they’d leave this the fuck alone. Katie Killjoy called him to yell about it. She was a fucking bitch to argue with, sending him pacing in front of his wall of monitors. But she’s easy to convince otherwise, instead agreeing to publish more articles about how much of a little bitch Alastor was. He tolerates it because Katie’s an excellent employee, even if she is a homophobic bitch.

Once she’s done screaming at him, Vox parks himself in front of his computer, adjusting the wires plugged into the back of his head as he does so, and starts writing up a program to delete posts even trying to talk about how he’s removing posts so he doesn't need to do it manually. He should get Velvette up on this though, he pulls her up on one of his monitors. It rings one, twice.

“What.” she barks, irritated to be interrupted.

“Alastor’s throwing a tantrum. Make sure no one's talking about it.” Vox returns, straight to the point as he types on his computer.

Velvette considers, recognizing the buisness tone of the call, “I noticed you where fucking with the vitter feed. What’s up with that?”

“Fucker doesn't need the free press.” Vox growls, “Keep him from going viral.”

“Why the blackout though?” Velvette asks, “We could be trying to frame this differently: Old Man going senile and all that.”

“If he’s going senile and still has the ability to wipe out several blocks then that’s going to make people think about him more, not less.” Vox explains, finishing up the program and uploading it to vitter, “Just put an algorithm on vitter, keep an eye on it.”

Velvette irritatedly sighs, “I have other shit to do y’know. Can't just drop everything and monitor Alastor, he’s your little pet project not mine.”

Vox bristles, growling, “Look, something is wrong with Alastor and I don't fucking know about you but it’d be great if we could figure out what.” he flicks through his monitors, discovering more of his cameras have been burned out, “But I guess I gotta do fucking everything in this fucking company because,” is that Lucifer fucking Morningstar? “call you back.”

“What? Vox you better not-” click.

The camera zooms in on the king, showing a series of golden wounds in a pattern that Vox recognises. He’s been headbutted by Alastor. A pang of jealousy wells up in Vox’s chest, sparks flying out of his neck. Alastor doesn't just fucking headbutt anybody, he’s a demon who prides himself in control and being taken seriously and for him that involves not headbutting just everybody. So Lucifer must’ve really pissed him off to make Alastor cone that undone.

That fucking piece of shit king thinks he can fucking save the hotel last minute during extermination and take Alastor away from him! Him! Vox was the fucking media overlord, he controlled half of everything in Pride due to his technology and this fucking pisswit of a king just thinks he can earn Alastor’s ire like that! Red warnings pop up in his vision and on the screens in front of him. Overheating. Typical Alastor based errors. Fuck, Vox needs to calm down or else the grid is going to blow again.

He lets his fans kick in as he sits down to stop himself from pacing. Vox is making a lot of big assumptions here. Maybe Lucifer wasn't the cause of Alastor freaking out right now and just got involved because something something Charlie whatever, Vox really doesn't care about why Lucifer is there. He’s most interested in why Alastor is killing entire blocks of people at a time.

He pulls up his Alastor tracking software and just watches it for a while. The activity is out of the ordinary, usually Alastor just passively allows most cameras because he’s unable to be recorded but entire swathes of Voxtek have been blacked out and burned. Not just the cameras, but the alarms, cars, everything. Vox sends in an order for these cameras to be repaired asap. Something isn't right and Vox intends to figure out what.

Vox checks in with his recon team, who unfortunately weren't able to be completely automated due to Alastor’s effect on technology. It looks like they got on scene. He delves his consciousness into their cameras and immediately takes a step back because what in the absolute fuck, Alastor, that was a bit too much gore for Vox’s personal taste. Gross! He can feel bile burning in the back of his throat and throwing up while plugged in is the worst kind of shit. Okay, so Alastor was in a feeding frenzy. He’s got information on that somewhere.

It’s in a folder that Vox has monitored religiously, filled with documents from when the relationship between himself and the radio demon were more cordial. Back when they cared for eachother in their own fucked up way, even between two rival overlords they where never normal in their relationship.

Each sinner has their own individual punishment, some punishments are more obvious than others. Some sinners can go decades without realizing “Oh! This is happening to me, specifically, on purpose!” One of Vox’s punishments is the fact that he cannot generate his own blood, a metaphor about greed probably, therefore he is constantly needing to outsource it. It was a pain to deal with when he first died, oil was hard to come by in Hell, but has since become easier now that Vox can make his own battery acid.

One of Alastor’s punishments is The Hunger. A not uncommon form of punishment, it’s an everlasting need to consume and consume everything, though only satiating with certain items. Demon meat, in the case of the radio demon. Alastor detested it because he hated being reminded that he had a body, hated how out of control it made him feel, and hated not being able to stop the urges entirely. It’s why he and Rosie got along so fast, she’s originally from Gluttony and is intimately familiar with that wanton need to consume.

Vox remembers the palpable ease that came to Alastor when he’d eat his cannibalistic breakfast, the knots rolling out of his body as he ate one single bite at a time. From Vox’s memory, he’s heard Rosie recounting one of Alastor’s starvation-induced massacres with an air similar to an embarrassing memory a parent might tell of their child. Vox has never personally seen Alastor in such a frenzy however, with the nearly three decades between their deaths letting Alastor recuperate and adjust to his demonic form.

So what’s caused this now?

Vox turns his attention back to his recon team, losing sensation to his monitor room. The entire street practically reeks of Alastor’s magic, thick with darkness and extra giggling shadows leaning against the buildings. The radio demon usually has a very specific criteria for his victims, but this is similar to Alastor switching from a sniper rifle to a buckshot shotgun. Store windows have been smashed in, cars torn apart and oozing slick oil onto the streets. Something is on fire. All in the meanwhile, a distant sound of smooth jazz.

Vox hacks into the team’s comms, “Follow the jazz music.”

They’re professional enough to not scream at Vox’s sudden intrusion. One of the Agents grunts out “Affirmative.”

They sign the rest to their teammates. Honestly, ASL is such an underutilized tool, Vox wishes he learned it when he was alive. The recon team moves out, splitting up into pairs to give Vox the full view of the situation.

The jazz music gets louder, though it doesn't get clearer. Like the speaker’s shitty or the record’s scratched. They gain visual on Alastor, quietly swaying back and forth as he walks down the darkened alleyways, hand pressed against the wall for support. Vox is brought back to a memory of long ago, when he and Alastor went clubbing one night, Al thought he saw someone he knew. It led to him taking sanctuary in an alley, quietly playing distorted jazz songs to himself as he bit a bloody wound into his arm.

This isn't a feeding frenzy.

He’s trying to calm himself down.

When Vox switches camera feeds to find Alastor’s shadow missing he starts mentally writing up the paperwork of hireing a new recon because these guys are fucked. He still watches though. Listens as the vague jazz numbers turn into a crunched up version of Benny Goodman’s Sing, Sing, Sing.

An agent’s partner turns to look at them, who’s standing stock still until a line of blood drools out of the wound on their forehead. They drop like a bag of bones and Alastor’s shadow smiles, cackling. The agents try to run once they realize they’ve been compromised, but tendrils spear their feet and ankles. Alastor turns to look at them, video feed distorting in sync across multiple devices as his antlers grow. A head splashes against concrete. A tentacle spears through one an agent. Another getting their many eyes plucked out by a series of shadowed moppets. An elk whines as somebody gets to watch their own heart stop beating from five feet away. He watches as Alastor grabs one of the cameras, a wretched grin splitting his face in half as the radio dials in his eyes tick. Tick. Tick. The visual feed distorts and colors degrade into dying little pixels that spread across the screen, covering everything except Alastor’s persistent, yellowed grin.

It all goes black on the last note of the song. Vox is back sitting in his office chair. It squeaks as he leans back, watching his sharks languidly swim in their tanks. He runs his forefinger on the edge of his clawed thumb, carefully considering the facts he has. It all boils down to one simple thing: Alastor is scared.

Vox could work with that.

Chapter Text

Lucifer did try to follow Alastor after he left, but the sensation of what-in-the-fuck didn't go away. He didn't understand what happened, he was almost afraid to put it into words. But it seemed like Alastor was afraid of his mom? Even thinking that didn't make sense. Alastor loved his mother and spoke highly of the woman, even Lucifer knew that, why would he be afraid? Surely Lucifer was just misunderstanding the situation-- he did that alot! Overall, Lucifer is just a very confused man.

A few (stupid) people saw him bleeding and thought, “Surely, I can take on the King of Hell!” Though they where vanquished without much of a thought.

There’s still dead bodies on the streets, but Lucifer is now unable to distinguish if they come from Alastor or not. So he starts searching for his soul, which is relatively easy to do since they’ve become acquainted. It’s equivalent to being able to pick somebody’s face out from a crowd.

So Lucifer returns to wandering Pentagram City, looking for a soul that rang of cajun spices and blood. There’s a few people that almost feel similar to the radio demon, but don't have the right blend of spices, or no 1920’s jazz emblazoned to their soul. But sorting through the souls of people he passes, Lucifer finds somebody he recognises. Not Alastor, no.

The smell of vodka, a bad hand of cards, and poker chips clattering on the table. He rolls through the names of the residents until he finds the one he’s looking for, Husk. The grumpy bartender, a little rough around the edges but the cat made some of the most delicious margaritas Lucifer has ever drank. He never looked too deeply into his soul, but the greed and sloth cocktail was familiar, with a slightly soured edge to it.

Lucifer walks towards it, only to find himself circling the block. Even going inside the townhouses doesn't reveal Husk amoung the screaming families, even if Lucifer knew he was getting closer. Keeping tabs on Husk’s soul, Lucifer tries to parse what the bartender was feeling. Reading souls is a difficult process, a multi-sensory experience as the souls shift like light inside a prism. There’s a stench of chemicals to Husk’s soul, the invasive feeling of being covered in dirt for weeks on end. Lucifer doesn't know what it means without context. Husk isn't exactly known as being an open book.

Lucifer finds a broken basement window singing of desert heat and oceanic fog. He slides right in.

The basement is heavy with stale air and dust. Filled with knickknacks and old furniture, the entire place reeks of forgotten memories. Lucifer is not surprised when a bladed card flies past his head and lodges itself in a nearby shelf.

“Oh.” Husk drawls, sitting against a wine rack, “It’s you.”

Lucifer smiles, “It’s me!”

Husk doesn't respond, tipping his head back to take a long swig out of a wine bottle. It’s not the alcohol he remembers, Lucifer knows that. “Is that why you like cheap booze?”

“Didn't give us anything else.” Husk mutters, pressing his head against the cool stone of the cellar.

There’s the sense of people around him. Of shared cigarettes and bullets. Lucifer slowly sits down across from Husk, pulling out his coat tails as he crosses his legs one over the other. He rests his hands on his ankles, watching Husk's ruffled wings shift as he pulls out another bottle of wine from the rack and rolls it over to the king. This has happened before.

Lucifer pops off the cork with a flick of his fingers. Husk huffs, “That’s mighty convenient.”

Lucifer shrugs, “Eh, y’drink enough of whatever Bee makes and you learn a few tricks.”

The ceiling creaks as somebody walks above them and Husk’s fur fluffs up on instinct. He groans, sipping at his wine bottle. Lucifer can empathize with the feeling emanating from Husk’s soul, of somebody is up above and they’re trying to kill you. Lucifer drinks at that, “I remember the war, you know?”

Husk’s ears turn to Lucifer’s direction, showing he’s listening. The king continues, “My war. The entire revolution. It was…hard. I was stupid.”

Husk is quiet, and Lucifer can sense the experience of listening to hundreds of people air their grievances behind that dull expression. “I can't say I get it.” Lucifer says truthfully, “Heavenly and human wars are very different. But what you experienced,” he pulls his wine bottle closer to his chest, “It’s not good.”

The ceiling above them continues to creak. In the distance, there’s gunshots somewhere. Husk shifts, bones lurching and groaning with the movement. “I know it ain’t real.” He grumbles with the feeling of genuine experience.

Husk blinks, heavy and slow. “Doesn't make it easier.”

Lucifer chuckles, because nothing truer has been said. “You can say that again. I still get nightmares sometimes.”

“They say you fell, right?” Husk looks into the bottom of his bottle.

“You did too.”

Husk sighs mournfully before taking a long drink of the wine bottle like he’s trying to drown himself in it. He’s used to this, the fear, not knowing where or when you are. He’s done with it all, but that doesn't stop it from happening. Husk turns to Lucifer, “What y’got mind reading powers or somethin’?”

“Kinda.” Lucifer reveals, “I can see your soul. Your memories, experiences, y’got it all locked up in there. I don't see everything, I don't have a lick of context for most of it. But I recognize it, I guess.”

Husk huffs, vaguely amused. He holds out his wine bottle, “One pathetic loser to another?”

Lucifer clinks his bottle against Husk’s, laughing, “I guess.”

Husk cracks a sardonic smile. He sips at his wine and Lucifer does too. They sit like that for a while, with the vague sensation of the outsides swaying without them. A ship, or a plane, maybe both. “This wine tastes like shit.” Lucifer states.

Husk shrugs, “Eh, y’put some fruit in here, some juice and it gets a lil more palatable.”

“I could hook you up with some beelzejuice.” Lucifer offers, drinking his wine.

“I’d give you a bj for that.”

Lucifer laughs and bats his eyelashes at Husk, “Well, if you're offering.”

Husk crinkles his nose, “Stop that. What, you got somethin’ in your eye?”

Lucifer gasps, clutching his imaginary pearls, “Excuse you, I’m trying to give you bedroom eyes.”

“And doin’ a shit job at it too.” Husk rasps, rolling his eyes, “Jeez, you’re worse than Angel.”

“I’ve fucked both of Adam’s wives! I can seduce anyone I please.” Lucifer interjects.

Husk dismissively waves his bottle, “That doesn't mean anything, the guy was an asshole.”

“I’m the prince of lies! I can act sexy!” Lucifer whines, scrambling closer to Husk.

The gambler smirks, rolling his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, still think I could beat ya at poker.”

Husk moves to take a drink, only to find his bottle empty. “Poker?” Lucifer grins, “Consider me interested.”

Husk moves to replace his bottle but with a snap of Lucifer’s fingers his bottle is refilled, “I’m assuming you got a stack of cards on you.”

Husk produces a full deck with a flourish of his hands, “Always do.”

Husk sets down his bottle with a clink before starting to deal out his cards, “Just t’let ya know, I cheat.”

“Well, that makes two of us!” Lucifer cheers, “C’mon! I want to see how good you are, Mr. I-have-card-suites-embedded-in-my-soul.”

“Yeah, and I’ve had to deal with telepaths before.” Husk pauses to sip off his wine, and lets out a pleased purr once he realizes it’s been replaced with cheap vodka, “Hm, there we go. Sure know your way to a man’s heart.”

“So you don't mind me keeping the soul reading up?” Lucifer asks, scooting over so he’s across from Husk.

“Nope. If anything it just makes me better at the game.” Husk smirks.

Lucifer smiles, and this is familiar to the both of them. They’re somewhere dark and damp. Light flickering low and uneven as you and your crew drink liquor and cheat at card games. You might die tomorrow. Some of you will. Some of you will return and discover that nobody likes what war has made you. You were so young/you are unbearingly old. You were/are tired. You have nowhere else to go. No home is left for the angel/boy/devil/demon to go. So you make your own, and even when you lose it because you’re depressed/desperate/stupid, there’s something familiar in all this.

It hurts like growing up.

But in somebody’s deep, dark basement, an old war vet and the devil himself steal their wine and play poker.

Chapter Text

Vaggie is pressed against Charlie’s side, arm draped across her waist like she’s desperate for Charlie to stay next to her. Angel is eating takeout from one of the few Italian places he approves of, and after taking some painkillers he’s talking with relative ease to Fizzarolli. He’s coming down from the cocaine high, occasionally pausing to string together words through the brain fog, but he appears to be relatively okay anyways.

Charlie worries. She doesn't know where to start looking for Alastor, Niffty, or even Husk. Has her Dad had any luck? He said he was gonna go after Alastor but maybe that wasn't a great idea- the two of them don't exactly get along and if Alastor is in a state similar to Vaggie and Angel then it really wasn't a good idea. Charlie should check in on him. “Scuse me,” she mutters, shifting away from Vaggie to access the phone in her pocket.

She calls her Dad, after the third ring he picks up, “Hi! Hello! What’s up my little applepie!”

“Have you found Alastor?” Heads turn as she asks that.

“Alastor?” Dad repeats.

“Yeah, did you-” “Oh, he fucked right off.” Dad interrupts before leaning closer to the phone, “But hey, did you know that Husk can do magic tricks.”

“You found Husk?” At least that’d be one less person to worry about. Angel stands up at the mention of the bartender.

“Oh yeah, we’ve been playing poker for uuuuh,” he covers the phone speaker, his voice getting muffled as he turns, “How long have we been playing poker?”

A low growl she can barely hear, “I don’t fuckin know.”

He uncovers the phone, “We don't know how long we’ve been playing poker.”

“Is Husk safe? Coherent?” Charlie asks.

“I don't know Husk, are you coherent?” Her Dad asks before bursting into laughter, “Ha! He just gave me the middle finger! Yeah, he’s coherent.”

Charlie furrows her brows, dad’s acting weird, “Are you drunk?”

“Eh, lil bit. Kinda? Only cried twice, so I’m not that drunk.” Dad hesitates, “Like, I’m fine, this shitty wine ain't got nothing on your Auntie Bee, but daymn, let’s just say I’m impressed by how much Husky here can hold his liquor.”.

Angel chuckles next to her, leaning against the arm of the couch, “Ha, that’s our Husker.”

Charlie bites her lip, trying to will her volatile emotions still, “Dad, can you bring him home?”

“Oh, yeah I can do that easy.” Lucifer says dismissively, “Gimme a minute.”

A moment later a golden portal appears six inches off the ground. Husk walks in first, wings fluttering as he stumbles slightly. He crosses his arms, a nervous little self hug as his eyes glance around, and Angel waves at him. “Hey, big guy.”

Husk smiles slightly. “Hey.”

Lucifer walks through the portal and immediately falls flat on his face, starling Husk in the process. He jerks a thumbs up in the air, shouting “I’m good!”

Lucifer stands up and Asmodeus gasps “Your suit!”

Charlie stands up to check on her father, Vaggie whining behind her. Lucifer glances down to his gold blood stained suit. “Oh yeah!”

He snaps his fingers and his suit is cleaned but that doesn't change the fact that her Dad got hurt. His family crowds him, talking over each other, Charlie holding onto his shoulders to make sure he doesn't disappear and Ozzie smoothing down his hair, “What happened, Luci?” “Was it Alastor? I’m so so sorry.” “He attacked you? Lucifer, please don't tell me-” “He’s not thinking right! We know the fear gas causes-” “-and you just walked around town looking like you got impaled? Honey,” “-and then Vaggie thought Oz and Fizz were exorcists and-” Lucifer disappears into a plume of smoke.

He reappears ten feet away, waving his arms, “I’m fine! What’s a little stabbing? I’m fine!” He fixes his thumbs underneath his suit lapels, “I mean, what can Alastor of all people do to hurt me?”

Ozzie glares at him and Lucifer declares, “Don't answer that! Rhetorical question.”

He deftly avoids eye contact with Asmodeus and turns to Charlie, “Anyways, except Alastor we got nearly everyone here, right?”

Charlie frowns, saying insistently like she needs to convince Dad that everyone is not here, “We’re missing Niffty.”

“Ah! That’s the lil lady who merced Adam, right?” Lucifer gestures to roughly her height, “Any idea where she might be?”

Charlie frowns, anxiety rising, “No, I-” “I got a few guesses.” Husk crows from over on a beanbag chair he’s laid claim on.

“Oh?” Charlie doesn't know why she didn't consider this, “Where could she be?”

Husk holds out his claws and starts counting them off one by one, “Apartments, hotels, offices, mansions, small shopping centers. Bigger than three stories, smaller than ten. Any kinda building with alotta people in it that’s got a janitorial crew of some kind, or maybe a secretary, is pretty much a free game.”

“That doesn't exactly narrow it down by a whole lot.” Charlie worries.

“I’m not done. Just give-gimme a fuckin’ minute. I’m drunk as hell gimme a break.” Husk runs a hand down his face, “Fuckin’ dunno if she’d go for a 50’s style building or not. Asian food, she’s not picky-- well she is, but she just likes using chopsticks so she’ll eat anywhere. Thinks fast food is dumb. Do vacuums help? Niff fucking loves vacuums.”

“Wow, I didn't know you and Niffty were that close.” Angel comments, having kicked his legs up over the arm of a chair.

Husk shrugs, “I’ve known her for over forty years. You learn a thing or two.”

“Okay.” Charlie nods resolutely, “Apartment buildings, communal or residential plots. Is she looking for people?”

“Yup. Where there’s people, there’s mess, so she’s gonna make sure there is no mess. So perverts pinned against the wall, probably.” Husk replies.

Charlie asks, “What do you think is setting her off? What with the fear gas and all.”

Husk considers for a few careful moments, quietly muttering, “I dunno.” A sorrowful sigh, “Shit, she’s got alotta issues. I’ve only been able to parse out about half of it. If Al was here he’d be able to find Niffty and calm her down in the same breath.”

Charlies purses her lip, seems like Husk is as lost as she is. She cautiously asks, “Do you know if there’s any triggers of hers that I can avoid?”

Husk looks her up and down, “You’re good.”

“Husk, I don't think that’s helpful.”

Husk puts a hand up, “Trust me. You’re good. From what I know about her piece a shit husband, you’re not gonna do a single thing that’ll remind her of him.”

Vaggie stammers, “Wait, you're telling me Niffty ‘Number One Bad Boi critic’ had a husband!”

“They weren't married for long, if that matters.” Husk interjects.

“What, she get a divorce?” Angel asks, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“She died.” Husk answers.

Angel makes a face, “Well, uh.” He clears his throat, “Well, shit.”

Charlie mentally jots that information down to add to her sparse Niffty entries in her journals. Apartment buildings, cleaning, vacuums, got it! She nods to herself, planning out loud, “Okay. Niffty needs to be found, though she’s pretty self sufficient? Alastor is still a threat, he might be out there killing people-” “-waaay past that point, Char char,” Lucifer interrupts, “He has killed so many people. Eaten em too!”

“Not the time.” Ozzie says for Charlie.

Lucifer digests these words and flushes in embarrassment as he dives into the safety of his collar to avoid making eye contact with anybody. Charlie sighs, moving past this obstacle with relative ease, running a hand through her hair, “Okay, so Alastor is a definite threat, but we know less about him then we do Niffty and that’s probably saying something? But due to their respective natures, we don’t know where to look really, or calm them down, or what we’re trying to calm them down from.”

Vaggie pats the spot next to her and Charlie sits down next to it, letting Vaggie nuzzle into her shoulder. Charlie anxiously rubs her hands. “It’s getting late, and it’s been more than five hours since we last saw either of them. That’s probably a red flag.”

“They can both handle themselves.” Vaggie note, rolling a hand across Charlie’s shoulder.

“But that’s not the point!” Charlie shouts, standing up with a jolt causing Vaggie to flinch.

“Sorry.” Charlie recoils, much softer this time, “I trust you all and it’s just. Nobody needs to be going through this all by themselves. I want to help.”

“And that’s admirable of you, Charlie.” Asmodeus croons, squeezing her in a friendly side hug, “But you don't need to do this alone.”

Charlie looks out at her friends, unsure of how much help they can be when they’re still recovering from the fear gas. She’s startled when Ozzie stomps over to Lucifer who has not-so-secretly been stealing Angel’s food, “Lucifer!”

Lucifer’s jaw unhinges like a snake and he eats the entire takeout, tin and all. “Hey!” Angel cries.

“You are going to help Charlie find Alastor and Niffty.” Ozzie demands.

Lucifer whines like a neglected five year old, “But whyyyyyyy.”

Asmodeus folds his arms across his big chest, “Because Charlie has made friends with more people than you originally preferred, she likes them and they like her in return,” Two of Ozzie’s heads glare at the residents who nod vigorously with a chorus of affirmations that they did, indeed, like Charlie, “So if something happens to the people she cares about because you can’t get off your high horse enough to help your own daughter, and if heaven forbid, she cry, then I am going to do the next and only logical step and rip your dick off.”

Asmodeus and Lucifer lock eyes. The atmosphere turns tense as every individual, one by one, realizes that the laidback king of lust that they’ve been chatting with all evening, was very serious about making do with that threat.

A quick glance at Fizzarolli told Charlie that the jester was very into it.

Dad sobers up, rubbing at his face and smearing his makeup, “Alright. Got it. No further ruining my relationship with Charlie. Let’s at least,” a sigh as Lucifer struggles to put his thoughts together, “Don't trust the radio prick within ten feet of my daughter so I’ll assign myself to him. We’ll split like originally planned. Char take Niffty, I take Alastor, Oz takes care of everyone we bring back.”

With a wave of his hand a map drops into Charlie’s hands. “Map of everything within thirty miles of Flimzy’s place. Let Husk attune to it and everything he knows about Niffty will narrow down places where she isn't.”

Lucifer stretches, “And since Alastor seems to no longer be throwing a bitchfit then I gotta look for him on foot. Doesn't he have a radio tower outside of the hotel?”

A chorus of affirmations from the hotel residents.

“Cool, I’ll just follow his stench and see if holed up in there. Good start as any.” he manifests his signature tophat to place on his head, bravado falling into its natural place on his face, “Let’s fucking do this!”

---

Ozzie offers to teleport Charlie to the first possible location, but she declines and instead takes the limo. As convenient as teleportation was, Charlie wanted to feel independent in her search. Which is a little hypocritical, she supposes, she had Cherri Bomb help her out earlier when trying to find Angel Dust. Maybe it’s because instead of citizens who she feels like she can one day earn their respect, it’s her family, and…wow that’s a lot of complicated emotions there.

What did Husk say? That she had Daddy issues? The more Charlie thinks on it the more she thinks that she just has everything issues. But surely everyone deals with a little family drama sometimes?

The first location is dismissed immediately from the large stains Charlie can see through the glass window. She tells Razzle to move on to the next location. Three buildings later in the standard Hell-level of filthiness, Charlie is feeling tired. She won’t stop, obviously, but this entire day has been very long and anxiety is burbling inside of her throat. She’s so tired.

Energy jolts back into her when they pass a sidewalk so clean it’s literally shining. Charlie screeches for Razzle to stop and hops out of the limo before it can stop moving. She throws herself into the apartment building and is graced by a wall filled with a variety of demons pinned to the walls like bugs. Along with actual bugs.

A nervous looking imp approaches her, “Hello there, your majesty. Um. Do you. Are you…here? Is she…yours?”

“You’ve seen Niffty?” Charlie asks, rubbing her hands together, “She’s a small little cyclops sinner, I’m here to take her back to the hotel.”

The imp lets out a sigh of relief, “Thank Lucifer. Y’know it’s one thing to hear about what she can do over the news and another to see-” a nervous side glance to the people pinned up on the wall, “that.”

“What exactly is she doing?” Charlie can’t help but ask.

“Well, the apartments have never been cleaner.” The imp grins, “Filthy janitor is a bit of an oxymoron when it comes to her, everything is almost painfully clean. She even laundered my suits.”

“Are you the doorman?” Charlie concludes.

The imp looks down at themselves, “I mean. I sure hope so.” A wry grin before they wander over to the desk, “Let me try to call Niffty down.”

“I hope she hasn’t been too troublesome,” Charlie worries. “I can pay to replace anything she’s broken.”

An imp starts dialing an old rotary phone, “Don’t worry about it, princess. Sinners just make me nervous and if I’m to be honest I appreciate that she got rid of some of them. The guys on the wall over there technically weren’t even residents, but I couldn’t really, um, get rid of them.”

The imp puts the phone to their ear, “Hello, you mentioned that the little woman from the news is cleaning your apartment?”

Muttering from the other end of the line. “Yeah, uh huh.”

Something that might be a slur. “All of your cigars?”

Shouting on the other end of the line. “Thank you, I’ll make sure to call him.”

The imp hangs up and calls another line. “Hello, I was told that the little woman from the news is cleaning your apartment?”

Laughter on the end of the line. “Oh, she stabbed your boyfriend? And that’s…good?”

A light explanation. “Yeah, that makes sense.” The imp grabs a notepad, writing something down, “You said she killed Mr. Vonigan?”

The imp nods blandly, “I’m sure he did, but is he dead?”

“Thank you. Is she still cleaning your apartment?” The imp asks.

They hum in response, “Hm, thank you. She’ll soon be out of our hair.”

A long groan on the other end of the line. The imp smiles, “Yes, she’s very good at what she does. Thank you.”

The imp hangs up and produces a set of keys from underneath the desk, “Sounds like she’s reorganizing Mr. Vonigan’s place, on the fourth floor. Have these keys in case she’s locked it.”

Charlie takes them graciously, “Thank you for your assistance. It means the world to me.”

Charlie rushes off to the elevator and presses the button to the fourth floor. It sounds like Niffty is doing…okay? By Niffty standards? Frantically cleaning an entire apartment sounds like a lot, but this was Niffty, the little lady who turned the entire hotel from a dump to a shining five star palace. It sounded like at least one of the apartment residents liked her and the doorman seemed to be fond of her. It’s good for people to make friends.

Charlie reads the number on the keys and starts counting off the numbers above the doors. She finds Mr. Vonigan's apartment and opens it.

Broken plates crash. “You stupid BITCH! I ask for so little and this is what you give me!”

…Niffty?

Charlie carefully rounds the corner of the L-shaped apartment to find a body of a dead sinner with needles stabbed through its eyes, lolling in its seat at the dinner table as Niffty screamed at it from across the table. Broken ceramic shards and burnt food litter the floor. Roaches have been staked into the tile.

“Don't you love me! I am trying so hard to make this relationship work but you make it so damn difficult.” A keen whine, like Niffty is about to cry.

“Look at you.” The dead body’s head lolls to the side as it decomposes further, “You’re such a mess. Stop crying, save those crocodile tears for somebody who will actually believe it.”

It feels like she’s watching something she shouldn't. Charlie decides to step in, knocking on the wall, “Knock knock.” She says, not knowing what else to say.

Niffty’s head turns so fast Charlie worries she broke it. She rubs her face, “Ah! We have guests!” She hops off the chair and skitters over to Charlie.

“Sorry for the mess! Things have been so hectic, you know how things are!” She notes casually as she smoothes out Charlie’s pants, “You need some sugar? Salt? Chilli powder?”

Charlie stares down at Niffty, still at a loss of what say and trying in vain to interpret what she just witnessed. Niffty chitters along anyways, oblivious to Charlie’s horrors, “Come now! We need to make sure everything is perfect when everyone else arrives!”

Niffty grabs Charlie’s hand and drags her over to the kitchen. “Everything is going to be so clean.” Niffty mutters, seemingly to herself.

The maid starts picking up the broken plate and Charlie hesitantly joins her. Niffty does a double take at that, and proceeds to look at her as if she’s asking if Charlie’s sure about that. Charlie continues picking up plate shards, not entirely sure what else to do. Niffty lets her do just that.

The burnt food is thrown away and the stovetop pan is hand washed and put in the dishwasher. Niffty opens the pantry, closes it, circles the kitchen, and opens the pantry again. She lets out an irritated buzz at that, a high pitched vibration as Niffty flaps her hands in frustration. “Is there…something you need me to do?” Charlie hazards.

Niffty jumps like she’s forgotten Charlie was there. “Yes, yes. The party!” She reminds herself, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt, “There’s going to be a party and everyone from church is invited even though I hate them.”

Charlie rubs her hands together, “Why would you invite people if you hate them?”

“Have to. They already suspect I’m a communist by just looking at me, I can't give them anything more than that. I can't do that to John.” Niffty holds herself tight.

Charlie lowers herself to more comfortably talk to Niffty but by the time her knee hits the kitchen tile, the maid is already zipping around, muttering to herself. “Will there be decorations? Nothing too much, nothing too much. Is that a stain!” Niffty gasps and immediately starts attacking the stain with a sponge.

Charlie awkwardly stands up. Niffty very obviously is a few crayons short of the box, but this is…new to Charlie. Intimidating. Scary even. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t know how to fix what’s making Niffty so blatantly distressed. “I’m going to go the bathroom,” she announces.

“Down the hall!” Niffty calls out, still meticulously scrubbing at a stain like it owed her money.

Charlie can't help but feel like she’s running away as she walks to the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She sits down on the floor, back pressed against the door. Okay, she needs a plan. Because she has no idea what the fuck she is doing.

Before she completely realizes it she’s calling Husk. The ringing sharp in her ear. Once. Twice. He doesn't pick up. Doesn't even have a voice messaging system set up. Charlie leans against the door, not surprised.

Okay. Breathe in. Breathe out. Manage your emotions. Name them.

Overwhelming fucking panic like holy fucking shit, Charlie knew Niffty was unhinged but what in the most absolute shitting fuck is happening out there how the fuck is Charlie supposed to fix this. How does anyone fix this? What is she supposed to do? Niffty is yelling at the corpse of a man she most definitely killed. That’s fucked up.

Tears spring into Charlie’s eyes though she quickly wipes them away. It’s so much, and all of her friends are hurting and she doesn't know how to make it better. It’s scary, so much more scary than having Adam and the exorcists bearing down on the hotel because at the very least they could fight them. She can’t fight this, she can't convince Niffty to not throw plates at a dead body, and it’s so goddamn much.

Charlie stands up and washes her hands. She takes a deep breath in. Deep breath out.

“You are going to be so supportive.” She tells herself in the mirror, “You are going to be so nice and so kind.”

She leaves the bathroom. Niffty is mopping the floor with the fervor of a deranged maniac. Charlie steels herself. “Niffty?”

Niffty glances up, looks back down at her work, and looks back up with horror, “Shit.”

Charlie falters for a moment, long enough for Niffty to completely disregard the wet floors and skitter over them. “Shit, shit, shit.”

She drags Charlie over to the couch and sits her down, “They can't see you like this, they can't see you like this.”

“See me like what?”

“Looking like a mess!” Niffty drags her hands through her hair.

“Let me fix you up.” Niffty frets, buzzing all over Charlie to smooth out her suit and remove any hint of dust, “Let me fix you right up! Then we’ll all be ready for the party and they’ll all love you as long as you don't bring up Vaggie.”

“Why can't I bring Vaggie up?” Charlie asks, watching as Niffty produces an entire beauty salon worth of product from her pocket.

“They’d hate her.” Niffty says bluntly as she wipes off Charlie’s runny makeup, “She’s not white, and maybe if she’s all purple like she is they might not be able to tell until she starts swearing in Spanish and then they’d be aaaall over her like maggots.”

Niffty starts undoing Charlie’s messy braid with a delicate hand, “Not that I’d ask Vaggie to not talk in Spanish, don't want her to forget it. As long as you two just pretend to be roommates and she only speaks Spanish under her breath and she keeps spices out of the kitchen and then everything can be fine.”

Niffty brushes Charlie’s hair, tugging slightly, “Oh no, oh no, no, no, they’re not going to like Mr. Alastor. But it’s fine. It’s fine. Maybe. Angelica only pretends to speak French so she won't know the southern kind either. He’s not going to like the food, I might need to make him something else to sneak underneath the table, can't have any of my guests going hungry, no, no, no, no.”

Niffty starts to hyperventilate and Charlie tries to redirect, “What are we doing with my hair? I’m thinking of a bun of sorts.”

Niffty immediately takes the bait, separating swathes of Charlie’s hair. “Yes. A half up bun, with a few braids to show off your pretty hair. That’s a good idea, a very good idea.”

“Thank you for thinking my hair is pretty.” Charlie comments.

Niffty starts braiding the hair framing Charlie’s face, “Of course you’re very pretty, your dad married a bad girl and dads who marry bad girls always make pretty little ladies. You’re rich though, so people will pretend to like you because of your money.”

Charlie doesn't know what to say to that, so she remains quiet as Niffty puts one strand of hair over the other. “They’ll act all pathetic and stupid, but you can't give them any sort of money. And don't talk about your childhood, especially if it’s not normal, that’s just giving them ammunition to stab you with. You will probably need to lie, but that’s okay.”

“Were they mean to you?” Charlie asks, tilting her head to make braiding easier for Niffty.

“They keep on assuming I grew up in Japan, even though I’m from Pennsylvania. I can't tell them anything about my mom or else they’ll be mean to her and then I’ll have to be mean to her because if I’m not they’re going to think I’m ungrateful and horrible and all these things.” Niffty shakes her head.

“I understand a little bit.” Charlie confesses, “My aunts and uncles hate my mom, though I have some really good memories of her. So when they’re talking about all the horrible things she did, I’m left with all the good memories in the middle.”

“I didn't get aunts and uncles. If my mom had any siblings she didn't tell me,” Niffty ties off the braid and hops over to braid the other side, “She didn't tell me a lot. I don't know alot about Japan, Japanese being a kitchen language meant to be spoken on the tile, without the men around. The food was a secret, and it took me a long time to learn the real names of certain dishes.”

Niffty makes a mistake while braiding and lets out a keen whine, “It’s not good enough, it’s not good, you’re going to get covered in flies and gnats and maggots.”

Charlie turns to Niffty and holds her hands, “I think you’re doing a wonderful job. Thank you for helping me look good.”

Tears start to spring up in Niffty’s eye and she rubs at her face. “Crying isn't ladylike.”

“I cry all the time.” Charlie comments.

Niffty cups Charlie’s cheeks, stating matter of factly, “Well, yeah. That’s why you’re going to get eaten by bugs.” She squeezes Charlie’s face, “Can't let that happen. That’s why you need to be clean clean clean.”

Niffty starts on the braid again, humming to herself. Charlie hesitantly asks, “And you…do not want me to get eaten by bugs?”

Niffty responds in an almost singsong manner, “No, nope. You’re too pretty! Gotta make sure you’re good! Well, you are good but you need to be better if we’re going to have this party. Everything is such a mess in this building and people’s eyeballs are underneath my skin, I have no idea how you do it.”

“I'm sorry that you have eyeballs underneath your skin.” Charlie says near automatically, because that sounds like the right thing to say.

“They're not your eyeballs. Everyone in the hotel are,” Niffty freezes, lockjawed and stiff before continuing like nothing happened, “everyone in the hotel is very nice. They don't put their eyeballs underneath my skin.”

“You would tell us if we put our eyeballs there accidentally, right?” Charlie asks because that’s probably something that could happen.

“If anyone puts their eyeballs underneath my skin, I tear them out.” Niffty declares as if it’s the most simplest thing in the world, “People don't get to look at me like that. Only my husband is supposed to look at me like that, but John doesn't look at me like that. Isn't that sad?”

Charlie frowns, not entirely sure what the right answer is. “Is it?”

After a moment of silence, Niffty nods, “I think it is. Because it’s not supposed to hurt but it does.”

She ties off the two braids and gathers a section of hair and starts making a bun, “Does Vaggie love you?”

“Yes.” Charlie says without thinking.

“Does it hurt?” A small voice, almost in a whisper as Niffty pins the braids into a crown across Charlie’s forehead.

“No. It feels easy, it feels like a relief. It’s like breathing, for me.” Charlie explains, with little stars in her eyes as she talks about love.

“It feels like thinking.” Niffty confesses, running a hand through Charlie’s hair.

Charlie doesn't know how to respond. She doesn’t entirely understand what Niffty means, other than her husband, John, had hurt her in some way. Even with her journals though, Charlie doesn’t crave knowledge, she just keeps track of it. So when the time comes around, if it ever does, about what exactly happened to Niffty, then it will be cataloged into Charlie’s books amongst other parts of the cyclops’ idiosyncrasies. Because this is important information to know, and keep, and hold. And Charlie will let it come to her at it’s own pace.

So she sits there, letting Niffty play with her hair. The fridge hums electronically and there’s vague noises coming from the neighbors on the other side of the wall. Niffty leans against Charlie’s back, and Charlie shifts so that she can hug Niffty. The maid nuzzles into Charlie’s neck, holding the princess so close it almost feels like she could choke. “I looked at people wrong.” Niffty murmurs into Charlie’s shoulder, “They tried to take my eyeballs. I died before they could take both.”

“I won't let them take both.” Charlie states, brushing a hand through Niffty’s hair.

“I know.” Niffty giggles nervously, pulling away so she can look at Charlie, “I thought. I was worried that you’d look at me, because you like girls and stuff. And if you did then Alastor and I would have to tear your eyeballs out. But you didn't. And you let me do my roach shows and.” Niffty smiles bittersweetly, “And it’s good.”

Niffty looks away, nervous, and for a moment Charlie softens as she comes to a realisation. Even if redemption can never happen, even if she can never get rid of extermination day, Charlie has created something unique and special in Hell. A place dedicated to peace and community. A place that Vaggie is terrified of destroying. Angel’s terrified of being kicked out. A place where Niffty can be bizarre and weird and herself. A place where they can feel safe.

“I’m glad you like the hotel.” Charlie smiles.

“There’s no other option. No other place.” Niffty responds, she turns to the kitchen, “Can you do your own makeup while I start putting things together for the party?”

“Yes, I can.” Charlie looks over the salon worth of makeup on the coffee table, “Can I help you after I’m done?”

Niffty break out into a bright grin, “Of course! You showed up early after all.”

So Charlie puts on her makeup and helps Niffty make a variety of foods for the party. Niffty is a bossy little chef, who practically throws the apron at Charlie. She laughs and lets herself be ordered around. Tactfully, she doesn't mention the rat poison in the cookies, or the bleach in the casserole, or the thumbtacks in the mashed potatoes. They set the table full of food, the decaying corpse laying facedown on the white and red checkered tablecloth. Once Niffty hands the cadaver a cup of orange juice, she takes Charlie’s hand and they walk outside of the apartment building.

Chapter Text

It was fine until it was not.

“What do you mean you can't find him!” Charlie screeches, fire leaping out of her skin.

It’s been a very long day.

Lucifer shouts back, bags rimming his eyes, “I tried! I looked all over the city but the fucker is nowhere in sight!”

Charlie is tired.

“Well, look again!” Charlie cries, desperate for answers.

But not tired enough to miss the way the four hotel residents and Fizzarolli share a box of popcorn on the couch.

“I don’t get what you see in him,” Lucifer scoffs, “he’s trying to manipulate you, you know!”

Asmodeus asks for Fizz to pass him the tea.

“You think I don’t know that!” Charlie screams, “As if you were any better. You kept me locked up in the palace for years! To what end?”

“I was trying to keep you safe!” Lucifer insists.

“Why do you get to decide what’s safe for me?” Charlie snarls, “Because the safest I’ve been is here, in this hotel, where people can check in or out at any time. I give my people a choice, more than you ever gave me.”

Vaggie asks Ozzie if this is okay. He nods and says that this has been a long time incoming. It gets interrupted when the doorbell downstairs rings. Charlie settles herself, “I’ll go answer it.”

“Answer what?” Vaggie asks, “I didn’t hear anything.”

“The doorbell.” Words are suddenly hard to Charlie, “Somebody’s at the door.”

She swallows a thick lump down her throat and the hope that it was Alastor is left hanging in the air.

Charlie moves to answer it and to her mild surprise everyone follows her. She doesn’t object, walking down the stairs with a series of footsteps behind her. Vaggie’s featherlight touch in between her fingers, it’s comforting in a strange sort of way. Charlie’s still not entirely used to the crowd of people she’s attracted. The friends she’s made.

Charlie opens the front door to the hotel and is not met with the radio demon.

Vox is sporting a new suit matching with the shiny new crack that splits across his screen. Dried, multicolor, oil-like blood giving the monitor a tacky appearance. He habitually gives them an appeasing grin “Hello there.”

Charlie stares at him, confused. She blinks a couple times to make sure that she isn’t seeing things, “Um. Why are--why are you here?”

“Can I come in?” Vox removes the tinfoil from his cufflinks.

“Are you checking into the hotel?” Charlie asks, cautiously hopeful.

Vox lets out a harsh laugh. “HA! No. I’m here to talk to you about Alastor.”

“Alastor?” Lucifer echoes from behind Charlie. “What, are you two friends or something?”

“No.” Vox narrows his eyes at Lucifer, hiding a thinly veiled sneer, “We’re longstanding rivals. Video killed the radiostar and all that. I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Charlie glances at her father to find his eyes glazed over, he did not absorb anything the tv demon said. With that lapse of attention, Vox invites himself into the hotel, “Well, anyways, I was wondering why Alastor is loosing his complete fucking mind.”

Charlie takes a step back, distancing herself, “Why are you here?”

“Oh you know, surveying the landscape, the architecture here is beautiful. Alastor must hate it.” Vox looks up at the circus themed decor.

“He’s tried to set it on fire at least three times.” Lucifer helpfully comments.

Vox smiles, almost fond, “Of course he would.”

Vaggie latches onto her girlfriend’s arm, nervous. Charlie looks at Vaggie reassuringly. The princess turns back to the media overlord, “What do you want?”

“Ah, there’s the prudent question.” Vox saunters over to Charlie, “You’ve been quite the piece of work these days, the network has been all over you-” “Get to the point.” Vaggie grits out from between her teeth.

A puff of cool air leaves Vox, like a ventilation system starting to kick in. He fixes the lapels on his coat, “Right, right. Well, Alastor isn’t exactly in fighting shape at the moment,” he glares at Angel as he snickers at the obvious injury on Vox’s face, “and if I stepped foot into cannibal town I will be shot and barbequed. So I’m asking you to fix him.”

“Uh, I dunno if you know this.” Lucifer gestures vaguely, “But we have no idea where the fuck he is. So we can’t exactly fix him if he’s who the fuck knows where.”

An email is pulled up onto Vox’s screen, written, and sent all under thirty seconds. Charlie’s phone pings and Vox gives a passifying grin, “I’ve messaged you the coordinates.”

Charlie pulls out her phone and processes what he’s given her. She furrows her brows, warning bells ringing in her head. She holds onto Vaggie, “You know where he is?”

Vox chews on his response for a moment, pulling out his phone, “I miiiiiiiight’ve tranqed him.”

“You WHAT.” Charlie screams, horns flaring as she turns demonic at the sheer rage and audacity of this piece of shit.

Vox rolls his eyes, “Relax. Fucker can barely sleep on a good day and today is not a good day.”

Charlie growls, “Is that everything you did to him?”

“I lost over three hundred employees to Hell’s worst horror game, do you think I succeeded in doing anything?” Vox waves his hands dismissively, “Just move him out of the city, see if I can get rid of him, maybe record a video of him eating shit and adding the vine boom sound effect after. But nooo, his little shadow friend said fuck you and everything you stand for and punched me in the face.”

Lucifer laughs at that. Vox’s eye twitches as he fixes his lapels with a murderous intensity. “Whatever.” He hands Charlie a business card, “Call me back when the bastard can speak in full sentences again.”

Vox disappears into the electrical wire and leaves the hotel.

Charlie looks at the coordinates on her phone again. They have a place, and now all they need to do is calm Alastor down enough so that they can get him back into the hotel. Or at the very least stop murdering people. The bar is so low for the man, literally in Hell, and Charlie can only hope that he has the presence of mind to step over it.

Chapter Text

Charlie wishes she thought of going to Rosie earlier, maybe Dad wouldn’t have gotten hurt if they did. She doesn’t really know why they didn’t, maybe it’s because she’s a new resource that they’re still not used to yet? Maybe they just completely forgot that she existed? Maybe some part of Charlie just wanted to keep this entire debacle limited to the hotel and the hotel only. But as it stands, they have Rosie now, and she was thankfully easy to convince into the limo. Lucifer is ranting to the overlord about Alastor, and she just smiles, amused in a maternal sort of way. “That’s my Alastor.” She coos.

“That’s my-- that’s your Alastor!” Lucifer stammers. “The fucker tried to take a bite outta me!”

Rosie asks, “Have you ever tried angel blood, my dear? If we’re lucky I still have some left over from extermination day.”

Lucifer makes a face, crossing his arms, “I’m not down for eating the blood of my brethren, no.”

“Oh, brothers eat each other all the time!” Rosie exclaims, “It’s completely normal! Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it!”

“I’m…” Lucifer just looks at Rosie like he’s confused and horrified by her words, “pretty sure they don’t?”

Rosie buckles down, clearly intent to make this a teaching moment, “Well there’s this little family of Goetia who-” “We can talk about cannibalism in the upper class of Hell nobility at a later date. We’ve arrived” Charlie throws herself into the conversation.

Rosie blinks, before breaking into an apologetic smile, “Oh, yes. Sorry, I must’ve gotten a little carried away. Lucifer dear, you are such a doll to talk to. I could just eat you up.”

“Thanks?” Lucifer says, as unsure as Charlie is on whether or not that’s a compliment.

“Not a problem dear, now,” Rosie steps out of the limo doors, “Let’s take care of Alastor.”

They have arrived near the area Vox has kindly labeled as Alastor’s bitchfit on the map. It’s an old construction site, abandoned due to poor management. Old vehicles lay rotting and rusting, robbed of their parts years ago, with empty shipping containers laying like husks across the site. The mood and the energy of the previous conversation has dropped like a porcelain vase, as they all seem to stare at the clear line of where the blood starts just a handful of feet away.

It reminds Charlie of the shield he pulled up during extermination day, but it’s less visible. Less active, she supposes. Less defensive and more offensive like a minefield. She rubs her hands together, eyeing the nearby detached, still bleeding, arm, “Are you sure this is going to be okay?” Charlie worries.

Rosie’s hand is a comforting weight on her shoulder, “I’m sure. Alastor loves you, as much as he’d hate to admit it.”

Charlie hesitates, looking away. Lucifer takes this as an invitation, “As much as I hate not being involved in this,” he pouts, “Rosie has a point. He’s, ugh, fond of you. And as much as I detest the man, he very clearly doesn’t detest you.”

Lucifer puts a hand on her other shoulder, “But even if I’m not going in there with you, I’ll be out here. I’m just a call away, honey.”

She doesn’t need to do this alone. She’s been alone for such a long time in her life, but she isn’t alone now. She’s here, surrounded by people who care about her. Who, well it’s really debatable when it comes to her father, but to some measure everyone here cares about Alastor. So ready or not, Alastor is coming home. Charlie steels herself, “All right. Let’s do this.”

“Atta girl.” Rosie pinches Charlie’s cheek, “There’s the hero of Hell peakin’ out. We’ll have Alastor back to his charmin’ self in no time at all.”

Charlie smiles and walks through the filmy darkness with Rosie. Alastor’s magic is thick and humid in the air. Through the veil they can see a further variety of corpses littered about, like Alastor was trying to hide just how many he’s killed. Charlie’s pretty sure one of Alastor’s demented little moppets are chewing on what used to be somebody’s thigh. “You said these were Voxtek employees?” Rosie chimes, eyeing a particular body.

Charlie takes a moment to speak. “Yes. He said he wanted to…well I’m not entirely sure what he wanted to do to Alastor if I’m being entirely honest. I just got angry and stopped listening to him.”

Rosie chortles, “All the more to ya, darlin. Don’t recommend listenin’ to the guy, he barely keeps his head on his shoulders most days.”

A shadow snarls at them as they approach the corpse it’s consuming and Rosie admonishes it “Oh, calm down, we ain’t here to take away your meal.”

Charlie recoils from the hissing shadow, holding onto Rosie as they walk past it, “You seem familiar with all this.”

“Oh we got plenty of testy folks back in town,” Rosie waves dismissively, “think you’ll steal the meat between their teeth if y’look at em wrong.”

Charlie doesn’t entirely know how Rosie is able to stay calm in this environment. Charlie’s been hellborn all her life but the way the darkness sticks to her shoes like a thick mud, the squelching, wet, noises as shadows eat people, it all feels a little much. Something cracks, sound bouncing between the shipping containers, and Rosie grins, “Ohoho, that sounded like a juicy one! Bet that one’s havein’ the time of its life.”

“Is there anything we should expect once we find him?” Charlie asks, changing the subject so that they don’t talk about what exactly just cracked.

“It’s Alastor, sweetheart.” Rosie croons, “I betcha a half pint of liquor that he’s doin’ exactly what he does when starving.”

Charlie is almost afraid to ask, “And what exactly is that?”

“Eating absolutely everything!” Rosie notices Charlie wince and her voice softens, “Darling, it’s only natural. The poor boy’s always got a degree of hunger t’him, so if the fear gas is makin’ him loose his sense of reality like you said, then he’s gonna try and appeal to it.”

“What do you mean, always has a degree of hunger?” Charlie asks, head tilted.

Rosie considers her next words, “Hm, Charlie what do you know of sinner punishments?”

“I know they exist,” Something clicks, and Charlie jerks her head to look at Rosie, “wait is the cannibalism a punishment thing?”

“Hmm, kinda.” Rosie chimes, “It’s the hunger that bothers him. Unable to be satiated with all foods except his fellow sinners. He can still eat normal food, but it does nothing to dull his cravings.” She gestures to the chorus of shadows chewing on cadavers, “So by nature of his punishment he seeks blood to self-soothe.”

“That sounds,” Charlie whispers, “Horrible.”

“It is what it is.” Rosie shrugs, “As selfish as it is, I do enjoy that it’s what brought him to my doorstep. Without it we may have met under very different terms.”

Somebody’s screaming in the distance. Rosie turns to face Charlie, “On the topic of sinner punishments, do try not to bring them up. It took me a hot minute to understand, but it’s a vulnerable subject. Sinners don't just talk about them to anybody.”

Charlie takes a moment to process Rosie’s words, “Punishments? More than one?”

“Yes, shouldn't your father have taught you this?” Rosie inquires.

Charlie looks away, “He should've taught me a lot of things.”

Rosie huffs, though politely keeps her thoughts to herself. They start walking again and Charlie tries her best to tune out the wet squelching noises of bodies being eaten. She doesn't know if the silence between them is awkward or not. The small, anxious, part of her wants to impress Rosie, but she can do that at a later time when they don't need to worry about Alastor. She can't afford to be stupid right now.

A scream rips through the air, closer this time, and a sinner demon comes barreling around the corner. Their eyes light up at the sight of Charlie and Rosie, in recognition and maybe hope. They try to grab Rosie, but she uses her umbrella to keep them away. They brush the umbrella away and beg, “Please-”

They scream as something hooks into their legs and tries to drag them away. They hold onto the umbrella like a lifeline, “Don't let it take me! Don't let it take me! Please!”

Rosie tugs her umbrella out of the sinner’s grip and they are dragged away screaming. After a handful of moments, the screaming stops. Charlie and Rosie look at eachother.

They turn the corner to find Alastor’s chittering shadow, tearing apart the sinner with a delightful sort of glee. It looks more 3d than it usually is, like a sticker plastered against the wall. It startles, hissing and lashing out with a razor sharp claw. Rosie pushes Charlie back with her umbrella, taking the full force of the strike. A bloody gash across her shoulder, and the shadow visibly recoils, like it’s surprised at what it’s just done. It whines like static, jittering and rolling through half aborted radio stations in a panic before flying away.

Rosie holds her injured shoulder, “Well, that’s not good.”

Charlie frets, pulling Rosie’s hand away to get a better look at the wound. Rosie just chuckles good naturedly as if the darkened blood spilling down her dress isn’t her own. For the most part, Rosie lets Charlie worry, though she has her own concerned frown on her face, “It must be really bad if Ami doesn't recognise me.”

“Who?” Charlie asks, producing a small first aid kit from her person.

“Ami, Alastor’s shadow. It’s French for friend.” Rosie explains as Charlie does her best to wrap up the wound, “He’s a manifestation of Alastor’s soul, so when the body is struggling Alastor can still have a modicum of control over the situation. But if Ami doesn't recognise me…”

“Then this goes deeper than we thought.” Charlie realizes with horror, finishing up the awkward bandage job because she doesn’t know what she’s doing.

“This is gonna be hard.” Rosie admits, “I just hope that he’s alright.”

“He will be okay.” Charlie insists, reaching for Rosie’s hand, “We will make sure he’s okay.”

Rosie smiles sorrowfully, not making eye contact, “I’m going to let him bite me. I can regenerate anything he takes and it might let me talk some sense to him.”

Charlie wishes she knew if that was normal or not. “Try not to let him take everything.”

“I won't.” Rosie squeezes Charlie’s hand, “Well, let’s go find him.”

The atmosphere is tense. The shadows seem to part for Rosie now, in the way that sinners run at the sight of an overlord, and neither of them can really figure out why. With the others it was usually pretty easy to figure out what was causing them so much panic, even Niffty’s delusions were relatively easy to parse once Charlie pulled herself together. What little information her father gave them only added to the confusion. A recording of his mother. A mention of a club of sorts. It was clear that Lucifer’s spotty memory was already taking effect, and the only certainty Charlie could take from the interaction was that it left her father rattled.

They find him in his demon form, tall and towering with his antlers branching like broadcasting antennae and a sharp grin splitting his face. A gunshot rings out, hitting him in the shoulder and causing him to veer to the side. Charlie flinches at the impact, though Alastor simply turns with gritted teeth and starts fishing around in a half finished building for the offending sniper. “We need to get him out of demon form.” Rosie whispers.

“How can we do that?” Charlie anxiously rubs her hands together.

“Tire him out.” Rosie sighs, doubtful, “I don’t entirely understand the finer points of these demon forms, but I know they take a lot of energy. How long has he been like this? He must be tired.”

“I'm not hurting him.” Charlie firmly states.

“Never thought you would, dear.” Rosie smiles, “Just keep him on the run for a while. I’ll take care of Vox’s little pests and you call out once he’s shorter than your hotel again.”

Charlie thinks for a moment, it’s not a perfect plan but Charlie’s been making it through with good-enough plans for the past year. She nods, “Okay. Stay safe.”

Rosie presses a kiss against Charlie’s forehead, “Wouldn't dream of anything else.”

Before Charlie can even hope to start processing that, Rosie turns away, melting into a quiet thing made of limbs and teeth. After this, Charlie thinks she’ll need to give Rosie her own section in her journals, everything is so bizarre. She slaps her own cheek, okay! Focus! Tire Alastor out! She can do that!

She steps into the clearing, the jazz music louder as she peers through the blackened mist. She cups her hands around her mouth and shouts, “Hey Alastor!”

His head turns without the rest of his body, radio dial eyes ticking as Charlie struggles to come up with something to say, “Uh, um, I…shit, uh. I don't enjoy your cooking?”

She squeaks as a tendril rockets towards her, sidestepping it last second. She breaks into a run, heartbeat racing. It’s okay, it’s okay, she’s doing what she’s supposed to. Charlie runs, avoiding thrashing tendrils as Alastor extracts his arm from the building. The music distorts, repeating like a scratched record as the shadows start to whine and moppets start pouring from the walls of shipping containers. Charlie grits her teeth, overwhelmed at the sudden, writhing mob of shadow creatures.

She hops onto a shipping container and it begins to shake. She skips over to the next one just as a tendril skewers it. Alastor is looking at her with a snarling smile and it is so very clear that he does not recognise who she is. A pang of hurt rings through Charlie’s chest, and she summarily ignores it. Not the time.

She runs circles around him, scaling imperfect walls with ease and leaping onto construction equipment and shipping containers. It’s no mountainside or family-maintained rockwall, but it’s similar enough for Charlie to know how to work the environment. Destruction trails in her wake as Alastor smashes through the site, dust kicking up in thick clouds. She’s scared, she thinks, as sweat drips off her brow. She’s scared of getting hurt, which Charlie knows is a normal reaction.

The same section of the song repeats again, a piano solo, she thinks. It’s broken by a muted gunshot and Alastor’s ears twitch towards it though his eyes remain focused on Charlie sprinting away from a horde of poppets. Sounds like Rosie’s dealing with the sniper. Hope she’s okay.

He throws a chunk of concrete at her and she crawls up a wall in desperation to avoid it. Her chest is heavy, hearing the creatures below crunch as they’re crushed by the concrete. It’s easy to know where Alastor is through the dust, his eyes and teeth glowing. Less easy to know where his shadows are.

A moppet drops from above and lands on her face, causing Charlie to lose her grip and fall. Because of the resulting panic of freefall, she rolls up into a ball just like her mother taught her and hits the ground running. Is Alastor tired yet? She can’t tell through the clouds. Charlie slows behind a shipping container, wheezing and heaving, trying to muffle her coughs as dust tries to invade her lungs. She’s tired. Charlie is so so so very tired as she leans against the shipping container, trying to regain her breath.

She stumbles as the shipping container is lifted into the air by Alastor’s claws. His sick grin plastered on his face, glowing like a dull screen. Charlie thinks she should be afraid, but all she can feel is mild acceptance as tendrils rush towards her. She wonders if this is what causes Dad to kill Alastor. Will Rosie be sad? Will Charlie?

Green lightning arcs through the air and Alastor is yanked back like a dog on a leash. He audibly chokes and the shipping container drops, pushing up waves of dust clouds.

Complete radio silence.

Charlie stares, unsure of what happened. She takes a hesitant step forward, is Alastor okay? She needs him to be okay.

“Charlie?”

Alastor emerges through the cloud, wiping blood off the corner of his strained smile, “My dear, what on earth are you doing here, in a place like this?”

There’s green stitches across his face. His eyes look sunken and dark. “Are you okay?” Charlie blurts.

Alastor forces a laugh, heavily distorted with static, “Of course I am, my dear. Why wouldn't I be?”

“It’s just that,” Charlie takes a step forward and Alastor tenses.

“Alastor, do you remember what happened?” Charlie hazards, eyeing the way his ears flick back and forth.

“Oh, what is with your silly questions?” He chides with a smug grin, “I’m doing splendidly, now let’s get you back to the hotel and out of-.”

“Where’s the music?”

His ears flick irritatedly, “Hm?”

“Where’s the music? You were playing music, where is the music?” Charlie doesn't know if she can handle this, she can still see the bullet wounds that litter his body, “You got shot.”

“Oh nothing I can't handle.” He adjusts his lapels, “Just need to return to my radio tower and I’ll be right as rain!”

“You’re not answering any of my questions.” Charlie states before resolutely stepping forward.

And Alastor steps back.

Charlie’s eyes widen in realization and looks up at Alastor. He knows she knows and his grin seems to widen in desperation, he almost begs “Now, Charlie-” “Are you afraid of me?” Charlie watches his face keenly.

A humming static bridges the gap between them, breaking the silence. His ears twitch, struggling not to pin against his head. He shifts his weight onto his backfoot, half considering the instinct to run. To hide.

Rosie's voice is quiet and horrified as she whispers “You sold your soul.”

The leash.

She waves through the dust cloud and Alastor’s eyes unfocus in a way that tells Charlie he’s not quite sure who’s in front of him. Rosie’s voice doubles, a southern and boston accent speaking as one chiding tone, “What did you get yourself into?”

Rosie blinks, holding a hand to her throat, voice still doubling, “Alastor, what’s happening?”

The southern voice speaks without Rosie, low and frightened “What are you doing?”

Alastor’s ears are pinned, antlers branching in a subtle intimidation display. He’s tense, teeth grinding against each other, face split in a desperate grin as he holds his breath. He presses a hand against his head, running it through his ragged hair, voiceless static increasing in manic volume, warping as the dust clouds start to twirl. Charlie can barely understand what he’s saying, all high and whiney with scratched records and rotting equipment.

Rosie calls over the rising static, the meaningless noise a cacophony as shadows start to pool. He’s going to run. She can't have him run, he’s already killed so many people and they’ve spent so much energy finding him. Think, Charlie! Think! He’s a deer, prey animal, he’s afraid and probably thinks he’s being surrounded. He’s going to lash out, he thinks there’s a threat, he thinks Charlie is a threat, so she proceeds to do the least threatening thing she can do right now.

She sits down.

After a double take Rosie sits down as well.

The dust still swirls around them, mixed with inky shadows pooling around Alastor’s anxiety. But he’s visibly caught off guard, glancing between the two like this is some sort of trick. He breathes, panicking, wheezing, hyperventilating, but Charlie and Rosie do not move from their seats on the ground.

Alastor’s shadow- Ami, Charlie recalls- darts across the ground and laces it’s fingers between Alastor’s. With that, there’s that same lilting piano she heard earlier. Rosie shifts, moving her dress into a more comfortable situation, “That’s the one you played with you mamon, right?” her voice still doubled.

Alastor blinks, heavy and slow, voice peeking out from behind the piano and static, “-s a trick.”

“It’s not a trick, darling.” Rosie croons, “I’m just here to make sure you’re alright.”

“I hurt you.” Ami points for Alastor, gesturing to Rosie’s injured shoulder.

Rosie looks at her wrapped shoulder like she’s surprised it’s still there, “Oh? This little ol’ thing? I’d hardly call this a scratch!”

“She was willing to give you more.” Charlie states, “She was going to let you eat her.”

Rosie smiles, chagrined and eyeing Alastor, unsure of how he’d react. He just stands, staring. The southern voice plaguing Rosie separates, speaking with a slight echo, “I’d forgive anything you’d do to me, y’know.”

“Is this your mamon speaking?” Rosie asks, her full accent coming through.

The voice surrounds Charlie, like the woman is right over her, “But for what you’re doing to this poor girl.” A shadow of a touch over Charlie’s shoulders, “I don't think I could forgive you for that.”

“Alastor.” Rosie calls, and his ears twitch towards her, “Do y’really think that’s what your mother would think?”

“I don't hate you.” Charlie chimes in, “I know you’re manipulative and self serving. But I don't hate you. I almost admire you, honestly,”

Alastor chuckles at that and Charlie presses on, “No, really. You’re so charming and you’re selfish. You take what you want so easily, too easily probably, but I’m always double and triple checking to see if I’m allowed to do anything. And you just,” Charlie sputters a little bit, floundering for the right words, “do things because you allow yourself to do them.”

Alastor’s still standing, tense though somehow less ready to bolt. The bullet wounds aren’t bleeding, Charlie doesn’t know if they would even bleed at all, though Alastor still seems weak on his feet, swaying side to side. The piano solo starts again, though quickly stops as if Alastor is trying to stop himself from playing it. “You can listen to it,” Rosie notes, “We don’t mind.”

“I like your music.” Charlie chimes in.

The crackle of static remains absent of any piano notes. Ami chitters to Alastor, and Rosie hesitantly asks. “Do you know what happened?”

Alastor sways slightly, and he speaks without opening his mouth, the murmuring of a club behind his voice “I really do appreciate you for hosting tonight’s events.”

Mimzy’s high pitched accent follows after, “Ugh, not as mucha problem as it coulda been. But business’ business, even if they’ stealin’ my number one man.”

A low chuckle, “I assure you, they aren’t stealing me from anybody.”

A clink of glasses and they both drink, with Alastor letting out a sigh, “And they most certainly aren’t stealing me from the dancefloor. Come on, darling, it’s been such a long while.”

Mimzy laughs, “Well, as long as you keep up the-” A scream and Mimzy’s huffs, “Ugh! What now?”

A click of little heels as Mimzy hops off the stool and the audio distorts. The low murmur of the club breaks and Alastor hums in dull interest. He calls out to the bartender, “Another shot, please.”

The background voices and conversation of the club start to warp, and Charlie can hear herself and other hotel residents pitch up in the crowd like an isolated track, one by one. A headcount? But something clicks as he stops in between a switch, a hushed whispering of a sweet southern voice, followed by another woman with a similar tone. Alastor gasps in the recording, and the voices only increase in number, like he’s in the middle of a group of old, southern, women and there’s Rosie’s voice somewhere in the mix, what might’ve been Vox, what probably was Mimzy and Charlie and Husk and not a single word can be parsed in the crowd of voice. The white noise of people growing louder and louder til Charlie is covering her ears and the audio screeches as everyone starts to scream.

The recording cuts off with a click.

Silence settles between them, and Alastor finally sits down with an electronic hum. Claws still raking through his hair. Rosie clucks her tongue with maternal disappointment, “Vox probably didn’t help with all this, did he?”

“Vox--xzzz--didn’t help.” Alastor repeats in Rosie’s voice.

“Such a shame,” Rosie chides, “I was thinkin’ of addin’ another step to his plan.”

Alastor amusedly huffs and Charlie thinks it was an inside joke. Rosie just smiles, “There ya are. How y’feeling? Good? Bad? Somewhere in between?”

“In between.” Alastor buzzes, covering his face with his hand.

Rosie nods sagely, “We can work with that. Do you still hear the voices? Yes? No? Maybe so?”

“Maybe so?” He repeats.

“That’s okay.” Rosie hums, “Look, how about we go over to my place and we can play piano together, have some tea, gossip and all that it takes for you to feel better. That way we don’t need to deal with Lucifer in the limo.”

Alastor growls, a distorted, staticy thing. Rosie chortles, “If you don’t feel like teleporting we can always take my way. No need to rely on our dear king for anything.”

“Our dear king.” Alastor rumbles, somehow sounding sarcastic when using Rosie’s own voice.

He stands up. Rosie and Charlie take that as their cue and stand up as well, brushing off the dirt and the dust. “We’ll be waiting for you at the hotel.” Charlie kindly informs.

Alastor glowers at Charlie, though she dismisses it easily. Rosie approaches Alastor with a kind look on her face, “Ready to go home?”

“Ready--xz?” Alastor takes Rosie’s hands and they’re enveloped in shadow.

They’re gone. The air buzzing for a moment as it adjusts to the sudden lack of Alastor. Charlie sighs. Deep and exhausted. She walks back to the limo.

“Where’s Petunia and Assfuck?” Her father asks, leaning against the car.

Charlie opens the door and gets inside, “They’ve gone home.”

Lucifer joins in on the other side. Charlie lets herself lean against her father, letting the stress and exhaustion of the day out as she starts to cry a little bit, “I wanna go home too.”

Chapter Text

Charlie lightly dozes in her girlfriend’s lap as Vaggie scratches her scalp. The two lovebirds claim an entire couch to themselves, with apple slices set on a side table for them to snack on at their leisure. Vaggie brushes a thumb across Charlie’s forehead, just thankful and grateful that her princess is home safe. She reaches over for an apple slice, and presses it against her girlfriend’s lips which bites into the apple with a satisfying crunch. Charlie giggles, the little indulgence feeling a little silly to her.

Across from them, Lucifer has his legs kicked up over Husk’s lap while having an animated conversation with Angel Dust. Maybe if it were anyone else Husk would’ve kicked them off, but the way Lucifer seems to absentmindedly preen his wings felt good. A sort of hind brain instinct for the both of them, a kind of community bonding that neither of them fully realize but makes Asmodeus smile as he brings in a still steaming apple pie. Lucifer reaches for it, “Apple pie!”

Ozzie smacks his hands away, “You are not going to be eating it with your bare hands, let me cut it up first.”

“I have to say,” Angel comments, leaning against Fizzarolli, “I did not expect our king to be so much of a gremlin.”

Lucifer grumbles as Ozzie laughs, serving individual pie slices on conjured plates, “Oh, you wouldn't know the half of it.” Ozzie chortles as he hands out the pie slices.

“Don't tell them that!” Lucifer complains as he takes his slice of apple pie, “I’m supposed to be their respectable king!”

“Define respectable?” Husk inquires with a playful tilt of his head.

Lucifer hisses like a snake, “Oh, shut up! I am the most respectable of sins!”

“You are practically in his lap.” Fizzarolli inserts, gesturing between the two.

“And?” Lucifer asks demandingly before takeing a large bite out of his apple pie.

It prevents him from saying anything when Alastor walks into the room, tailed by Rosie. Asmodeus raises an eyebrow at the intrusion but Charlie sits up, “Alastor! How are you doing?”

Alastor plays a few notes of “Inside of Every Demon Is A Rainbow” in response. Charlie squeaks in delight, “Hello to you too!”

Alastor leaves, closing the door behind Rosie who grabs a slice of the apple pie as well. “Where’d he go?” Angel says with his mouth full.

“Try to chew with your mouth shut, honey.” Rosie admonishes, “But he’s just having a look around. Making sure nothing is out of place. I tell you he’s not a big fan of the hotel being altered like this, but he’s not going to be angry about it.”

“Bastard doesn't like anything changing.” Husk grumbles.

Asmodeus approaches the overlord, “I’m sorry, but you are Rosie, correct?”

“The one and only!” Rosie smiles, offering her hand.

Ozzie presses a chaste kiss against the back of her palm and smiles across all three of his heads, “Asmodeus. You must be quite the overlord to tackle Alastor.”

“What a charmer! Shouldn't expect anything less then the lord of lust.” Rosie compliments before waveing dismissively, “And really, you should be thanking Charlie. She was a wonderful help to getting our deer back in order.”

“Oh stop.” Charlie blushes and buries her face into Vaggie’s shoulder.

Husk asks, “What’s he doin’ here anyways?”

Rosie waves vaguely, “Oh, just lookin’ around, makin’ sure things are in order. He was a little surprised that he wasn't able to teleport to you directly, Charlie, usually it’s so easy”

Charlie raises an eyebrow and Rosie is more then happy to explain, “You’re very powerful, my dear, and any demon worth their magical salt can sense it on the other side of the city. You’re like a homing beacon.”

Lucifer finishes chewing on his apple pie, “Wait, so just anyone can teleport to Charlie-bear?”

“Well, anyone can teleport to any individual once you learn their flavor.” Rosie explains, “But from what I hear you Morningstars have a particular kick.” Lucifer starts to get up, “Oh, calm down dear. Not every sinner can teleport and the few who can that decide teleporting to the nearest well of power is a great idea usually don't last long.”

Lucifer frowns, before sitting back down, curled up in the crook of Husk’s wing. Rosie chitters, finding the action adorable. Asmodeus conjures a seat, “Sit, m’lady. Stay a while.”

“Ohoohoo! Such a gentleman!” Fizzarolli heckles.

Before Asmodeus can respond Rosie fires back, “I’m sure you’d know that.”

Asmodeus and Fizz stare at eachother and Rosie titters, “Oh dear, is it still too soon to mention it? I hope I didn't cause offense.”

Ozzie immediately soothes, putting a hand on the back of Rosie’s seat, “It’s fine dear. Just…a testy subject. Hard to say what exactly others mean about it.”

“Well I think your romance is adorable!” Rosie titters, putting a comforting hand on the blushing sin, “The way you protected him! Tearing away all the power from Mammon as you announce your love to the world! Oh,” she turns to Fizz, “And your song! Oh, it’s the most delightful thing to hear. Not my usual cup of tea, but the subject matter is a whole favorite of mine that it’s taken up permanent residence in my radio!”

Lucifer barks a quick laugh as Ozzie and Fizz brightly blush, recoiling from the unabashed praise. Angel jokingly presses the back of his hand against Fizz’s forehead, “Careful there Rosie, Fizzie might explode if you give him any more compliments!”

“Yeah!” Lucifer calls out, “Tell Ozzie how much romantic he is! Did you know he wrote a love song!”

“I did not!” Ozzie interjects with fire wisping his mane.

“Did too! Do you really think Belph wouldn't use her bazillion security cameras to watch her brother serenade his lover?” Lucifer stretches like a languid cat, pushing his body into Husk’s.

“She’s got better things to do!” Two of Ozzie’s heads are refusing to make eye contact.

“As if being a nosy prick counts as work!” Lucifer laughs, “She sits down with a bag of popcorn and watches us like her telenovelas! We’re prime entertainment, Oz!”

Alastor steps back into the room at that moment. Lucifer groans a complaint, though Alastor doesn't react. He’s buzzing like a broken, scattered radio, and starts pacing like a caged animal. He points to certain people in the room, Charlie, Angel, Husk, Vaggie, Rosie, Charkle, Husk, Rosie, he’s counting. “Why ain’t he talkin?” Angel asks, picking a thread off the couch with one hand as he wraps another two around Fizz.

Alastor growls with a show of teeth, a yellowed, staticky thing. Then there’s an inquisitve chirp, like that of a cricket. Niffty emerges from behind Husk’s back where she’s curled up for a nap, blinking sleep out of her eye, “Sir?”

Alastor lifts her up and twirls her around. He presses a kiss against her forehead, a kiss against Husk’s forehead, which the cat swipes away, and he saunters over to Rosie to press a kiss against her cheek while giving her a little squeeze all while still holding Niffty close to his chest. She’s fussing with his shirt collar and bow tie, more out of habit then anything actually being wrong.

A jaunty jazz tune emerges from Alastor and Niffty chitters in surprise and delight. She presses both of her hands against Alastor’s chest, feeling the vibration as the saxophone squeals through the speakers, “There you are!” She cries, and wraps both arms around Alastor’s neck in a hug.

Alastor smiles, a small, genuine thing, and hugs Niffty back.

It would've lasted longer if Charlie didn't start squealing from the cuteness. Alastor narrows an irritated look at her, though makes no attempts at removing Niffty or Niffty’s arms from around his neck. Rosie presses a comforting hand against Alastor’s shoulder and Asmodeus magics Rosie’s chair into a loveseat. They all sit down, with Rosie giving Alastor a respectful space, with him petting Niffty’s hair. It’s a bit of an odd sight, but you already got two sex symbols, and a pair of gamblers cuddling, so it ain’t that weird when you think about it. “Yo smiles,” Angel asks, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, “It’s okay if you don't wanna talk. I mean, you’re such a chatty cathy, it’s almost unnerving to hear you like this.”

Alastor hums indecisively, like he’s unsure how to react to that comment. Rosie butts in, “Don't worry about it. Alastor will be back to his normal self in not time at all!”

Charlie squeaks, “I’m just happy he knows one of my songs!”

Alastor looks at Charlie, before repeating a verse of the song she sang to cannibal town. She gasps, “I didn't think you’d remember.”

Alastor narrows his gaze, trying to telepathically communicate feelings of what-the-fuck, I was right there? I gave you my microphone. But only half of that message goes through with body language alone. “Of course he’d remember!” Rosie declares for him, “You were such a delight, we’d love to have you back in cannibal town.”

“Of course he’d remember!” Alastor uses Rosie’s voice, gesturing accordingly, “-zt- such a delight.”

Angel’s eyes fill with mischief, “Wait, would ya get in trouble for swearin’ if you used my voice to say fuck?”

Alastor wrinkles his nose in distaste and turns to Rosie. “Oh?” She realizes what he’s asking of her, “Oh!” She turns to Angel with an excited smile, “Alastor says eat shit and die.”

Angel laughs at that, doubling over wheezing. Fizz pats his back as Angel snorts and giggles. Alastor’s ears twitch, unsure. The static seems to hum a little louder but Niffty pats him on the chest and shushes him. He looks at her and huffs. She giggles lightly and huffs back, clearly imitating him.

Charlie opens her mouth to comment how cute it is but closes it once she realizes that it would only make Alastor bristle. She mutters it into Vaggie’s ear though, and the moth woman smiles and nods. Lucifer has no such qualms about irritating the radio demon, “So Niffty and Husk get kisses but not me?”

Asmodeus smacks him for that one.

The conversation starts back up from there. Ozzie sits next to Fizz and Angel, soon finding himself covered in chatty twinks that find his body heat very attractive. Husk comments when he has something to add and Lucifer rambles like he’s going to win a medal over it. Rosie inserts herself into the chatter with the kind of force only a Boston woman would have, amicably talking with the people around and juggling a dozen different social cues with ease. Alastor doesn't do much but provide background music and the standard badum-tss after jokes he likes, showing he’s listening even if Niffty is napping in his lap. Vaggie and Charlie are quiet, basking in the light conversation, filled with people that maybe, somehow, like each other. It’s been a hard and long day for everyone involved, but being with each other-- well it seems to make it just a little bit easier.