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CHAPTER THREE | SO ALASTOR TALKS TO HIMSELF… GOOD TO KNOW HE WAS NOT ALONE IN THAT DEPARTMENT
So, Alastor talked to himself. Good to know Lucifer wasn’t alone in that department.
Alright. Maybe—just maybe—he had it wrong. Maybe Alastor wasn’t actually out to get him, wasn’t scheming in the shadows to manipulate Charlie, wasn’t carving out some elaborate con to overthrow everything Lucifer had built. Maybe he was just here. For entertainment. Because he found something fun in all of this ridiculousness—the chaos of the hotel, the absurdity of sinners trying to be better, the strange, dysfunctional little family Charlie had created. Maybe, just maybe, he actually liked these sinners. Maybe he wasn’t playing them, wasn’t twisting his way into their trust with some hidden agenda, but genuinely enjoyed their presence.
When Lucifer came to this realization—when he accepted it—he wanted to punch himself directly in the face.
Because ugh. The mere idea of Alastor being nice was atrocious. Unnatural. It made his skin crawl just thinking about it. And yet… thinking of Alastor as his kind of not-really-but-maybe-actually-semi-friend wasn’t that crazy to think about.
Because the truth was—Lucifer didn’t have friends. Not anymore. Once upon a time, before everything collapsed around him, he had spent his time with the Sins, had entertained himself with their excesses, had indulged in their vices, had allowed himself to be present. But then his marriage with Lilith crumbled—divorce, the aftermath, the mess of emotions he refused to fully process. Depression had settled in like a second skin, wrapping around him so tightly that for decades, he simply hadn’t wanted to be around anyone. Hadn’t wanted to entertain the idea of companionship. Hadn’t wanted to engage in anything outside the walls he had built for himself.
And now? Now that he was starting to flourish again—awkwardly, unevenly, but still—of course, it had to be Alastor that he latched onto.
It didn’t matter that they fought constantly, didn’t matter that their banter was never-ending, didn’t matter that they still irritated each other beyond reason. Even after months—three months, maybe more—since Lucifer’s initial stay at the hotel, even when he had found a functional dynamic with the others, even when his relationship with Charlie was finally progressing—it was still Alastor he spent the most time with. Because there was something about that damn deer, undeniable, pulling, that made Lucifer gravitate toward him, that made every conversation with him feel alive.
Or—how should he describe it?
Every interaction with Alastor forced Lucifer into some extreme emotion. Annoyance, anger, wonder, joy, amusement. Nothing was simple, nothing was neutral. It was always something, always sharp, always pulling him into reactions that were far too strong for his liking. Passion might be the perfect word for it, except—except that word implied something else in his mind.
Something that frustrated him more than anything.
Because Lucifer had already resigned himself to the unfortunate fact that Alastor was, objectively, the prettiest thing in existence.
Fucking hell.
That was already bad enough, already an irritating truth he couldn’t shake, that kept clawing at the edges of his thoughts when he really didn’t want them there. He did not need to start having thoughts about him in a more sentimental way—did not need to acknowledge any possibility beyond that, did not need to entertain the idea that his willpower was slipping, his thoughts wandering, his irritation shifting into something else entirely.
No.
Lucifer was fine.
He was totally in control.
And if he repeated that enough times, maybe—just maybe—he could convince himself it was still true.
Lucifer had learned by now that being around Alastor meant expecting the unexpected.
There was something unnerving about him, not referring that eldritch thing of his, subtly unnatural in the way he existed, always so hyperaware, always perfectly poised, as if not a single detail in his surroundings ever escaped his attention. And yet—sometimes—when he was alone, or when he thought he was alone, Lucifer would catch glimpses of something else. Alastor would go still, eyes unfocused, staring at something beyond sight, beyond perception, and his ears—those damn fluffy things—would twitch, shifting as if listening to a sound only he could hear.
At first, Lucifer hadn’t thought much of it. It wasn’t unusual to drift away into one’s thoughts—to let the mind wander, to detach for a moment of silence. Hell, he did it too, sitting alone in his room, staring into the abyss of his own memories, letting himself be swallowed by thoughts far older than most could comprehend. But then—the weird part started happening.
Alastor spoke.
Not loudly. Not with the usual confidence and theatrical flourish that made his voice carry through rooms with ease. No—he whispered, lips moving as he muttered words into the air, rolling his eyes as if responding to something—someone—that wasn’t there.
What the hell?
The first time Lucifer noticed, he didn’t hesitate to call him out, demanding answers in sharp, direct questions "Who are you talking to? What the hell are you doing?"
But, of course, of course, Alastor—infuriating as ever—simply waved him off with that irritatingly casual grin, dismissing it with a smooth, effortless response "Oh, my dear Lucifer, I’m simply thinking out loud!"
Like hell he was.
Thinking out loud was not carrying an entire conversation with seemingly nothing, pausing at specific moments as if expecting a response. Thinking out loud was not rolling your eyes at a comment no one else heard, was not having a tone that suggested genuine interaction. Lucifer knew what thinking out loud looked like—he did it himself, pacing in solitude, muttering grievances and contemplations under his breath when he was alone. That wasn’t this.
Alastor wasn’t talking to himself.
He was talking to something else.
He really thought at first that Alastor was talking to that... that which must not be named because he was not going to acknowledge it at all, it was for the best, he did not need to worry about that thing that could eat him, well... Alastor could eat him too, technically, but that was not the point. The point was that at first he thought Alastor was communicating with it but he wasn't, which instantly relieved him.
It wasn’t until Lucifer decided to mask his presence—to truly watch without being watched—that he saw it. He rarely ever unleashed his full power, knew better than to let it spill freely, knew that the intensity of his being was too much for most creatures to handle. The same way his true form could melt the eyes of the unprepared, his presence, if left unrestrained, could warp reality in ways even he didn’t fully care to explore. So he kept it masked, controlled, suppressed to protect others—even if they would never realize it.
But when he chose to let himself see—to stretch his senses beyond their usual limits, past the veil of ordinary perception—he understood something fundamental about reality.
The universe was alive.
His Father had made it that way. It wasn’t just stars, wasn’t just matter, wasn’t just vast expanses of physics and time. It breathed. It shifted. It had an awareness—a sentience, subtle but undeniable. Lucifer had seen it firsthand, had helped in the shaping of existence, had stood at the precipice of creation and understood what it meant to be part of something boundless and endless.
And that was when he finally noticed.
While Lucifer could see the universe…
Alastor could hear it.
And Alastor’s universe was not silent.
Lucifer had always believed himself to be the pinnacle of perception. He could see the universe in a way no ordinary being could, his sight extending beyond the limits of the physical realm, witnessing the intricate weave of reality itself. The stars, the galaxies, the flow of cosmic energy—they were all visible to him, all pieces in the vast puzzle of existence. But now, as he observed Alastor, he realized something unsettling.
Alastor didn’t see the fabric of existence—he heard it.
His connection to sound waves, to frequencies beyond comprehension, was not simply a skill or a trick. It was something more. Lucifer watched him closely now, seeing the way Alastor’s ever-present radio waves seemed to intertwine with the very breath of the cosmos, tuning into something beyond ordinary perception. His presence resonated—unheard whispers threading through the very air he occupied, weaving into something vast and infinite.
The bastard could hear eternity itself.
And that—more than anything—made Lucifer pause.
It was the second time, he had a confirmation about Alastor just being more. The incident in the 'bayou', he hated to even think about, had been the first confirmation that Alastor hadn’t lied about his durability, about surviving Adam’s attack, about enduring something that should have killed him. Alastor was something beyond a simple sinner. Even if Lucifer couldn’t feel it emanating from him, couldn’t sense that fundamental difference within his being, the truth remained undeniable.
Lucifer could see the stars—brilliant, ancient, burning. But Alastor? Alastor could hear their dying songs.
The whispers of black holes collapsing inward, the final gasps of suns bleeding out into the void, the distant hum of existence itself unraveling and reforming in an endless cycle. It was not meant for mortal ears. Not even for celestial ones. And yet, Alastor basked in it, tuned in as if he belonged to it—as if he were born to listen to the cosmos, a vessel through which eternity whispered its secrets.
For the second time, Lucifer, so sure in his dominion, so secure in his sight, knew—there were things in this universe he would never perceive. Things only Alastor could understand.
The first, that disgusting so called bayou which was nothing more than an alluring trap for someone like him and yet—it thrived thanks to Alastor's will, thanks to that little crack in the poor universe. The second, being this power of hearing the universe, that he was sure had nothing to do with his stay in it during those seven years.
His Father, of course, could see and hear all that he created. But Lucifer—he had only ever seen it. Now, for the second time, he stood as a witness to something entirely different. A creature who heard what Lucifer could not. And it frustrated him—not because he felt threatened, not because he was afraid, all of those feelings he experienced during his first interaction with it. No, this time it frustrated him because he wanted to know.
He wanted to ask Alastor. To demand answers. To hear him describe what existed beyond Lucifer’s perception. What did he hear?
Lucifer felt a rare, burning curiosity that had nothing to do with power, nothing to do with control. This was something new—an uncharted discovery, something only Alastor could provide. Charlie had inherited his tendency to question everything, and now, Lucifer felt that same relentless need rise within him. He wanted to ask—wanted to understand.
And beyond that curiosity, beyond the desire for knowledge, there was another thought that lingered at the edges of his mind. A realization that crawled into his chest and settled there, quietly, patiently.
Lucifer had been alone for so long.
Existing in a way no one else could understand. Seeing what no one else could comprehend.
But now?
Now, he had proof that someone else might understand.
Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so lonely anymore.
If Alastor was in the same boat as him.
***
Lucifer wandered through the hotel, moving with no particular urgency, finding himself drawn toward one of the rooms he had originally created on a whim—a small library, tucked away from the bustle, barely touched by anyone aside from himself.
Or, as he had recently discovered, Alastor.
He hadn't expected the sinner to take much interest in the library, yet here they were—months into his stay, and somehow, this room had become one of the few spaces used exclusively by them. No one else frequented it, no one else lingered here for long, as if some unspoken agreement had made this place theirs alone.
Lucifer stepped through the entrance, eyes sweeping over the shelves, scanning the spines of books he had chosen mostly at random, a collection spanning millennia of knowledge. But what caught his attention was something new.
Some of the shelves had shifted.
There were books here that weren’t his.
Alastor had added to the collection.
Lucifer’s gaze narrowed slightly, not in annoyance, but in curiosity. The deer had been inspecting the books earlier, carefully placing his own among them, integrating them seamlessly into the existing arrangement. It wasn’t done thoughtlessly—there was an odd sort of precision in how they sat on the shelves, as if Alastor had deliberately crafted a space where his selections could blend in without disruption.
Lucifer allowed himself a small exhale, shaking off the surprise before his attention shifted.
Alastor sat in one of the chairs now, a book resting on his lap. At first glance, Lucifer assumed he was reading, absorbed in whatever absurd text he had chosen for the evening. But as he stepped closer, his assumptions faltered.
Alastor’s eyes were closed.
His ears twitched ever so slightly, shifting with an unseen rhythm, reacting to something Lucifer couldn’t perceive.
It took him only a second to realize—he was listening again.
Hearing the universe, sinking into the frequencies beyond comprehension, tuning himself into the very breath of existence. And Lucifer—who was always noticed by Alastor, whose presence was impossible to ignore—stood there, unseen, unheard.
Alastor hadn’t even realized he was in the room.
How loud must it be?
Lucifer remained where he stood, unmoving, arms crossed as he leaned against the bookshelf, watching Alastor with a quiet patience that was rare for him. The sinner hadn’t noticed him yet, too deeply immersed in whatever unearthly frequency he had tuned into, his expression oddly serene, his posture relaxed in a way that was never present when he was around others. His fingers rested lightly on the open pages of the book in his lap, unmoving, forgotten in favor of whatever played for his ears alone.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Alastor finally stirred, his ears twitching, his expression shifting slightly as awareness crept back into his features. Then, slowly, those red eyes opened—and the moment he saw Lucifer standing there, watching him with far too much scrutiny, his grin flickered into place like clockwork.
“Your Majesty! You do love to sneak up on me, don’t you?” his voice carried its usual amusement, the teasing lilt as effortlessly charming as ever, but there was a fraction of something else beneath it—surprise, maybe even hesitation, quickly masked behind his theatrics.
Lucifer didn’t respond immediately, his gaze steady, measured, watching the way Alastor adjusted himself in the chair, shifting as though preparing for whatever interrogation was coming next. He exhaled slowly before he finally spoke.
“I know what you’re doing.”
Alastor blinked, tilting his head just slightly, his grin unwavering but his posture not entirely relaxed “Oh? Whatever do you mean?”
Lucifer narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing away from the bookshelf and taking a single step forward, closer now, close enough to catch every subtle shift in Alastor’s demeanor “You can perceive the universe” he stated, voice even, lacking his usual bite, lacking any playful mockery “Through sound. Through your radio waves.”
Something flickered across Alastor’s expression—brief, fleeting, gone before Lucifer could fully catch it. But it had been there.
Lucifer inhaled slowly, allowing a brief moment of hesitation before continuing, his words softer this time, lacking any of his usual arrogance “I can sense it too” he admitted, voice carrying an unfamiliar weight, quiet, almost—shy “But my way is through sight.”
Alastor remained still, his grin frozen in place, his eyes sharp—too sharp, studying Lucifer now with the same intensity Lucifer had used to observe him.
Lucifer felt exposed.
Alastor exhaled, a quiet, measured sigh slipping past his lips, he closed the book on his lap, his fingers drumming idly against the cover of the book. It was rare for him to relent in conversation, rarer still for him to speak of things beyond the polished mask of amusement he always wore. But tonight, in the quiet hum of the library, with Lucifer watching him too intently to ignore, he chose not to deflect. Not entirely.
“When I arrived in Hell” Alastor began, his voice carrying a softness not often heard “And started learning how to use my powers, I began to hear things” he tilted his head slightly, as though listening even now, as though the frequencies whispered to him even in this moment “Not voices—not quite. More like… a sentiment. A presence” his grin didn’t waver, but there was a depth to his expression now “It didn’t speak in words, but it felt like a voice. Something distinct. Something there.”
Lucifer remained silent, watching the way Alastor’s fingers idly traced the edges of the book cover, his movements slow, unhurried, as though recalling something not just distant, but intimate.
“It communicated with me over the years” Alastor continued, his tone still light, still carrying that ever-present delight, yet beneath it—a foundation of realness at the sentiment he felt for the universe “Simply because it was lonely.”
Lucifer’s fingers twitched.
Lonely.
The universe—the very fabric of existence—felt lonely.
Alastor chuckled softly, shaking his head, eyes flickering toward Lucifer as if gauging his reaction “For the first time… in a very long time, its existence felt heard” he leaned back slightly, exhaling again, this time a bit more dramatically, his grin curling just a fraction wider, lighter now, almost fond “You know what’s funny? Sometimes, it behaves like a child.”
Lucifer stiffened slightly at that, brows furrowing just barely as the words settled over him.
A child.
The universe—vast, eternal, endless—sometimes behaved like a child.
The thought crawled under his skin, foreign, absurd, strange. And yet—it made sense.
Lucifer inhaled slowly, his mind turning over the words, dissecting the implications, feeling something he didn’t quite have the name for yet. He hadn’t considered the possibility before—the idea that the universe could want something, that it could seek connection in its vast, eternal silence. He had always believed it to be indifferent, merely existing, moving in the way it had been designed, shifting, expanding, collapsing without emotion. It had never once occurred to him that it might desire to be understood.
But Alastor had understood it.
And now Lucifer was left with the nagging realization that he hadn’t.
He exhaled, rubbing a thumb against his wrist as he finally spoke, his voice lower “I never thought about that before” he admitted, gaze distant, focused on nothing in particular “That the universe would want something. I always saw it as something that simply was. Unmoving in its purpose, existing because it was designed to” he shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief at himself “I’ve seen it for as long as I can remember. I can sense its movements, its energy, the way it folds and shifts, but I never once thought it might want to be acknowledged.”
His voice dropped just a fraction, quieter now, his words carrying weight he hadn’t realized was there until they left his lips “It’s different for me. My perception” he glanced at Alastor then, watching him closely, measuring his reaction before continuing “I can see it. The universe, its flow, every atom that constructs existence—I can see it all. My celestial power allows it, grants me sight beyond what any mortal could comprehend” he paused, fingers tightening slightly against his palm, hesitating before continuing “But I never use it fully. Never let it manifest in its truest form. Because it would hurt them.”
There was no need to explain who them was. Mortals, demons, sinners—anyone who wasn’t designed to withstand something so vast, so immense, so real. His true essence wasn’t meant for this world, wasn’t meant to be seen without consequence. He had spent millennia suppressing it, muting his existence to avoid destruction, dimming himself until he was nothing more than a fraction of what he was supposed to be. He had been hiding. Always.
He dragged a hand down his face, the admission heavier than expected “I mask everything” he said, voice edged with a sentiment that showed how tired he was “To protect them. To keep my presence from affecting things I don’t intend to. I always have.”
Alastor, who had been listening with a rare sense of calm, finally interrupted—not with his usual amusement, not with teasing or dramatics, but with a much different tone entirely.
“Oh, Lucifer” he mused, his grin curling in an unreadable expression “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
Lucifer blinked, thrown off for just a second before Alastor continued, his tone smooth, steady, carrying that effortless ease that always made his words sound infuriatingly sure.
“I can hear your frequency” Alastor admitted, tapping his fingers lightly against the book still resting in his lap “Even through your mask” he tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining playful, yet his voice lacked the usual exaggeration—it was real “You hide well, truly—but I can hear it. The sound beneath the surface. The one you think no one else can perceive.”
Lucifer tensed slightly, his fingers twitching against his arm, ready to deflect, ready to twist the conversation before it settled into something dangerous. But before he could speak, before he could regain his footing, before he could control the moment, Alastor pressed forward.
Without shame. Without hesitation.
“It’s beautiful.”
Lucifer felt his breath hitch, felt a sharpness slice through his chest, felt the warmth creeping up his neck before he could shove it away.
Alastor leaned back slightly, as casual as ever, yet his words held an honesty Lucifer wasn’t prepared for “The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard” he admitted, as if it were nothing, as if it were a simple truth, as if it weren’t the single most overwhelming thing Lucifer had ever been told in his existence.
His sound? His essence?
Lucifer had been complimented before. His appearance, his presence, his power—those were things beings had admired, praised, feared. He had heard words spun in flattery, had seen the way mortals bent beneath his aura, had felt the weight of reverence from creatures who had tried to grasp something greater. But this?
This was new.
His frequency. His existence itself.
And it had come from Alastor—the most annoyingly pretty sinner in the universe.
Lucifer stuttered.
He stuttered. Like some flustered, ridiculous idiot struck speechless by something so stupidly genuine that he almost passed out. His fingers curled into fists, his throat tightened, his mind screamed at him to do anything to escape the ridiculous, unbearable emotion rising in his chest.
This was too much.
He needed to leave.
Immediately.
Lucifer inhaled sharply, his movements stiff, abrupt, barely controlled as he spun on his heel, bolting for the door without another word.
He would deal with this later.
Or never.
Preferably never.
Alastor let out a delighted laugh as Lucifer disappeared down the hall, his amused chuckle lingering in the air like a victorious echo.
Lucifer was never going to hear the end of this.
And that made everything so much worse.