Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Alastor stood, ears pinned back as he gripped his lacerated arm. Despite all he was deeply unsatisfied with, the past few weeks’ events had unfolded about as well as he could have hoped. But now that he’d taken a hit he couldn’t afford to, progress down his mental list was somewhat hindered.

Incite resentment amongst the Vees

Stroke Vox’s ego where absolutely required

Lure Charlie to Vee Tower

Let Charlie do her Thing

Failsafe (90% likely to require): Make it imminently clear Alastor was not the strongest Sinner, therefore breaking the terms of his Deal

Trick Vox into laying hands on Charlie

Take Vox down with unholy retribution

Survive the conflict 

Renegotiate contract

Locate His Misery, the King of Hell

Inform the princess of Angel Dust

Profit. (Proceed Directly to Act II)

Well, there was the spider sinner, and it seemed that, as his contract had been broken, Alastor was relieved of his obligation to Charlie. He technically didn’t have to do anything. He grinned. And that was exactly how he liked it.  

The Princess and her coterie were embracing, the engine spitting dying sparks, the Vees retreating. Alastor’s eyes shifted down to the sub-floor below them. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair from Lucifer since his capture last night. Judging by those beams, he’d guess he’d turned out to be a rather formidable battery indeed. 

It had been rude of Vox to separate them so soon, Alastor had quite enjoyed their little chat, though then again, a conversation with Cherri would seem like Shakespeare after the past few weeks he’d been subjected to. Vox’s face after seeing that even the silly, hapless Lucifer didn’t take him seriously? Ha-ha. Laughable!

“Oh, Princess,” Alastor sing-songed, interrupting them. It was awfully naïve to start celebrating so soon. Count your dead and wounded, and all that. “Krzzt. Don’t you think you’re forgetting someone?”

“Alastor!” She turned her head to him, the bright smile on her face informing Alastor that she had not gotten his polite hint. He held up a hand to stop her in her tracks as she rushed to him. “No, not me.” As if he would beg for attention quite so obviously. 

At her brief look of confusion, he pointed downward. The confusion did not abate. Perhaps she didn’t know even that much. But Vaggi gasped. 

“Your dad, Charlie!” Vaggi said, eyes blown wide. Then she took off toward the loose paneling, Charlie on her tail.

Alastor rolled his eyes, twirled his staff, and melted away into the shadows, wounds to lick, checklist at long last complete.

The ground shook. Everything buckled inward, and the unbreakable glass had cracked along the scratches Vox had clawed when he’d been talking Lucifer’s ear off. The lights shuttered on and off, before the entire collapsed room lost power. The angelic restraints finally, finally stopped siphoning and the pressure keeping them shut weakened enough Lucifer could kick out of each leg cuff at a time. The cables still bound him stubbornly, requiring more yanking, flailing, manifesting his tail to rip the cables on his legs apart. Huh. Before, he’d been unable to snap them since they were part of the TV sinner’s body. Now, he had no such issue. 

Legs freed, Lucifer leaned his hip against the side of the glass, fighting to catch his breath and work through the shakiness of his legs. He’d do anything to sit for a moment, but his shoulders were aching with residual shocks, and he still has one good yank before he’s freed his arms. His vision was blurry, but he still needed to crawl out of here, find Vax and…hm. Probably do nothing to him. Okay, new plan, crawl out of here and slink away before anyone notices.  With luck, whatever the crazed TV sinner had been up to hadn’t come to much and he could get home to Charlie. 

He wrenched his shoulder and freed one arm, then the other, sagging from relief to be away from the energy drain. Sagged with relief, definitely not crumpled. Still, no time to rest now. He had to get out of here, find Charlie. Had to figure out what those giant blasts were while he was locked in the shocky box. If something happened to the hotel, he wasn’t sure he’d have the energy to rebuild it today.

It was that thought–that something might have happened to Char-Char’s precious project, that had his hand moving to the cracked glass. Left a streak of gold as it squeaked down the surface a few inches. Then he pressed.

It was still stronger than it had any right to be. It should not have taken so much force, but spiderweb cracks exploded outward, and Lucifer tumbled out. Couldn’t fly, couldn’t stand. At least no one was down here to gawp at him. If Vex were down here, he’s sure he’d try to fart out another monologue. People always got real quiet or real chatty when they were in the presence of their king. (The latter was one of the many reasons Lucifer had holed up in his palace so long.)

Getting his hands and feet under him took a little longer this time, but he focused on getting to that sliver of light, the way Charlie’s girlfriend had left out of. 

It wasn’t as simple as he hoped, his body felt pretty numb, and his vision spun, and his muscles seized a couple times, causing him to stumble, but he gave it his best. Almost made it too.

The last few feet were a straight up climb, and Lucifer had no idea how he would manage, even as badly as he needed to get out to go find Charlie. Oh, and Hell. Make sure the Pride Ring was still intact, too. Sure. 

Then the hatch above him opened up, Charlie’s girlfriend, Veronica calling, something. Words were hard with the buzzing in his ears, but he caught ‘He was down here!’

Me? he thought. ‘Him’ could apply to nearly half of the people Charlie hung around with. Anyone could be down here, it was Hell! Though usually, they didn’t need to specify. So it really could be him they were talking about.

She–the girlfriend, had she come down earlier? He could remember talking at something, but any details beyond that lost him. He remembered someone saying they’d be back, but that was before things really started to hurt, before reality had become even more mercurial than it had been before. 

He couldn’t remember. It was too dark now, to see much, which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but it was definitely a problem for him right now. Bad machine. Veryyy bad machine. 

He could move, but he couldn’t move enough. He was so relieved he could have cried when the panels opened and arms grabbed under his armpits and up and out of that literal hellhole. And he had to blink a few times because wow, now he had the opposite problem, it was far too bright. 

Two, two sets of hands, he thinks, were holding him up, he’s sat up, kneeling and it’s the hands that are preventing him from tipping forward. He’s distantly aware his clothes are still smoking too.

“--oh, Dad. Are you–?” Buzzzzzz. The buzz is really the loudest part in his ears, but he knows that voice and that face anywhere. He grins at her. 

“Oh, Charlie! Buzz, to you too! Wowee, was it bad down there. Do not go down there, mmkay? There’s something zapping people down there.”

Her hands are brushing on his suit, all of a sudden, and it really doesn’t feel good, but he’s too tipped around to move away. His skin burns, but it’s also everything that hurts, and everything in him feels so empty, and his daughter is messing with his clothes with such an intense expression. And then he remembers, that the last conversation they’d had, she’d been so mad at him, and now he’s ignored her call, if she ever had called him in the first place and–

“Dad? You’re bleeding, what happened?” Charlie demands, and Lucifer winces and closes an eye because the sound is too bright for his eyes and his wings are so barely clinging to his personal dimension, they could fall out any moment. 

“You should not be watching TV, Char-Char,” he explains, his neck won’t stay upright, so it wobbles back and forth. “The cables, they are no bueno. Uh-uh.”

“Vox?” Charlie thunders, nephilim horns sprouting from her head. Her fingers extend into claws, not quite piercing his skin, and her eyes dart around, but land on nothing. “That bastard did this to you? That’s where you’ve been, powering that cannon?”

Lucifer flinches. Oh dear, that’s not good. She is still angry with him. He’s not sure what she’s talking about, but he’s only fairly sure he didn’t do it. He tries to stay calm, takes a breath but it feels like there’s a palace on his chest. “S- sorry, Char, I don’t–I–” he’s shaking in earnest, and he doesn’t know if it is completely from the muscle spasm in his right primary wing shaking his spine, or out of sheer dread. 

“No, no,” she says, and her hand is her own again, gently on his cheek, but it’s trembling with the remains of rage. “I’m sorry, I messed up. When I didn’t hear from you, I was so scared that you…” she closes her eyes tight. 

Lucifer’s spine feels like jelly, rotating one way, then the other attempting to rebalance to this world where his daughter isn’t–and hasn’t–been mad at him. The lights wink out then, and Lucifer feels himself truly sensationless, without the absence of consciousness he’d known to come with fainting. Then, slowly, a rapid, repetitious sound that Lucifer associated with flying.

 Not quite, too lopsided. Too much noise. 

He lifted his eyelids. His left secondary wing had incorporated–they all had–and was now buffeting the ground in a panicked staccato. The other wings twitched and shuddered, nerveless.

“Whoa, whoa!” It was girlfriend–Vascilica–who jumped forward, past a shocked Charlie, and grabbed Lucifer’s shoulders. She adjusted him upright from where he’d listed far to the left, and the wing dropped limp. “Okay, yeah, it’s fine. Charlie, it’s okay. Wings do that sometimes when they’re off-balance,” she soothed. For a moment, Charlie’s dour expression lightened. Then Vaggina continued, mostly to herself. “Well, all of them, usually. Maybe that isn’t a good sign…”

Charlie’s expression went straight to a frown and teary eyes again. Behind her, sinners still gathered, most looking lost. Smoke was pouring into the sky around the city. He was sure there were many, many sounds of destruction, and for once, he was grateful to the ringing in his ears that he couldn’t catch any of it. The Pride Ring had nearly been destroyed.  And so Lucifer knew it was high time to pull himself together. She should be celebrating her victory, not, not, worrying over her father. Even if his heart soared at the attention. Papas were supposed to stand back and watch their kids shine! 

He pushed himself up until he was leaning on a rock and quaking, rather than kneeling and shaking. He shook his head, pushing at her arm gently, feebly. “Darling, you really don’t…” Why did his tongue feel like rubber?

“Dad, when I couldn’t get a hold of you, I was so worried. Mom’s not here, so I just, I really need you to be okay,” Charlie told him, and she looked like was going to cry. 

Lucifer’s heart crushed all over again. He shook his head harder, then regretted it, when his vision took him on a rollercoaster. He took a shaky inhale and plowed through. “I’ll always be okay. I’ll always be there for you. Whenever you need me,” he promised, speaking very slowly, as to make sure each word formed correctly. Under his shirt, he could feel ichor sticking his clothes to his skin. 

“Thanks Dad, that–”

“Hellooo? Is anyone there?” The voice came in loud from the speakers, in a voice that was distinctly familiar to Charlie, judging by how she whipped around. The voice belonged to a snake winner that kind of reminded Lucifer of the snake sinner he’d seen at Charlie’s hotel. Ah, yes, right, he was following now. 

“OH MY GOD!” Charlie gasped, eyes welling with tears. She took two running steps forward toward the giant screen then stopped, nearly bowled over by Vaggi in her haste to follow. “Dad, can you teleport back to the hotel? Or can you like, just pause there for a minute?”

Lucifer smiled warmly, blinking slow. “Go on, don’t worry about me.”

That’s just what he’d told her, wasn’t it? She listened to him, trusted him. The smile turned more genuine, more exhausted as they turned away. His eyes dropped to slits, dark shadows under them as he faced off the dizziness threatening to expel him from this rock. He’d never let something like this show on his face around Charlie. The voices petered in and out. They exchanged greetings with the snake…not sinner. Redeemed. She sounded so happy, and that was better than a warm bed to him right now. 

Though a warm bed might still be a welcome addition. A chance to sleep off whatever was still running through him, the dredges of the energy that had been ripped out of his…well angels didn’t have souls, but his core being. His grace, which was a furnace of light and divinity, if it was tainted by the damage of the Fall.

Since he’d blacked out a moment, his giddiness had been replaced with cotton and lead in his brain. He looked upwards, trying to take his mind off the dryness in his mouth, the expanding ache in his bones, and that was when he noticed something strange. Smoke in sky. Not here, but up there in Heaven. 

What?

“Quite the shot,” came a mirthful, staticky voice. Lucifer couldn’t even bring himself to react to the coalescence of the radio demon to his right. Alastor was standing next to him, arms held behind his back, and he sounded like he was complementing his golf swing. 

“I’m not happy to see you, Bambi,” Lucifer warned him. A voice in the back of his head noticed how isolated he was, Charlie and the rest of her hotel gang distracted by the snake winner. Most of him just…didn’t give a fuck.

“Come now!” Alastor said, arms opening up in a facsimile of a fond gesture, which then turned mocking. “You walked right into Vox’s trap, I was nothing but a fellow prisoner. I defended Charlie! Zzt. And meanwhile, you were causing me a lot of trouble!”

“I wha–?” Lucifer said out loud this time. Was he mishearing?

“The shot, Sire. Krzzt. Out of the cannon you so graciously powered for Vox.”

Lucifer blinked, and pointed to himself. Sure, everything was pretty fuzzy and mumbly now, but he was pretty certain he did not. Oh, God, he so would not have done that. 

Alastor leaned in, bowing at the waist. Incredulity took the place of…whatever Alastor’s baseline was. “Oh, your majesty, surely you put it all together? That machine he had you trapped in was siphoning your angelic power into the cannon so he could threaten Heaven? He blasted the front gate right off? Then shot up the whole Pentagram City?”  His voice grew more and more disbelieving. “You could have killed someone with one of those beams, you know.”

By the note of his voice, he was maybe that ‘someone.’

“Oh, that….huuuh.” It did not sit well with him. His punishment was to not be able to harm sinners, but the second one of the sinners figures out to use him, he’s turned into a weapon of immense destruction against his past and current homes? His eyes flicker scleral red for a moment, but he can’t hold a drop of fury, it falls right out like water through a sieve. His eyes list closed again, and his mouth tastes like sour nectar, like ichor. The wings on his left side rebel, slowly dropping out from their fold on his back, as if the muscles were slowly giving up. 

“My, Lucifer, you are quite the sight,” Alastor said. “You seemed quite unconcerned when you so foolishly fell into that trap. And look at you now, all bloodied. Vox appears to have mistreated you even worse than he did me,” he said, then laughed, as if it were something funny.

Lucifer couldn’t manage to mumble an answer, his head was suddenly hurting worse than the rest of his body, and staying on the rock was not going to be feasible much longer, judging by how his vision was darkening. He took a hand to his stomach, where he could feel blood pooling beneath his shirt. He was beginning to think his healing was not going to go smoothly as he was, drained of so much power.

 “You truly should not be on your own out here like this,” Alastor was saying. “Charlie should not have left you alone, not somewhere where any old sinner could take advantage of a toppled King.” As he spoke, he towered over Lucifer, and his shadow separated, seeming to reach out for Lucifer. It was hard for him to tell, with all the black spots growing in his vision like rain on a sidewalk.

Lucifer’s body lolled again, the jelly-like sensation swapping with the last of the adrenaline. His eyes met each other in the middle for a moment, confused, cross-eyed, and blank. Then he tipped forward into Alastor’s pin-striped chest. 

Those long fingers touched his shoulders, gripping tight. He heard his mouth open, a few seconds of breath. Then, the blackness took him away.

What surprised him was that it let him go. The shadows, at least. Not the pain, not the empty, not the darkening vision. Lucifer recognized his room only by the ducks on the nightstand, as the stag demon lifted him to the bed, then bled back into the engorged shadows. The soft riff of jazz music was the only thing that remained, emitting from a handheld radio left on the nightstand.

“Rest well, Your Majesty. Zzt. So very fascinating.”

Chapter Text

Alastor was conducting a horde of traumatized sinners into their new living accommodations. If he knew that blowing up a portion of Pentagram City would be the thing to get sinners to stay at the hotel while he was working for Charlie, he might just have tried that in the first place.

Charlie was not back yet, only those under his control, Husker and Niffty, were (by his polite request, of course). So the entire hotel was consigned to them. As the minutes inched on, and the lobby filled, it was starting to tick him off. He didn’t need to be here, it was true. But why give up such an esteemed position? He had the ear of the Morningstars. And that was something someone as simplex as Vox could never have, nor understand the value of. Why capture the Morningstar body, when he could capture his attention?

That blast into Heaven…had been the first of what, eight, ten? The single beam lit straight to Heaven, destroyed the Archangel Shield, blew down the gates, and fired well past it. It was only Vox’s wantsome aim that prevented it from blowing a holy hole right into the center of it! Pure angelic power, indeed. He knew the Devil was powerful, but that, that was far more than he–or Vox–could have fathomed.

The other side of the coin was His Majesty’s condition now. Anyone could tell his poorly state. The whole reason Alastor approached him in the wreckage were his sharp ears. Between one of his first public appearances in a decade and his rather pitiful confrontation with Vox, Lucifer was certainly the talk of the town. Muttering, staring, guessing–

‘Is that Lucifer?’ 

“Oh, Hell Daddy?”

‘Doesn’t he look kind of…small?’ 

‘I was gonna say fucked.’

’I’d show him fucked.’

‘You freak.’ 

‘Think we could go over there? I mean, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance…’

Helpless little Lucifer. All alone, and in distress. It was a matter of minutes before the stupidest sinners tried to press advantage. Had they all forgotten Vox had rallied the whole of Pride against him not the day before? Vox might be public enemy number one right now, but surely they weren’t naïve enough to leave the king piece unprotected?

A mere thirty feet may as well have been thirty miles. So he’d transported him back and put the diminutive seraph to bed like a good little host. Only when he’d corporated outside the room had he noticed the golden blood on his claws. 

He’d thought that piquant scent was Lucifer’s room, with how it filled his nose once they’d moved from the wreck of Vee tower. But now, it was under his nose as he examined the slick of radiant ichor between his fingers–gingery and lemon-honeyed. It smelled like someone had blown up a potpourri bag with a shot of lightning–yes, a sharp undercurrent of concentrated ozone. Ancient poets dedicated stanzas to describing this substance. Some were probably here in Hell, willing to kill and maim for a glance. Living lore, nectar of divinity, glistening meaningless on his fingers.

He made a face, and swiped the blood on his jacket. He much preferred the taste of copper and game, not one for this sickly sweetness.

Downstairs, Alastor handed a snail sinner a hotel key, leaving them with a warning not to leave stains or else Niffty would have his shell as a hat. Then, he glanced upwards. On a whim, decided to tune into the radio he’d left on Lucifer’s nightstand. His chainless contract now offered his power no real restrictions, so he was discovering new tricks as he went. 

On the other end, quiet, labored pants of breathing. So their dear king hadn’t been able to settle down for rest. In fact, perhaps a bit worse than when he’d left him less than an hour ago. Alastor tightening his grip on his staff. He did not care for surprises. 

“Husker,” Alastor crooned. “Be a dear and go check in on Lucifer, hmm?” 

Husk in turn glared harshly at him. He wasn’t being a very good team player today, ever since Alastor had forced him home instead of letting him go after his little boyfriend. “Whatever,” Husk muttered.

“Krtzz. Sorry, what was that?” Alastor asked, leaning in, his pupils shifting into radio dials.

“Whatever you want,” Husk corrected swiftly, but his tone was still dead. He still didn’t seem in any particular hurry as he went to close up the bar.

“Bring the kit from the closet,” Alastor told the retreating cat. 

The doors slammed open. Before Alastor could let out his building temper on whatever disrespectful sinners darkened his door, Charlie, Vaggi, and that squat anglerfish man came in. He plastered on a wider grin and went to greet them with a jaunty little hum. At last, a moment’s respite from chaos and customer service.

“Oh my god, Alastor. There are so many dead people. I mean, we don’t know how many because they were all vaporized but things are so bad out there!”

Alastor doesn’t have a chance to lament the waste of perfectly good corpses as Angel Dust trails behind them, looking like he drank a bar, and then was bludgeoned in the head with it. Alastor twitches his ear, smile nearly dropping off his face. “You brought him back with you? The spy that will absolutely report back to the Vees, whether or not he wants to, and won’t remember doing so?”

Angel Dust wilted, hugging himself. Husk ran over from the bar and reached out for Angel, but the spider sinner flinched away and stared at the floor in shame. 

Charlie waved her hands at Alastor as he emits an angry bugle. “Whoa, no, no. So yes, we did steal him back from Val against his will, which-was-kinda-crazy buuuut! We have a plan. And I have his phone so he can’t contact the Vees.” Charlie waggled Angel’s phone in the air in demonstration. “Have you seen my dad? He was supposed to meet me back here.”

“He’s in his room,” Alastor snipped. 

“Oh, is he…do you know if he’s up still? We kinda need him for this.” Charlie seemed a little more uncertain. 

Alastor hmm’d, thinking back to the golden blood and the labored breaths. His static picked up. “Not quite. Zrrzt.”

“Whaaa…what do you mean?” Charlie asked suspiciously. 

Alastor sighed. Why must he, of all people, have to teach empathy to the nicest person in Hell? “Question for the two of you: Tell me, was he 110 degrees when you saw him?”

Charlie and Vaggi shared an alarmed look, and raced upstairs. Alastor dragged a hand down his face, then pointed his staff at Husk and Angel Dust, the former flinching. “Tell Cherri and Niffty to take him to his room, and not let him out of their sight for a moment. Meet us in Lucifer’s room, Husker.”

Had it been his choice, he would have left Angel to it. He did not approve of Valentino, and he did have his sympathies but that was a web of complications the hotel could not afford at the moment. Vox should know of Lucifer’s condition, and they were letting his mind control victim back through the doors? Angel had been right to try to leave, admirable even. 

At least he didn’t think the Vees would come knocking so soon, but now he needed eyes on the door he couldn’t spare. He sighed once more, and melted back into the shadows. 

He was the first in Lucifer’s room, just early enough to see Charlie barge in. 

“Dad!” And run to his side. And oh my, His Majesty was doing no better. The room smelled like someone had sprayed Hell-sol all over, and then been incinerated. By the way Vaggi covered her mouth and nose when she walked in, he knew she detected exactly as he had. 

Lucifer was in the same spot Alastor left him, half curled on his side and over the covers. Lucifer managed to hide away his wings for the transport, and Alastor had carried him like a child in his arms.

His breaths were coming in and out in soft pants, his eyes open like slivers and hazy. With the face of a circus ringmaster, his skin was already pallid, but now it had a yellow glow under his cheeks. A flush. He resisted checking his temperature, preferring to play bystander to the drama as Charlie began to mollycoddle, brushing the sweaty hair from his face. “Dad, wh-what’s going on? Why-why aren’t you healing? Oh devil, all this blood–”

Perhaps they had all underestimated the problem. What did one do when their power was used against their will as an atomic cannon? There was hardly precedent.

Husk finally entered the room with the medical bag, eyes widened in shock as he saw the scene before him. Had he thought Alastor was ordering him to Lucifer’s room as an escort? The radio demon scoffed. 

Lucifer was murmuring comfort to his daughter, but Charlie had stopped listening to the fevered words. She snapped her head toward Alastor, the tips of horns peaking through her hairline. “Fix him!”

“We can certainly try, your Highness,” Alastor said, strolling to the bedside. This time, he did follow the whim and touched his forehead. 111 degrees, he’d wager. What temperature did the biblical devil rest at? “If only we knew what was wrong.” 

His eyes were emptier than before. They were near-lifeless red with deep shadows lying beneath. His hair had fallen back out of place, for one. His jagged mouth stayed open, even after he’d stopped speaking, huffing small breaths of air. If it were anyone else, he’d say they were on their deathbed—Alastor had seen clearer eyes in his victims as he choked the life out of them. But Lucifer had been confident he couldn’t be killed, and Alastor doubted that in all his eternity, he’d not be certain. 

There was always the logical option of waiting it out, if he really was immortal. Surely, they could leave him alone and he would eventually recover with rest. Alastor could even take a couple weeks enjoying his coffee without having to look at that grotesque deer season mug. 

Still, it was unpleasant seeing him brought low like this. It truly did Alastor no favors, not with them as allies. He’d take Lucifer’s antagonism over Vox’s any day of the week. It was enjoyable, even–when it wasn’t pure immature stupidity, of course. Sometimes, it was hard for Alastor to fathom that the knowledge of nigh millions of years of history was all bungled up in this seemingly dopeless pint-sized being. Especially when Alastor was being ragebaited over his morning coffee by said man. 

Already itching with annoyance, Alastor had to take a breath, before his shadow responded to that little part of him that said prove yourself, show him. He rarely said no to it. 

“Charlie dear, excuse me,” he said instead. “Would you and Vaggi wait outside for a moment? He should be changed into something less…bloody. Now, now. Shoo along. Perhaps make some tea.” He said, pushing her away, when he was reluctant to release her grip on her father’s hand. She left, quite a show of her misplaced trust in him, but not without pressing a kiss to Lucifer’s hair. Yes, yes. Familial affection, how wonderful. He slammed the door shut behind her.

Husk was being useful for once, rifling through the medical supplies. Alastor set his staff down, cracked his neck, then his fingers. This was what he’d chosen to do on his first day out of his contract? He’d gone quite soft. Soft in the head, he’s sure. 

Alastor hefts under Lucifer’s armpits, and begins to lift him upright, and that’s when a feathery hell is let loose. Wings everywhere. It hardly feels like an exaggeration. Each wing as long as Lucifer was tall, flapping and buffeting Alastor, Husk, impacting the bed frame hard enough to crack it. Lucifer’s head snapped up and he grabbed Alastor’s shoulder’s right back. 

The radio demon had a niggling suspicion that had Lucifer not been unable to harm sinners, he might have had a pair of broken clavicles. With a gasp from the fallen archangel, the wings drooped again. Blessedly, the hands did a moment later. (Unlike Vox, lingering, pressing fingers as if he were absent-mindedly tickling a piano over his trapezius.)

“Michael–fall…No, I…uh? ” Alastor’s sharp ears heard the mumbles for what they were. Michael? His archangel brother of a sort? So the king had a little bit of a phobia. It was nothing he could use against him, but Alastor noted it anyway. 

“Steady ground, I assure you,” Alastor trilled. He got to work unbuttoning Lucifer’s vest as Husk supported his back, mostly wrangling wings. The pitiful cat had a feather sticking out of his ear like a whisker. 

He made quick work of the shirt, revealing quite a mess below. With the smell, it was hardly a shock, the tacky golden blood adhered to his chest and stomach, but he couldn’t resist a tut. Who knew where these injuries came from. It looked like he’d been stabbed in pairs all over his body, and he’d been untouched when he’d been loaded into the energy extractor. 

Worse than that, there was a sickly gray color around the wounds, eclipsing the dried golds and the yellows and oranges of bruising. The scent of rot was something Alastor was much more acquainted with, having spent weeks rotting away, slowly dying of an angelic wound. If he could be poisoned by an angelic weapon, could this be the result of a demonic one? An infection of some sort?  

The blue bruises under Lucifer’s eyes, which were usually dainty enough to be confused with dark eyeliner to go along with his ringmaster persona, were deep and stark against the white of his skin. It spoke of severe exhaustion and dehydration. Rest and basic care would have to serve as antibiotics, as hell stores certainly didn’t carry medicines for angelkind.  

Alastor narrowed his eyes. Vox really had truly lost it. Doing this to the King of Hell was not a move you made if you anticipated staying in Hell. Or ceding control. And beyond that, there was the metaphysical: what happened to Hell once the Devil wasn’t there to rule it? It had been created by Lucifer’s rebellion. Alastor didn’t know how entangled the two were, but if it were him, wouldn’t attempt a coup without being certain it wasn’t leading up to mutually assured destruction. Fucking idiot. 

Alastor relieved the king of his gold-splattered pants, Husk cleaned up the weeping wounds, each requiring only a stitch each, helped Lucifer fold his multitude of wings back into nothingness, and together they bound his chest with bandages before putting him in pajama pants and what was, for him, an oversized pink sweater. Lucifer only managed a half-awake grumble in lieu of what should have been annoying blathering. It was a shame, he was wasting so much good material not teasing him. But it would most certainly go over his head at the moment. 

“Alastor? Where’s TV head?” Lucifer whispered as Alastor pulled his last blackened arm through the sleeve.

Alastor smiled a little easier. He had to admire the dedication to not getting Vox’s name. He knew Lucifer was bad with names, but this was just unreasonable at this point. He’d spent a whole day and some change as his guest. “They beat a retreat, my lilliputian friend. Fear not, there is nowhere in Hell they can hide for long,” Alastor said, letting facets of his true form bleed through on his face. After all, Vox still had to account for the weeks of imprisonment, the masturbatory self-obsession, the jeers, and most importantly, making him watch him and Valentino roll around in the sheets. “Perhaps, since you can’t do a thing to him, I can dole out punishment on your behalf as well. After I get my pound of flesh,” he growled, static rendering his words into an intelligible garble.

Lucifer just squinted, lowered lip jutting. “Yeah…great…how nice, guy.”

The lock of hair that had fallen forward, weighed down with a streak of golden blood, made him nearly unrecognizable as the coiffed clown Alastor had come to expect. It shattered the illusion of their normal game more than angel blood and wires. In fact, the illusion had maintained all the way until after Alastor defeated Vox, laid on the ground bleeding, and with a startled glance, noticed the weapon was overcharging. Perhaps it was the reminder that what Vincent had done had left a mark, on both of them. Despite how long they’d both refused to show it.

For a moment, Alastor wanted someone to push the hair back, so he wouldn’t have to look at the despicable display, the reminder, but a beat passed, and the silly notion faded. 

Lucifer had stopped sweating. It was unclear if it was a good or bad development. Alastor canted his head at Husk. “Fetch some water for him, and tell the girls they can come back up now,” Alastor told him, stepping back and swiping a few stray rubber ducks off the nearest armchair. He crossed his legs, and intertwined his fingers. “We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“What did you make of Vox, anyway?” Alastor asked, quite at home on Lucifer’s nightstand. He was playing with the little radio he’d left behind.

Lucifer stuck out his forked tongue and blew a quick raspberry. He couldn’t hold his head up off the pillow, but neither did Alastor seem like he expected him to. “Likes to hear h’mself talk. But none of it was interesting enough to listen to.”

“Ha-ha! Ha-ha! Ha-ha!” 

He didn’t turn his head to look at Alastor, but the snort and the canned laugh-track from the little radio strangely didn’t seem entirely insincere. “Was pretty obsessed with you though,” Lucifer mumbled.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Lucifer. He might want me, but he wanted you a shivering pile at his feet.”

Lucifer’s dimming consciousness re-congealed in an indignant, confused murmur. “Wa…was he tryin’ to be scary?”

And then the small king’s consciousness faded to the sharp static of a real, genuine guffaw.

“--can’t lose him again, I only just got him back.”

“His...warm?”

“I…w….isn’t…sloth?”

When Lucifer opened his eyes, he hadn’t been aware that they’d closed at all. His head was laid back on his pillow, and as the world opened back up to him through his lidded vision at his ceiling, he slowly became aware, not only of the beings in his room, but his awareness beyond his sight. 

The thrum of Hell, usually muted, now quite frantic.

It wasn’t something he’d ever been able to explain properly to a younger Charlie. But the weight of Hell felt off, even as he felt his net catch new sinners before they were beset to the nothingness outside Creation.

The last…however long it had been was blurry at best.

His presence was jarred back to his body when he felt a body shift beside him, a hand gently holding his jaw, wiping at the corner of his mouth. 

“Dad?” And when there was no immediate response, a little quieter. “Belphagor said it would kick in immediately.”

Lucifer’s red eyes finally flickered down to his daughter, frowning down at a small draught in her hands. His throat felt thick and wet with something cloying and medicinal—but oh, did it have a kick! Something to wire him, which wasn’t something Belphegor didn’t tend to hand out, as the Sin of Sloth. She must like him, or she knew how fucked the Pride Ring was, and this was her silent permission to roll up his sleeves! He nearly brought himself to reach out to Charlie when his vision was eclipsed with something red and unsightly.

“Oh, how wonderful, our King has awakened!” Alastor announced. “You fell asleep right before we were meant to have an important conversation, and that was nearly two hours ago!”

“What…what the fuck are you doing in my room?” Lucifer squeaked, reaching for a spare pillow which to use as a bludgeoning weapon. His memories were hazy, but seeing him here, it was just wrong. No Alastors Allowed!

(Wait…who helped him to bed after he’d lost consciousness? Had that demon heard or seen something he shouldn’t have?)

“Alastor,” Charlie objected, sounding breathily offended, like she’d caught him in a rather creative string of curses instead of his usual ridicule.

“What? We do have pressing matters to get to,” Alastor hummed, getting up to stroll around the room, until he was somewhere between the bed and the door.

Lucifer watched him a second too long, and as if Alastor had expected a camera to move off him, and continue along the chattered conversation, something of a facade slipped. One of his ears canted sideways, impatient, and his arm reached out to hold the wounded one tight to his side. 

Not knowing what to make of that, and certainly not having the energy to humiliate him, Lucifer diverted his gaze, first down to the carefully creased covers, then back to his daughter.

“Dad?” 

He pulled himself up so he rested against the headboard, feeling just as much an achy wreck as before.

With just that movement, Lucifer could feel the unabated exhaustion pressing up under the potency of the medicine as the blood felt like it drained out of his head. Yikes. Maybe Belphagor had underestimated the problem? Bambi claimed he slept but he didn’t feel it. The herbal remedy might have broken his fever, but there wouldn’t be more than a couple hours before it ran its course and he crashed again. 

He’d love nothing more than to be left alone to hide under his covers with his favorite rubber ducky to convalesce for a few days, rekindling his grace. As he was, he was little more than a hollowed out vessel. Oh! Maybe something like a knocked over vase. All the flower cuttings and water spilling out, and he was left with only the silted dredges. Although, that had been him before his capture, too, in another sense. His flowers had left eight years ago. 

“Uh, Mister Morningstar, sir?” 

Lucifer’s tired gaze slid to his dear Charlie’s girlfriend. He shot her with an unenergetic finger gun. “It’s Lu to you.”

Sure, that had been the conversation that the unwitting spy, the spider sinner, had overheard and screwed him over. That led Box to trying to humiliate him with that name. But it would still make him happy for Charlie’s girlfriend to use it.

“Did you hear what Charlie said?” She asked, patiently with an air of a repeated question. 

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Be a present dad. Be a present dad. “Yeah.”

“Riiiight,” Charlie said. “So just to reiterate. We have a small mob forming outside the hotel. Because they’re kinda pissed at you. For blowing up chunks of the city. Unwillingly, of course.”

“My, my what a shocker,” Alastor demurred. “All the displaced sinners, now gathering in the same hotel as the power that destroyed their houses and friends. Genius.” Then, as he examined his claws thoughtfully. “Velvette put that information out, I’m sure. I could take care of that for you, for a tiny deal.”

“No thanks,” Lucifer scoffs. He’d rather eat his ducks than indulge a rules lawyer like Alastor. Not that he couldn’t, of course, but a good solid contract was a headache. 

Alastor hardly looked surprised. “Too bad. Well, at any rate, Baxter has reinforced the front doors. And I took the liberty of eating anyone unapproved found on this floor. Oh, how quickly awe curdles.”

Ha-ha. Okay, discounting what he was sure was a harmless cannibalism joke, the idea that sinners would have loyalty to him like the Hellspawn, the Sins, or his very own Ars Goetia was nearly laughable. 

“Most sinners would sell their mothers for a single corn chip,” Lucifer dismissed.

Alastor smirked, conceding. “Very true.”

Lucifer found he did not like his support anymore than he liked Alastor’s disagreement. Had Alastor sold his mother’s soul to the Devil for a corn chip? It was unlikely, seeing as he wasn’t buying, but still… Lucifer scrutinized the deer sinner. Alastor’s blood wasn’t the only kind on that ragged suit jacket. That was angel blood smeared across it, smeared across the stitching, bright and golden like filagree. Was it his? He remembered Alastor finding him, then speaking to him, if not once, twice. Had he been the one to tend to Lucifer? Had he not yet taken the time to clean himself up, or was he wearing it like a badge of honor? 

Like Vox had? He’d been all too eager to render Lucifer helpless. Taunt him and lay him low in the pursuit of…what had Vox said, ruling Creation? Lucifer hadn’t given him what he’d wanted, but it hardly mattered, because he’d taken what he’d wanted, in the end. The Sinners, they were like this, eternally. Cruel, and ever infatuated with the idea of an angel under their heel.

Hardly surprising, from the species that invented slavery, but soul-rending from the one that created music, domestic ducks, and soap operas.

It wasn’t like that was unheard of, someone taking advantage of Lucifer’s…lingering angelic naivete. Vox wasn’t the first sinner to find out about Lucifer’s secret. Wasn’t the first sinner to take advantage and rough him up and try to make him kneel. 

But he was the first one to use his own power against him. The first to take away what he himself had gifted Mankind–freedom. The first to make him hurt in front of Charlie. And that chafed on him, right down to the part of him that yelled you’re not good enough to be a father! Your family found you unlovable, your wife left, and someday Charlie will lose hope in you and leave you for good! And you will deserve it, not as a punishment, but as a natural result of your very nature!

The final straw easily could have been nearly destroying Charlie’s dream not once, but twice in a weekend. And then requiring all this care and comfort as if he were the victim while her people and their hopes burned away. No, he didn’t want Charlie seeing the reminder of his weakness on Alastor, but addressing it felt even more shameful. Because his brokenness wasn’t all on the surface, and shifting risked exposing more, more weakness, more shattered pieces to his family than he could afford. 

He’d almost lost her this time. And his Sword of Damocles, Alastor, who had yet to start humiliating him for it. 

Nevertheless, he forcibly tuned back in because Charlie didn’t like when he zoned out during conversation.

“--The destruction is…it’s bad. Hundreds upon hundreds of sinners missing. Downtown is wrecked,” Vaggie was reporting.

Lucifer’s eyes shut, letting his mind float. Not inattentive, but expanded. It always made his head feel a little dizzy, a little distant, and this time it made him feel ill. Maybe it was from what he found. Sinners represented the worst of humanity, and for a long time Lucifer had been sure they were irredeemable. But it sat wrong in him that he’d been the one to hurt them. 

He floated one of the ducks off the ground and into his hands, running his finger over one of its little wings. “Seven-hundred-thirty. Near as I can tell.”

“Sinners dead?” Charlie said, hand over her mouth. She hid her expression into Vaggie’s hair a moment later. For his benefit, he wasn’t sure. 

He closed his eyes, fists tightening, as the dizziness snaked through him, sweat trickling down his forehead. Bad. Bad. What else? The mob outside. Had to deal with that. They couldn’t mess up Charlie’s hotel. And…what had TV head said? 

“They fired…the cannon at Heaven?” Lucifer said, unable to hold back a stressed wheeze as his throat constricted, betraying him.

The fallen exorcist’s voice was grave. “It shattered the Archangel shield and blasted Heaven’s Gate off. But not a direct hit.”

It was as if those cables were burrowing into Lucifer’s chest again. Dear Father, forgive him the results of this could be catastrophic. 

“May I remind you, we already covered this?” Alastor said, with a tad more weary than smug. Lucifer tried not to show confusion. His memory wasn’t as sharp these past years, even without being electrocuted and drained in a death ray machine, but this was a concerning thing not to remember.

“Though isn’t it rather poetic that their shackling you from punishing sinners was the direct cause of Heaven’s suffering today?” Alastor continued jovially.

The fallen high seraph bit his lip, as the truth of the radio demon’s words poured over him. Alastor hit the nail on the head. If he’d been able to smite TV Head, he never would have been captured. Heaven and Hell would have been untouched. 

If he was cast down from Heaven for tempting Father’s creations into free will, what happened if the council thought he’d willingly blasted down the Gates of Heaven? The Archangel Shield had to be created using six or more Seraphim. And Vox had used Lucifer to fire back at his own family? The duck in his hand squeaked its protest and wailed out a long wheeze. It was fitting, because his lungs felt like squeakers at the moment as well, cold sweat stinging his forehead as he clutched at his own shoulder in lieu of clinging to his wings like a fledgling.

He was fucking stupid, and he’d invited war. They’d be wiped out, Charlie’s dream sundered…unless Lucifer fought back. But could he? Couldn’t he, if he’d already initiated? His brothers would be here any minute, he realized, his horns growing, and his tail whipping out to throw off the covers–

“No, no, Dad!” There was a flutter in the room, and Charlie and Vaggi were at his side, catching him as he attempted to stumble out of bed. Lucifer clung to his daughter, claws trembling into her shoulder. “They said they won’t hurt us!”

“Father won’t forgive this–” Lucifer wheezed, tried to impress upon her just how utterly fucked they were. Where had his beautiful, smart daughter gotten that idea? His only hope now was to hide her in the deepest recess of hell and fend off his brothers for as long as he can. “They’ll…they’ll…”

“No one was hurt. Well, Emily –” Vaggi pinched Charlie to stop her, and Charlie took a breath and met his red scleral gaze with calm, bright eyes. “We’re safe, Dad. The seraphim helped contain the cannon. They know you didn’t mean to. They won’t hurt us, they want to see more sinners redeemed!” She told him, helping him back into bed, smoothing the covers over him. The red eyes only faded away when she held his cheek and gave him a kiss on the tuft of hair fallen between his retracting horns.

“If you’re sure, Charlie,” Lucifer finally relented. 

“Daddy issues?” Alastor chimed in coyly, brows sky high.

Lucifer allowed himself three breaths to level himself out. “I’m allowed daddy issues, Bambi. I don’t have a mommy.”

Wow, that was cooler in his head. Ah, well. But at that, Charlie’s brows left the stratosphere, mouth open in realization, as if she’d never realized she never had any grandmas at all. There was a reason there was no visiting extended family on Sinsmas. 

Finally, she flashed a smile at him, before retreating a few steps to stop out a small fire on the carpet. “Uhm, what exactly did happen, for you to get captured, Dad?”

Lucifer and Alastor’s eyes met for the first time in minutes. 

“Bambi.” Lucifer’s eyes darkened in warning. Charlie did not need to feel responsible for his stupid mistake.

Alastor opened his mouth to respond, but the door knocked once, and Husk slithered in, holding a shallow bowl and a towel. Lucifer watched, a little thrown as Husk approached his bedside and put one knee on the bed, wetting the towel and applying it to his forehead with the familiarity of someone who had done this more than once before. 

Though he kind of wanted to protest, the damp towel patting away the sweat on his forehead felt so good, he closed his eyes and let himself relax for a few moments, until the winged cat spoke up.

“Good to see you up, your Majesty,” Husk said, wringing out water again, and pressing it back. “Have you…given any thought to helping Angel Dust out? He’s just outside with Niffty right now.”

Lucifer squinted at the fluffy cat. Angel Dust…the spider sinner, under some…porn guy? Was he…was he meant to be doing something about that? Before he could ask, a sharp report of radio feedback scratched his eardrums. Husk’s ears pinned back, and his fur stood like he’d been shocked.

The radio demon’s pupils had elongated to radio dials once again, and his shadow’s antlers, curved and grew like unpruned brambles. “Absolutely not. Like it or not, we need to treat Angel Dust as a spy. Charlie, do not argue with me right now–he does not enter this room.”

Lucifer just blinked in his direction, but on the bed with him, he felt the cat’s muscles contract nervously, body taught, as he spoke in a forcibly casual tone. “Lucifer, if you could just take a look at his contract before he’s forced back to Val. I don’t know if you could break it or…”

“Husk,” Charlie was the one to speak, and isn’t unkind, it isn’t devoid of sympathy, but it was surprisingly authoritative. “Alastor’s right. Not today.”

Husk’s eyes went wide, paw stilling with the cloth. His gaze had a lot in it, and one stood out as pity. “Sorry, fuck, I…that was out of line.” Huck started, tail curling inward, regret pinching his brows.

“Indeed -krZZT- one point for Husker,” the static increased as Alastor’s voice overlaid with the malice of deer call. His fingers lengthened, pinching, and Lucifer saw the chain attached to Husk’s collar go taut, prepared to yank him to the floor.

Lucifer reached out and grabbed the chain before it could manifest, just as Alastor yanked on it. Husk doesn’t move, Lucifer doesn’t move, but Alastor does, stumbling to catch himself as the chain is pulled with a flick of Lucifer’s wrist. He’s lucky Alastor wasn’t using his full strength, or Lucifer might have been able to hold it in his current condition, but the effect is as intended. 

Alastor’s pupils contracted with shock past his smile, the chains fully manifesting as the other’s eyes traced the length of it, and Husk just stared.

The fallen angel let the chain drop as it unmanifested a moment later. What happened between Cheshire and his cat was none of his business, but he was so fucking sick of weird power plays happening in front of him lately, and it didn’t matter a bit that one instance Alastor was the victim and the other, the perpetrator. “None of that fucked up sinner shit here. I don’t want to see it.”

Alastor remembered to straighten up and school his expression. “You…can see unmanifested debt chains,” he observed mildly.

“Uh huh,” Lucifer said, letting the weight of it linger. He was so used to them, all these sinners wandering around like walked dogs, he hardly paid attention, but he’d noticed when Alastor had appeared, uncollared. And he’d noticed when Charlie made a minor contract of her own. And after some consideration, he’d chosen to trust her–and to stick very close by in case she decided she needed the referee to call a penalty!

Alastor and Charlie shared a startled look, clearly catching his meaning. 

“Husker, go move Angel Dust away from here. Don’t let him out of the room, or I will make you pay.” Alastor finally said, switching back to business mode. They waited until Husk left, and a few long moments after. “There’s one final matter we need to address before you can rest: the Vees.”

Oh, Lucifer had almost forgotten about them. 

“They’re alive?” he asked. 

“Unfortunately so,” Alastor said wryly. “Same as last you asked.”

Lucifer sighed long and heavy. He itched to curl up in bed and mope and maybe have a couple panic attacks and only emerge when this all had been dealt with. But the much, much stronger feeling–the only thing keeping him up, energizing him despite his scoured grace–was the need to fix things for Charlie. If he set his mind to that, he could do damn near anything. He’d make the real, burning sun rise and set in Hell for her. 

“Send for them. Have them here immediately.”

“What, Dad, I–we can’t–! I’m not sure this is a good plan!” Charlie protested.

“I have it handled, honeycrisp,” Lucifer told her. “Let your papa fix this, alright?” 

Charlie gave up with a groan of frustration when she saw the look on his face. “Come on, Vaggi, he’s gone stubborn. He’s not gonna listen to reason.”

“Excellent. Well, I’ll have Angel Dust get in contact with them then,” Alastor decided cheerily. Lucifer gestured to him, as in get it done and Alastor dissolved into the shadows on the floor. 

Some minutes later, the group had gathered in the emptied reception of the hotel. Alastor stood with his arms behind his back, impatient for the arrival of their three guests. 

Charlie sidled up to him. “Soooo…do we have a plan? In case things go sideways?”

“A plan, my dear? Aren’t you interested in redeeming all of them? Surely you’ll invite them to stay in the hotel!” Alastor exclaimed, gesturing to the general distress of the room, including the welded windows. If he were bound to her, or had the inclination, he’d clean it all up in the snap of his fingers. Today he did not.

“Yeah…I don’t know about that. Having them here, with my dad…err…vulnerable…”

Alastor’s ear twitched, the modicum of logic was a surprise from her these days. 

“If things go wrong, just please protect my dad, okay?” she asked. Her body language oozed nervousness, and hunters pounced on such softness.

“Are you offering me a deaaaal? Zzrt.” he lilted. 

She shrunk back a little in surprise, and Alastor bent forward a smidge, impinging on her space. He held his lacerated arm carefully behind him, concealing the weakness like all good prey ought to. “May I remind you, Charlie, you left me in Vox Tower for three weeks. We are not square. If you require something of me at the moment, it will come with a handshake.”

“I–I’ll think about it,” she conceded, before stalking off. 

Alastor’s lips closed up his smile. He truly was too accommodating with her. But as much as he needed to stay on her good side, it would do no good to spoil her. 

With the set in place, and the actors in their spots, in the next minute, the production began, pulled along strings of Alastor and Lucifer’s own design. 

The Vees arrived and were welcomed cordially by Alastor, who was taking a violent delight in treating them–particularly the bodyless Vox–as if they were as unmemorable as Lucifer thought they were. Plucking at an old wound, as it were.

He ushered them to one of two facing couches. Niffty ran for tea that would never arrive in time. Angel Dust and Husk stood a ways back behind the second couch. Charlie followed along. Now the fun bit of practical effects was the King of Hell. Alastor had given him no direction, unsure what he could or–most likely–could not do.

Lucifer was in his king’s attire, standing by the couch with elbows locked as his hands rested on his cane, gazing at the Vees with disinterest that Alastor doubted was acting at all. 

The Vees were looking quite cowed, Valentino holding Vox’s screen against his body like a shield. They gave a short bow and curtsey to Lucifer, Velvette muttering ‘your majesty,’ and they sat like trained puppies.

Charlie took a seat on her father’s side, and only then did Lucifer shift to sit on the couch, cane pressed against the floor the whole way. Once sat, he gave it a flourish fit for a circusmaster, and rested it across his lap as if it were nothing more than an accessory. Alastor doubted he’d be able to stand again without assistance, but for now, he sat upright. 

There was a single beat of silence, and Charlie sprung out of her seat, hands pressed together. “Oh, I know, we should do an introduction ice breaker, right? Hi, I’m Charlie, and I just realized I don’t have a grandma? Because Granddad created Dad out of pure light and celestial intent?”

Another beat of silence. Alastor expected Lucifer to bring them back to topic, what with the severe expression that had to be half determination-half pain. Once again, he underestimated the audacity of the Morningstars.

“I’m Lucifer. Not Luci, not Lu. A fun fact about me, is…hmmm. My favorite type of animal are birds. And my favorite type of birds are either ducks or the Ars Goetia. Have you heard of them? I made them myself, you know. Okay, who next?”

The Vees blanched at that, but Alastor didn’t read it as a threat. Their cockatiel of a king was the pride of sin, after all. If he had been helpless this whole time, why was there no standing army, and why weren’t they here now? No, Lucifer did not ask for help, because he did not see a need for help. Even now, he perceived Vox as so far beneath him, it would be like calling in an exterminator for a single roach. 

Lucifer was simply offering a fun bit of trivia for his daughter’s game. Ha ha. How fiendishly endearing.

Alastor jumped in, a wide grin just for Vincent. “My name is Alastor, as you all know, I am the strongest sinner in Hell.”

And the room went around, with silly, reluctant introductions, before Lucifer shifted at once from supportive dad, to apathetic king. His elbow leaned against the wooden couch arm. His tail lashed. “So, we should talk consequences, huh?” 

Vox fritzed, perhaps because Valentino’s fingers tightened too hard into his screen. “Look, it was just a little idea that got too big. But…isn’t that what you rebelled for? We–”

“You,” Velvette and Valentino cut in.

“I–just wanted to help Hell get out from under the heel of Heaven! Just like everyone wanted. I can’t–it’s not my fault you got some bad press!”

Velvette hissed at him, but didn’t dare argue with their company. 

Lucifer’s brow rose. “So when you said you wanted to ‘rule Creation’” he started, using exaggerated air quotes. “That was…” he waved his blackened fingers around, impatiently.

“Haha…I must have misspoken. I only meant to represent the needs of the people. And the grievances they had with…” If Vox had arms still, Alastor was sure he’d be gesturing to the king, “the angels keeping us down here, and the people, they are angry. Their asks were big, too big. I wouldn’t have asked them of you myself! I was simply trying to give them a soap box…to express their concerns. I only wanted to help them hemorrhage the hurt.”

Lucifer canted his head, exposing his teeth. Lucifer leaned forward, cane held between his hands, managing menacing and regal rather than frail, by some miracle. “You…wanna be the ringmaster?” He used that same husky growl he’d given at Vox’s rally.

Alastor enhanced the comment by coming to stand behind Lucifer, his willing allegiance–for the time being–perfectly clear. It had driven Vox mad, when he’d given his attention to Lucifer instead, and Alastor simply couldn’t resist. “It really wasn’t a bad performance, Vox. But…your talent only ever took you so far. Always the understudy, never the star. Hardly even the boy handing out peanuts at intermission.”

Vox’s face glitched five ways ‘til Sunday, voice stuttering and distorting. Alastor only watched on smugly at the helpless screen. Alastor gave him a taunting little pout, as if to say too bad you can’t lay your grubby hands on me this time.

“Not the place…cállate delante el cornudo,” Valentino hissed softly, cutting off whatever delicious reaction he would have had with his hand. “Sorry, highness, we really should be going. Angel, come, we’re leaving now–”

Valentino went to stand, but stopped when Lucifer raised a hand. Alastor couldn’t tell if it was by Valentino’s own power that he sat again. 

“You’re not leaving without a punishment. You tried to overthrow Heaven and Hell,” Lucifer said, and he sounded near baffled that they would think otherwise. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and talking to you know, I see I fucked up,” Vox said. The previous rage was gone, and his voice even trembled a skosh. “I saw what destruction I enabled with the people’s rebellion, and I even hurt the king, even if that wasn’t really my intent. I think…I think I finally see the light in your mission, Charlie. I lost everything.” A single fat tear, ran down his screen. “I realized the only real way to get to Heaven…is being redeemed. So what do you say, Charlie? Can I stay here with you at the Hazbin Hotel?” 

Charlie stared at him. She bit her lip, hard. “No.”

“What the fuck?” Vox screeched.

“No. You can’t stay here. You don’t mean it and you’re not ready to want it. As much as I want you to change…if you stay here you’ll only be a danger to my family. If you truly want redemption…you have to do it the hard way, by gaining my trust first,” Charlie said, lifting up her head in pride, even as her eyes watered. 

“Why you fucking–brzzt!” His mouth was covered by Velvette and Valentino diving to cover it before he could curse the princess out in front of the king. “WE KNOW…YOU CAN’T EVEN…” He bit their hands, exposing his mouth. “We know you’re all talk right now Lucifer, you’re still all fucked up, you can barely even stand! Did you forget we had Angel Dust telling us everything he overheard?” He guffawed. “You’re a joke!”

Lucifer didn’t outwardly react, in fact, his eyes had already wandered halfway through the speech. “I won’t kill you…since Charlie still believes you might be redeemed one day…” he started, stretching his cane out and dragging it back, as if he were dragging at the carpet. “Now, I can’t be redeemed, naturally. Devil and all. And Alastor’s clearly a lost cause, but… you’d be wrong to bet against Charlie.”

Lucifer stopped at his feet and seemed to pick nothing up, holding it as if it were something. Angel seemed to readjust his balance, blinking confusedly. Then Alastor got it, and his ears pricked forward.

“So I’m going to be forgiving this time. I’m gonna pay Vee Tower a visit sometime soon and destroy the fucking thing, so I recommend you tell your employees not to come to work anymore. And second,” he squeezed his fist, and glowing chains manifested, from Valentino to Angel. 

The moth’s eyes blew wide in shock, and he almost knocked Vox to the floor in his haste to jump up. “Ay jader, no no– No, what are you–?”

Lucifer pulled on the chain, not with a tug like before, but hand over hand, complete lack of interest, perhaps exhaustion, wearing his face like a blank theater mask. He only stopped when he’d run out of chain and Val was kneeling at his legs, panting and scared, as if he wasn’t taller than Lucifer, even kneeling at his feet.

Next to Alastor, Angel was no longer breathing, holding himself tight. Husk was right beside him, watching everything with the sharpness of a cat and a card reader.

“Quite the contract,” Lucifer said, but he wasn’t reading anything, as far as Alastor could tell. He was staring into Val’s eyes. And that was the last he said about the damned contract before the chain shattered into golden light. Val screamed, eyes blown wide and bright with horror.

Lucifer muttered to the moth, as he tried coming to grips with his loss, “For the record, big red eyes look better on my Goetia.”

Then he took a shuddered breath, Val still hunched between his knees, and Alastor knew with certainty the king was spent. He impressed his most predatory grin, and put his hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, as a means to keep him upright as Alastor leaned forward, letting his demonic self twist and curl and stitch into shadows. 

The light bringer’s shadow. He could live with that role for the foreseeable future. “And now all of you. KRzzzttttzzt. Begone.”

It took nothing else, the two of them taking Vox, Valentino’s prize possession lost to him for good. They beat an escape, pursued by shadows, wailing and dumbfounded. The shadows shuddered the doors as they went, before retreating back to their maker. Alastor gently put his other hand to Lucifer’s shoulder as the small man listed.

He almost pulled away when he felt a hand reach up and touch his arm, but it was faint and brief, a short tingle as the half-healed lacerations on his arm cleared to fresh skin.

Behind him Angel Dust collapsed and wailed himself silly. Charlie choked on a sob, and ran to console him. Husk, was already there, holding him as if he were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. 

Yes, hooray. Some good news. Angel had the rest of his life to be relieved about it, though. Upon leaning back over the couch, Alastor could see the king’s eyes blink, once, twice, as if weighed down by heavy darkness, before sliding shut. 

How very interesting, what the king perceived but did not share. What he understood when he played the fool. Though differently compelled, perhaps they were not so diametrically at odds.

“I’ll take him back to his quarters for rest then,” Alastor told only himself. He’d finally decided, he was committed now. Not as the helpful hotelier, but to something more…regal. Surely the king wouldn’t mind some reciprocity. If a deal was off the table, a partnership of a sort. “After all, the brightest lights make the darkest shadows.”