Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I drew this fan art and it left a lot of people asking what exactly happened. I don't want to draw a comic out of it because I felt like it wouldn't do justice to every thought i had in this au. So instead, I wrote a fic. Enjoy!

The ground was drenched in gold.

Blood pooled beneath Lucifer, staining the earth in amber. The air crackled with distant noise, but Alastor couldn’t hear it. He couldn’t feel anything beyond the weight in his chest.

All he could see was Lucifer.

Indestructible Lucifer.

Unyielding Lucifer.

Now lying motionless on the ground.

Everything was gold. Gold. GOLD.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his hands trembling as he reached out—desperate, frantic—to hold him.

You did this.

Tears blurred his vision, his breath ragged and broken. He pressed his hands over the king’s wound, as if he could stop the bleeding, as if his will alone could undo what had already been done.

“Lucifer, please… stay with me," he choked out, panic clawing up his throat.

No response.

Lucifer lay eerily still, as though he were nothing more than a lifeless body.

"You promised you'd stay with me. You promised."

Silence.

A wretched, keening scream tore from Alastor’s throat. The world tilted, collapsing inward.

And then—

He woke with a violent gasp, his body jerking upright. His chest heaved, fingers clutching at the sheets. He looked down at his hands, expecting them to be slick with blood, to feel warmth seeping through his fingertips.

But there was nothing.

His breath still uneven, he turned to his left.

Lucifer lay beside him, sleeping peacefully. Alive.

The sight anchored him, unraveling the panic in his chest. With an exhale, Alastor sank back into the bed, letting the cold sweat dry on his skin, waiting for his hands to stop shaking.

The memory felt so fresh, so raw—despite the fact that nearly two months had passed since it happened.

That day didn’t start with a bang. In fact, it started like any other.

Alastor had been on his way to Rosie’s for their weekly tea session when, without warning, everything went black.

When he came to, hours had passed. He was in an abandoned warehouse, bound to a chair, his mouth sealed shut with duct tape. The dim light barely illuminated the rusted metal walls and cracked concrete floor.

And it was quiet. Too quiet.

No honking. No distant chatter of pedestrians. No muffled rumble of subway trains beneath him. The absence of the city’s restless heartbeat made his skin crawl. Instead, the only sound was the wind, seeping through broken panels with a low, eerie howl.

The air was colder, untouched by car exhaust or the acrid stench of urban filth. Instead, it smelled of rust, and damp earth.

Definitely outside Pentagram City.

For a while, he was alone.

Then, footsteps echoed against the concrete. The door groaned open, and his captors filed in.

He wasn’t surprised to see Vox, flanked by Valentino and Velvette. The three of them always had a bone to pick with him—especially Vox. Their rivalry had spanned decades, fueled by grudges neither of them had ever been willing to let go.

What did surprise him was the figure walking beside Vox.

A pristine, armored angel. Lute.

Alastor’s eyes narrowed. Lute wasn’t just any angel, she was one of Adam’s right-hand men. A high-ranking officer who oversaw the exterminations of Hell’s sinners.

If Lute was here, that meant Heaven was involved.

And if Heaven was involved, there could only be one reason.

Lucifer.

Alastor’s brow knit together as the memory resurfaced. What if he had been more vigilant that day? What if he had noticed the danger before it was too late? If he hadn’t been kidnapped… maybe Lucifer wouldn’t have had to—

He cut the thought off before it could sink its claws any deeper.

A sudden pull at his waist snapped him from his reverie. Lucifer, still deeply asleep, had drawn him closer, his arm tightening possessively around him. Alastor shifted slightly, adjusting to the embrace, but the monarch only hummed in response, nestling further into his warmth.

Alastor exhaled a quiet sigh and turned onto his side, fully facing the sleeping king.

The first light of dawn slipped through the grand windows, spilling over the vast bedroom and pooling onto the bed in soft golden and crimson hues. The glow traced the curve of Lucifer’s shoulder, gliding over tousled golden locks that caught the light like strands of molten sunlight.

He was beautiful like this.

Peaceful. Unburdened. Untouched by the weight of his crown.

There was no doubt, Lucifer had been God’s favorite.

But…

Alastor’s lips trembled. A familiar weight, cold and suffocating, coiled around his chest. The guilt he had tried so hard to lock away clawed its way back to the surface. Slowly, he lifted a hand, fingers hovering hesitantly before tracing along Lucifer’s face.

His fingertips ghosted over the scar that ran across the king’s eye.

The scar he got from…

"Alastor."

The bindings snapped away, torn apart by a flick of Lucifer’s wrist. Shackles clattered to the ground, leaving Alastor free. He stared at the monarch in surprise, flexing his stiff fingers. The hours spent bound had left his body aching, his joints popping as he stretched.

Lucifer stood before him, blood—both black and red—splattered across his once-pristine clothing. The heavy scent of iron lingered in the air, mixing with the remnants of carnage. Alastor didn’t need to ask what had happened outside, the distant screams had already painted the picture.

"Are you alone?" Alastor asked, rolling his shoulders, feeling his bones settle back into place.

Lucifer huffed. "Not entirely. Most of the gang wanted to come when they heard about your abduction."

Alastor blinked. The residents of the hotel wanted to rescue him?

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. The thought sent an unfamiliar warmth curling in his stomach—one he’d have to examine later.

With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer’s bloodstained garments turned pristine white again. He sighed in satisfaction, making a few pleased noises as he admired his restored attire. Then he turned back to Alastor with a smirk.

"But I told them to wait outside before I cleared the place. I didn’t want them getting in my way."

Alastor scoffed, dusting himself off. "How magnanimous of you, Your Highness."

"Oh? Back to ‘Your Highness’ now?" Lucifer teased, leading the way out.

As they stepped into the dimly lit corridor, Alastor finally took in the aftermath. The hallway was a slaughterhouse, mangled bodies of sinners and hellborns littered the ground, their blood smeared across the walls in gruesome patterns. The stench of death hung thick in the air, soaking into the very foundation of the warehouse.

And Lucifer had done all this… for him.

His chest tightened.

“Feeling good about yourself, your shortness?” he quipped, pushing down whatever emotions threatened to surface.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Not even a thank y—"

Before he could finish, Alastor pulled him close, crashing their lips together.

Lucifer barely had time to react before Alastor parted his lips, allowing the king’s tongue to claim him. The king seized the invitation, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing. Only for Alastor to abruptly shove him away just as the kiss deepened.

"Was that satisfactory?" he murmured, face warm.

Lucifer licked his lips, his grin turning wicked. "Mmm… let me think."

Before they reached the exit, Lucifer grabbed him, this time taking control. With a firm grip, he bent Alastor to his will, crushing their mouths together once more. The sinner let out a surprised squeak as Lucifer’s tongue invaded his mouth once more.

For a moment, the massacre around them didn’t exist. There were only the two of them, entangled in a heated kiss, surrounded by the wreckage Lucifer had left in his wake.

Finally, Lucifer pulled back, leaving Alastor gasping for air.

"You’re greedy," the sinner accused.

Lucifer smirked, running his tongue over his lower lip. "Hey, saving you requires payment."

"And here I thought you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart."

The king laughed, low and indulgent. "Oh, my heart’s feeling very good right now sweetheart—especially after seeing your lovely face."

Alastor didn’t reply, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Talking with Lucifer like this had a way of quieting the storm in his mind. He would never say it out loud, but deep down, there was always that lingering fear. That he was too much trouble, that one day, everyone would finally decide he wasn’t worth the effort. That this whole ordeal would be the perfect excuse to leave him behind.

Even with the bond he had forged with the king, a part of him had always wondered if, when it truly mattered, he would still be a priority.

And yet… here Lucifer was, proving him wrong.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with that.

Lucifer came to an abrupt stop, forcing Alastor to pause mid-step. He turned back, brow raised in question.

"I know what you're thinking," Lucifer murmured.

Alastor tilted his head. "Hmm?"

"Your brows are doing that thing again, the one you do when you're doubting yourself." A small, knowing smile tugged at Lucifer’s lips. "I’d recognize it anywhere. I do it too, you know."

Alastor felt as if he'd been flayed open. Was it really that easy for Lucifer to see through him? He scoffed, forcing nonchalance into his tone. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Lucifer said nothing, simply stepping closer. His fingers ghosted over Alastor’s wrists, tracing the raw marks left by the bindings. Then, without warning, the king lifted them to his lips, pressing the faintest of kisses against the bruised skin.

The touch was so unbearably gentle that Alastor instinctively tried to pull away, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the tenderness he wasn't sure he deserved.

"Your Majesty?" 

Lucifer met his gaze, and Alastor found himself rooted in place. There was something deep in those amber eyes, unwavering.

"No matter where you are, no matter what stands between us, I will always find you."

Alastor’s breath hitched as Lucifer took his hands, intertwining their fingers. The warmth of his grasp was grounding, yet it sent his heart into a frenzy.

"Even if they drag you to the ends of the earth, bury you beneath a thousand lies, I will find my way back to you."

The words settled over him like an oath, echoing in the hollowed silence of the corridor. A promise. A vow. It left Alastor speechless.

Lucifer exhaled, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "You will never have to wonder if I’ll come for you, because I always will."

At that moment, Alastor wished he had something equally profound to say in return. But he didn't know, couldn't have known, that everything would change moments later.

That outside the warehouse, the Vees and Lute would be waiting. That the king of hell would cut through them like a blade through silk, barely breaking a sweat.

That none of it would matter.

Because then, another presence descended.

A force unlike any other.

The air itself trembled as the weight of the divine pressed above them, its presence so vast that it rippled through every corner of Hell, reaching even the farthest depths of the Rings.

And standing before them, golden armor gleaming, eyes cold with righteous judgment—

Was Michael, the Angel of Judgment. The Prince of Heaven. The leader of God’s army.

"Al?"

Lucifer's left eye cracked open, his mind still lingering between the haze of sleep and wakefulness. His voice was drowsy, thick with the remnants of a dream. A rather lovely one, mind you, in which he and Alastor were on a date. A perfect little fantasy, rudely interrupted by the touch of fingers against his face.

As consciousness settled in, the blurry edges of Alastor’s face sharpened into clarity. And— wow.

No matter how many times Lucifer awoke to this sight, he could never quite get used to it. The way the dim light caught on Alastor’s features, painting him in soft golds and reds, it was almost unfair. Beauty incarnate. A perfection beyond even celestial craftsmanship.

Especially when he looked at him like that.

Eyes glassy, brows drawn together ever so slightly. A look Lucifer was quite familiar with, usually reserved for moments when Alastor was beneath him, panting and at the toes of pleasure. And yet, somehow, the same expression now, was just as maddening.

A sight for sore eyes, indeed.

Wait.

Lucifer’s brow furrowed as his sluggish mind finally caught up. Alastor was speaking, voice thick with guilt.

“This is my fault.”

“If you hadn’t saved me—”

Okay, enough of that.

Lucifer cupped Alastor’s face, his touch firm yet gentle as he pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. “Stop. This is not your fault.”

He felt the tremble in Alastor’s breath, the hesitation. Lucifer silenced it the only way he knew how, by scattering soft, reverent kisses across the sinner’s face. “It could never be.”

“But—”

Lucifer kissed the tip of Alastor’s nose, effectively cutting off his protest. The deer’s face was a mess of warmth, his cheeks dusted in red, eyes still uncertain but no longer resisting.

“Hush.” His voice softened, yet there was no room for doubt in it. “I made my choice.”

And it was a choice he would never regret.

Hell trembled.

Storm clouds churned, as lightning from the clashes carved jagged wounds into the sky. The sheer force of the battle shook the air itself. No mere mortal, demon, or angel could hope to match the power on display. They were forces beyond reckoning. Two celestial twin brothers, the highest of God’s creations, locked in a clash that could unmake the world itself.

Lucifer stood atop the tallest skyscraper in Pentagram City, his six wings unfurled. Golden hair shimmered under the storm’s fury, his apple-shaped cane now a long golden spear, its shaft engraved with ancient Enochian runes. It had been eons since he last wielded this weapon, but against Michael, there was never any other choice.

Above him, Michael hovered, his own six wings beating against the wind, keeping him aloft. The angel had just dodged one of Lucifer’s attacks, and irritation flashed across his perfect features. Lucifer smirked.

“To think Heaven would send its precious prince just to retrieve a single angel,” the devil mused with mockery. “You must really take me for a fool, brother.”

Michael’s grip on his crystalline broad sword tightened, the blade gleaming with divinity. “I have no obligation to explain myself to you.”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed, his fingers flexing around his spear. “From where I’m standing, you look an awful lot like you’re in cahoots with the merry little gang down there. If you wanted to see me, you could’ve just sent a text.”

“Why would I ever want to see a traitor like you? Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgiven you.”

Lucifer barely had time to grin before Michael lunged. The archangel's blade cut through the air like a shooting star. Lucifer met him in kind, spear raised to block the strike. The moment their weapons clashed, a deafening shockwave burst outward, shattering windows across the city’s skyline. Entire buildings groaned from the force, their steel frames rattled.

The impact sent both warriors skidding back through the air, separating them once more.

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Lucifer purred before launching forward, a streak of golden fire. Their battle resumed at a blistering pace, faster than any mortal eye could follow. Two streaks of divine wrath colliding again and again, each clash sending ripples through the Ring.

Lucifer struck, his spear slicing across Michael’s shoulder. A thin line of golden ichor bloomed in its wake. “You do realize you’re in my domain now,” he taunted, watching Michael's jaw tighten. “And as far as I’m concerned, that makes you a suspected accomplice in the abduction of one of my own.”

Michael’s gaze flickered downward, to the red-haired sinner standing in the middle of the ruined street below.

Sinners fled in terror around Alastor, desperate to escape the war raging above their heads. Glass rained down from broken windows, buildings groaned, and the very pavement cracked beneath the weight of the collision.

Michael descended in a blur of movement. One moment he was above, the next he was standing before Alastor, gripping the sinner’s chin between his fingers.

Alastor went rigid.

He hadn’t even seen him move. But now, the most dangerous being he’d ever encountered was right there, inspecting him as though peering into the depths of his very soul. It was suffocating. As if every sin he had ever committed, every dark thought he had ever entertained, was laid bare beneath this angel’s gaze, the angel who bore Lucifer’s face.

Then came fire.

The devil appeared in an instant, golden spear wreathed in flames as he thrust it toward Michael’s side. But the archangel was quicker. He feinted left, evading the strike, and leapt to the top of the nearest building with effortless grace. Yet his gaze never left the sinner.

Lucifer positioned himself in front of Alastor, his stance protective, his wings flaring wide as if to shield him from sight. His heart pounded, not from battle, but something far more insidious, fear.

Real fear.

Not for himself.

But for Alastor.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch him,” Lucifer snarled, his voice like thunder rolling through the broken streets.

Michael watched him, impassive. Then, slowly, his expression shifted, just slightly, but enough for Lucifer to catch it. Understanding. Disgust.

“I see.”

The archangel lifted his sword, divine power crackling along the length of the blade. His fingers traced a series of intricate sigils in the air, causing its glow to intensify.

“So this is what you’ve become, Samael.”

Lucifer’s glare darkened. Even now, after everything, Michael still insisted on calling him that name. The name he had cast aside long ago. Even his other siblings, on the rare occasions they met at the embassy to discuss business, had learned to address him as Lucifer after he made it clear that "Samael" no longer existed. But Michael? He never listened. Never respected his wishes.

His twin had always been the most stubborn man he had ever known.

Lucifer knew what would come next—the attack, the clash. Before Michael could make the first move, Lucifer struck preemptively, slamming into him and forcing their battle to another location. Anywhere but here. Anywhere away from Alastor.

Back on the ground, Lucifer’s clone wasted no time. He seized Alastor, lifting him into a bridal carry before soaring in the opposite direction.

“Lucifer! What are you doing? Unhand me this instant!”

In his arms, Alastor thrashed violently, fists pounding against his chest with little effect. His face flushed with indignation.

“And let you try to find me again? Not a chance.” Lucifer’s clone tightened his grip, wings cutting through the air at speed. “Did I not tell you to stay with Charlie at the hotel? I placed protective runes there for situations exactly like this. It’s the safest place in all of Hell right now.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with that monster!” Alastor snapped. “I can fight, I can help!”

Lucifer’s arms were like iron bands around him, unyielding. “This isn’t a debate, Al. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“And if I leave, you’ll die! I’m not going to stand around in that damn hotel and let that happen!”

Lucifer’s wings faltered slightly under the weight of Alastor’s resistance. Worse, the farther he got from his original body, the one pouring all its power into the fight, the faster this clone's strength drained. It had just enough energy to get Alastor as far away from danger as possible.

“Listen to me,” Lucifer said. “I know you want to help. But here? You’re a liability. Michael will use you against me. He’ll target you because he knows what you are to me.”

The wind howled around them, carrying the distant sounds of their battle, yet in this moment, the world narrowed to just the two of them.

Alastor clenched his jaw. He knew Lucifer was right. Logic told him so. But his heart—the foolish, stubborn thing—refused to listen.

“I’m not a burden…” Alastor muttered, his voice quieter now. “I can handle myself. Just let me help.”

Lucifer looked down at him then, taking in the conflict written across his face. His expression softened, but his resolve did not waver.

“The best way you can help me is by staying alive. Back at the hotel.”

Alastor’s breath hitched. “I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” Lucifer assured him. “But if you stay, you will. Michael can’t hurt me. Not really. But he can if he goes through you.” 

His grip tightened, finality settling into his tone. “So, for once, just shut up and listen to me.”

They landed on the outskirts of the city, far from the devastation at its heart. Alastor stumbled as his feet touched the ground, his legs wobbling beneath him. He turned, one last plea ready on his lips, but before he could speak, Lucifer took his hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

“I promise I’ll be back,” Lucifer murmured. “You won’t lose me.”

The fight drained out of Alastor all at once, though it didn’t feel like victory.

“My clone won’t last much longer. The hotel is just a few blocks away. Go. And don’t look back. That’s an order.”

Alastor opened his mouth, then shut it. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

With a sigh, he turned and ran.

He didn’t look back.

But he felt it, the moment Lucifer’s presence vanished.

Above the city, the two brothers clashed midair. Michael’s sword carved through the air in a wide arc, but Lucifer twisted away, his spear darting forward like a serpent’s strike. Michael parried, the impact detonating another shockwave that rippled through Pentagram City. The skyline now looked like a war-torn wasteland.

“That sinner reeks of you.” Michael accused as he unleashed a downpour of lightning, each bolt crackling toward Lucifer.

Lucifer wove through the strikes, his movements as fluid as they had been in the days when they sparred as brothers, pushing each other to become stronger. The only two in creation who could truly match one another.

He smirked, tilting his head mockingly. “Oh? Would you like to know why? Should I give you a lesson on the birds and the bees?”

Michael’s expression hardened. The storm clouds above churned, gathering in his command before unleashing a deadly barrage of razor-sharp hail.

“A sinner,” he seethed. “Of all creatures in existence, that’s what you chose?”

Lucifer scoffed, summoning a barrier of infernal fire. The moment the ice struck, it evaporated into harmless steam.

“Rain check on that, brother. I already did. Lilith. Ring any bells?”

Michael’s grip on his sword tightened at the name, memories surfacing—of the woman who had led his brother astray, who had been the first domino in Samael’s fall. He should have seen it coming back then, with how often his twin had asked about her, the way he spoke of her as if she were a mystery he had to unravel.

“That woman was one thing,” Michael spat. “But this? A murderer. A cannibal. You’re as vile as the creatures you once cursed with free will.”

Lucifer’s eyes flared. “Don’t talk about Alastor that way.”

“So that’s its name.”

The air grew thick with salt and moisture. The temperature plummeted as divine power surged around Michael, ancient words spilling from his lips—words Lucifer recognized instantly. His twin’s sword began to glow, a vortex of water and ice forming at its core.

Lucifer’s grip on his spear tightened. Ice Severance. Michael’s most devastating technique. But this time, it wasn’t just ice. It was laced with divinity.

His mind raced. He had one chance to counter this, one precise opening. Infernal fire surged along his spear, curling around the weapon like a living thing. He braced himself, eyes locked on Michael’s movements, waiting for the exact moment to strike.

Then something changed.

Michael smiled.

Lucifer felt it before he saw it. The shift in his brother’s attention, the flick of his azure eyes to the side.

Lucifer’s blood ran cold.

“Not that it’ll need it for much longer,” Michael murmured.

And then he moved.

Michael twisted his body, redirecting the tsunami—a towering, holy wave of blessed water and ice as sharp as steel—not toward Lucifer.

But toward Alastor.

Alastor shivered as Lucifer’s thumb traced slow, soothing circles against his cheek. The king’s lips ghosted downward, brushing over his skin until they met his own. The kiss started soft, tentative, until Lucifer pressed in deeper, the warmth of his mouth enveloping Alastor’s own.

Lucifer’s lips moved against his, coaxing him open, and Alastor surrendered without resistance. Their tongues met, tangling in a slow, wet dance. Lucifer tasted of apples and bourbon, rich and heady, leaving Alastor lightheaded. The king pulled him closer, their chests flush, the heat between them impossible to ignore.

Then came the bite. A startled moan slipped past Alastor’s lips, and Lucifer hummed in amusement, his smile curling against his skin before he plunged his tongue back in, deepening the kiss once more.

Minutes slipped by as their lips remained locked, tasting, exploring—until Lucifer finally pulled away. Alastor barely had time to gather himself, his lips kiss-bruised, breath uneven, before Lucifer leaned in again. This time to press a lingering kiss to his temple.

“You know,” Lucifer murmured, “I would make that choice again. A thousand times over.”

Alastor blinked, his breath still catching in his throat as the words settled. When he met Lucifer’s gaze, the king was serious, the teasing edge gone.

“I would stand against all of Heaven itself if it meant you get to live.”

Alastor knew he meant it. The scar on Lucifer’s face, the one he earned taking a deathblow meant for him, was proof enough.

His lips trembled. He clenched his fists, and buried himself in the king’s warmth. His devotion, his loyalty, his love, he would give it all to Lucifer. He didn’t know what he had done to deserve this man’s love, but he swore he would return it tenfold.

The hospital room was eerily silent, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Alastor sat slumped in the chair beside the bed, his head resting on the edge of the mattress, fingers loosely wrapped around Lucifer’s hand.

They were in the Sloth Ring now. Normally, no sinner could leave the Pride Ring, but with Lucifer incapacitated, Charlie had assumed her role as acting queen of Hell. One of her first decrees had been to make Alastor an exception, to allow him to travel freely between rings. The runes had accepted the royal order, granting him passage to be here. To be with him.

This was the largest hospital in Hell, overseen by Lady Belphegor herself. The Sin of Sloth was the head doctor handling Lucifer’s case, yet despite the best care Hell had to offer, the king had yet to wake.

Days had passed. Alastor never left his side. The hellborn nurses urged him to rest, but every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that moment. Back in the face of the storm.

The wave, rising like a mountain.

The jagged ice, glinting like knives.

The crack of divine lightning, splitting the sky.

And Lucifer, standing in front of him, taking the full force of it all.

He hadn’t even had time to react. One moment, he was staring death in the face. The next, a barrier had formed around him, and Lucifer—foolish, infuriating Lucifer—was crumpling to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.

Helpless.

The memory clenched around his chest like a vice. His grip tightened on Lucifer’s hand, silently pleading for him to wake up. The waiting was unbearable.

And then—

A twitch beneath his fingers.

Alastor’s breath caught. His head shot up, barely daring to hope.

Lucifer’s right eye was open.

The king was looking at him.

Alastor froze, throat tightening, unable to speak. He watched as Lucifer’s fingers trembled, barely lifting to brush against his hair, weak, but there. Alive.

“Beautiful,” Lucifer whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible, but it was enough.

His vision blurred. A choked sob escaped his throat as he pressed his forehead against Lucifer’s hand, shoulders trembling. "You absolute fool."

"You reckless, insufferable fool! You could’ve died! Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to me?"

Lucifer’s hand shifted, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing away his tears. "I’m sorry."

But Alastor couldn’t stop crying. He clung to Lucifer’s hand, tears spilling onto the sheets. "And beautiful? That’s the first thing you say after scaring me half to death?"

Lucifer’s lips curled into a familiar, teasing smirk. "Hey, I said sorry right after. Doesn’t that count for something?"

Alastor pulled back just enough to glare at him, though the effect was weakened by the tears still streaking his face. "You wouldn’t have to apologize if you didn’t keep throwing yourself into danger. Don’t ever do that for me again."

"Tough luck," Lucifer murmured. Then, with what little strength he had, he lifted Alastor’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles, just like before. "Because I’d do it again. Every single time."

Alastor wanted to argue. To yell. To beg him to stop being so reckless. To tell him how terrifying it had been to see him motionless on the ground, soaked in his own blood. But words failed him.

Instead, he climbed onto the bed, pressing himself against Lucifer’s side, seeking warmth. Seeking proof that he was still here.

"You really are a fool," he murmured.

Lucifer chuckled, shifting just enough to accommodate him, his arms weak but still pulling him nearer. Up close, the king could catch the scent of the deer—an unmistakable trace of Eden that clung to him, always lingering. It was both comforting and uncanny. A sinner carrying the fragrance of paradise… Perhaps it was fate that Alastor was always meant to belong to him. "I’m your fool."

"...Yes, you are." Alastor curled in closer, burying himself in the familiar scent of Lucifer’s embrace. "Just, don’t ever leave me again. Please."

Lucifer’s hand slid to rest against the back of his neck, his touch steady despite the exhaustion weighing him down. "I’m not going anywhere. That’s a promise."

And for the first time in days, Alastor let himself believe it.

For the first time, he let himself rest.

Chapter Text

The meeting chamber of Heaven’s embassy was silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock. Lucifer sat slouched in his chair, drumming his fingers against the armrest, his single eye fixed on the door. It had been over a year since the fight with his brother had leveled half of Pentagram City. Rebuilding the capital had been a nightmare. Endless paperwork, endless demands, and the brutal drain on his power—because, technically, he was partly to blame.

Whatever. It had been a long time since he let loose in a fight. There weren’t many beings in Heaven or Hell who could push him that far anymore.

The door creaked open.

Michael stepped inside, sharp in a uniform clearly modeled after human cardinals—lame—and as stiff as ever. Lucifer felt his stomach twist.

Of course they sent him.

For a long moment, neither moved. Michael stood there like he wanted to bolt, but he shut the door quietly behind him and sat across the table without a word.

“You look like shit,” Michael said flatly, his posture so rigid it was almost funny.

Lucifer grinned, wide and full of teeth. If nothing else, making his brother uncomfortable was still satisfying. "Miss me that much, Mikey?"

Michael’s eyes flicked to the long scar running down Lucifer’s face, to the black eyepatch covering the ruin beneath. His mouth tightened.

"If you’d kept up with your training," Michael said coldly, "you wouldn’t have walked away half-blind."

Lucifer’s fingers stopped drumming. Anger prickled under his skin. “Funny. I don’t remember training ever involving you throwing my lover in harm’s way. It was our fight, brother. Guess cheating isn’t beneath angels after all."

Michael rolled his eyes. “Still hung up on that?”

Lucifer leaned forward, the chair scraping loudly against the polished floor. “Still confused why I chose him over you?”

“Yes,” Michael said without hesitation. “A sinner.”

Lucifer's smile sharpened, all fangs and fury. "He’s worth ten of you."

The silence that followed was brittle, ready to snap. Michael exhaled slowly through his nose, like Lucifer was a problem he didn’t have the patience to solve.

“We’re not here for this,” Michael said at last, his voice tight.

“No," Lucifer agreed, his grin never wavering. "We’re not."

The stack of documents lying between them felt more like a loaded weapon than a peace offering.