Chapter Text
Lucifer Morningstar waltzed into the dim, echoing chamber like it was a stage built specifically for him—which, in fairness, most rooms were if he was inside them. His heels clicked cheerfully against the floor as he hummed a tune only he could call music.
“Do-do-do. My daughter loves me. I am the best dad ever. Best dad in Hell, yeah. Best dad ever. Amazing‑mazing dad, uh. Every day’s Father’s Day with me, yeah!"
He threw his arms wide and spun, cape fluttering dramatically. The acoustics were TERRIBLE—perfect for a self‑absorbed little performance.
“Charlie? Charlie? Your father has arrived!” he sang, grinning so broadly his cheeks hurt. “Ready to give you a… just a big ’ol a-papa-pology. I am so sorry, Charlie. Please don’t give up on me.”
He paused, hand over heart.
She called me. She called ME. She wants to talk. She forgives me. She forgives me because she LOVES me. I am adored. I am cherished. I am the pinnacle of paternal excellence.
The chamber remained silent.
He cleared his throat. “Charlie?”
A sudden spotlight snapped on overhead with a theatrical CLICK. It illuminated a scarlet X on the floor, bright and ominous.
Lucifer beamed like he'd been handed a birthday cake.
“Ooh! Is that— is this for me, honey? Aw! You, uh, you want your ol’ padre to kick it right here or somethin’? Can do. I can kick it! You know? The whole serial aesthetic is new, but, uh, whatever you’re into. Gotta follow those dreams, right?”
Kids these days. You mess up one little, itty bitty, baby attempt and reconciling Heaven and Hell and suddenly everything is dramatic spotlights and edgy décor. Probably making a statement. Probably symbolic. I love my daughter’s art phase.
At least… she used to show him her projects. Before everything went wrong…
He stepped onto the X with confidence befitting someone who absolutely believed his daughter had set up a surprise reconciliation musical number.
Just imagining her face—soft smile, hopeful eyes—made his chest loosen for the first time in weeks. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time he wouldn’t disappoint her.
A glass cage dropped from above with a violent CRASH, sealing him inside. The sound echoed like a lid slamming shut over a bug jar.
Lucifer blinked. “…Um. Okay. Alright. Mm-hmm. Uh…”
Metal gleamed. Shadows shivered. Wires hissed from the walls like mechanical serpents.
“Funny choice, sweetheart!” he called. “Bit intense, but, uh—hey, I’m flexible!”
The wires wrapped around his wrists, ankles, chest, sinking him into four distinct sockets. There was a faint click, like something locking into place.
“Heh-heh—okay. Alright. Strong hug! You got me, Charlie. You—you…” He forced a laugh. “I know. Is this one of those pranks? Are you pranking me right now? That’s so fun!”
…Is it fun? It’s fun if she’s here. If she’s not here, it is… less fun. Potentially not fun at all. Why is she not answering? Why is the lighting suddenly so murdery?
From the shadows, a voice—her voice, but uncanny valley wrong—echoed:
“Sorry, Dad. This isn’t a prank. It’s a takeover.”
Lucifer froze. The air left his lungs in a confused, indignant puff. His stomach dropped. If Charlie wasn’t the one talking—then where was she? And why wasn’t she answering? She wouldn’t just leave him here… right? Right??
“Hey. Wait, you’re… you’re not Charlie.” He squinted into the gloom, trying to place the silhouette imitating his daughter. “Ha-ha. Real cute. Very amusing. Tell you what, let me go now and I won’t smite you and—”
His gaze drifted sideways and hit a tied‑up Alastor.
Lucifer made a face like he’d found something unsightly stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
“…Wait. Red guy?”
Alastor gave a lazy, cheerful wave. Lucifer rolled his eyes so hard he nearly sprained something.
“Oh, THIS is embarrassing,” Lucifer muttered. “You getting kidnapped does NOT count as a hobby, by the way.”
Before he could insult him further, another figure materialized—tall, crackling with blue static, screen-faced, irritating from the very first millisecond.
Lucifer didn't know his name.
Lucifer didn’t WANT to know him.
Lucifer already disliked him.
And if this was the guy who’d been messing with Charlie? Oh, he extra disliked him. A special dislike. A deluxe, limited-edition, collector’s-item hate.
“Oh look,” he sniffed. “The a‑hole who’s been giving my daughter problems. Great. Fantastic. My evening is RUINED. I don’t want to talk to YOU!”
The intruder spread his arms wide. “Lucifer. Lou! Lucy! Come on, buddy, we’re past all that, remember? We both know you can’t harm Sinners.”
Lucifer scoffed so hard it was almost a cough.
“Uh-huh. Explains the showboating. Let me guess—the bellhop told you that one.”
“Host,” Alastor corrected sharply. “And it seems he figured it out because you’re sloppy with your secrets.”
“Sloppy?” Lucifer snapped. “Oh, when I get out of here, I will show you sloppy, you—!”
A mechanical hum cut him off as the machine around him shuddered to life. The cage lifted, glass rattling.
Static crackled—and pop! Vox teleport-jumped in front of them.
“Hey! Could you both shut up? PLEASE? This is my moment.” Vox threw his arms up dramatically. “I own you! I own the Radio Demon! I own Hell! And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.”
Lucifer nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. Whatever gets you off, guy. Not to kink‑shame, but I am married. Still. I think.” He wriggled against the restraints. “Oof, that’s kind of snug.”
“Like it?” Vox taunted. “It’s angelic metal from my new friend Carmilla Carmine.”
Lucifer gave him a long, blank stare. “…Nice name drop. I have no idea who that is.”
“Well, you see she—”
“Yeah, nobody cares, man!” Lucifer cut in, bright and bubbly. “Look, uh, I don’t know what you’re planning, but it won’t work, okay? You’re garbage. That’s why you’re in Hell. You were a failure in life, and you’re a failure now. Okay?”
Vox’s grin twitched. Just a little.
“Oh, Lucifer,” he said softly. “You should be much more worried than that.”
Lucifer smirked. “Ha! Why? It’s not like there’s anything you can do to kill me.”
Vox leaned in, voice dropping to a gleeful, static‑laced hiss.
“Oh, I’m counting on it.”
The sockets around Lucifer’s limbs ignited—first with a faint buzz, then a bright, electric snap. Energy crawled up his arms and legs like fire ants with bad intentions.
Lights overhead flickered, revealing a massive VoxTek emblem glowing ominously.
And then—
Darkness.
Silence.
The faint hum of a machine waiting to devour him.
Lucifer swallowed hard, throat suddenly very dry.
“…Charlie?”
But no one answered.
And for the first time all evening, the silly goose father act slipped—just a hair.
Did she really call me? Did she actually forgive me? No, stop, don’t think about that. I came here… because I wanted her forgiveness. I came here because… I needed it.
A shiver ran down his spine. But what if she’s here? What if she’s… hurt? Oh gods. Oh no no no no.
The glass cage rattled once, twice, then slowly began to roll. Lucifer’s stomach lurched. Great. A moving stage. Wonderful.
He squinted through the dim light, trying to track the shadows. Every wire seemed alive, slithering under the glow of the flickering lights. The silence pressed against him like a vice.
“Allons-y, glass coffin,” he muttered. “Let’s see where this tour takes me.”
And with that, the cage creaked forward, carrying him deeper into whatever trap awaited.
The soft, smug hum of something very unpleasant swathed him in darkness. He was still locked into those ridiculous angelic sockets, but now the whole cage was rolling forward. Slowly. Like a coffin on a field trip.
“Oh! A little tour! Très chic. Who needs Paris when you can be shoved through Hell in a glass box?”
He wiggled uselessly against the restraints, wrists twitching. “Not that I’m nervous. I’m… delightful. Don’t judge me.”
Keep it light, Lou. Silly goose mode: on. Quip until the fear shuts up.
The cage thumped over uneven flooring, wires curling across the ground like caffeinated snakes. He winced as the restraints dug into his skin.
“Wow. Very… cable-forward design. Who set this up? An electrician with abandonment issues? Five stars for aesthetic terror, truly.”
Focus. Charlie. Sweet baby girl. Did she call me? Did she forgive me? Did she get captured? IS SHE OK?!
The cage rattled. He attempted a heroic laugh and got a nervous hiccup instead.
“So many wires! Very intimidating! Amateur hour, really—Lucifer Morningstar cannot be scared by—by—whatever that noise was.”
A metallic clang echoed. He flinched.
“…Great acoustics. Love that for me.”
Charlie. Brave, brilliant, too-good-for-Hell Charlie. Please be safe. Please not involved. Please not watching this.
The cage hissed to a stop. The room beyond glowed with tangled panels and far too many blinking lights.
“Oh wow. Décor: ‘Electrocution Chic.’ Very bold. Very on-brand for, uh… whoever’s doing this.”
He tried to wriggle. Nothing.
“I am absolutely escaping this. Eventually. Probably. Put up a statue later.”
Focus, Lou. Think about Charlie. Think about Charlie. Keep that up in your head. Do not think about the bad wires. Do not think about the electricity. Do not think about—oh no.
“Uh… Charlie? Sweetheart? Daughter? Anyone? Red Bellhop? No? Nobody? Just me and… wires. Okay. Fine. That’s fine. Totally fine. Totally fine.” He forced a chuckle that came out more like a squeaky groan.
A fresh jolt popped at his fingertips. He flinched.
The machine woke up.
Lucifer’s head throbbed as the cage trembled beneath him. From somewhere above came muffled voices, egotistical and arrogant, dripping with disdain for demons. He squinted at the darkness.
“Oh… great,” he muttered, wiggling against the sockets again. “Some very chatty people, definitely NOT invited to my TED Talk on the benefits of duck based telenovelas. Can they—do they have to be so… loud? Sounds like they’re throwing a garden party… but, like… evil people’s garden party. All capes, all sneers, zero manners. Very, very rude.”
He tilted his head, listening harder.
“Might of Lilith,” he whispered. The words echoed ominously, and his stomach sank. “Oh, no. That is definitely bad. I love my wife, yes, but I—oh, I do not love the idea of becoming a power source for some oversized demonic blender. Not a fan, not on the list, zero stars, would not recommend.”
A mechanical hum filled the room. Lights flickered along the walls, casting ghostly shadows across the tangle of wires. The hum grew louder, vibrating through the glass cage and into Lucifer’s very bones.
“Neighbors home?” a voice called from above. “Angels! Come out and play!”
Lucifer groaned, pulling futilely at the restraints. “Uh… hello? It’s me! Yeah, very funny. Not funny! Stop it! You’re gonna—oh boy, okay, yeah. Definitely gonna zap me. Yep. Yep, bad. Very bad.”
And then the electricity hit.
“Oooohhh! H-Hey! That tickles! No… bad tickle! Bad tickle! Ohhhh… ouch! Not… tickle… okay, bad tickle!” He laughed nervously as sparks danced along his limbs. “I—ha! I… I do not recommend this! Five stars for pain, zero for enjoyment. Terrible. Worst spa day ever.”
The cage vibrated violently as the machine began firing its energy beam toward Heaven’s forcefield. Lucifer grit his teeth, muscles straining against the bindings. “Come on. Come on! Wriggle! Wiggle! Wiggle! Oh, fantastic. Can’t. Move. At. All. Brilliant. Really brilliant!”
Above him, the distant din of the chaos continued: voices shouting, metal clashing, egos booming. It was all muffled, like he was underwater in the middle of a storm. He could barely tell friend from foe.
A faint, distorted singing floated down. Lucifer’s eyes widened. “Uh… what is that? Singing? Really? Oh boy… oh no. Charlie… she’s gonna be so mad. She’ll know I messed up. She’ll—oh, she’s gonna kill me.”
He forced another laugh, trembling slightly. “But hey, look at me! Still funny! Still… charismatic… right? Yep. Silly, lovable Lucifer, trapped and electrified. Totally fine. Totally under control. Hah. Hah… oh gods, help me.”
Sparks arced along the wires, licking at the glass cage, and Lucifer groaned, clenching his teeth thight against the painful electricity. “Okay… seriously. Stop tickling me. Bad tickle! I am not into… this! Why… why are you… agh! FUCK!”
The world blurred, colors melting into buzzing static.
“Okay… that’s fine… I’ll just… nap. Little nap. Tiny nap. Very macho. Very intimidating. Everyone’s scared of a man who naps during torture—”
And then Lucifer’s head lulled back with all the grace of a collapsing marionette.
Lucifer’s eyes fluttered open to the dim, humming interior of the machine. His limbs ached. His pride ached. Mostly his pride. He’d spent the better part of the night as an angelic battery, and honestly… he’d almost rather be talking to the bellhop. Almost.
“Morning,” he muttered to the wires, because apparently, wires were now his audience. “Hello, electric friends. Let’s… do another round of finger wrestling later. No? Right, because I can’t move them. Excellent.”
He heard faint voices above, egos clashing in the upper chambers. He perked up—maybe it was Charlie. Maybe! “Charlie? Sweetheart? Daughter? Is that you? Or—oh gods, please, not more of those sinners! I told you, they’re all garbage! I just got used to being shocked once an hour…”
He squirmed against the restraints, which was mostly symbolic, but highly dramatic.
Suddenly, a panel snapped open. A shadow leapt down, landing lightly beside him.
Lucifer flinched, then blinked. His vision cleared enough to see who it was in the bad machine with him. He plastered his face against his prison.
“Ah!”
Lucifer smiled brightly. “Ha—hey! It’s you. It’s Char… Charlie’s girlfriend! Ah, what are you doin’ here?”
Vaggie crouched beside him, assessing the restraints. “Uh… saving you, apparently. Do you have any idea what you’re attached to?”
Lucifer squinted at the machine, then back at her. “No idea, nope. But it does make my head feel kinda fuzzy though.”
Then it hit him.
Vaggie was here.
Which meant—
Charlie must be here too.
Oh gods. No no no no no. His baby girl. In danger. His stomach twisted.
She was brave—yes—smart, fierce, capable—yes—but also small, and soft, and precious, and—
Ducks. Ducks are small and fierce too. Strong. Resilient. Charlie is like a duck. A very powerful duck. Ducks can handle things. Ducks can—
Charlie! Wait, if she was here…
Lucifer squirmed in his cage. “By the way… is Charlie still mad at me?”
Vaggie’s lips tightened. She focused on prying open the angelic cage, ignoring the question for now. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out. As soon as I figure out how.”
Lucifer’s exaggerated shoulders drooped. “Ah… huh. No reassurance at all. That stings. Literally, not literally. I mean, yes, literally, my wrists… never mind. I’m hurt.” He forced a grin. “Emotional scarring, that’s my new look. Trendy.”
Above, distant lights flickered. He could barely see through the vent that Vaggie dropped down into that HDTV glitching microwave smug presence materialize in front of Charlie, setting up his next move. Lucifer watched, craning his neck as best he could.
“Okay,” he whispered, whisper-laughing, “so she’s trying to save me. Very heroic. I approve. I think. As long as she stays safe. Vaggie, you are… oh, I like your haircut. Anyway, don’t drop me. That would be… bad. Very bad. Like—‘Worst Dad Morning Ever’ bad. Probably trending.”
Vaggie tugged at the restraints again. The wires hummed, responding to the angelic energy still coursing through him.
Lucifer groaned. “How hard is it to break a box? Although it is kind of round. Would this be considered a box? What is a box? Box. Box, bo—oh gods, that’s a funny word. Box! Yes. Box.”
A surge of power pulsed through the cage. Sparks danced dangerously close to Vaggie.
“Shit!” she exclaimed, vaulting backward to avoid the crackling energy. “I’ll come back for you!”
Lucifer flailed helplessly. “That’s okay! Take your time! I’m totally… fine. Electrically… and emotionally… fine. Meanwhile, I have a moment of duck-based meditation. Quack quack. Focus on the ducks. Very brave. Very wise.”
He paused, hearing the faint muffled chaos above. “And there he sat, trapped and electrified, a self-declared ‘best dad ever,’ listening to the muffled chaos above, waiting for someone—anyone—to come rescue him. I wonder if Charlie even knows I’m here. Probably not. But… maybe… maybe she’ll forgive me anyway.”
Lucifer sagged back in the restraints, wearing a half-grin, half-grimace. “I miss my daughter. And I miss not being fried like a brunch special. But hey! At least I’m… still charming. And funny. And very… electrically fashionable.”
A tremor of energy forced him to curl his fingers against the sting.
“Still charming! Still… charismatic! Silly, lovable Lucifer, trapped, fried, and thinking of ducks. Totally fine. Totally under control. Hah. Hah… oh gods, help me.”
The Might of Lilith shuddered as Vox twisted more cables into the chamber, the machine groaning like a metal beast waking from a nap. Lights flickered, sparks danced across Lucifer’s angelic restraints, and every nerve in his body screamed.
Lucifer sagged in the sockets, sweat dripping, hair plastered to his forehead. “I’m never staying at this hotel again. The room service… seriously… the room service sucks,” he muttered, trying to sound casual while vibrating under a surge of energy.
A panel snapped open, and Vaggie dropped down again. “Lucifer! Hang on—I think I’ve got—”
But before she could finish, Vox’s voice boomed: “SMILE FOR THE CAMERA, BITCH!”
The entire chamber rotated violently, and Lucifer lurched against the wires. “Oh… the bad tingles. The bAD tINgLes aRE bACk. OH, GODS, THE BAD TINGLES!”
Electricity crawled across him, making his muscles spasm. He groaned, teeth gritted. “Stop it… stop it… I can’t… oh gods…”
Vaggie scrambled to the side. “I’ll come back—I need a plan—”
Lucifer blinked up at her. He forced a weak grin through the pain. “Okay… okay… duck time. Focus on the ducks. Very brave. Ducks. Strong. Resilient. Brave little duck. Brave little girl… I hope she’s okay…” His words slipped into a whisper.
The machine pulsed, sending a jolt through him. He hissed, then tried for a smirk. “And hey—don’t worry about me. I’ll just be… hanging out. Literally. Very decorative. Very chandelier‑chic.”
Another spark snapped at his ribs. He winced. “And whoever’s running this? Yep. Definitely not noticing me. I am but a humble electrical accessory. A garnish. A side dish. Please ignore.”
He twitched as another surge struck. “Beelzebub, I see you in the third ring. How’s that buffet? Hey, Mammon—gonna make a circus act out of this?”
He slumped back with a pained laugh. “Still a power source, huh. Very fancy.”
Vaggie ducked a crackling beam, gripping the chamber’s edge. “Hold on! I’m coming back—just—stay alive!”
Lucifer let out a groan that turned into a hoarse honk. “Yeah, sure! I’ll … ducky honor code… Charlie… my brave girl…”
He twitched again, laughing weakly between spasms. “I… still… somehow… electrically fashionable… very… ouchie.”
Sparks danced along the restraints, licking the glass cage. He blinked toward the vents, imagining Charlie somewhere above—worried, fighting, saving him. “I hope she’s okay… she’s smart… she’s brave… she’s … her mother was…”
Another violent surge bent the wires like metal serpents. He whimpered, half‑laughing, half‑mourning.
Lucifer sagged, sweat dripping, muscles shaking. Duck visions flickered behind his eyelids—mixed with Charlie’s face, a flash of Lilith’s silhouette, and the distant echoes of Hell’s rings.
“I… miss… my daughter… but… ducks… brave… survive… like her…”
The cage rattled as the machine hummed at full power. He let out a strangled squeak. “Very… bad place… worst spa day… but… I still… quack… quack…”
Above him, chaos rumbled—distant, alive.
The chamber pulsed again; his vision burned white. “Oh… gods… just… let… my… baby… win…”
The shocks blurred into one continuous, burning ribbon of pain. Lucifer’s world shrank to sparks, metal screams, and his own ragged breathing. He wasn’t sure when Vaggie slipped away again—only that she had, and the machine seemed almost delighted by her absence.
Then something changed.
A pitch shift. A stutter in the lights.
The weapon hiccuped—once, violently—like it had bitten off more power than even it could handle.
Lucifer felt the wires loosen by a hair, then another, then—
A snap.
A crackle.
A sound of metal failing under its own monstrous ambition.
His vision swam, but through the haze he sensed the machine collapsing inward, failing, dying.
He didn’t know if it meant salvation or doom—only that it was happening now.
And all he could do was cling to consciousness long enough to see the end.
He croaked. A garbled squeak.
Charming. Very charming. Electric, literal agony. Totally chic.
I miss my daughter… I miss my daughter… oh gods, I hope she’s okay…
A shudder through the weapon. A high-pitched shriek of tearing metal. Sparks raining in chaotic arcs. The cage rattling violently as the machine overloaded.
Lucifer’s head lolled sideways. “Ah… gods… hot… hot… frying… ducks… need… Charlie… safe.”
And the world collapsed for what felt like eons. Longer than his Fall. Longer than any bad therapy session he’d ever endured.
Pain wracked him, but through the delirium, through spasms, something shifted. The wires sizzled… then went slack. A hiss, a snap—and then—
Silence.
He sagged forward in the angelic sockets, too weak to hold himself upright. Sweat and blood ran in rivulets, but he could breathe without screaming.
I’m… alive?
He fell out of the contraption awkwardly. His right arm folded under him at the wrong angle. Something slipped—a stomach-turning crunch-pop—and white-hot pain stabbed up his neck.
“AaaAAH—oh gods, that’s… definitely not supposed to do that—”
Every movement was a fresh torment, but he had to—had to see her. Charlie. Alive. Safe. Nothing else existed.
Broken glass crunched beneath him. Panels snapped. Wires fizzled. Metal groaned in surrender. One hand on scorched ground, one clawing at a bent panel, he inched upward. Pain screamed in every joint, but he was moving. He was still moving.
And then he saw her. Bright, worried, alive. Charlie.
Her eyes—so bright, so concerned—met his. Relief and fear and love collided in that look, hitting him harder than any voltage could.
“Dad?” she whispered.
Lucifer tried to rise. Legs collapsed. Breath burned. Every nerve a live wire. He rasped, voice trembling, shoulder audibly cracks as he popped it back into place: “Don’t… go down there… it’s… a place… of pain.”
She held him steady, warmth grounding him, refusing to let him fall further. Every agonizing second, every spark of torment, every horrible jolt—all of it crashed into relief at once.
“I… missed you… I… oh gods… you’re really… here… really here… and I—oh yes—I am mostly dead but stylishly so… still… alive…”
He collapsed fully into her embrace, a tangled, trembling heap of fried pride, love, and pain. His voice cracked, a final, manic quack of devotion.
And then… silence.
Relief, love, terror, pride, and exhaustion collided. Broken. Fried. Alive. And she was alive.
Finally… finally, he could exhale.