Bedtime Rituals to Try out Before the Next Angelic War

by Budinca

Summary:

He hadn’t even managed to put on shoes when Charlie’s loud, desolated groan at the other end of the hotel had made him rush out of his room, and his slippers and the hems of his pyjama bottoms were slowly getting soaked through. Why the fuck had he even bothered to change? He loved Charlie (see constants no. 1-4), but even he had to admit his current discomfort was solely the result of the list of healthy bedtime rituals she’d organised for him when, allegedly, the bags under his eyes had started developing a gravitational pull.

In which Lucifer has insomnia, the hotel is moderately alive, and Alastor is in over his head.

Chapter 1

In his many, many, crooked-Christ-so-fucking-many, many years of being some flavour of alive, Lucifer had learnt that there were few constants in this life. Fewer still which remained consistent when you tore your eyes away from them for a second. Perhaps, if your eyesight, hearing, attention span or sense of self started to fail, some constants could become more constant than others, but, this being Hell (like, from the Bible), that also meant by the time you noticed, you would have far bigger problems on your hands.

In short, when you found any without losing a limb, you had to hold onto them for dear life. 

These were the constants Lucifer had in this hotel:

1. He loved his daughter.
2. His daughter, for fuck knew what reason, seemed to harbour some form of affection for him too.
3. Despite point no. 2, Charlie was smarter, kinder, and just better than he’d ever had the potential to be.
4. He would never know what he’d ever done to deserve her. Probably because he didn’t.
5. Attending one therapy session every 500 years was, in fact, not enough.
6. Designing the Pride ring in red had been the biggest fucking mistake of his life, bar the whole Free Will debacle. Seriously, did he have to let Mammon claim copyright on all the green?
7. Room 403 was always going to be flooded.
8. The kitchen was always going to run low on coffee.
9. Alastor made no fucking sense, except in the things he made too much sense. Lucifer still hadn’t decided which made him more uncomfortable.

 

---

 

The scene: Hallway before the open door of room 403, red carpet already soggy underfoot.

The time: 11:47 at night.

Dramatis personae: 

Lucifer, king of Hell, ruler of the Pride ring, part-time chef, and quasi-divine yoyo between the textbook definitions of narcolepsy and insomnia.

Vaggie, co-owner of the hotel, probably-maybe-hopefully future daughter-in-law, occasional security detail, and one third of the entire competent staff of the hotel.

Alastor, hotelier, overhyped podcaster, temporarily-banned cook, second third of the entire competent staff of the hotel, and utter git.

The smell of mud and sulphur was not yet strong enough to have gained sentience, but by the look of things, it was only a matter of time. Already, at the far corners of the room, Lucifer could see the splotches of water silk growing on the surface of the water. There was the fucking green!

Charlie, the third and last part of the competent staff of the hotel (for Lucifer sure as fuck wasn’t one of them even on his best days), was currently absent, having rushed to relocate the unlucky former resident of room 403 somewhere in a different wing of the hotel. They’d lasted a full three and a half days, which was more than most people they’d tried to house in this room. Perhaps they had potential.

However, since it had been more than a week since the last incident (clean-up between residents usually took three to four business days), room 403 seemed to have been trying to make up for lost time.

“My, it’s put on quite a show this time,” Alastor said cheerily.

Vaggie groaned the groan Lucifer wished he had the energy to summon. 

He hadn’t even managed to put on shoes when Charlie’s loud, desolated groan at the other end of the hotel had made him rush out of his room, and his slippers and the hems of his pyjama bottoms were slowly getting soaked through. Why the fuck had he even bothered to change? He loved Charlie (see constants no. 1-4), but even he had to admit his current discomfort was solely the result of the list of healthy bedtime rituals she’d organised for him when, allegedly, the bags under his eyes had started developing a gravitational pull.

Anyway. Vaggie was still groaning and running her hands through her hair.

“I don’t understand. What are we doing wrong? We even called over those ghost-grabbing imps and it was a long queue to get hold of them.”

“When was this again?” Alastor asked.

“Oh, last week. They said it’s not ghost-related.”

“Well, of course not! Dear Janet is a sweetheart, she’d never stoop so low as to mess with plumbing, she’s quite the dignified spectre. You should’ve come to me before you sent those nasty fellas to bother her!”

“You were… busy. No, don’t you dare tell me, the last thing I wanna know is what you do in your spare time.”

“Why, I’d almost be offended, had I had any inclination to share.”

The sludge level was rising, and so was the smell. 

Lucifer bit back a disgusted grunt and braved a first step into the flooded room — and immediately slipped. In the split second it took for his centre of gravity to shift, he could already imagine that fetid water soaking through all his clothes with onset nausea, but before he’d even started his descent, Alastor grasped his arm and held him up.

It hurt, but, well, at least it wasn’t nasty pipe-juice.

“Can someone remind me why we don’t just close this room off for good?” Lucifer asked, setting his foot back in the, yes, even higher water levels beyond the door. Alastor’s hand remained on his upper arm until he’d finished straightening himself up, then returned to his cane. “Or teleport it out of existence.”

“Because we’ve tried that, and it only made it worse. It doesn’t like being… ignored,” Vaggie said with a disgusted shudder. Lucifer could relate.

“And if we got rid of it entirely, it would damage the structural integrity of the hotel,” Alastor added, in the tone of a kindergarten teacher explaining why fire was bad for your hands.

Lucifer raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you seen the state of your radio tower?”

“I assure you its structure is quite integral. Now, I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the sound of those pipes, so I say we get this over with.”

That said, Alastor put his cane away and stepped over the threshold and deeper into the room. Without tripping, of course. Asshole. 

Lucifer looked after him blandly until he disappeared into the bathroom, then turned back to Vaggie. His slippers and trousers were fully soaked now, cold and slimy in a way running water should never be, but he put all of his remaining energy into what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Go check on Charlie, Vaggie. And make sure you both get back to sleep. We’ll finish here.”

Vaggie obviously warred with relinquishing her alleged duty in her head, but the smell must have reached her too in full, for she folded not two grimaces later.

“I, well, if you’re sure…”

“I’m sure,” Lucifer said, and even threw in a yawn to loosen the atmosphere. See? Practically effortless. “Good night, Vaggie.”

“Good, um, yeah, good night.”

Lucifer waded through the mid-calf high water, trying as much as he could to keep his slippers on and to avoid whatever debris the latest room tantrum had produced. He managed both, to some extent. It might have involved him digging nauseatingly under the water to pull a piece of glass out of his slipper, but he did. That was being the king of Hell to you. 

There were rivulets of black tar dripping out of the ceiling and along the walls now, consistencies not quite mixing when they hit the water. Lucifer tried to remember what room was upstairs, praying they wouldn’t have to fix that one too tonight. They probably didn’t. As temperamental as it tended to be, room 403 was usually pretty self-enclosed in its outbursts of personality (Charlie’s coinage).

By the time he’d made his way to the bathroom, Alastor was already sitting on the edge of  the presumably not-haunted tub, feeding small cuts of meat to the shoal of fish-like creatures currently barring him from reaching the drain plug. They’d tried boiling or fishing them out the few times the room had turned into a swamp before, but, well, that had only made the clean-up more tedious. 

Charlie had suggested bargaining. To everyone’s traitorous surprise, including Lucifer’s, it had worked.

Casting another distraught look at his submerged slippers, Lucifer reached out for the plate of mystery meat, but Alastor pulled it out of reach without even glancing his way.

Constant no. 9. Lucifer glared at him. “Can I help.”

“No need, your majesty. I’ve got it quite in hand.” That said, he held up another slice of meat, and one of the creatures practically leaped out of the water and almost latched onto his fingers before falling back into the tub with a defeated splash. “Now, now. Behave. There you go. Early bird gets the worm, but the patient vermin gets all the flesh it desires.”

“Let’s not give it ideas.” Lucifer shuddered. “I’d rather the only way guests leave this hotel be either by ascending or by choosing to go back where they came from.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I’m plenty of fun! You’re not funny.”

“Agree to disagree,” Alastor sing-sang, dragging a piece of bloodied meat through the water until more than half a dozen fish were fighting over it.

Fine, let him deal with all of that, then. Lucifer had better things to do. Such as leaning against the wall beside the tub, which should not have looked as appealing as his mind seemed to think. He resisted a moment, then two, but by the third he’d already crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

The smell was still horrible. It almost made him nostalgic for when room 403 had decided to spurt blood out of every possible orifice (read: every hole in the walls and every tear in the carpet and every scratch on the furniture). Made no fucking sense, but at least it followed with the theme. Swamps were nowhere near as classy; they just made him annoyed.

“Which is it today?” Alastor asked.

Lucifer cracked one eye open. “What?”

“Can you not sleep or can you not wake up?”

Lucifer stared at him for a few long moments, during which Alastor kept on luring the creatures from one end of the tub to the other, tiring them out.

Seriously, you let someone brew you a pot, maybe two, fine, five pots of coffee over the course of a sleepless week at the reopening of the hotel, and suddenly they act like they have a PhD in your inner workings. The fact that Lucifer happened to be unable to keep his mouth shut for longer than two minutes when caffeinated couldn’t have helped, but come on. He couldn’t have gone farther than 35 BC in his oration about his sorry fucking existence, and anyway, he’d been about 80% sure Alastor had been tuning him out the entire time.

Probably. Truth be told, Lucifer couldn’t say for certain what they’d talked about for half a dozen nights in a row, just that they… had? Talked, that is. They must have, because he didn’t remember endless awkward silences, and he certainly wouldn’t have forgotten those (his brain was nowhere near that forgiving).

Then he utterly and abruptly decided that he was way too tired to question it right now. He rubbed at his temples with the beginning of a headache.

“Both? Maybe the former more than the latter, but it’s not like I would know in advance.”

Alastor hummed. “Soothsaying not among your kingly attributes?”

“I’m not a damn witch.”

Alastor smirked up at him. Now there was a novel angle. “Such a shame. Crazed dancing by moonlight would’ve done wonders for your mental ailments.”

Lucifer scrunched up his nose. “I’ve got them perfectly under control.”

“Is that so?”

“Obviously. I’m only here to make sure you’re not ground up in tiny pieces and used to clog the water supply.”

Alastor let go of the last cut of meat to press a hand to his chest. “I’m inexpressibly touched to be the object of such worry.”

“Good, you should be.”

Alastor laughed and dipped his fingers into the water. When nothing tried to suck the meat off his bones, he nodded and started rolling up his sleeves.

Equally satisfied, Lucifer closed his eyes again and leaned his head back. He was so fucking tired. 

The rhythmic sounds of Alastor pulling clump after clump of weeds out of the bathtub was almost relaxing enough to make him forget about the slimy algae currently sticking to his pyjamas. He had everything under control. He did. Technically, what did the Devil even need sleep for? He could do away with it entirely if he put his mind to it, and he would probably fare all the better for it. So much time saved!

Oh, who was he kidding? He could already feel his body swaying even as he tried to keep a hold of his thoughts.

“The trick is…” Lucifer found himself saying without bothering to open his eyes, “...not to let it know… what you’re trying to do.”

There was a lull in the splashing sounds. “Who’s this it now, sire?”

“The… whatchamacallit… grey, spongy… brain! Yeah! Don’t let it… know your next move…”

“I see.”

“If it knows… whatchu wanna do, it will… assert dominance…”

“Which means?”

Lucifer blinked some semblance of lucidity back into himself, but he could tell it wasn’t long for this world. “If it knows you’re trying to sleep, it will keep you awake. If it knows you gotta be awake, it will put you to sleep… see… dominance.”

“Rather maladaptive, isn’t it? I can’t see it working within normal parameters in such a situation either.”

“Don’t you lecture me, I know your creepy ass wasn’t a doctor before you got here…”

“That is true, but we used to play around with the same toys.”

“Gross,” Lucifer said, leaning his head back with a sigh. “Still doesn’t count.”

“Do angels replicate human anatomy in any way?”

“They do if you spend a couple centuries hyper-fixating on biology.”

“Hm. Fascinating.”

“Sad you won’t need to dissect me now? I’m sure I put some organs out of place last I checked, that could keep you entertained for an afternoon.”

“You’re sweet to offer, but much too humble. Is that truly befitting of the sin of Pride?”

“Is this—” He pointed at the swampy bathroom. “—befitting an overlord of Hell?”

Alastor didn’t rise to the bait. “There’s no shame in a job well done,” he said and, as if to prove his point, he reached one last time deep into the tub and uncovered the drain with a vicious tug.

To give room 403 some credit, once you got to the source of the problem, the effect was often near-instantaneous. The hard part, most times, was finding out which part of the room had malfunctioned first. The hardest part was figuring out how to keep it content for longer and longer periods of time.

Right now, they had a running list of tried-and-tested offerings, but some were decidedly more effective than others.

Without raising his eyes from the draining tub, Alastor asked, “Can you give me a hand?”

Lucifer grinned. “I thought you had it all figured out.”

Alastor gave him a look that only made Lucifer’s smile widen.

“Alright, alright, give me a moment.”

Unsticking himself from the wall took some effort, but piercing the skin of his thumb didn’t. As the last of the water was draining out, he let a few droplets of golden blood swirl along with it, then disappear into the pipework with a disquieting slurp.

Lucifer pressed his thumb against his tongue. “I’ll say this much, whatever we’re dealing with here is sure developing quite the expensive palate.”

“I retract my earlier statement. There’s not a single humble bone in your body.”

Lucifer grinned against his thumb. “I have yet to confirm there’s any bones to speak of.”

To his abrupt and immense pleasure, Alastor was not quick enough to cut the laugh track before it reached his ears. But, in the interest of peace, Lucifer didn’t comment on it, just offered him a hand up from the disgusting bathroom floor.

Realising only too late that Alastor’s would be bare, ungloved, and still bearing the wet remnants of whatever had been in that water. The fact must have slipped Alastor’s mind too, for there was a brief prickle of static when their palms touched, and he let go all too soon to wipe both hands on his waistcoat.

Oddly reminiscent of their first meeting; Lucifer would have almost felt nostalgic, had that soft static not remained lodged under his skin.

Still. That was not a nice way to treat a good suit. A man(-presenting agender ex-divine entity) in soggy pyjamas and duckie slippers should know.

“Ugh, wait, let me deal with this.” 

He reached out and grabbed Alastor’s wrist, then snapped the fingers of his free hand, causing every last remnant of the latest 403 incident to disappear. The relief was instantaneous.

His hand slid off Alastor’s wrist to stifle another yawn.

“Thank you,” Alastor said. “Perhaps it’s time you retire now.”

Lucifer tested out his slippers for a couple of steps, to make sure they were adequately dry. “And leave Charlie to wrangle piss-baby overlords and deadly sins on her own? Not a chance.”

“To your room, Lucifer.”

“Who told you that name?” Lucifer tried to gasp in mock offence, before promptly losing his theatrics in the war against sleep. “Alright, fine, lead on.”

It occurred to him only when they were halfway down the hallway that he had basically tasked Alastor with taking him back to his own rooms like — like some sort of pedestrian chauffeur or butler, fuck knew, Lucifer might have used to live in a castle, but it had been a decidedly empty one. Why Alastor was actually following through on the accidental request was another mystery, which Lucifer was currently too focused on staying awake to solve. (Also, see constant no. 9.)

When they reached his quarters, the sight beyond the doors was… unexpectedly tidy. 

Lucifer wondered if Niffty had been lying in wait to catch him for just one moment outside of his rooms so she could dust the place. It made him feel… some sort of way. Inadequate, maybe. He could clean his own damn rooms. The fact that he didn’t was his own failing and only he should have to deal with it. He would have to talk to her. Yes, he would. Just as soon as he wasn’t so damn tired.

The light from the lone workbench lamp he’d had on when he’d rushed outside reflected off the floor to ceiling windows in a soft arch, bathing the whole room in warm orange light. Without either thinking or questioning it, Lucifer followed Alastor when he made a polite beeline for his latest work-in-progress.

It was a yet-unpainted model of an… auditorium, a classroom, an atelier of sorts. Charlie hadn’t been very sure what she wanted, but Lucifer was really trying to listen nowadays, so there were designated spaces for community management (a table), self-defence (two squares with ‘mat’ written on them), historical research (a figurine of Vaggie in front of a tilting bookcase), and brainstorming (he had no idea, he’d just put a duck there).

It currently looked like a mess, but at least he’d been trying to branch out. Help out! Try new things! There were still enough ducks around, but, as Charlie said, baby steps. It would all come together. It had to. Beside the model, there was still her heart- and star-adorned list of ways to un-fuck dad’s sleep schedule. Alastor was already scanning it.

Lucifer leaned back against the desk with a sigh and waited for the inevitable jibe, knowing full well he was too tired to prepare anything witty or at least rational in return.

It never came. Instead, what Alastor asked some moments later was, “Which of these have you tried?”

Lucifer started counting off his fingers. “Yoga, light therapy, every damn kind of tea I could find this side of the city, including the ones that Angel refuses to admit he has. Nothing. How’s that for—” Pause for him to break his jaw with another yawn. “—kingly attributes, eh?”

“I’ve found music can help plenty with such troubles. I would offer to play some, but since someone decided to ban radio waves in this part of the building, I can’t.”

“Your own damn fault for blasting your morning broadcast at five AM, I’m not sorry for shit. Seems counterintuitive to add more noise, though.”

“Isn’t that already your whole mode de vie in this whole process? Regardless, might as well get it out of the way, if only for dear old Charlie’s sake. Do you have any hellish contraption to listen on?”

Lucifer smirked. “I can do you one better.”

And, with another snap of his fingers, the place immediately adjacent to his desk filled not only with a gold-rimmed gramophone, but also with stacks upon stacks of records. A little forgotten collection from back at his old house. Who could have known it would one day come in handy, if only for the two and a half seconds of unmasked pleasure on Alastor’s face?

Much like with the model, Alastor didn’t waste any time before starting to examine it. He held up one record at a time, tilting it in the lamplight before setting it down again. The careful movements paired with his gloved hands gave him the air of an archivist poring over lost tomes or priceless antiques.

Which, well, Lucifer supposed they were, but fuck knew he’d never treated them with anything near this much care. He wasn’t exactly sure why the sight of Alastor doing it in his stead made something tighten in his throat. That fucking static under his skin was still there.

Perhaps, like everything in his damn life lately, it was the exhaustion.

Otherwise, this was nice. Counterintuitive as the goal might have been, it was nice to not be alone in his rooms for once. So nice, in fact, that Lucifer didn’t even notice when his body leaned slightly to the side so he could rest his cheek against Alastor’s back. So nice that, even when he noticed, he pretended not to for another few damning minutes. And, silently, Alastor let him. Again.

Because while Lucifer might not have remembered exactly what they’d managed to talk about all those nights at the reopening of the hotel, he did remember waking up from the inevitable minute-long naps at the kitchen table with his hand perilously close to Alastor’s, if not downright entwined, or with his head on his shoulder if they happened to have moved to the sofa (to better watch the passing of time on the Heaven Embassy clock far in the distance). They never mentioned it afterwards, but as far as Lucifer was concerned, that silence was just as damning.

Perhaps it was a ploy. Some long-game for Alastor to ingratiate himself with the royal family, much like his deal with Charlie (and hadn’t that been a fun conversation to have over post-extermination pancakes). But Lucifer had been the Devil for a long time now, and this wouldn’t have been his first, second, nor hundredth rodeo. 

Few demons of any renown in Hell could say they had never attempted to lure him into some sort of affair. There had been bold attempts and shy attempts, lascivious and courteous alike, and all they had in common was that Lucifer had seen through all of them. At least that was something of Lily’s that had rubbed off on him: he couldn’t help focusing on the ulterior motives even if he tried.

So perhaps it was that. But he’d seen the brief, unguarded glimpses of surprise on Alastor’s face whenever he, too, seemed to realise they’d been touching several moments too late. He’d caught the confusion before it was inevitably stifled behind a smile. 

Unless he was playing six-dimensional chess (and Lucifer wouldn’t have put it past him), this situation was as unexpected for Alastor as it was for him.

And here was constant no. 9 once again.

Because they kept finding each other on the hallways of this still-too-empty, perhaps haunted hotel. Because, barbs and spats and all, Alastor was probably (definitely) one of the first people to get more than a couple half-hearted sentences out of Lucifer in ages. 

Because when Lucifer had learnt about his deal with Charlie, his first thought had not been fire and brimstone, but ‘ of course’. Because somehow, in between the lines, he’d seen just enough of Alastor to know that nobody was that put-together without being steered by fear every day of his afterlife. And Lucifer got that. Had fear been a capital sin, he certainly would not have presided over Pride.

Of course, he still held a grudge (see constants no. 1-4). He held many. But none of them were stronger than the grudge he held over himself for putting Charlie in that position in the first place. Point in fact: Alastor was still alive and intact enough for Lucifer to lean against him.

Alastor, who kept on humming and looking through vinyl records even after Lucifer must’ve put most of his weight on him. Lucifer could feel that hum against his cheek. Alastor’s clothes smelled like cedarwood. That was also nice.

But Charlie was doing good work in this hotel, and not even the most damned demon in Hell could avoid learning some of her lessons, especially when said demon happened to love her more than anything in Hell, Heaven, Earth, or whichever cursed dimensions were still out there. 

One of Charlie’s first lessons nowadays, whenever new guests arrived at the hotel, was boundaries. How to have them, how to say them, how to respect them, how to apologise when you inevitably trampled all over them. 

They didn’t come easy to her either, she said, and at first Lucifer had gone down deep inside his head to figure out where, exactly, he’d failed her in this too. But after the initial panic, he’d started to listen, and to see, and to understand.

Charlie was ebullient, better than any angel he’d ever known, and she had so much love to give that she could hardly contain it. She hugged everything and everyone and drowned everyone in praise every moment of every day. Lucifer himself was still getting accustomed to being hugged both in the morning and in the evening (and whenever fancy struck her), but he definitely wasn’t complaining, and neither were most of the hotel staff nowadays.

She didn’t hug Alastor, though. That was another thing Lucifer had learned without even meaning to. There were the occasional pats on the hand, on the shoulder, some gentle directing around the hotel, but those were always initiated by him.

It didn’t take a genius to connect two dots, and he’d avoided this enough already.

So, without pulling away just yet, because at the end of the day he was still the Devil (from, like, the Bible), and selfishness had always been his downfall, Lucifer murmured, “Does this bother you?”

Vague, but perhaps Alastor was better at Lucifer-speak than he’d previously let on, because what he said was, “If it bothered me, you’d be halfway across the pentagram already. Now, let’s see, how about this?”

Lucifer cracked one eye open just enough to catch a glimpse of the vinyl Alastor raised over his shoulder. “’s nice…”

“My, what a wonder, you do have taste sometimes!”

“Fuck you… I invented taste…”

Alastor laughed softly. “Did you, now? Somehow, that wasn’t something heavily featured in the stories my mama told me, unless the one apple counts.” He pulled away to set the record in place and Lucifer pretended he wasn’t in mourning.

Not for the first time, he wondered what it must have been like, to spend your life fearing the Devil, then inevitably land in Hell anyway (because, let’s be real, the statistics were not in Heaven’s favour these days), only to find out the Devil had been… this, all along. Whatever the fuck he was nowadays.

A soft tune started playing, reminding him of rain over cobbles on a summer’s day. Nat King Cole singing about orange skies.

Alastor rested his hands on the workbench and leaned back against it too, but instead of putting more distance between them, he was the tiniest bit closer than he’d been when Lucifer had all but slumped against him. Shoulders sagged and legs stretched out just a bit more than was necessary, putting the two of them at almost even height.

As said, it didn’t take a genius to connect two dots. Lucifer sighed and leaned his head on Alastor’s shoulder, arms still crossed, but less tense than before. He still smelled like cedarwood. It was starting to get annoying.

“You wouldn’t be able to move me,” Lucifer said without opening his eyes.

“Hm?”

“Across the pentagram.”

“Are you saying that if I told you right now to please stop touching me, you wouldn’t crash in a blind panic through the nearest window?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Lucifer muttered. “I’d open it first.”

If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve said Alastor’s chuckle was more amused than condescending. Fond, even, supplied his sleep-addled mind, then made up for it by jolting him with a spike of anxiety.

“But seriously, do you want me to?”

Alastor sighed. “Did I, at any point, say that?”

Which was Alastor-speak for shut the fuck up and stop drawing attention to it already. This time, Lucifer got the message loud and clear. He leaned a bit more heavily into his side and pretended not to notice when, a few songs later, Alastor tentatively rested his cheek atop his hair. Just for a moment.

Notes:

(Flash! Bam! Alakazam!)

Also check out this absolutely incredible fanart for this chapter by 666appleschnappsfm!
And this lovely piece by squigglyshroom!

Chapter 2

The problem with getting any amount of sleep, no matter how little (in fact, sometimes the littler, the better!), was that more often than not it put Lucifer’s body into overdrive. That was the only way he could explain everything he’d been up to since he woke up.

After one week of Alastor surveying his record collection (with extreme prejudice, mind you), Lucifer could proudly say he’d got a cumulated seven hours of sleep in his body. Those fifteen-minute power naps between albums really added up, and the couple hours he sometimes got after Alastor bullied him into exchanging his shoulder for an actual pillow did the rest. Lucifer would’ve almost felt sorry for drooling on his coat, had he not been manhandled so rudely every time he refused to lie down. Swaddling hurt.

Today was a bit different, though, because today he was awake after what felt like forever. Five hours of sleep! Five! Hours! On the clock! Uninterrupted! God had no choice but to exist, and yet here Lucifer was, amazed all the same that there was a God.

The current state of the kitchen as a result of these five hours was harder to explain. In fact, he didn’t even try. When Angel Dust made the fatal mistake of wandering into the room in search of a bite to eat between morning therapy and pre-lunch improv, Lucifer just swept him right into his whirlwind process of making… 

Hell, what was he not making?

Whatever it was, Angel was currently not helping in a very active manner, but Lucifer would have lied if he said the extra hands and reach were not a lifesaver. The excuses, he could do without.

“Hey, hey, listen, I know Charlie says group chores are really good for bonding and whatnot, but I really don’t know my shit around this…”

“Nonsense,” Lucifer sing-sang, slapping a spatula in one of Angel’s remaining hands. “Don’t overthink it, people have been doing this since the dawn of civilisation! It’s in your blood! Well, it was. Now it’s in your soul! Shake off those nerves and see where instinct takes you!”

“People have been making… vinegar pie since the dawn of civilisation?” Angel asked, squinting at the flour-spattered screen of Lucifer’s phone.

“Cooking, Anthony, cooking! Now hand me that carton of eggs and get started on lining that pan. Dough’s in the polka-dotted bowl.”

Angel gave him a weird look the entire twenty seconds it took for the eggs to reach his hands — and surely, that was too long, wasn’t it? — but Lucifer let it go and busied himself with cracking them in a bowl of sugar. It was the polite thing to do. When he glanced cautiously to the side a few moments later, however, Angel was still staring at him. 

“What is it?”

That seemed to break Angel out of whatever trance had come over him. “Nothing, just… what did you just call me?”

Lucifer squinted up at him. “What did I—?” Then it clicked. “Oh. Oh. Er, wow, sorry!” Fuck. “I’m sorry, hah, gosh, that hasn’t happened in a while!” 

The eggs swirled precariously around the edges of the bowl as he mixed them with enough force to change their aggregate state within seconds. 

Angel was still staring. “What hasn’t happened in a while…?”

“Uh, sort of, information bleed. Usually, I’ve got a pretty good handle on it, but I guess it’s true I haven’t been around this many people in a while, and I seem to have a bit more energy than usual this morning, so… yeah. Er, sorry, Angel.”

Finally, he set the foaming eggs aside and looked pointedly at the still empty pie tin. This time, Angel took the hint more graciously.

“No sweat.” Tentatively, he set to spreading the dough. “So… being overly-caffeinated gives you mindreading powers?”

“What?” Lucifer blinked. “I haven’t even had coffee today.”

“Then why are you like this?”

Lucifer chose to ignore that. “And it’s not mindreading. It’s just, you know… bureaucracy.”

“Bureaucracy.”

“Yep! It’s like… technically, I have to know every deal that’s being struck around here. Comes with the title. I don’t have to approve them, no, no, no, nothing of the sort, can you even imagine, but I get to know about them whether I want to or not.”

That had been a fun thing to get accustomed to after the first sinners started arriving in Hell, for sure. Truly, did humankind have to be so fucking proactive when it came to ways to fuck each other over? He was pretty sure the first shitty deal was struck within the first 1-2 calendar days after Hell’s grand opening.

And then, when Lilith started to get more and more involved in the politics of the place—

Angel whistled softly. “That’s… Jiminy Christmas, that’s a lot of disturbing shit to know off the top of your head!”

Lucifer blinked profusely until the ache left his eyes. “Well, yes, so usually I try not to. Anyway, at least it’s only those struck in the Pride Ring! If I wanna know what goes on in the other rings, I gotta find out the normal way. Made sure of that before it all could drive me completely nos compos mentis, ha ha…”

“Oh, well, if it’s just the Pride Ring …” Angel rolled his eyes. Yes, all of them.

Anxiety rising, Lucifer started picking the dough off his fingernails. “Is that… weird? Like, if it makes you uncomfortable, I can—” 

He didn’t exactly know what he could do about it, but it felt wrong not to offer. Thankfully, Angel waved him off with the spatula.

“Nah, toots. You’re fine. I deal with old men much creepier than this on a daily basis. Just maybe don’t mention it to Smiles. I hear he gets pretty pissed if people seem to be digging through his dirty laundry.”

Lucifer wondered idly who the fuck didn’t get pissed off about that, but he kept that to himself.

Angel dropped the now-fully-lined pie pan on the counter between them. “So. How the fuck does this —” He pointed at a carafe of apple cider vinegar. “—become this ?” He pointed at the pie on Lucifer’s phone.

Lucifer felt himself grin. “I’m so glad you asked!”

 

---

 

The clocks in the hotel didn’t really ever bother to show the exact time, and they condescended to you if you tried to change that, so it was nigh impossible to tell how long they spent in the kitchen. The important thing was, Lucifer was having the time of his life! He’d forgotten what having real energy felt like. Did people really live like this all the time?

Ice well and thoroughly broken between them, Angel became much less timid around the various kitchen appliances too. At least, now they could hold a conversation while chopping herbs. 

They spent most of the time talking about Italian theatre and drag, with only the occasional shouts of what pan went in what oven at what temperature and with what kind of microaggression. Luckily, Angel was more than capable of matching Lucifer’s energy beat for beat. 

There was pie, there were fried green tomatoes, raggmunkar, tabbouleh, more pie, gizzadas, pie, and some sweet corn cakes he’d made when he got bored waiting for Angel to peel all the peaches for a tarte tatin.

It was probably one of Lucifer’s most productive days at the hotel, bar the ones when he’d literally helped build it. 

So it was a bit disappointing when Charlie came to check on the noise and the first words out of her mouth were, “Whoa—what happened here?”

“Oh, shit!” Angel yelped and practically jumped out of his apron on his way to the door. Well, that was rude.

Charlie, as stated numerous times (constant no. 3), was better than him: she only looked concerned. “Everything alright?”

“No!”

“Yes!” Lucifer said, offended.

“Angel?”

Angel placed his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “Charlie, don’t get me wrong, I think your dad is very hot, but he scares me the way I thought only small dogs could scare me.”

“What…” Lucifer gaped. “What does hotness have to do with any of that?!”

“I don’t know!” Angel yelled, still walking out the door. “It means I didn’t mean it in a rude way!”

“Then why not just say that?!”

“I don’t know, I panicked!” He dashed out, then immediately poked his head back in. “Thanks for the lessons, though! Same time next week for the grape jelly?”

“Uh, sure…”

“‘kay, bye!”

And he was gone, leaving both Lucifer and Charlie to blink at his metaphorical dust trail.

“Do you think he hates me?” Lucifer asked.

“What? No, why would you think that?”

“He leapt out at the first opportunity?”

“Pff, no, that’s because I told him he could teach improv today and that I’d come get him when it was time.” Well, that didn’t sound like a lie. “What were you, uh, making? This seems like… a lot.”

Lucifer looked around. It was, indeed, a lot. “Oh, right, might have gone a bit overboard there.” 

He snapped his fingers and most of the mess was gone, leaving only the soaking tower of bowls and cooking utensils in the sink. The actual fruits of his and Angel’s labour he laid in a tidy line along the middle of the large kitchen table. 

“Ta-da! You said you were busy with the new residents today, so I thought I’d make something in case you guys didn’t have time for proper lunch.”

“All this?”

“Maybe you got peckish before dinner too!”

Charlie was hiding a smile behind her hand. “Dad, there’s at least four pies here.”

“And they’re all very good for you! Well, maybe not that one.” He pointed to the vinegar one as he ducked down to rummage in a drawer. “Don’t eat that one, we made it in the green oven by mistake.”

The green oven, which, for no particular reason, seemed to have developed a sweet tooth. It tended to take a bite out of anything one baked inside it. This time, the pie in question appeared to be intact, but Lucifer couldn’t shake the feeling that something slimy had slid along its surface before he’d taken it out.

“Ugh, I really need to have a talk with that one,” Charlie sighed. “Are you doing alright, dad?”

“Yes?” Lucifer asked, setting an empty tray on the table with a bit more force than necessary. “Why do you ask?”

Charlie pulled a face he knew too well from the mirror and gestured at the food-laded table. So, fine, it also looked like a lot, but they were a hotel, for crying out loud! Weren’t buffets a thing?

Lucifer picked up a knife and started dividing the completely normal amount of pies. “I’m alright. Got a bit more sleep last night, is all.”

“Oh! That’s so good to hear! Did the list help?”

The list and Alastor’s improbably comfortable shoulders, yes, they worked wonders, why?

“Of course!” He arranged a handful of fried green tomatoes around a small bowl of mint yogurt sauce. “Still making my way through it, though.”

“Do tell me which one you found most effective when you’re done, I might start recommending them to the residents too. Ah, uh, take it easy?” 

“Don’t I always?”

“Absolutely not. Last time I told you to take the afternoon off, you and Al repainted the entire auditorium.” 

How long was she going to hold that over him? “It looks better in blue.”

“Not saying it doesn't, dad. Just that energy is not a perishable resource you gotta finish within three hours of getting any.” 

Had Lucifer not loved her so disgustingly much, he would have resented that. As such, he only thought it needlessly condescending. “Noted.”

Then, as Alastor would put it, he remembered he was her dad, no matter how preposterous that seemed sometimes. “Are… you doing okay, kiddo?” Shit, what the fuck did dads ask?

Charlie jolted upright from where she’d been casually inspecting the table. “What? Me? I’m good! Super! Great! Why do you ask!”

Fucking Hell, maybe that was what dads were supposed to ask. “You… sure?”

“Yeah!” She yelled one last time, then deflated. “Yeah, bit stressed, is all, with the new residents and new activities, and Heaven’s been really quiet since, you know, the Incident, and I know I always go on about the benefit of the doubt, but it’s really hard not to expect the worst after last time.” She took a huge breath. “Sorry. Whoa, that came out of nowhere, heh.”

“No, it’s… don’t apologise, Charlie.” He stopped fidgeting with the tray and grabbed her hands instead. Cold and a bit unsteady; when had her hands got demon-sized instead of so small he could hold both in one of his? “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Charlie took another steadying breath and leaned her forehead against his. “More than helping rebuild the hotel, keeping me fed, making sure there are no longer voxcams in the plant pots and keeping rooms from flooding? Nah, I think you’re good, dad.”

“Okay. Just remember, perishable resources and all that.”

“Non -perishable, dad!” Charlie laughed, letting him go. She leaned over to grab a couple of gizzadas, and Lucifer tried his best not to bore holes into her head while she took her first bite. “These are so good!” Thank fucking God. “Oh, gosh, the time, I gotta go! Are you coming to improv?”

Lucifer glanced back at the nearly full tray. “Not this time. But break a leg for me?”

“Oh, I promised I’m only spectating this time, but next week for sure! Thanks for the food, dad!”

She swept him in a swift, bone-crushing embrace that left him winded and a bit sore, and dashed out. Another hug before lunch! Lucifer felt positively pampered, in the kingly, definitely-not-eye-watering way. 

Still rolling on that high (a rather intoxicating cocktail when mixed with the earlier spikes of anxiety), he retrieved the last piece of the food puzzle from the fridge, examined his tray one last time, and blinked himself out of the room.

 

---

 

The radio tower was always in constant twilight, Lucifer had observed the few times he’d been here, but for once, that had less to do with the shitty Pride Ring sky, and more with whatever theme Alastor had felt fit to follow here. If he had to guess, he would’ve called it venison-nightmare-chic with fauvist influences.

Lucifer had always preferred the baroque, but what did he know, he only had dominion over about 73% of artists here.

There was no booth, the soundproofing done directly on the outer walls, but it was hardly any effort to keep himself from making any sound. Not even the cutlery on the tray dared to clink as he set it on the coffee table. For his part, Alastor didn’t break his monologue at all at the intrusion, but once Lucifer had seated himself in an armchair, their eyes did meet for a moment. The lack of irritation on his face was as good as an invitation for Lucifer to make himself at home, or so he decided to take it.

After the hubbub of the kitchen, the radio tower seemed downright tranquil, with its lone source of sound being the ongoing broadcast. It wasn’t a screamy one today. The wonders truly never ceased, even in Hell.

It was also remarkable how soothing Alastor’s tone and rhythm could be, as long as you didn’t actually register what he was saying.

“—poor old Annie, gone too soon, but not soon enough, according to some! If anyone finds any of her remains in the river, I’m sure her relatives would be more than willing to be extorted out of their meagre savings to bring her home. Happy fishing!”

As he was saying.

Yet something was different, and Lucifer couldn’t say what. That is, until the first crackle of interference drove home the realisation. With their most recent evenings spent predominantly in Lucifer’s rooms (where radio was still banned, thank you very much, he would never hear the end of it if he yielded now, no matter how much he missed the weather section), it had been a while since he’d last heard Alastor’s voice with its usual amount of static. 

He’d got used to it being a low hum, like a bulb about to go out. Now, it was a patter of rain over plastic. It was scratching at a completely different part of his brain, and Lucifer wasn’t completely sure why he wasn’t complaining.

He wondered which one came more naturally to Alastor, if either did. He certainly seemed relaxed enough now, one elbow on the radio console, cheek in hand as he narrated into the microphone, but so did he when mocking Lucifer’s music tastes or listening to him rant about paper mache techniques. 

Perhaps neither was real. 

Perhaps both were. 

Perhaps Lucifer was experiencing the first stage of energy withdrawal. Dammit, Charlie. Why did she have to be so right about these things?

Though just as he thought it, he realised he was seeing the tell-tale signs of the same weariness on Alastor’s frame too. There was a slump to his shoulders that on any other day would have pointed at nonchalance, but now fell just short of it, ending instead in exhaustion. It reached his eyes too, hooded with feigned disinterest, but the skin a bit more bruised underneath. His complexion was more forgiving than Lucifer’s in that regard, but even it couldn’t hide everything away.

Lucifer thought about his earlier conversation with Angel. 

Whatever Alastor’s own Deal was (and no, there wasn’t any doubt he had one, come on, they were in Hell and this was Alastor), it hadn’t been struck within the confines of the Pride Ring. Not that Lucifer had pried. As he’d said, most days he tried not to. But other times, like now, with Alastor’s tired eyes and distant smile in front of him, it was harder not to wonder. 

What he’d got was less of an enigma: power, what else could a terrified creature ask for? But, again and again, Lucifer came back to the other question: what had he given away?

Yeah, Lucifer was definitely starting to inch back towards the sloughs of fatigue. Welp, it was nice while it lasted.

“—far be it from me to tell a butcher how to do her job, I like to think I have more style than that, ha ha! And now, dear listeners, for our early afternoon break, I shall leave you in the very capable, if sanguinary hands of dear late Stevie Cormac, who will now and forever present you: Traffic.”

A jumble of screams echoed out of the console, but they were immediately silenced at the press of a button.

Nonchalant as ever, Alastor pushed his microphone away and swivelled to face him. “Can I help you?”

“Nope,” Lucifer said, leaning over to hand him the bowl. “Brought you lunch.”

Alastor cradled it like it was a newborn foal. Probably. With him, it was even chances that he took cute aggression to homicidal levels. “What’s this?”

“Ceviche.”

“Made of…?”

Lucifer winked. “Secret family recipe.” 

Well. Someone’s family, at least.

Alastor looked unimpressed, but he did relax a bit, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. “Please don’t threaten me with a good time if you’re not going to deliver.”

Lucifer said nothing, simply watched him pointedly until he stabbed his fork into the bowl. Bite, chew, swallow. A moment, then two, and not a single comment.

The silence was always the most damning thing of all. Lucifer had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning victoriously. Wait, no, fuck that! He let himself grin as obnoxiously as possible and picked his own slice of tart back up.

“There’s flour on your face,” Alastor said, the sore loser.

It was going to annoy him more if Lucifer left it there, so that was exactly what he did. “Well, excuse me, some of us have spent our morning selflessly providing for the masses.”

“And some of us have actual jobs,” Alastor said blandly. Another bite. This deserved a victory lap around the hotel. “You seem in a good mood.”

Lucifer leaned in conspiratorially. “So get this: last night, I closed my eyes, and when I woke up, it was morning!”

“Impressive. Did you also happen to discover a little something called breathing along the way?”

“Ha. Ha.”

Another. Fucking. Bite. God, this was better than punching Adam out of the sky. “Though I won’t lie, when I saw the lights off, I hoped something more heinous had happened to you.”

“Al, I might be the Devil, but I’d never do that to you,” Lucifer said with mock sincerity, tart held precariously close to his chest. “In the off-chance that I get maimed, you’d get a front row seat.”

The sight of Alastor trying to hold back a real smile in favour of his customary one never got old. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“No? How’s your lunch?”

“It’s edible.”

Lucifer grinned. “Asshole.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” 

But he did keep eating, and Lucifer kept preening on the inside. What a weird fucking life he’d landed himself in, and to almost no effort on his part. Well, apart from the effort it took not to run back home and hide in his workshop for another few decades, but that only happened a couple times a week.

“So,” he drawled about half a meal later. “I know I’ve been talking about that bebop collection you could trash, but—”

“I’m sure I never used such crass words.”

“Last time, you said you wanted to stuff my ducks with my Gillespie record and bathe them in acid!”

“Exactly! I believe I was quite stylish about it.”

“What has the man even done to you? You were already dead by then!”

“Absolutely nothing! It’s just a bad recording.”

Lucifer shook his head. “ Anyway. As I was saying, I know we had that planned, but I’ve actually been thinking of trying out the next thing on Charlie’s list today.”

“Which is what?”

“Walks!” Lucifer allowed himself some jazz hands. Alastor merely raised an eyebrow. “You know, when you go outside the house for absolutely no reason, and when you come back, you miraculously feel better?”

“Ah, right, quite the panacea, I’ve heard. Where will you go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere I won’t be harassed by reporters or annoyed by tourists. Not very far, though. Somewhere quiet to take in the air, see the sights…”

“Yes, the famously tranquil sights of the Pride Ring! Of course!”

“Fuck off, Al. Surely there must be some place on this damn plane that’s not completely atrocious to look at.”

Alastor got up and came to set his empty bowl on the tray. “Maybe. I can’t say I ever gave it much thought.”

“If not, I—”

Lucifer didn’t get to finish the thought even in his goddamn head. Because instead of returning to his seat, Alastor stopped beside him, looked at him ponderingly, then reached out and swiped a gloved thumb over his cheek. 

It came away with dusted faintly white — right, the fucking flour, Jesus fucking Christ — and then Alastor took back his seat as if nothing had happened.

Well, almost like nothing had happened. What Lucifer had assumed to be the blood rushing in his ears proved to be a high-pitch squeal of static coming from the radio station, which Alastor silenced with a hard press of the console.

Interesting, but Lucifer couldn’t really focus on that right now. He swallowed several times against the dryness in his mouth before speaking again. “Do you want to come with me?”

Alastor stopped glaring at the console to give him an uncomprehending look. “What?”

“Tonight,” Lucifer pushed on. God, his palms were getting sweaty! “After dinner. I thought we could take a walk.”

Several expressions seemed to be warring on Alastor’s face, but they were gone too quickly for Lucifer to decipher them. “Why?”

“Why not?”

The answer obviously displeased him, but not enough to prod. “Didn’t you just say you had no idea where to go?”

Lucifer shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

“Encouraging.”

“Always. Do you want to come with me?”

And this time, there was a sinking feeling in his gut, as he could swear that what he saw in Alastor’s eyes was fear. But a moment later, the polite disinterest was back and Alastor turned to face his microphone once more. “Alright.”

Lucifer hesitated. “You sure?”

“I just said so, didn’t I?”

Shut up, Lucifer, Lucifer translated. “Alright.”

“Good. Can I go back to work now?”

“Sure thing.” 

Lucifer had never got out of a room faster.

Notes:

(Important disclaimer: Absolutely no shade to Dizzy Gillespie.)

Chapter 3

Finding a good walking track round Pentagram City was harder than expected. No, scratch that, it was exactly as hard as he’d expected. Lucifer might have been a recluse, but he’d sorta built the damn thing (in a fit of manic depression, but nevertheless), so he ought to know.

Well, if scenery wasn’t gonna be in his favour, he could settle for remoteness. As soon as dinner was over (and okay, Charlie, you were right, that was too much pie, happy now? ), Lucifer spent an undisclosed but nonetheless embarrassing amount of time fixing his hair, voted against dressing in white when trying to be inconspicuous at night, and transported both himself and Alastor to the bottom of the hill on the outskirts of the city.

It was probably a famous burial ground, but it was relatively early in the evening for such activities, so the chances of interrupting someone’s hobby were slim. And if they weren’t, well, he couldn’t imagine a world in which Alastor didn’t relish in the opportunity to be creepy to a poor motherfucker in the woods at night. Yes, he had all his grounds covered.

The only slight problem was: Lucifer was getting kind of sleepy.

Not a new development by any sense of the word, but it was slightly inconvenient, since tonight he had another plan in action. 

Namely, paying forward all those slobbered-up shoulders. 

This was what he knew: Alastor looked tired; Alastor had been there to witness most of Lucifer’s sleepless nights since the reopening the hotel; despite (or, more probably, due to) the numerous complaints, Alastor was insistent on his disgustingly early morning broadcasts; pushing someone, however unceremoniously or sadistically, into bed required a certain amount of extra wakefulness on the pusher’s part than on the pushee’s.

For all of Lucifer’s talk about connecting dots, these had escaped him. The conclusion was that, disturbing as the idea might have been, Lucifer might not have been the most underslept resident of the hotel. Of course, he didn’t know what the fuck Alastor was up to most of the day, but math wasn’t in his favour.

Did Alastor need to sleep? And, more importantly, did it matter? Lucifer sure as fuck didn’t, and still he found himself at the mercy of several contradictory sleep afflictions. Did Alastor ever sleep? A couple months ago, Lucifer would have erred on the side of caution and said no, but that was before one of those horrid reopening nights found him playing shoulder-pillow for Alastor instead of the other way around. Alastor’s shadow had snarled at him for almost half an hour before Alastor himself had shuddered awake and promptly excused himself (and his rabid shadow) from the room.

So, yeah, Alastor not only could sleep, but probably desperately needed to. Like, yesterday. And if this required Lucifer trekking up a creepy hill at night and having to stay awake the entire time, then so be it. 

It would’ve helped if said hill had been a bit more friendly-looking than the heap of half-dead, jagged trees before them, but it was ten thousand years too late to redo the design now.

“Charming,” Alastor said.

“You’ve absolutely no room to judge,” Lucifer shot back. “Come on, the view should be nicer at the top.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” 

But he did follow when Lucifer started marching forward.

 

---

 

Here was a list of things not suited to a trek in the forest in the middle of the night: heeled boots, hats, coattails, that nice black silk shirt he’d been keeping for a special occasion but had for some reason decided to wear today. Basically, anything that could get torn by, tangled in, or scratched by all the fucking thorny vegetation which had seen fit to grow out of this fucking hill. Lucifer blamed it on the presupposed murder victims buried beneath their feet, but not more than he blamed himself for trying to think outside the box for once.

When another branch hit him in the face, he almost burned the whole hill to the ground.

“Is this relaxing you yet, your majesty?”

“Unspeakably. Floating on cloud nine over here.”

“That certainly would help with your current predicament, were it true,” Alastor said, using his cane to push a coil of briars out of Lucifer’s way.

Lucifer refused to be charmed by basic demon decency, but he was also nearing the end of his rope.

When they finally reached the top of the hill, he could’ve cried and fallen asleep at the same time. It took almost as much effort as creating the seven rings of Hell, but he managed not to do either. Instead, he conjured a wooden bench between two trees at the edge of the hill. Simple, nothing fancy. Just a solid space to land his unexercised ass before he coughed up a lung.

Alastor joined him with only the merest of amused hums, which Lucifer guessed he deserved, and as such, didn’t comment on.

Before them, Pentagram City sat sprawled like a glittering mess of bugs. Almost pretty, if you didn’t look too close. Heaven’s Embassy jutting out the middle of it, the lone needle pinning this particular bug to the blood-red soil underneath it. 

And above it, there was Heaven itself, white and sparkling in the reddish-black sky, no bigger than a moon, but so much closer. Taunting, almost.

It used to feel worse than it did now, but it still didn’t feel great. 

There was a faint crackle from beside him, and then a song started playing softly from Alastor’s cane. A faint cymbal, some piano. Ella Fitzgerald and her paper moon.

Lucifer snorted. “Rather on the nose, don’t you think?”

Alastor shrugged. “You seemed pensive. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Hm, I don’t know about that one, Al. Should’ve workshopped it more, it almost makes you sound worried about me. We can’t have that.”

“Agreed. I rephrase: your vacant stare made me think you were going senile at last.”

“There he is!”

And there it was again. That sincere smile on Alastor’s face, half-hidden in the darkness, but there nonetheless. Lucifer felt a desperate need to take a candle to it and study it like a wall of hieroglyphs. Jesus fuck, he was tired.

“I talked to Charlie today,” he heard himself say, and the song turned a bit quieter between them. “She seemed, well… not good.”

The melody skipped a full beat. “How so?”

Lucifer ran a hand through his hair, undoing this evening’s half-hour of work, and hung his head. “Anxious? Tired? Demoralised? No, that’s not the right word. She’s trying to hold onto the same energy as before, but there’s only so much of her to go around, and I fear she’s about to reach the bottom of the barrel.” He jerked up. “Do you think Charlie’s depressed? Oh, God, had genetics already been invented by the time we had her?”

Alastor inclined his head. “Are you asking me in my capacity as a not-quite-doctor?”

“I’m asking you in your capacity as a friend.”

“To her or to you?”

Lucifer sighed and waved a hand through the air. “Whichever makes you more comfortable.”

There was a displeased little hum from his side. “Neither does, but that alone never made something not true.”

Well, now, that sounded dangerously close to a sincere statement. Lucifer waited for a moment to see if the hill was going to cave in and swallow them both. Weirdly, it didn’t. And the radio was still playing, albeit with more interference.

“I think,” Alastor continued, “you should know better than most the toll seeing no payoff for your work can have on you.”

Lucifer turned to stare at him. Alastor, notably, kept his gaze on the city before them, fingers tapping softly on the shaft of his cane.

“And since the only cure for that is either complete abjection or concrete results, I think she’ll be there a while.”

“You really don’t think this could work, do you?”

“Why would I?” Alastor shrugged. “There’s never been any reason to believe it could work. And while absence of proof is not proof of absence, it would be foolish to believe in something without precedent, when the stakes are this high.”

That was… surprising. While there had been no incertitude about how Alastor felt about the hotel and its agenda, Lucifer realised he hadn’t expected him to have given it much thought apart from habitual antagonism. Neither had he expected his opinion to be this sensible, although perhaps that one was on Lucifer.

Alastor went on. “What I also think is that Heaven is not as pleasant a place for the likes of you and me as Charlie wants to believe. And there are more of us than there are of her down here.”

Lucifer grimaced. “That is true.”

“It would be a shame for all these efforts to be made just for those supposed redeemed souls to be skewered on sight at the pearly gates. Entertaining, maybe, but a waste of resources.”

Lucifer would’ve lied if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind too. But somehow, somehow Charlie must have rubbed off on him more than he’d thought, because for once, his mind refused to give that thought more leeway than it deserved. It was a possibility, yes, but so were an endless string of happier outcomes. And unlike many things in this half-life, this was not something Lucifer was unfamiliar with. 

“It’s not so bad, you know?”

“What isn’t?”

“Heaven.” Lucifer raised his eyes to the silvery moon in the distance. “No worse than many places I’ve seen, as long as you find some people there who understand you.”

There came a crackle from Alastor’s microphone. “Did you?”

“Yes. For a time. I had siblings. Some of them, I miss more than others, but I know I miss them all more than Heaven.”

The crackle grew. “What about them?”

“I like to think they miss me too.”

“And where were they when you got cast out?”

Lucifer sighed. “It’s complicated. We all did the best we could at the time. I’d still like to see them again someday, if given the chance.”

The air turned eerily quiet, but for the faint breeze through the dead trees. “There is a point at which sentimentality turns from naivety to foolishness. I think you’re way past that.”

Lucifer chuckled softly. “Yeah, you don’t say…”

“It’s pathetic. Get a goddamn hold of yourself.”

The sudden viciousness in Alastor’s tone brought him back with a jolt. When Lucifer glanced at him, he found his eyes boring fiery holes into the ground at their feet, his grip tight enough around his cane that he looked as if he wanted to bend it in two. 

Where did this even come from?

It was more exasperation than anger which tinged Lucifer’s voice, but still, it wasn’t the easy blandness from earlier. “I have a hold on myself! This is not some soppy melodrama I’m shamefully admitting, it’s ancient history and I’ve long since made whatever fucked-up peace I can with it. I was just telling you because I… because I wanted you to know.” 

“That’s a lazy fucking lie, even for you.”

“I’m not lying!”

“Why could you possibly want that?”

“Because…” Suddenly, Lucifer was too tired to fight. He leaned back against the bench and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Alastor almost hissed, with a hint of uncharacteristic desperation. That look in his eyes returned; something trying so hard to be suppressed that it could be nothing else other than fear. 

Lucifer gazed back at him a long while before answering. “I just did.” But that only seemed to agitate Alastor further, so he followed it with, “Is there no one up there you'd want to see again?”

“Of course not.” 

Typical. Fuck him for trying, then. Lucifer sighed and tilted his head back. “Then you’re luckier than most of the people down here.”

He sat like that, eyes closed, for quite a long while, letting the breeze wash over his face. It smelled a little bit like smoke, a little bit like rain.

Ella Fitzgerald returned, singing about the same paper moon. Lucifer hadn’t realised the music had stopped, but of course it had. He tried to pay better attention now, to focus on the song and nothing else. It was rather lovely. Perhaps they should’ve done just this from the beginning.

Then Alastor said, “Even if there was someone… I don't think she'd like to see me.”

“Who is it…?”

Alastor didn’t respond. But that was answer enough already. Even half-asleep, Lucifer had paid attention to the late-night memories Alastor sometimes shared when he forgot himself. Or maybe when he remembered.

“So here's the thing about parents,” Lucifer said softly, imagining himself tightrope-walking above a precipice. “They want to see you no matter how you’re doing. If they're anything worth your while.”

Once again, the ground failed to open up beneath him, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know the same look was back on Alastor’s face. It was in all the static around them. So he didn’t. Instead, in a fit of characteristic hubris, he splayed his hand palm-up on the bench between them, and waited the long, long minutes until Alastor met it with his. Cold, dry cloth, something warmer within. When Lucifer ran his thumb over his knuckles, he felt him shiver even through the glove. When he tightened his grip, Alastor did too.

Against all the promises he’d made to himself, he had almost fallen asleep when, an unclear time later, Alastor said, “Charlie will be fine. It’s an uphill battle, and the chances were never in her favour. But she’s resilient.”

“Yeah, she is,” Lucifer sighed contentedly. “She doesn’t take that from me, that’s for sure.”

“Can you be proud of your daughter for one full minute before falling back into self-pity?”

“I am proud of her!”

“Good. Then focus on helping her rather on demeaning yourself.”

A noticeable pause, just to make sure both of them had fully taken in the last string of words, before Lucifer cracked an eye open. “Did that hurt?”

“What?”

Lucifer grinned. “Being nice to me.”

Alastor rolled his eyes and let go of his hand, but somehow Lucifer still considered this a win. 

“Should we head back?”

“If you think your shoes can withstand it.”

“Oh, fuck no, I’m not doing that again, I’m transporting both of us right out of here.”

 

---

 

The hotel was silent when they stepped through the portal right onto the fourth storey hallway outside the radio tower, a sign their pseudo-walk had taken way longer than anticipated.

Alastor picked one dead leaf off his coat and blew it in a plume of smoke. “I think we can safely cross this one off the list, hm?”

“Yep,” Lucifer said, dusting himself. “I’m not taking you out again until we get you some sort of visa for Gluttony or something.”

“And here I thought being a guest of the King of Hell would be enough.”

“And leave me to deal with all the paperwork on my own? Nooo, thank you! You can fill your own damn forms.”

This time, the laugh track was intentional. “Very well.”

The thought of Alastor loose in a completely different ring of Hell was distracting (and adequately terrifying) enough that Lucifer almost forgot his initial plans for the night, but he recovered quickly.

“So… remember how you kept bitching about the acoustics in my rooms?”

“Remember how I told you not to put such crude words in my mouth?”

Lucifer ignored him. “I was wondering whether we could relocate to yours tonight, for a change of pace. I could dig up some Coltrane, change the lights in your room, make you whatever that last tea Angel gave me was…”

“Who’s this for, again?”

“Today? You. No offence, but you almost look worse than me. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I let this go unchecked long enough for Charlie to make you a sleeping advice list too.”

“Chivalry is truly alive and well.”

“I know, it was in Hell all along. Crazy, right? So? What do you say?”

There was another one of those genuine smiles waiting to happen in the corner of Alastor’s mouth, but then his eyes flicked momentarily over Lucifer’s shoulder, and it was gone. His ears slightly pinned back and he took a step back towards his door.

“Thank you for the offer, but it’s unnecessary.”

Okay, so sue him. Lucifer had to look. There was nothing behind him. Nothing, that is, apart from Alastor’s shadow on the hallway wall, looking as displeased with Lucifer’s presence as always. At least that had been a nice change of pace in the darkness of the hill. No prickly, thorny, antlery shadows glaring at him when he least expected (or deserved!) it. All good things had to come to an end, he supposed.

But oh, alright. Two could play at that game. Lucifer faced Alastor with what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Are you sure? I’ve been told I make a mean mint julep in the past.”

“I’m pretty sure I just said no.”

Lucifer blinked. “Oh. Right.” And before he could stop himself, “I’m sorry.”

It was unfair that Alastor chose this moment to look conflicted. “No, it’s… fine. I just don’t require assistance.”

“Right.”

“I…” Alastor hesitated with his hand on the doorknob. “Thank you for the walk. It was moderately refreshing. Good night.”

“Good night,” Lucifer said to the closing door. 

That had to be a record for dramatic escapes. He hated the thought as soon as it came to him; he didn’t want to wonder what Alastor imagined he’d needed escaping from.

Alastor’s shadow was still on the wall he turned to leave. Twiglike, unnecessarily creepy, and still glaring at him with a victorious glint in its empty eyes. Lucifer flipped it off on his way to his own rooms.

Notes:

(It's Only a Paper Moon)

Chapter 4

After that swift and concrete refusal, Lucifer had half-expected their budding, uh, friendship? amiable alliance? fond antagonism?, whatever it was to take an indefinite break, but perhaps that was rejection sensitive dysphoria to you. Since Alastor was back to his aggravating, incomprehensible self not three days later, with the sole distinction that he no longer invited himself to Lucifer’s rooms to shoehorn his musical taste into his record collection.

Lucifer was not upset. They were strange creatures, all of them, and expecting anyone to make sense in this damn place would have been more than hypocritical. Of course that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, but, you know, boundaries.

Did Alastor’s shadow still glower at him whenever Lucifer so much as made Alastor chuckle at the kitchen table? Yes, but what was new? Lucifer was not upset.

Besides, he’d used the few days (and nights) of purely accidentally avoiding Alastor for a good, non-panic-inducing purpose. Namely, following a piece of advice for once, and focusing more on Charlie than on his self-pity. Yes, this also gave him something to do so he wouldn’t overthink everything he’d fucking said on, around, and after that damn walk, but, again, Lucifer had never claimed to be completely selfless.

It was mostly for Charlie, though. And the hotel. And their redeeming agenda, or lack thereof. Nothing that would get anyone’s paperwork in a twist hopefully (he did possess some subtlety after all), but neither something he wanted announced to the world at large. Or known by the main principalities of Hell. Or by the Heavenly Court.

Yes, he’d pulled a few (dusty, threadbare and heavily outsourced) strings to get his daughter’s number in the right hands, so what? It had only cost a bit of his sanity, and it wasn’t like one needed a lot of that in Hell. He just hoped the whole endeavour would bear fruit soon, for everyone’s sake. But it was out of his hands now.

What was in his hands right now was half of Fizzarolli’s face, in carefully assembled cardboard pieces. It was family bonding night, not that Lucifer would ever have admitted to calling it that in his head, and he and Charlie were currently in the process of debating the various nuances of blue.

Vaggie had suggested puzzles. Rookie mistake, there. Never give the Morningstars something they can hyperfixate on. They were three hours and seven puzzles in, and showing no signs of stopping. Vaggie was half-asleep on the floor beside them, having given up about 75% of a puzzle ago.

“Also, Niffty asked for a book club,” Charlie was saying, adding the last piece to a bell. “Which I didn’t expect, but she seemed so enthusiastic, and Al said she’s quite the voracious reader, so that’s on the agenda too now.”

“Remember to check the age category before you announce it, babe,” Vaggie muttered against the rug.

“Yeeesh, yeah. Is this an eye or a fang?”

“Piece of a sparkle, I think,” Lucifer said, biting back a yawn.

“How can you tell?”

“Outline’s a little fuzzy.”

“What? Oh, damn, you’re right. Okay, adding it to the sparkle pile.”

The sparkle pile was… significant. It still didn’t compare to the third puzzle they’d assembled, which had been some miscellaneous Wrath landscape that had made him not want to see orange again for a few decades. So much fucking sand.

They were almost done with the second half of the hat when Charlie’s phone started ringing. For a moment, Lucifer didn’t dare hope, but then Charlie picked up, and her face went through several emotions in rapid succession, before she muttered in acquiescence and started pacing the room.

Something in her voice must’ve stirred something in Vaggie too, because she shot upright and looked around as if assessing for threats. When none materialised, she turned to Lucifer. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Lucifer said, because technically he didn’t (plausible deniability; you only need to fall once).

Charlie let out the world’s quietest gasp. “Aha. Um. Er. Oh!”

She then gave Vaggie several looks in rapid succession, which somehow seemed to form entire sentences in Vaggie’s mind, because she got up and grabbed a pencil and a notebook. 

Lucifer mildly wondered if that was what he and Alastor looked like when they were holding a completely silent, yet joint running commentary of every redundancy during compulsory staff meetings. Yep. That was enough of that for today. 

“Well, I’m gonna retire for the night, then,” he said, sending away the unfinished puzzle with a flourish before getting up from the floor.

Charlie was now noting things down against the bedside table and didn’t seem to hear him, but Vaggie gave him an apologetic look, which he waved away. For once, he was glad not to be given so much attention.

He stepped out of the room with a mouthed good night, then took the most calming breath of his life. Hopefully, the breath knew a lot was hanging on this.

It would be fine. Charlie would be fine. The hotel would be fine. Lucifer would be fine. There was nothing that could actually happen to her because of this, other than a thorough destruction of her dreams, but hey, who hadn’t had to go through several of those during their first few centuries of life? But no, it would be fine. The mere fact that there was a call meant not everything was lost.

Distracted as he was with this trainwreck of thought, Lucifer only realised he’d kept on walking instead of just disappearing into his own rooms when he was halfway across the hotel.

But that was also fine. 

He liked walking the corridors at night. During the day, he was always on edge, waiting for someone to prostrate themselves before him or throw up in his face or run away screaming, or whatever else they thought suitable when in the presence of the Devil. But otherwise he liked this place he and Charlie and everyone else had built from scratch. Yes, even with the blinking walls and screaming furniture. It felt like home, in a way actual home hadn’t felt in centuries.

Then, of course, someone felt the need to ruin this perfectly lovely walk with a shriek. Lucifer sighed and took a different turn on the landing.

As expected, the source of the sound turned out to be the blubbering mess of a sinner pacing outside room 403. Lucifer took a moment to thank the universe that he wasn’t wearing pyjamas this time around. He wanted to hold onto a figment of dignity around the newest residents, at least.

“Is everything alright?”

For a moment, the resident seemed relieved to see him. The moment, that is, that it took them to realise who they were seeing, and proceed to freak out.

“O-oh! Sir! Your majesty! I-I don’t know what happened, one moment I was sitting down, and then the lights… the lights, they…”

Lucifer yawned again. Not to put them at ease, but because any encounter with 403 seemed to drain the last dregs of energy out of him. He came over, ignored the resident jumping three feet diagonally to get out of his way, and peeked inside the room.

“Aha. Yep. Haven’t had one of those in a while. Do you have anything important that you gotta get out of there right now?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Alright.” Lucifer yawned again, then summoned a golden key in his hand. “Take this. Most of the rooms on the fifth level are empty, so you shouldn’t have any trouble relocating for a few days. I’ll, ugh, deal with this.”

“Should… should I go notify the owners?”

“No,” he said with way more resonance than needed. And wow, geez, calm the fuck down, Lucifer. He plastered on a pleasant smile. “It’s late. I’ll let them know in the morning.”

“R-right. Sorry, sir. I’ll, um, I’ll go.”

Lucifer didn’t even have time to blink before the poor soul had already disappeared from sight. Christ. Maybe wearing pyjamas around wasn’t such a bad idea, after all, if tensions were that high.

He was still glad he wasn’t wearing them now, however, because room 403 was, as always, flooded. This time, with a completely clear, downright shimmering liquid that reached up to his ankles. He hesitated to call it water because of, well, the source. All the light sources in the room had developed eyes, and all of them were crying. 

And people called him melodramatic.

At least it didn’t smell like an overheated bog this time. There was the faintest whiff of roses, and the room was glinting golden wherever the light touched the flood of tears, which was… fine, even if it reminded him a little too much of Heaven.

Lucifer looked up at the giant glowing eyeball where the chandelier used to be. It had golden eyelashes. “I think you’ve had a little too much angelic blood lately, don’t you agree?”

The room groaned around him. It sounded like cymbals.

“Right. On we go. Get cracking, Luci, or you’ll be here till morning, and you know nobody wants that attitude over breakfast,” Lucifer muttered as he set his ring and gloves aside on a dresser, rolled up his sleeves, and went to retrieve a step ladder from across the hall (supply closets were as of two months before impervious to spells, summoning or otherwise, for reasons Niffty could share in her own time).

He set the ladder right under the ceiling eye, but didn’t climb up just yet. Past tantrums had taught him that it never hurt to be extra careful and not jump to conclusions. So, Lucifer spent a few minutes inspecting every desk lamp, wall sconce, candelabra and emergency light he could find, to make sure they were the normal amount of teary, instead of salivating for golden blood. Then he checked the tub. Empty, pristine, devoid of fish. Great. Par four the course then, despite the more golden than usual design.

The key for success had been behind the chandelier on all the previous eyebally occasions too, and while it usually didn’t take as long as the tub fishing did if you had the knack for it, it was a right pain in the ass if you didn’t.

Lucifer tried to project a modicum of optimism as he climbed the step ladder to the very top and squinted at the large eye sizing him up.

“My, what a disgusting display it chose to put on for us this time!” came a cheery voice from behind him, and Lucifer almost tripped, but held onto a plastery eyelid at the last moment (and sorely regretted it for the texture alone). 

He glanced over his shoulder to see Alastor leaning on his cane just a few steps into the room. “What are you doing here?”

Alastor inspected his nails. “I was putting the finishing touches on tomorrow’s broadcasts when there was quite the commotion outside. I figured only one person could send someone scampering away that fast at this ungodly hour.”

“Why, thank you, how kind.”

“It’s one of your better attributes.”

Lucifer turned back to the eye. To get the job done, and definitely not to hide a smile, of course. Goopy tears were trailing down his arm from where he was still holding onto the eyelid, but he’d had worse. Now, if he could just assemble a plan of action—

“It reeks worse than an angelic nursery at Christmas in here,” Alastor went on with an audible wrinkle of his nose. “Are you sure you don’t want to outsource this one, my dear?”

“I’m fine.” 

Lucifer was not fine, but then again, was he ever? He slowly pushed his (good God) lubricated hand further underneath the eyeball and tried to ignore the feeling that it was about to swallow him whole into the ceiling. The sounds, however, he doubted he would forget anytime soon.

“That’s revolting.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Lucifer grunted.

You don’t have to stay, he almost said, but didn’t. 

Because, ridiculous as it was after only like, what, a week and a half, he missed their late-night repartees. Missed getting to talk without anyone watching them as if they were about to set fire to the building. Hell, not even Alastor’s antisocial shadow was in the room right now. For the first time since that trek up the hill, Lucifer could truly say he had Alastor’s undivided attention.

Oh, God, when the fuck had he become so needy? Trick question, nobody answer that.

A simple turn of the wrist made the eye give a truly horrifying slurp, and Lucifer teetered on the ladder in his attempt to hold onto his limb. The room swayed for a moment, then suddenly stilled, and he looked down to see a shadowy tendril coiled around the ladder.

A few feet away, Alastor was holding both Lucifer’s gloves and his wedding ring. Which didn’t make sense, until Lucifer realised that his ministrations had made tears splash on every piece of furniture.

“Any reason you’re not flying up there?” Alastor asked, stuffing the gloves in his pocket, but holding onto the ring, turning it over and over in his hands. His hands were bare. That was… new.

Lucifer tore his gaze away. “I’m tired.”

“Far be it from me to judge, but I think this approach will be even more tiring in the long run. And take longer.”

“Yeah, well, the last thing I need is to get my wings wet.”

“Heaven forbid. Oh, wait, they already did.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

So funny, in fact, that Lucifer didn’t even notice when instead of the plaster, he placed his free hand on one of those freaky golden eyelashes. It split the skin of his palm almost instantaneously.

“Ah, fucking Hell!” Now there were liquids dripping down both of his arms. Fucking fantastic. “What the fuck is up with all this biblical accuracy?!”

Room 403 seemed to chuckle around him, which didn’t help with his mood. But his other hand caught hold of something just as sharp then, so that was a fucking relief. Careful not to cut himself again, but not careful enough not to give the eyeball a resentful jab, Lucifer pulled a broken lash from under its eyelid.

It rewarded him with a new downpour of tears, which Lucifer barely managed to avoid getting showered with.

“Was that really necessary?” Alastor asked in displeasure, shaking off the shadowy umbrella he’d momentarily summoned over himself.

“Did you have any better idea?”

“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to the room. This is a most unbefitting behaviour for such a distinguished hotel.”

All the eyes in the room squinted at him, but no more tears poured forth. Lucifer snapped his fingers to get their attention back on him.

“Alright, lash is out, are you going to behave now?” The ceiling eye zeroed in on his still-bleeding hand. Lucifer sighed. “Fine. But this is the last angelic meal you’re getting out of me, okay? Don’t you dare let me hear you whining next time.”

Without much ceremony, he slapped his hand right over the golden iris (regretting, again, the texture). All the eyes disappeared instantly, leaving behind only the slightly soggy light fixtures and the slowly receding layer of tears on the floor.

“You’re being too nice to it,” Alastor said.

“I can’t be nice. I’m the Devil,” Lucifer shot back. “Besides, we’ve already tried aggression and it didn’t turn out that well.”

“Hm, I don’t know, I think I’d rather have bleeding walls over imitation angelic eyes any day of the week, if I’m honest.”

Lucifer kind of agreed. Forget not being on theme, this had been downright disturbing. Things shouldn’t shine that bright in Hell. He already had a headache from the exposure alone.

“I’ll let you file a complaint first, next time.”

“How kind! I’ll make sure to run it by you first thing tomorrow.”

“Will you? I’ve yet to see those visa forms materialise on my desk, and it’s been a while.”

Oh, the sweet validation of catching Alastor by surprise! “You’ll have to pardon me. I assumed that was a jest, instead of an actual task I was to fulfil.”

“What can I say? The Devil makes work for idle hands, it’s in the job description.”

Alastor laughed, something genuine and pleasant, and just like that, his shadow was back in the room, sending a rippled glower up at Lucifer from the sodden floor.

What was up with this thing? Lucifer had been trying to decipher it, but since the shadow only seemed to react to Lucifer’s own existence, and nobody else’s, all the data he had was compromised. Bringing other people into his personal drama was out of the question too.

But he couldn’t figure it all out on his own. He had to ask. 

Asking was fucking terrifying.

“So what’s up with Peter Pan’s alter ego over there?” Would you look at that, he only felt a bit like throwing up from saying it!

“I have no idea what you mean,” Alastor said blandly. “I’m sure you’ve been introduced to the idea of shadows before, your majesty. Why, look, if you glance over there, you can even see your own!”

“Mine doesn’t start growling when you make me laugh, though.”

Alastor’s smile thinned. “I fail to see how your lack of self-preservation is any fault of mine.”

“Is that what it is, then?”

Alastor looked as if he hadn’t realised he’d been sharing that out loud, and this time, Lucifer registered all the emotions fleeting over his face: surprise, fear, irritation, anger, helplessness, fear, until he eventually settled on grim acceptance.

“Something like that.”

Lucifer took a seat on one of the lower steps of the ladder. “Alright. Why?”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “Why? ”

“Why is your sense of self-preservation on such high alert that it felt the need to split from your body?”

“Is that an actual question?”

“I guess not.” They were in Hell, after all. “Here’s the real question: are you afraid of me?”

“Of course not.”

“Try that again. Slower, this time.”

Alastor’s annoyance turned into a glare as he gritted his teeth. “I’m. Not.”

Lucifer raised his arms in a helpless gesture. “Then what is this?”

Instead of answering, Alastor reached out and took Lucifer’s hand, holding it palm-up above his own. As far as shutting-up strategies went, this one was flawless. His hands were bare. Lucifer kept forgetting that. His skin was pleasantly warm against the back of his hand.

Without a word, Alastor pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and pressed it against Lucifer’s bleeding palm. Oh, right. He kept forgetting about that too.

“It’s only looking out for me when I get distracted,” Alastor said eventually, dabbing at the cut. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Lucifer wondered how it could be none of his concern when it seemed to concern him a whole deal, but let it go for now. “Ah, well. As long as it’s not some weird curse or something.”

“I assure you my deal involves nothing as tawdry as that.”

That was… unexpected, to say the least. Lucifer waited a moment to make sure he hadn’t misheard it. But the conflicted look on Alastor’s face, and the fact he was not meeting his gaze, was proof enough.

“Can I ask?”

“No. You can’t.”

He’d thought as much. “Alright.”

It was still progress.

For a while, Lucifer focused his attention on their hands, on that warm point of contact. Alastor’s hand was not quite soft, but it was softer than he’d expected. Lucifer’s was, well, soaked in golden blood. It only hurt a little bit.

Every now and then, Alastor pulled the handkerchief away and scowled when the cut continued to bleed. 

This felt overindulgent, in some ridiculous way. Perhaps Charlie was right, and painless physical contact was a rare commodity in Hell. Lucifer struggled to remember the last time he’d been taken care of in such a simple manner. Not that he needed it, of course, but, well… it wasn’t bad. Damningly, his eyes chose that moment to sting him briefly. Yeah. Charlie was definitely right.

Alastor dabbed at the cut again. “May I ask why you’re not healing this already?”

Lucifer shrugged. What was the point of hiding it by now? “I like you holding my hand.”

This time, Alastor did look at him. A sudden jerk of the head as his hand stilled over Lucifer’s palm. Eyes wide, smile barely there, frozen on his face. Who knew? Deer-in-the-headlights was among his repertoire of expressions. 

Lucifer sighed fondly. “Come on, Al. You said you’re not afraid.”

Alastor’s expression shook again. “Perhaps I spoke too soon.”

Okay, that was too ambiguous for comfort. Even ambiguous was putting it mildly. Lucifer could take a hint, and this had gone on for long enough anyway. Yet when he made to pull his hand back, Alastor only tightened his grip. 

“I’m not afraid of you, Lucifer.”

Lucifer stared at him a long while, perhaps uncomfortably so, but try as he might, he didn’t see any flicker of doubt there. Alastor wasn’t lying. The knowledge practically brushed off a hill off his conscience. Lucifer smiled.

“That’s great to hear,” he said, and pressed his other hand over the cut, stitching the skin back together at last.

Alastor let go and shook his handkerchief, now more gold than black, before it disappeared out of his hand. The room around them, but for the soggy carpet, was almost back to normal too. It was a good place to call it a night.

“Well, then. I should take my leave,” Lucifer said, and before his brain could completely register what his body was doing, he raised Alastor’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss against his knuckles. Then, because he’d already gone this far, he winked. “Thank you for the company.”

And promptly disappeared from the room. See, asshole? Two of us can make dramatic exits.

His ears popped with the lack of radio static as he materialised back in his bedroom, but he barely felt tired anymore. What a fucking rollercoaster of a night. And, tomorrow, they might finally have some concrete news from Heaven. Okay, that did it. Lucifer was tired again.

Because karma was a bitch, however, he only realised when he was about to pass out in bed that he’d left both his gloves and his wedding ring with Alastor.

Notes:

Neil Gaiman voice: They like holding hands.

Chapter 5

Just as Lucifer had predicted, Charlie did summon an impromptu emergency meeting in the middle of breakfast the next day. Summon perhaps was not the right word. What Charlie did was join the rest of them for breakfast, looking like she’d got even less sleep than Lucifer, inhale half of Angel’s frittata (he was learning and Lucifer was definitely not a bit teary about it), and then promptly stand up and start talking a mile a minute.

Lucifer loved her so fucking much. Perhaps even enough to dare suggest she went to the hotel’s weekly therapy sessions again (the last time someone had tried that, she’d fallen prey to a hysterical laughter that lasted several hours and burnt down several brand new curtains).

“So last night Heaven contacted me! Or, well, not Heaven, but I guess not not -Heaven either! It was a very secure, restricted line! Anyway! They called me and told me some things have come to the surface after last Extermination Day that directly concern us, well, obviously they would, we were practically the only ones targeted, ha ha!”

“Uh, who’s they?” Cherri asked.

“No one!” Charlie beamed several degrees higher than even room 403 last night. “I guess not no one, but they preferred to stay anonymous—”

“How convenient,” Husk said, stabbing a fork in his second helping of frittata.

“Which makes sense, if what they say is true and this is something Heaven doesn’t want to get out right now!” Charlie went on amid the growing chatter.

“What did they say?” Niffty asked, looking up from where she’d been gathering breadcrumbs from around her plate.

“Well, that’s just the thing! They said they couldn’t risk saying anything more over the phone, and that we gotta come up with a way to meet—”

“Are we sure this is not just some trap to lure you away and shank you?” Angel asked this time, and Charlie visibly started losing her momentum.

“Guys,” Lucifer said, a hand to his temple. The headache from the night before had yet to disappear completely. “Let’s give Charlie time to finish talking before launching the Q&A, alright?”

Charlie gave him such a thankful smile that he melted even more than the butter on his pancakes. Then her expression turned a bit confused, but she shook her head and went back to her news.

“A way to meet in person! It would have to be out of earshot of Heaven, but not so far away that their absence would be noticed! So we gotta keep in touch and choose a place and time, and some safety protocols, yes, thank you, Vaggie, I’ve not forgotten!”

“Thank you,” Vaggie sagged in relief.

Ugh, Lucifer didn’t like the sound of that. But he’d advocated for hearing her out, even if it meant him having to swallow back every anxiety that he’d perhaps doomed her with this stupid attempt to help. Swallowing, it turned out, took so much effort that he missed several sentences of her speech.

“But guys!” Charlie clasped her hands together, oblivious to the turmoil in his mind. “This is the first bit of news we’ve got since Extermination Day! No matter what it is, it’s still better to hear it than not, right?”

“Unless it’s some sadistic mind game, sure,” Husk muttered.

Despite being there from the beginning, sitting primly between Husk and Lucifer, Alastor had refrained from entering the conversation, yet now he let out a thoughtful hum.  

Their latest ministrations with room 403 must've had more of an effect on him than he'd let on, because instead of his usual scarlet suit, he was currently dressed in all black but for the white shirt peeking out from under a subtly embroidered waistcoat, and Lucifer—had no opinion on it whatsoever.

Anyway, what was he saying? Ah, yes, Alastor had finally deigned to grace the conversation with his presence. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss it. Even that would give us a glimpse into their plans. I must say I agree with Charlie here. Any intel is better than this, hah, radio silence we’ve been getting for the past few months.”

Thank God somebody could think rationally this morning. Lucifer’s breathing started returning to normal just as Charlie thanked Alastor profusely (Lucifer wasn’t even jealous this time) and proceeded to run through all the plans she and Vaggie had brainstormed overnight. Yep, he definitely had to talk to her about that therapy.

A quarter of an hour deep into this latest speech, Alastor leaned a bit closer to him, voice lowered to a whisper. “You don’t happen to have had anything to do with this, do you?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Lucifer whispered back, but couldn’t help grinning. “But even if I did, hypothetically of course, I’d insist on reminding someone they advised me to focus my pitiful energy on more worthwhile endeavours.”

Alastor grimaced minutely. “As long as you’re not putting this on me if it goes haywire.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Alastor didn’t exactly roll his eyes this time, but the soft sigh he let out as he returned to sitting properly his chair conveyed the same feeling. Lucifer kept on smiling. Then he knocked his foot into his, just to be a dick.

 

---

 

Vaggie’s plan (and it was mostly hers, with how tinged with paranoia it was; Lucifer was quite pleased on that part) for procuring this top-secret information was as follows:

• First of all, reinforce all the security systems in the hotel. (Vaggie and Alastor)
• Get Charlie a non-Voxtech phone to use on this mission from now on. (Cherri)
• Scout around the Heaven Embassy to make sure they aren't also plotting something. (Angel)
• Get Charlie a subtle armour from Carmilla. (Vaggie, again)
• Scout every dusty nook and cranny for a place to open a portal away from all the residents. (Niffty)
• Give Voxtech something else to fuss over for a few weeks while this goes on. (Husk, to Angel's chagrin)
• Get mentally ready for whatever fresh Hell —literally— was coming their way. (everybody)

Which left Lucifer with… nothing. Well, not nothing, he had to sit Charlie through a whole crashcourse on dealing with senior angels — fuck knew why he hadn’t done that the first time he’d sent her to the lion’s den — but that was planned for a later date, closer to this supposed meeting.

So what he was actually left with was worry, dread, and the whole thesaurus for anxiety. Not much different than last time, actually, but damn if he knew what he’d done to cope with it then. Probably ducks. 

He didn’t feel like making ducks now.

And just his luck, he’d finished his paper model just a few days before, so he couldn’t even fiddle with that now. It had ended up being a sort of pavilion, some unholy mix between a gazebo and a circus tent for the garden, where Charlie wanted to host gatherings and parties for the guests when the weather held. They were momentarily waiting for the acid rains to stop and then they would start actually building it.

Maybe he could actually fiddle. If only he remembered where he’d put it after what Angel called his rap battle with Alastor. Was it back at the castle? Fuck, he’d have to check.

There were a few rhythmic knocks at his door, barely heard over the rattle of the rain outside. Lucifer sent a quiet but fervent prayer to whoever had been listening (bad habits die hard) and went to open the door.

Alastor was on the other side, devoid of both cane and jacket, but still sporting the same black and white from that morning. For several incriminating seconds, Lucifer stared dumbly up at him. Alastor had never bothered with such plebeian things as knocking before.

“I came to return these,” he said, and held up a pair of black gloves.

“Oh. Right.” Lucifer regained his footing along with his gloves. Secured between them was his wedding ring. “Thank you! Gonna forget my head next, right? Ha ha…”

That was exactly the kind of thing Alastor loved to pick on him for, but this time, the jibe didn’t come. Nothing did, apart from the faint murmur of radio static. Lucifer glanced up with some apprehension, only to find Alastor looking rather distracted with—unease? embarrassment?

He was still warring between the two as he said, “I was also hoping… I could borrow a record.”

Lucifer blinked. Then he glanced to the side, where Alastor’s shadow was practically perched for attack on the opposite wall, and against his better judgement said, “Are you sure? Tall, dark and creepy over there seems ready to tear out both our jugulars.”

Thankfully, this didn't immediately send Alastor off running, for he just said, “I hope you’re not holding your breath for it to stop doing that anytime soon.”

Lucifer shrugged. “I won’t if you won’t. Do you wanna come in?”

“That would be among the minimal requirements for me to retrieve said record, yes.”

Now that sounded more like his usual self. Lucifer stepped aside with a minimal roll of his eyes.

Alastor walked in without any overt hesitation, but with a rather tense set to his shoulders, which Lucifer couldn’t even tell if it was normal or not, as he couldn’t remember ever seeing Alastor without his suit jacket on before. Still, paired with the uncharacteristic knocking, and with the fact that his shadow remained on the other side of the door, it was… strange. Or perhaps Lucifer was projecting.

It had been a while since he was last here, hadn’t it? Only a couple weeks, but still enough for Lucifer to feel momentarily self-conscious with the state of his rooms. He could’ve been more careful with his latest batch of paper mache. Then again, it technically wasn’t anything Alastor hadn’t seen before.

As if to prove that, Alastor didn’t waste any time in going straight to his towers of records and kneeling on the floor before them.

Coming to lean against an armchair, Lucifer tried for casualness and fell just short of it. “So… what are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Alastor said. “Mind if I browse for a while?”

“Not at all. Go wild.” Maybe too much casualness.

He sorely wished he’d already found something to do before Alastor got here, if only to save him the embarrassment of merely standing awkwardly in the middle of his own living room as he tried not to look as if he was staring.

Right, he still had his gloves in his hands. He went to the nearest shelf and spent a frankly embarrassing amount of time folding and unfolding and folding them back. Why the fuck was he so nervous? He’d practically fallen asleep on the man(-presenting probably agender eldritch deer entity) on several past occasions! This was ridiculous. He folded his gloves one last time and left his ring on top of them too. For now. 

Alastor was now sitting cross-legged on the floor, turning a couple records this way and that.

“What are you planning to do if the meeting goes awry?” he asked, as if he’d felt Lucifer’s eyes back on him. He probably had, the creepy fucker.

Lucifer shrugged. “Comfort her, remind her of the benefits of therapy, bake her a cake, and plan our next steps.”

Alastor hummed noncommittally. “No, I meant if something happens to her or she doesn’t return.”

“Ah, that. Raze Heaven to the ground, of course.”

“Do you think you could?”

“I know I would.” Lucifer frowned. “You’re not helping with my nerves.”

“If I wanted to help with your nerves, I would’ve held your hand,” Alastor said lightly.

“Overconfident much?”

“Always.” Yet there was a smile audible in his voice.

Liar, Lucifer thought. But even so, he couldn’t reign in a smile of his own. “It will be fine.” 

“How do you know?”

Because he had to believe that or he’d lose his mind. “Because I know who I reached out to.”

“One of your better siblings, I assume?”

“Something like that,” Lucifer sighed. “You’ve been looking at that one a while.”

“What? Ah.” Alastor looked down at the record in his lap. “Yes… It’s been a while since I listened to it.”

“You can have it, if you want.”

“Thank you, but I’m still not done perusing.”

“You can take more than one.”

“How very generous.” But he did place the record aside from the others before going back to rifling through the rest.

Lucifer decided to stop being a weirdo and take his usual place, leaning back against his desk. This way, he could even make eye contact with Alastor if need be. In lieu of anything else to do with his hands, he picked a random duck and started using it as a fidget toy.

In the light of his desk lamp, the embroidery on Alastor’s waistcoat was slightly more pronounced, the black thread glinting almost golden as it formed swirls upon swirls of ivy and belladonna.

“The new suit’s nice.”

“I know,” Alastor said coolly. Yet, a few seconds later, he glanced up at Lucifer with a smidge more warmth. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in something resembling their past comfortable silence after that, with Lucifer reshaping the duck into something more engaging and Alastor making good progress through the mountain of records. Lucifer had ended up with a multifaceted, many-winged duck with at least three beaks by the time Alastor let out a soft sound of victory and held up a vinyl of King Oliver.

“That the one?” Lucifer asked.

“Yes, I think so.”

Yet instead of getting up and leaving right then, Alastor set the record on top of the other one and inclined his head. His ears flicked a few times. “You’ve turned the radio back on.”

He had. “I did.”

“Why?”

Lucifer shrugged. “I missed the weather broadcast.”

“I’m not going to put it any later simply because of your complaints.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Good.”

So he did notice. Lucifer had assumed he would, but started doubting himself when the minutes passed without Alastor mocking him for it.

How strange, then, that Alastor still kept the static in his voice as faint as it had always been in this room. It probably didn’t do to look too hard into it, but it had to be said that Lucifer was one push away from clawing at the walls of his curiosity.

“I was thinking of shortening it in favour of a new section on interplanar affairs,” Alastor went on. “Not that there’s much to say yet, but it’s good to create precedent in case something does come to light from Charlie’s newest endeavour. Goodness knows you can’t trust that Killjoy woman to have monopoly over heavenly news, it’s like misinformation and fear-mongering got drunk and birthed her.”

Lucifer laughed. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you properly insult a woman.”

“I know a bitch when I see one.”

Lucifer laughed even harder, until he had to wipe tears out the corner of his eyes. “I don't think I’m legally allowed to comment on journalists’ conduit, but yes, it’s probably good to have a way to share what we find out. It’s not like anything remains a secret for long down here, so we could at least be the first to divulge it.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“It would be a shame for the weather, though,” he went on thoughtlessly. “It has a good pace right now, and it’s a good transition from Traffic to Listener Requests. But, uh, actually, don’t listen to me, I have no idea what I’m talking about, and it’s your work.”

Alastor seemed to overlook that whole tirade, though. “I could cut back on the Community Calendar instead. It’s like you said, everyone is already all up in everyone’s business at all hours.”

It finally struck Lucifer that perhaps Alastor didn’t want to leave just yet. 

That he’d been buying time ever since he’d stepped inside this room, as if time wasn’t something Lucifer was more than willing to give him freely, as much as he wanted, no pretences or excuses needed. The thought filled him with a protective sort of warmth, but he knew better than to say anything out loud. So, instead, he pushed himself up on his desk and made himself comfortable.

“Oh, yeah? Mind getting me up to date? I’m quite out of the loop.”

“I assure you everyone is vividly aware of that,” Alastor shot back easily. 

He did follow it with a rather entertaining summary of the latest wicked things going on in the Pride Ring, though, and Lucifer truly could’ve asked for nothing more. Even the gory bits sounded funny after a certain hour.

 

---

 

For once, Lucifer didn’t fall asleep mid-conversation, nor did he require manhandling to get him to his bedroom. Alastor stayed for a couple hours, talking at first about his broadcast, then delving alongside Lucifer into the plans for the new pavilion, criticising his ornamental choices and complimenting his colour schemes somehow at the same time.

It was nice, and it was comfortable, and by the time Alastor bid him goodnight, his shadow was almost asleep outside of Lucifer’s rooms, so it didn’t even bother snarling Lucifer’s way. Progress?

Lucifer carried his overfolded gloves back to his dresser without bothering to turn on any lights. The rain bathed his entire bedroom in a sickly yellow-green glow, but it was quieter here.

He looked down at the ring in his hand; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had it off for this long. That was a lie. He remembered most of those times because they were each paired with a series of depressive episodes that had caused at least a dozen rooms in the palace to be burned to cinders.

Still, he—

Without letting himself spare a second thought, he flicked his wrist and a small ornate box appeared on top of the dresser. Red, white and gold, inlaid with meticulous depictions of stars, suns, flowers and feathers. A wedding gift from before Hell had been created. 

He couldn’t remember what had been in it before, but now it was a lot of Charlie. Her first lock of hair, her first fang, the first thing she’d burnt to a cinder (her pacifier) and the first thing she’d summoned from nothingness (a new pacifier). There was little that was not her. A dried-up apple seed from Eden, a shard of his old halo, Lily’s first black feather.

And, now, in the pattering silence of the hotel, Lucifer placed his wedding ring amongst them too, after one last kiss goodbye. He didn’t send the box back to the palace this time, though. They were all making progress. They were all doing the unimaginable here. For the first time, there were enough things to look forward to that he no longer felt the need to run and hide from everything in his past. 

He could sit with it—maybe. He could certainly try.

It was morning before he even noticed it, and the radio beside his bed crackled to life with the first broadcast of the day. Lucifer finally laid himself down in bed.

Morning announcements, news on the Doomsday District’s latest kerfuffles, the usual corrections on Voxtech’s latest fake news, Community Corner, Traffic, and then—

“—I’m sure all of us have been privy to the unseasonal bouts of rain we’ve had these days. Ah, weather, that cruel mistress! There are reports, as always, of upcoming fire and brimstone in the Doomsday and Carmine Districts, as well as a healthy downpour of electrified hail in the Entertainment District. Good riddance. You can expect the usual lightning sprites in the suburbs and along the highway, as well as poison clouds and dust storms around the border. If you plan to go out of Pentagram City this week, then you can expect—”

Yes, there was the cadence Lucifer had missed. Mix it with the fact that the weather was the one thing he could not control in this damn place, and thus none of his concern, and this was the calmest his brain had been the whole day. He closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, finally feeling sleep extend its scarce tendrils towards him. But before he could drift off completely, the broadcast took a new, leisurely tone.

“—and now, before our next section, we’ll prolong this weather broadcast with something to take your minds away from the horrors just announced. I didn’t have the pleasure to meet this esteemed lady when I was alive, born and dead a few decades too early, and to this day it’s one of my few earthly regrets. So let’s meet her now, even if through her work alone. It’s a long one, and there are still a couple hours before the rest of the world wakes, so if any of you are just now lying down, sleep well.”

Nina Simone started singing, all mellow nostalgy, almost a lullaby. It sounded much softer than it ever had on his gramophone.

Lucifer smiled up at the ceiling and for once, when he felt his eyes burn, he didn’t fight it, just let the tears flow. They didn’t last long, but he felt lighter for it anyway. And he fell asleep before the song was even over.

Notes:

(In case anyone here needs a very sad lullaby too.)

Chapter 6

For the next couple weeks, the hotel was—ablaze, to say the least. They all must have had pent-up nerves they’d had no real way to shed, because everybody threw themselves into their new covert operation 110%. Hell, people even came voluntarily to help Lucifer with the new pavilion on a few separate occasions (he would’ve loved to share in the worryfest with everyone else, but usually his bursts of anxiety came with fire shooting out of his body at random, so yes, better that he stayed outside whenever spirits were high).

Meanwhile, Charlie was having bi-weekly check-ins with their anonymous person on the inside (Lucifer suspected them to be an underling of Raphael; nobody associated with Gabriel would’ve given up their fanfare long enough to play spies with the princess of Hell). It seemed that Heaven itself was locking itself in with whatever secret they didn’t want out. Lucifer didn’t like it, but even he could agree that was perfectly in character for them. They had yet to find a safe place to meet, but spirits were still moderately high.

That is to say: the plan was underway, the hotel was more fortified than ever, the garden tent/pavilion was coming along nicely, and even the acid rains had stopped.

Horrible news all around! No wonder everyone was on edge. There was nothing, nothing more ominous than a happy day in Hell.

 

---

 

The scene: Foyer, 3rd floor, right outside the staff/family kitchen, door left just a bit ajar.

The time: 11:23 in the morning.

Dramatis personae: 

Lucifer, king of Hell, anxiously supportive dad, temporary project manager, and proud owner of a total of 9 hours of sleep this week.

Alastor, hotelier, freshly-unbanned cook, security detail in training, and recent adventurer into the world of not-all-red-clothes.

Charlie, co-owner of the hotel, best person in the world, soon-to-be undercover agent, and nowadays a walking ball of cheerful anxiety.

It seemed that Lucifer was early for lunch. 

Well, he was, but it hardly felt that way, when he’d woken up less than twenty minutes before, groggy with the four hours of sleep his body had inflicted upon him just as soon as Alastor’s morning broadcast had ended. Traitor. 

Anyway, he was early and he felt late, and he was mulling it over just outside the kitchen. Only two voices could be heard from inside, and not at the usual pitch necessary to hear yourself over the hubbub. There was no hubbub to hear yourself over this time, aside from the quiet hiss of knives being sharpened.

“And remember,” Charlie was saying. “No demon remains in the shared dishes, okay?”

Alastor let out a woeful sigh and Lucifer couldn’t help but smile to himself. “I’ve long accepted there’s no refining your tastes, so yes, my dear, I heard you loud and clear.”

“That’s what you said last time, Al, and Nifty almost choked on a pinkie finger.”

“That just means she’s lucky! Oh, alright, don’t give me that look, I promise to behave.”

Lucifer could’ve cackled at that, but he, too, knew how to behave sometimes. And just in time, because mere moments later, Charlie dashed out of the kitchen and almost knocked him to the floor.

“Oh! Dad! I didn’t know you were here!”

“Just arrived,” Lucifer lied, trying to regain his footing. “Everything alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yes, Al’s cooking today, I was just dropping by to ask if we’re done warding all the rooms.”

“All of them…?”

Charlie grimaced. “Yeah, someone still has to see how 403 feels about armed security…”

Knowing room 403, uncomfortably excited. “I’ll deal with it.”

“You will?” Charlie grabbed both his hands in her own. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I’ve fallen so behind with my hotel duties these weeks, and I wanted to go check in with the guests today.”

Lucifer squeezed her hands as comfortingly as he could. “You’re doing a fantastic job, sweetie. A little bug told me there haven’t even been any arson charges in art therapy lately.”

“I know!” Charlie’s eyes momentarily got misty. Then she looked down at their hands and hesitated. “Are you doing okay, dad?”

Unlike the last time they’ve had this conversation, Lucifer truly had no idea where this was coming from. “Yeah? If there are marks on my face, don’t mind them, I just overslept.”

“You look fine, dad.” Charlie smiled at him, then looked down again. “It’s just… I noticed you haven’t been wearing your wedding ring these past few weeks. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without it before.”

Oh. Ohhh. Ah. Ummm. Lucifer mentally cleared his throat. “I’m okay. I just… I don’t know, felt it’s time?”

Charlie’s face fell. “You think she’s not coming back?”

“No! No, no, no, Charlie, not that. She will, I’m sure of it. It’s just that this, between us…” Suddenly, he became very aware that the kitchen door was still ajar. “L-listen, why don’t you and I set a night aside for some cocoa and those unfinished puzzles, sounds good? We can talk about everything then.”

“Okay,” Charlie said and took a fortifying breath. “Wow, I’d better go collect those art projects before the after-lunch class starts!”

That would certainly help the ongoing lack of arson. 

“Glad you’re getting more sleep, dad.” Charlie enveloped him in the world’s most comforting hug, then skipped away, only to stop at the top of the stairs. “Oh, and dad?”

Lucifer was still reeling. “Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes telling that she meant more than what they’d just been talking about.

Then she was gone, leaving Lucifer — goddammit — misty eyed too. He took a few moments outside the door to let them dry, fiddling with his waistcoat, then with his cuffs, until he eventually decided to just roll his sleeves up to his elbows.

The kitchen was immaculately clean, bathed in the somewhat yellow light of the soon-to-be-afternoon. For the first time in months (since Alastor was the only one who bothered), the entire table was set, complete with a gold-embroidered white runner, pristine stacked plates, glinting cutlery, and a vase of tar-black roses in the middle.

Alastor glanced his way mere moments after he stepped in. “It seems like both of us are getting lectures today.”

Of course he’d been listening. Asshole. “Yeah, well, at least my lecture was about my wellbeing, instead of others’.”

“Is it really only your wellbeing if your outbursts end up in burning random pieces of furniture?”

“Are you really one to talk after what happened when that shitty guest spat on your shoes?”

“Ex-guest, but touché.”

He didn’t offer any explanations as Lucifer walked around, inspecting the dozen different bowls of ingredients he’d gathered around himself. Something that could be butter, something that could be flour, something that could be onions, something that could be garlic, something that could be bell peppers, something that could be celery, something that could be parsley, something that could be rice, and something that had better be hellish shrimps.

It all looked adequately harmless.

“I didn’t curse it, you know.”

Lucifer stopped inspecting a bay leaf. “What?”

“Your wedding ring. Your hand isn’t going to fall off if you put it on.”

“Ah, that. No, I didn’t think you had.”

Alastor shot him a strange look. “Then why have you stopped wearing it?”

“I think Charlie would call it moving on.”

“Little late for that, don’t you think?”

“Never too late!” Lucifer beamed, leaning against a counter. “You’d know this if you came to group therapy, Al.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

“Thought as much. Please don’t put glass in the food, though.”

“Please, I have standards.”

With an assortment of freshly-sharpened knives beside him, Alastor started chopping the ingredients. Lucifer took this time to look around, searching every darkened spot in the kitchen for a pair of familiar, displeased eyes.

There it was, in the shadow of a sugar bowl, small but vivid, watching Lucifer like a cat about to pounce. That was kinda funny. 

Alastor’s shadow was like a cat, Lucifer had come to realise. A stray, tail mangled and bits of fur missing, but who was still willing to tolerate you in return for a warm place to sleep. And as long as you kept your distance, it didn’t hiss at you. 

So it made sense that it seemed to harbour a particular dislike for Lucifer. Because Lucifer kept slipping too close for comfort, and Alastor kept letting him. 

Even more than that, lately. No amount of self-loathing could make him completely blind to the fact that Alastor was also trying to reach out these days, in his own stilted way. Case in point: he hadn’t ushered Lucifer out of the kitchen, although the entire hotel knew not to interrupt him when he was cooking (and in the presence of knives).

The least Lucifer could do was make it a bit easier for him, and take the inevitable shadow tantrum like a champ. Therefore, he grabbed an apron.

Alastor was immediately onto him. “What are you doing?”

“Helping you.”

“There’s no need. I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not about that.” Lucifer struggled with the apron ties. “I just recently realised I like cooking with people. If you allow it,” he added. “I won’t encroach on your territory, I’ll just make a salad.”

Alastor heaved a sigh. “Very well.” 

The next thing Lucifer knew, his apron was being tied behind his back.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Alastor said, with a brief pat on his back. “Please don’t come closer than three feet from me, I would hate to stab you by accident.”

Lucifer cooed. “You would?” 

“Please get yourself some higher standards for day-to-day interactions, Lucifer.”

Lucifer laughed. “Alright, I’ll stay over here. What are you making?”

“Étouffée.”

“Made of what?”

“Made of mind your own business.”

Yep, that sounded about right. Lucifer went to raid the fridge for all the green Mammon hadn’t managed to trademark, plus some onions, tomatoes, and whatever those purplish leaves from Envy were.

See, he could make something simple! It didn’t all need to be a four-pie course.

Soon enough, the kitchen began to fill with the smell of cooked onions, peppers, celery, and at some point another pot had materialised on the stove in Alastor’s side of the kitchen, because now it was bubbling with a vengeance. Lucifer took advantage of the moment Alastor focused on adding the garlic to pilfer one unused stick of celery from his array of ingredients.

Without turning around, Alastor made a displeased sound, but otherwise didn’t say anything. A successful operation, in Lucifer’s opinion: he still had all his fingers. Next time, he would have to try and nick some of his parsley.

Perhaps an over-ambitious project, now that he was officially on the most-watched list. As the light had moved around the room, Alastor’s shadow had left the sugar bowl and now sat perched right above Lucifer’s counter, almost back to its usual size.

As said, Alastor’s shadow was like a cat. You had to let it warm up to you in its own time. For example, right now it was watching Lucifer chop the celery with rapt but nonviolent attention. 

Lucifer winked at it. Then he looked around for something that would look even mildly interesting to it (no chance of stealing any shrimps, that was for sure), and eventually picked one of the purplish leaves. He held it up until its shadow was close to Alastor’s.

“Do you want this?” He wobbled the leaf in the air. “Come on, it won’t bite you back, you can check it out.”

Tentatively, the shadow extended one clawed hand and touched the leaf, pinched its shadow between two fingers, let it go, pinched it again, pulled it out of Lucifer’s grasp.

“There we go!” Lucifer let the leaf fall, but its shadow remained where it was, being pinched and studied. “What do you make of it?”

“Please don’t encourage it,” Alastor said. “It’s spoiled enough as it is.”

“Maybe it’s good to be a little spoiled sometimes,” Lucifer said, grinning at the shadow. “Yes, yes you are! Who’s a good girl?”

“Please don’t gender it either.”

“Who’s a good eldritch Bambi?”

Alastor chucked a clove of garlic at his head with perfect aim. Lucifer cackled.

He made the salad. He cleaned the counter. He offered Alastor’s shadow a few more discarded leaves. And by the time he was done setting everything but the main course on the table, Alastor seemed to be reaching the final stages of his creation too.

Emboldened by sheer hubris alone, Lucifer picked up a wooden spoon and stepped over the invisible border of their kitchen territories with ostensive nonchalance.

Alastor had just finished adding the (probable) shrimp. Lucifer leaned around him and grabbed himself a spoonful of sauce. It tasted even better than the victory of dodging out of the way of Alastor’s elbow.

“Needs more pepper.”

“You’re insufferable when you’re actually awake.”

“Aw, flattery will get you everywhereee,” Lucifer sing-sang, twirling back to his designated post, but not before seeing Alastor choke back a laugh.

So, all in all, it was going exceptionally well. Until everyone gathered in the kitchen and the daily arguments started all over again. Someone had heard this, someone had heard that, someone’s cousin twice removed’s roommate had this one conspiracy somebody should really pay attention to, and so on. It was like they were living in the backstage of 666 News.

“There’s no more crannies to check,” Niffty whined, laying her head on her empty plate.

“Well, then, we’ll look somewhere else!” Charlie said. Lucifer placed a full plate before her and a kiss on her temple, and both went unnoticed. “Or maybe they’ve got some ideas by now!”

“Yeah, right, ideas,” Husk said. “Ideas for how to take us one by one and turn us into mincemeat for their pies, maybe.”

“You’re much too pessimistic, Husker,” Alastor said as he placed a plate of food before him. “We’ve dealth with them before, we’ll deal with them again, and maybe this time they will learn their place.”

“Listen, I don’t know what’s got you in such a good mood lately, but I can’t just forget Pentious died in like, a second! How are we supposed to contingency plan our way through that?”

The mention of Sir Pentious came down like a rain cloud over the room, making the air itself heavy, and everyone lowered their gazes. Lucifer fidgeted on the spot, more uncomfortable than sad, which in turn made him feel like shit. He’d barely known the guy, but he’d been important to Charlie, to everyone here, really, and Lucifer had no idea how to make it better.

He was just trying to meet Alastor’s gaze in a plea for some help, when Angel jumped to the rescue. “He is right, though, you’ve been in a much better mood these days.”

Nope, definitely not a rescue. Like, yeah, okay, as a means to change the topic from death to something more lively? Great plan, A+ for effort. But as a means of keeping Alastor in said good mood? Horrible, horrible approach, likely to end in tears and/or bloodshed.

“Oh, yeah!” Charlie piped up too, and Lucifer loved her dearly, but Jesus fucking Christ. “I thought so too! Some residents told me to thank you for helping them with their rooms, and they didn’t mention anything about psychological damages!”

Here was another difference between Lucifer and his daughter: Lucifer might have been able to form that same sentence in the right circumstances, but he never would have managed to say it without a healthy helping of irony. Charlie, meanwhile, was completely genuine. From all he’d seen, Alastor was deadly allergic to genuineness.

He set a glass of water slightly too firmly in front of her. “Simply doing my job, dear. That’s what you hired me to do, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but…”

“Oh, I know!” Niffty chose this doomed moment to awaken too. “Yesterday you let me braid your hair! You never let me braid your hair!”

Now, that was something he would’ve like to see. In a parallel universe, where this discussion didn’t end in everyone’s gory deaths.

“See?” Angel drawled. “You’re being nice . Why’re you being nice? Who’s putting a smile on that face these days?”

Lucifer didn’t need to turn around to know that Alastor was close to freaking out. The evidence was right here on the wall in front of him, in all its jagged, antlery glory.

“Hey, Al?” Alastor didn’t move, but his ears did flatten even more. Static crackled. “Would you mind bringing me a new jar of fig chutney? It’s in the 5th floor pantry, I think.”

“Certainly,” Alastor said through his teeth, and disappeared into the shadow of the cupboards.

Well, that was one crisis and kitchen-reconstruction averted. Lucifer still couldn’t stop himself from shooting everyone at the table an accusatory glare.

“What?” Angel raised his hands. “We merely said he seems happy!”

“And how do you think Mr I’ve-got-no-heart-or-feelings feels about that?” Vaggie asked. 

Charlie hesitated, looking towards the door.“Do you think I should go after him?” 

Lucifer almost choked and dropped the plate he was holding. “Oh, no!” He placed the plate in front of Niffty. “No, no, no, no, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”

“He’s right, we just finished enforcing the outer walls and I’m not redoing them,” Cherri said. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” Charlie deflated. She raised the spoon to her mouth mechanically, just straightened up in her seat once she tasted it. “Holy shit, this is good !”

Now, that was a way better change of subject. Lucifer filled his own plate and sagged in his seat, definitely not listening for any sign of property damage for the rest of the meal.

 

---

 

Alastor didn’t return for lunch, but Lucifer hadn’t expected him to either. At some point, an unopened jar of chutney materialised on Lucifer’s side of the kitchen, but that was the only sign he got of his existence for an hour or so. 

Lucifer reassured Charlie that it was just Alastor, that he would get over it in no time, that she had nothing to worry about. And for once, he even believed that.

This didn’t mean that he didn’t linger in the kitchen long after everyone left, stacking, cleaning, and putting the dishes and cutlery away, tidying the table, changing the water for the roses, and dividing the leftovers in separate boxes for whoever needed them throughout the day.

After that, he just retrieved a bowl of raspberries from the fridge and made himself comfortable on the couch overlooking the city. Truly, this kitchen was probably his most favourite room in the entire hotel.

Alastor returned not long after this, his coat back on this time, fully buttoned up, the same pitch black as the rest of his suit. It took him a moment to notice Lucifer, but when he did, the only expression on his face was confusion.

“What are you still doing here?”

Lucifer showed him the bowl. “Charlie’s idea. Apparently raspberries are quite a good source of melatonin. Set you something aside over there.”

He nodded at a covered bowl on the corner of the table, and Alastor gingerly picked it up and looked inside.

“I didn’t cook this.”

“Nope. I did. You seemed to like it last time.”

Alastor sent him a look. Still confused, yet with a bit more vexation this time. But he picked up a fork and came to sit beside him anyway.

Lucifer knew better than to ask if he was okay. That would both not get him an answer and make Alastor not-okay again. So, instead, he settled for, “Everyone liked the food.”

Alastor let out a noncommittal hum and dug into the bowl.

“They said they missed your cooking.”

A shrug, another bite.

“I could warm some up for you, if you’d like.”

“No, thank you. This is…” He struggled with the next word. “...good.”

Lucifer smiled. “Alright.” Then, “I liked it too. Try not to get yourself banned from the kitchen anymore.”

Alastor rolled his eyes.

Lucifer let him eat and went back to his raspberries. In the afternoon light, the Heaven Embassy looked a bit less conspicuous on the horizon, almost disappearing in shades of orange as the light touched all the buildings around it. Lucifer wondered if this is what they meant when they said everything looked less dreary by daylight.

Alastor placed the empty bowl aside. Lucifer still had half of his (because Charlie didn’t do things by half-measures). 

“What have you got left for today?”

Lucifer blinked in surprise. “Well, everything, I suppose, since I just woke up three hours ago. I gotta write some letters, review the latest changes in overlord territories, go check on 403, and then, dunno, tinker at the pavilion a bit more, I guess.”

Alastor nodded at the floor.

Lucifer dared. “What about you?”

“Maintenance on the 2nd floor. Haggling with the imps from Wrath for more fresh produce. Humanely. Checking storage for anything that could replace the chewed-up furniture in 502 and 107.”

“Is 107 the one with…”

“Werebug Geordie and the cackling mirrors? Yes, it is.”

“Ouch. You’ve got your hands full with that one. Need help?”

“No, I’ll just switch the nightstands from the storage room.”

“Yeah, that’s way less trouble.”

It suddenly became apparent that Alastor had become quite tense. Shoulders raised, posture fixed, gloved hands entwined in a death grip, stare fixed on the opposite wall. Lucifer watched him take in a few steadying breaths.

Several failed attempts later, Alastor managed to get out, “I think… you said something about mint julep a while ago?”

It took Lucifer an embarrassingly long time to remember, but he tried to play it cool. “Ah, yeah, I did.”

“Is that,” Alastor let out a frankly harrowing breath, “still on offer?”

“Sure.”

“Alright.”

That was all. 

Lucifer felt like he’d fallen out of the 666 elevator. 

When he glanced around, nothing was scowling at them from around the room. “Where’d you leave Bambi?”

“It’s hiding under the couch.”

“Ah.” Enviable position, that, but also very telling. “Poor baby.”

“It’s fine.”

Lucifer hummed, drummed his fingers against the wooden bowl, anything to buy enough time to remember how words worked. “So. You want a drink?”

“Yes.”

“Does tonight work?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’ll come over at nine.”

“Alright.”

Alastor beat him to the dramatic exit this time, but at least this gave Lucifer time to down the rest of the raspberries before he tried to remember just what the fuck he’d just said he had to do today.

 

---

 

In hindsight, Lucifer probably should’ve gathered all the drink essentials before changing into pyjamas tonight, but he’d been afraid he would run late. To be fair, he was running a little late anyway, thanks to the three showers he’d had to take after dealing with 403 (he never wanted to see eggs or honey again), but at least all the rooms were secure now.

It felt weird to walk through a pseudo-casino in duckie slippers, overlong pants, and a huge purple T-shirt leftover from Charlie’s emo era, but oh, well. He’d done worse.

“Hey, Husk. Buddy. Are you closing for the night?”

Husk glanced at him and almost dropped the glass he’d been cleaning. “ Jesus Christ! Thought you were a guest when you were walking over. Uh, yeah, I am. Still time to make you something if you want.”

“Listen.” Lucifer lowered his voice and leaned closer to the bar (not that he needed it, it was a pretty tall bar). “Can I borrow a few things?”

“Uh. Sure? What do you need?”

“A couple silver glasses, a bucket of ice, some sugar, bourbon and mint? Oh, and a muddler.”

Husk raised an eyebrow at him. “Julep cups?”

“Yep.”

“Alright. Do you wanna make it here or…”

“No, no, to go, please. Look, I brought a tray!”

He had, grabbed from where it had previously been pressing his watercolours flat. Husk didn’t waste any time in starting to fill it.

“What kinda bourbon do you want? They’re on that shelf.”

Lucifer perused them for a while, some classic, some niche. “Hm, I don’t know.” Eh, fuck it. “Which one does Al like?”

Husk stilled where he was still pouring in the ice, and gave him a very long, very strange look. Then he rolled his eyes and went to retrieve a flowery bottle from a completely different part of the bar.

“Here.”

“Thanks!”

Husk sighed. “Is he still in a mood?”

“He seemed fine last I saw him.”

“That would be a first.” He started filling a small glass with golden liquid. “I’m giving you syrup, he likes it better than sugar.”

“Oh, okay.”

“And don’t be stingy with the mint.”

“Gotcha. Thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it, it’s your sanity’s funeral.”

It was really sweet that some people in this hotel still thought he was a somewhat sane individual even after living with him for several months. Lucifer put that away as a compliment for a rainy day and made his wobbly way through a portal to the 4th floor.

The first thing Alastor said when he opened the door was, “You’re… informal.”

Thankfully, Lucifer had his line prepared. “It’s nighttime and I’m here to enjoy a drink with a friend, did you expect me not to come in pyjamas?”

Alastor stepped aside to let him in. “You could’ve at least picked more stylish ones.”

“These are the most comfortable. Where do you want these?” He shook his fully loaded tray.

Alastor pointed at a lovely piece of cabinetry between two armchairs and closed the door behind them.

It occurred to Lucifer that he’d never actually seen his rooms before. Well, he’d known that, and he’d wondered about it, which was partly why he’d invited himself over, but it had slipped his mind over the past few hours. 

The walls were dark, the floor too, and there was a faint red glow around the corners, much like in the radio tower. It felt less cold than that, though. There were dozens of framed pictures on the walls, which Lucifer could not make out, and a fire going in an ornate hearth. There was a gramophone, plainer than Lucifer’s, but clearly well taken care of, and a couple neat record stands. Several bookcases, filled in equal measure with books and trinkets, and a couple black doors leading elsewhere.

There was a faint but constant sound of dripping water, but no source in clear sight. It was comforting in the way haunted houses were comforting, and he meant that genuinely.

Lucifer carefully set his tray down and arranged the ingredients in a neat row, kind of how he’d seen Alastor do when preparing lunch. See, he was learning.

“How was your day, Al?”

Alastor didn’t sit down, choosing instead to watch him roll each glass between his palms until it turned adequately frosty. “I think we’ll have to change some pipes on the second floor when all this is over. Fresh produce will now be delivered three times a week, and the furniture was taken care of.”

“How was Geordie?”

“About as offensive as usual.”

“Lovely. Do you think she knows Susan?”

“Intimately and biblically.”

Lucifer snorted. “Okay, so, on a scale of one to ten, where was your day?”

“About a six,” Alastor said. Then he surprised both of them by adding, “It didn’t help that I had to avoid Charlie the whole day too.”

“Mm, she just wanted to apologise.”

“Whatever for?”

Lucifer glanced at him, dividing the mint. “You know.”

He did, because he promptly shook his head. “That was nothing, I just…”

“Had a case of the mortifying ordeal of being known?”

Alastor bristled. “I didn’t ask you here to mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you. I get it,” Lucifer said, because he did. That was why he was here in his fucking pyjamas instead of all armoured-up in his suit, after all. “Besides, they were coming on too strong. They could do to learn more tact.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“I am, actually, thanks for noticing!”

Alastor sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the cabinet. He was just in his waistcoat again, the black tinted red in his rooms, unlike in Lucifer’s. His hands were bare again, blunt fingernails painted a red so dark it could’ve been black too.

He kept his gaze on the ceiling as he asked, “How about you?”

“Hm?”

“Your day.”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” Lucifer said, starting to layer the mint. “Room 403 saw fit to bathe me in an entire bakery’s pantry before finally allowing me to put some wardings in it, the territories don’t add up and never will, and every time I look at it, the pavilion looks more likely to be toppled by a faint breeze, but otherwise it was fine.”

“I did think your hair was significantly more garishly bright than usual when you showed up.”

“Yep, eggs will definitely do that to you, even if they come out of the ceiling. It’s quite an improvement, don’t you think?”

He’d asked it as a joke, but Alastor tilted his head thoughtfully. “Yes, actually.”

Okay, so fuck him, maybe Lucifer was going to invest in an egg mask routine after all. Good to know. 

As instructed, he placed more mint in Alastor’s glass, trying not to be too obvious about it. He eyeballed the syrup and hoped for the best. He took a few more glances around this side of the room. Huh, less venison-chic here, more widow-in-an-empty-mansion style.

Anyway, he was only buying time. He could’ve finished these drinks ages ago if he’d wanted.

So, when he was almost done muddling the mint and syrup in one of the glasses, he said, “I also thought about what you asked me.”

“What is that?”

“On that walk.” Out the corner of his eye, he saw Alastor’s shoulders tense. “You asked me why I wanted you to know things about me. Oh, come on, Al.”

Static crackled. Lucifer set everything aside to face him, saw his shadow peeking from around an armchair, and faltered. Alastor had been pretty good at keeping that fear out of his eyes since they’d talked about it, but maybe this was too much, after today.

“We don’t have to talk about this now if you don’t want to.”

Alastor swallowed. “What was the answer?” 

Lucifer attempted a smile. “Would you believe me if I said friendship?”

“Obviously not.”

“Of course.” Lucifer took a steadying breath. He had been thinking about this for weeks, and he still fumbled. “I’m afraid it’s not that far from it, though. You see, it’s easier… to deal with this place if you can lean on someone. Not much different from Heaven, in that regard, I suppose.” 

He sighed. Alastor’s shadow came closer. 

“I didn’t see that for a long time. I couldn’t even bear the sight of anyone else other than Lily, than Charlie.” His voice wavered. Goddammit . “But then Lily was gone, and Charlie was grown up, and I was alone, without any idea how to get close to anyone ever again. Not even wanting to, really. And I survived, but, well, as you can see, not all of me did.”

He tried to smile again, but the movement made a tear run down his cheek instead. Oh, Christ. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. What the fuck did it matter after all that if Alastor saw him cry? Lucifer wasn’t winning any reputation points right now.

“So the answer is that… I’m tired of being alone. Of locking myself in a tower and not letting anyone in. It’s safe, yes, but only from the outside. I still have to live there every day. I’m not good company, in case you haven’t noticed, especially not to myself. So I’d rather let you in, if you let me.”

He rubbed his hands over his face, and smelled mint. He couldn’t hear the running water anymore, just static. But he was fine.

“So there you go. That’s my answer. Do with it as you like.”

Alastor was quiet for a long while before he said, “I can’t.”

Lucifer blinked, and a few more tears broke free off his lashes. “What do you mean?”

Alastor made an aborted motion towards his face, then pulled his hand back. “It doesn't work like that for the rest of us. I can't just choose, it’s not that simple.”

Lucifer let out a watery laugh. “Al, do you think any of this is simple? I’m fucking terrified over here.”

“Stop it.”

“What?”

“This— whatever the fuck you think you’re doing.” Alastor took a step back, growing agitated. “Have you really been away from the world so long that you forgot what demons are like?”

“Maybe,” Lucifer admitted. “But it’s just you and me here.”

“What difference does that make?”

“You know me.”

“I can’t even understand you!”

“Then that makes two of us.” Lucifer smiled. “But I know some things.”

Alastor’s expression turned thunderous. “And what do you imagine you know?”

“I know you’re nicer than you want people to believe.” Lucifer shrugged. “I know you’re funny. I know you take cardamom in your coffee. I know you still sprinkled bonedust over lunch today when no one was looking.”

“That is not true.”

“Come on, Al, I’ve been around forever, you think I haven’t indulged before? Besides, you were right, it adds flavour.”

“Stop it.” 

It was the closest Alastor had ever come to yelling, and they both stepped back, as if from the gravity of the sound.

“Stop doing this to yourself, stop doing this to me,” Alastor nearly pleaded. “I told you I can’t do this. Do you think it’s funny? Does it sate your boredom? Is that what this is? Because that I would understand, but I don’t think it’s even that.”

For the first time, his shadow looked sad instead of angry, drifting closer to Lucifer just as Alastor took step after step back. Unthinkingly, Lucifer reached out a hand towards it.

“It’s nothing like that.” 

“I know! It’s worse. You’re not lying, and it’s worse.”

The shadow coiled one of its arms around Lucifer’s wrist. It was the only thing that convinced him to step forward, to try and close the distance between them again.

“This is dangerous, can’t you see that?” Alastor went on, hands in his hair. “I know you think you’re invulnerable, but you can’t keep going around trusting people like this, laying yourself bare for everyone to see.”

If Alastor noticed his shadow was now attached to Lucifer, he didn’t make any attempt to pull it back. Merely watched wordlessly as Lucifer reached for his hand, gave it a reassuring squeeze, ran his thumb over his knuckles. 

“Al, I’m the furthest thing from invulnerable.”

“That’s even worse. Sooner or later there will come someone with a way to exploit all this, and what will you do then? What will Charlie do? You can’t go on just mindlessly—”

“Are you going to?”

“What?”

“Exploit it.”

“I…” His hands were trembling. “I can’t.”

I can’t, as in, I don’t know how. I can’t, as in, I’m not allowed. I can’t, as in, I’m unable to. I can’t, as in, I won’t. Lucifer let him hold on to all the possible meanings of those two words like lifeboats. He knew which one was true.

“Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there? I’m not like this with anyone else.”

He tried to give his hand another squeeze, but this time Alastor pulled it out of his grasp, although he did not move away again. And if Alastor had looked afraid before, now he looked terrified, in a lost and helpless way that broke Lucifer’s already long-broken heart even more. Because this had never been just about him.

“I can’t do this,” Alastor said again, voice unsteady, yet stern. “I can’t and I shouldn’t and I won’t. If I ever gave you a different impression before, it was a mistake. I can’t afford to wa— to do this. Don’t you understand?”

Lucifer understood. It was a lot he was asking of him. But also very little. The answer to a single question. “But do you want to?”

Alastor leaned back as if struck. Lucifer didn’t push forward, but neither did he move away.

“Al,” he said softly. “Do you want to?”

Silence, again. Alastor looked at him as if Lucifer had laid him down on the chopping block, like a single breath would seal his fate, make the knives hit bone. Yet Lucifer needed nothing more. In the end, the silence had always been the clearest truth Alastor had ever offered him. 

“Al,” he said again, and this time, he was brave enough to reach for his face, to gently touch his cheek. “Aren’t you tired?”

Alastor’s smile fell. 

For the first time since Lucifer had known him. Lucifer could barely process what he was seeing, at first, and then that warm protectiveness from before crashed over him once again. Yet a part of him was more startled than worried. Before he knew it, before he even realised his hand was moving, his thumb brushed the lowered corner of Alastor’s mouth.

He’d been so struck with wonder at the sight that he didn’t have time to register anything else on Alastor’s face, so when Alastor abruptly leaned in and pressed their mouths together, the shock of it ran down to his fingertips.

The way it started, he got the impression that Alastor had been going for something angry, for a violent press of lips, something there and gone. But just as soon as Lucifer moved his mouth against his, his movements softened, grew cautious and exploratory, until he was pretty much cradling Lucifer’s face in his hands.

It couldn’t have lasted that long, but it lasted enough for Lucifer’s knees to weaken, for his brain to mouth (literally) filter to cease functioning. Because the next thing he knew, he was running his fingertips over Alastor’s mouth wonderingly, feeling for the faintest hint of moisture before he pushed himself on tiptoes and kissed him again.

And that was… that was lovely, nearly intoxicating in how right it felt, cedarwood all around him, blunt fingernails against his scalp, that gorgeous waistcoat beneath his hands. He went at it luxuriously, movements languid as he learned the shape of Alastor’s lips, the curve of his missing smile; the earlier shock dissipated and left him soft and relaxed, unhurried as he gently coaxed Alastor’s mouth open.

Alastor replied in kind, as he so often did. One hand found the small of Lucifer’s back and pulled him closer, flush to his chest, skin so warm that his thin shirt barely made a difference. Lucifer felt him sigh against his lips, into his mouth, felt fingers tighten in his hair for a brief, blissful moment.

Spots danced in his eyes when they pulled away, mind hazy and a bit disoriented as he gazed up at Alastor, whose face for once looked more contemplative than scared.

“I don’t remember liking this,” were the first words out of his mouth.

They had the same effect as if he’d dunked Lucifer’s head in a bucket of ice water. Repeatedly. With a mace. Which, to be clear, was completely his right in this situation.

Because for fuck’s sake, Lucifer, ASK before you stick your tongue in some poor soul’s mouth!

But before Lucifer could even begin to prostrate himself and beg forgiveness, Alastor said thoughtfully, “It’s… kind of pleasant.”

Then he kissed Lucifer again, as if testing this novel theory. 

And, okay, being kissed more in the past five minutes than he’d been in the past two centuries was kind of overwhelming, but Lucifer wouldn’t have complained even if he had the mental power to do so. Though he preferred not to think about the sound he let out when Alastor ran his teeth over his bottom lip before pulling away, not breaking the skin, just—testing.

His smile still hadn’t returned. Was it— Ask, Lucifer.

“Are you alright?”

Alastor let out a pensive sound as he pushed a strand of hair off Lucifer’s temple. And it would have been great if Lucifer’s knees didn’t go even weaker because of that, but he was starting to think he’d missed physical touch much more than he’d previously cared to admit. And that was saying a lot.

“The ice is melting.”

“Hm?” Lucifer said distractedly, then succinctly blinked himself back to sanity. “Oh! Oh, right!”

Yep, message received loud and clear, with expedite shipping. Lucifer let go of him and took a couple steps away, giving them both space to breathe. The ice had only melted a little, but Lucifer still fussed over it until it was back in pristine spheres. Then hesitated as he picked up the first glass. 

He glanced at Alastor, who had yet to move, who was still leaning against the cabinet, hands white-knuckled around the edge. Alastor, who wasn’t looking at him, conflicted gaze focused on the dark carpet. 

“I… need a moment,” he said, as if Lucifer’s fear was a living thing, coming to nuzzle at their feet the moment it got big enough. “Don’t go. I just need…” He made a helpless gesture in the air.

Lucifer’s heart broke again and again. “Alright. I’m not going anywhere.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave Alastor’s shoulders. “I still want that drink.”

“Sure thing. Coming right up.”

“Thank you.” 

And with that, he was gone, destination unknown until Lucifer heard the click of a lock from where he supposed his bedroom was. His ears rang, devoid of the radio static he hadn’t even realised had gotten that loud. Lucifer took a moment to lean on the cabinet himself and to take some very desperately necessary big breaths himself.

Then he straightened himself up, took great care not to (over)think anything that had happened in the past half hour, and set himself to making drinks. Because he said he would, and Alastor had already asked him twice.

He picked up where he’d left off. He crushed the ice, chilled the silver glasses again, gave the mint and syrup another stir, and added yet another sprig to Alastor’s glass. The bourbon Husk had provided for him smelled more floral than any he’d had before, but the taste proved to be divine. He added that too generously, then filled the glasses with ice. 

He was just garnishing the glasses with the last of the mint when the lock clicked behind him again. And Alastor looked fine, no tentacles or radio dials, the hair around his cheeks a bit damp, as if he’d just splashed water over his face. Which—was a great idea, Lucifer needed some of that himself right now.

Alastor leaned around him to pick up one of the glasses and didn’t waste any time in taking a sip. His face, even under Lucifer’s avid stare, betrayed nothing. “It’s adequate.”

A step up from edible, Lucifer supposed. High praise. 

But then Alastor winced and added, “It’s… better than Husker’s.”

Now that was actual high praise. Lucifer felt a small stone roll off his chest. “Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“Don’t tell him that. He gets grouchy.”

“My lips are sealed.” Which was not a great saying, after how, uh, unsealed they’d been earlier. Lucifer picked up his own glass to give his mouth a reason to stay shut.

Huh. It was actually good. Still got it, he supposed.

Alastor’s smile had still not returned.

It was incredible how much it changed his face, despite not really changing it at all. His eyes were the same; that smile rarely reached them, after all. Although the times it did were still imprinted on Lucifer’s mind. 

Lucifer really had to find something else to focus on right now. He took another sip and perused the floor. At first, he thought Alastor’s shadow had disappeared again, with no eyes or fangs anywhere in sight, but then he noticed a little tendril of it coiled tentatively around his leg.

That was… comforting enough that he felt his eyes sting again, but he calmed himself down with a mouthful of ice.

Alastor was also looking at his leg, but said nothing of it. He stirred his drink some more and, with downright enviable ease, asked, “So, in your opinion, how would this work?”

Lucifer faltered, then broke himself out of it. This, at least, he knew. “Same as always. I talk to you, you talk to me, and we both make the horrible decision of trusting we won’t hurt each other.”

“Is that all?

“Yes.”

Alastor stared at him pointedly. 

Lucifer wavered. “We don’t have to, uh, have a repeat of… earlier, if you don’t want to.”

“I didn’t mind it.” Then Alastor grimaced at the ceiling and visibly forced himself to get the next words out, “I mean, I…” He let out a defeated sigh. “I would like to do it again.”

“Oh.” Lucifer felt a bit lightheaded.

“But nothing more,” Alastor went on. He grimaced again. “Probably.”

“Of course,” Lucifer breathed out. “I, ah, don’t have any particularly strong feelings about it either.”

Alastor let out what might have been an amused breath in another life. “We’ll see.”

He set his glass down and walked across the room to his gramophone, picked a record without even needing to check it first. Soon enough, Joséphine Baker started singing, and okay, Alastor had been right all along about the acoustics in Lucifer’s rooms, because here it felt like she was all around them.

Alastor came back and finally took a seat in one of the armchairs, causing Lucifer to finally give his knees a break and do the same.

They dealt with the rest of their drinks while the record played, until Lucifer felt almost, almost back to his normal self. Then he caught Alastor staring at him thoughtfully.

“This is a terrible idea, you know.”

Ah, was that all? Lucifer grinned. “Fits right in with the hotel, don’t you think?”

Alastor smiled. It was a small, timid thing, with nothing in common with his usual smile. Lucifer wanted to preserve it in amber. That would have to wait, though. He was still on the job here.

He nodded at Alastor’s glassful of ice. “You want another one?”

Alastor looked at his glass as if he’d forgotten it was there. Then he leaned back in his armchair in seemingly good-humoured defeat. “Sure.”

Notes:

So who else thinks Werebug Geordie and the Cackling Mirrors would be a great band name?
(Ms Baker carrying my whole sanity this chapter.)

Chapter 7

Lucifer didn’t know at which point in his life he’d become the designated support technician in matters of inter-planar travel, and yet here he was. It wasn’t even direct support, more like a second- and sometimes third-hand mangling of his words as Charlie insisted on holding onto the phone at all times. Even a call operator had more power than him.

It had been almost a month since they’ve made covert contact with Heaven, and the developments were as follows:

• The intermediary had finally fallen victim to Charlie’s charms (or talking speed) and passed her to someone she actually knew.
• It was Emily, whom Lucifer didn’t know, but from the snippets of conversation he had to decipher daily, that just meant he now had two Charlies on his hands.
• The entirety of Heaven was still in lockdown, so they couldn’t meet even on the outskirts (not that Lucifer would have ever agreed to that).
• They couldn’t meet in Hell, because [see above].
• That left a bundle of pocket dimensions and some friendly voids. 
• Lucifer, half-asleep, had proposed Earth.
• Everyone, for some reason, had agreed with him.

Which meant that now he had to successfully walk several people through inter-planar travel steps that even he could only half-remember. (Listen, it had been a while since he’d been to Georgia.)

To make matters worse this morning, Vaggie was not here. Vaggie was not here because she was out retrieving their angelic steel undergarments (Lucifer didn’t even want to think about it) from Carmilla on the other side of the city. On second thought, perhaps a good thing. Usually, Vaggie could be pretty reliable in reining Charlie in, but lately she’d been possessed of the same frantic energy as hers.

Not that Lucifer could blame her. Pot, kettle, etc.

That frantic energy, currently, expressed itself in the form of Charlie pacing through the main foyer, phone to her ear, scribbling stuff on anything from table tops to her own arms, and every now and then shooting Lucifer an incomprehensible question, before she got yet again lost in the conversation. No wonder everyone else had found some very important things to take care of elsewhere this morning.

Even Alastor’s garden-variety smile was currently fighting for its life in the face of… whatever this was. Which was a shame, because the dark red lipstick he’d put on today was otherwise lovely.

Lucifer glided closer and linked their arms together. “Will you help me stage an intervention?”

“I think we must,” Alastor said, eyes still on Charlie.

“Great. I’ll get the phone.”

“I’ll get the Charlie.”

Perfect. Time to slip into Full Dad Mode. 

They made their way to Charlie before she could notice and scurry away, then Lucifer held his hand out for the phone, staring at her pointedly until she started to lower it from her ear. As soon as the phone made contact with Lucifer’s palm, Alastor was already twirling Charlie around by the shoulders, cheerfully but determinedly leading her outside to check on some things in the pavilion. 

Lucifer shot him a thankful look over his shoulder, took a deep breath, and raised the still-pattering phone to his ear.

“Heyyy, Emily, Emmy, hi, Charlie’s dad here! I heard you’ve been having some problems with the routing? Oh, no, no, none of that, please, call me Luci! Okay, so here’s what you gotta do—” 

A few guests started making their way down the stairs, so Lucifer started making his way outside and out of ear range.

“Yes, listen, yes, I know that wouldn’t work, there’s a reason we got rid of sunbeam travel in the early hundreds. So what I want you to do is go to the library… no, the Alexandria one, in the Hymn District, I think that’s the latest one. Is it still there? Hah, managed not to burn out this one, did we? Yes, yes, sore spot…”

For once, the weather outside was quite pleasant. As pleasant as it could be in Hell, at least, which meant plenty of light to see all the gore on the streets (not in their garden, though, that was a hard rule), the trees blooming with only mildly-poisonous flowers, and the blood-red dew gathered on the underbrush. Lucifer ran his hand along the poison ivy growing along the walls of the hotel.

“Okay, so once you get there, I want you to go, say, past the Decanonised Psalms, to the very back, where you’ll find—oh, who was it? Pravuil? They’re there cataloguing. No, I’m pretty sure they’re still there, you’ve only had it for a couple thousand years, and they have meticulousness down to an art. They’re probably not even done with the first letter.”

Would you look at that, even the mewling poppies had bloomed! Lucifer took a moment to scratch each one of them under their furry sepals before going on his way along the pebbled garden path.

“Yes, and once you find them, tell them, hm… tell them you’re in need of some divine intervention. No, don’t worry, they’ll get it, they’ve been hogging that portal since Earth was created. Just ask them what book they’d like you to bring back for them, and there will be no questions asked.”

With the exception of a few freshly-planted pomegranate saplings, the back garden was a small sea of half-burnt shrubbery. Work in progress. Lucifer had offered to tend to it a couple times, but apparently Vaggie had an entire routine of gardening group activities planned, so they were still waiting on that. Lucifer idly wondered if he should start growing something in the attic.

“Contingency plan? Well, you’re a seraphim, you could easily—err, admonish them! Tell them you have urgent business on Earth and you don’t owe them any more information than that. Wouldn’t be as tactful, but it would be your word against theirs if they do decide to tell someone, although I doubt they would. Hm? Mean? Is it mean? Well, I suppose a little bit, but it’s not like you’re tearing off their limbs so they’d have to keep their records with their teeth… Oh, no, that’s not one of mine! Michael threatened to do that to them once when they ate the last cookie at a meeting.”

By now, he’d reached the entrance to the pavilion, so he lingered back a bit, playing with some tentatively carnivorous hortensias as he watched Charlie react excitedly to whatever Alastor was showing her inside. That was a better sort of excitement; it calmed Lucifer’s nerves a bit. The fond smile Alastor directed at her when she wasn’t looking was also a huge help. Lucifer wanted to stuff them both in a locket and swallow it.

Ah, right, Emily was still on the phone.

“Right, so: library, Pravuil, divine intervention, book. Yes, you got it! Okay, so I’d say give us a couple of days to secure the route for Charlie too, and then we’ll hear each other again, sounds good? Nooot a problem, happy to help! I’d tell you to have a good day, but it’s not like you have a choice up there, right, ha ha… Yes, thank you, you too.”

Well, that was out of his hands now. Temporarily. Lucifer pocketed Charlie’s phone and took a few steadying breaths. His throat hurt. Christ, was this how much people expected him to talk on a daily basis?! It was downright inhumane.

By the time he made his way inside the pavilion, Charlie was nowhere in sight, but Alastor was, leaning on his cane and checking the rafters.

“What do you think?” Lucifer asked, and wasn’t even rewarded with a surprised jolt.

“I think you’re worrying for nothing. It’s sturdy enough.”

Lucifer looked up too. Well. Maybe it was. “Where did Charlie go?”

“I let her experience the light system samples on her own. She’ll be back shortly. How was our divine accomplice?”

“As well as could be expected,” Lucifer admitted. “Did Charlie, uh, seem to like the place?”

“Of course.” 

“Really?”

“Yes.” Alastor took out his pocket watch and scowled. “But you can ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. I’m afraid I have to go.”

“Oh. Can’t stay even to hear the verdict?”

“I’m afraid not.” Alastor twirled his cane once. “Some of us are still on the clock.”

“I guess I’ll just have to take all the credit, then.”

“I’ll live,” Alastor said forlornly. “Besides, I’m leaving you to deal with her alone, I’m hardly the victim here.” And here he took Lucifer’s hand and pulled his glove off partway, just enough to be able to press a dark red kiss to his knuckles, before rolling the cloth back up over the mark. “For good luck.”

Lucifer swallowed a few times before he realised he should’ve probably come up with a mildly offended retort, but by then Alastor was already well on his way down the garden path. Still. Lucifer didn’t miss his shadow laughing silently as he walked away.

Charlie returned in a whirl of metaphysical glitter. “Al, the lights are fantastic, I can’t wait to see it at night and maybe even with one of those giant balls made of mirrors and—oh, dad!”

“Al had to step away,” Lucifer said, holding out her phone. “And the plan is underway with Em.”

“Really? Oh, so, oh, gosh, so you can just summon a portal whenever we get the go ahead?”

Lucifer winced. “Yeah, so, about that. I thought about it and I don’t feel… perfectly comfortable summoning it myself?”

“What? Dad, I’m sure you—”

“Well, hah, you see, I haven’t been to Earth in a long time, and yes, I still know the gist of it, but these things can be so fiddly sometimes, and this is a very sensitive operation and—”

Charlie’s face started to fall, and oh no, no, no, she couldn’t have any more of that parental disappointment from him, not today, not ever again.

“Which is why!” Lucifer nearly shouted. “I’d like you to take a quick trip down to Lust and pay a very low-key house visit today!

Disappointment was replaced by confusion. Thank God. “Lust? Why?”

Because it would be the most inconspicuous and he trusted Oz’s elevator security to know the value of discretion better than Bee’s, but he didn’t need to go into that many details. Also, because maybe getting Charlie away from the hotel for a bit would calm her down. Maybe. Unlikely, but maybe.

So Lucifer spent a good and definitely not anxious while drawing her a map to the Lust entrance of the Ars Goetia palace, complete with eventual passcodes, shortcuts, hiding nooks, and whatever else she might need.

“Dad, you know I walk through Hell all the time…”

“I know. This is more for my peace of mind,” Lucifer said, jotting down two more emergency shelters before handing her the napkin. “If you bump into uncle Ozzie, stay for tea, he’s been blowing up my phone asking for pictures of you for the past few decades. If you don’t, just ask to borrow the Grimoire and I’ll send it back by the end of the day.”

“Right,” Charlie said, holding the napkin gingerly. “Well, then, I should… get going?”

“Probably for the best, you don’t wanna hit rush hour on the elevator.”

“I was supposed to lead art therapy today, I wonder who else is free…”

“Don’t you worry about that, I’ll do it!” The words were out of his mouth before his mind even finished processing hers.

Charlie stared at him. “You will?”

Welp. Might as well keep digging that grave while he had the momentum.

“Yeah! I dabble, you know me, the dabbler, I can teach some painting for an afternoon!”

“It’s actually more about—” Charlie shook her head. “Yeah, dad, I know you can. Thank you.”

“ No problem! Now, you’ve got an elevator to catch and I’ve got a lesson plan to prepare, so let’s get a move on!”

There were no more protests as Charlie let him manoeuver her out of the (still standing!) pavilion, through the garden, and back to the front of the hotel, but she did insist that she didn’t need to take Razzle with her to the elevator. Lucifer let her have that one, if only because even he couldn’t excuse that lack of inconspicuousness.

He only stopped her when she was already walking out. “Oh, and Charlie? While you’re there, mind telling that Goetia kid to come by the hotel sometime after all this is over? I figured he could take a look at Angel’s contract.”

“To take a look at…” Charlie blinked. “You think he’d find a loophole?”

Lucifer shrugged. “One way to find out.”

 

---

 

Art therapy was worse than any angelic war. Lucifer could confidently say this after experiencing both and only fearing for his life during one of them.

What had started as an aggressively cheerful (his modus operandi when dealing with strangers) introduction to colour theory had ended with all fourteen people in the room, Lucifer included, bawling their eyes out as they talked about their fucked up childhoods. Lucifer never wanted to set foot in that room again. 

He’d already made lesson plans for the next three weeks.

Charlie returned unharmed from the Lust ring sometime in the late hours of the afternoon, decked with both Grimoire and a thermos full of calming tea for Lucifer (compliments from Ozzie, that feathery prick). Which left Lucifer with just enough hours in the day to turn his entire secret workshop upside down in search of all the tools he needed.

Said secret workshop being this dusty, overcrowded and nearly suffocating attic he’d transported in its entirety from the palace directly on top of his quarters when he’d moved into the hotel, and hadn’t touched since. If it was a secret, it was so only because he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone yet. Also, because the only way to access it was through an equally hidden trapdoor in his bedroom.

All in all, the perfect place for Lucifer to absolutely lose his mind.

Well, not really. Well, kind of really.

Because this was actually happening, happening, happening, and he was helping with it, he was literally engraving the portal runes into a golden bracelet for Charlie to use to get to and from that probably doomed meeting, so if anything happened to her, it would be on nobody else than him, and, Jesus fuck, what the hell had he been thinking, going along with this, he was putting everything he had, everything he held dearest in jeopardy over the word of an angel, a fucking angel, as if Adam hadn’t been an angel too and fuck knew he didn’t deserve the ground Charlie walked on.

“Oh, God…” Lucifer set his tools aside and pressed his fingers to his eyes hard enough to see stars. Breathe, Lucifer . He tried. He couldn’t. “Breathe, goddamn you.”

Bad habits again: he clasped his hands as if in prayer and rested his forehead against them, chest shaking with all the air he could neither take in, nor let out.

There was still a faint streak of red across his knuckles. Lucifer stared at it for several aborted breaths, then dared to touch it. He rubbed his thumb over it as if it was a rosary. Breathe, Lucifer.

He did, wheezing gasps that at first felt worse than stab wounds, and by the end left him feeling mostly ridiculous. He didn’t know which one he disliked more. Probably the latter. It was somehow more dignified to be this tired while in pain rather than while feeling like a clown.

Lucifer took one more deep breath. “Okay. Okay, you’ve had your meltdown. Now get back to work.”

Blessedly, he did.

 

---

 

By the time Alastor found him, both his smile and his lipstick were gone. Which was fine. Well, the smile was fine. Lately, Alastor rarely smiled unprompted when they were alone (which was a good thing; he’d asked). Lucifer kinda missed the lipstick, though.

“You could’ve left a note,” Alastor said.

Oh. Right, the whole off-limits hidden workshop thing. “Sorry.” 

Still getting the hang of this not being alone thing, it seemed.

“It’s fine, you left the trapdoor open once, I guessed there was something up here.”

Talk about lucky guesses. “Did you look around long?”

“Not really,” Alastor said, pulling off his bowtie. “I just got back about an hour ago and they said you haven’t been to dinner.”

Christ, it was still the same day? Lucifer felt ready to slink to the creaky wooden floor and go to sleep, not take care of bodily functions. At least the bracelet was done.

He went for the next best thing and rested his head in his hand and watched Alastor take off his jacket (deep brown, this time, which was downright adventurous for him). It had been a long day for him too, from the looks of it. Lucifer whisked the jacket away to a hanger before Alastor could conjure a single string of shadow.

Alastor scrunched up his nose minutely, but continued the unbuttoning process with his waistcoat. Okay, so that bad a day, was it? Lucifer pushed himself up and gestured to his sleeves.

“May I?”

“If you must,” Alastor sighed. Which was Alastor-speak for I hadn’t thought to ask for it, but yes, thank you, I appreciate it. Or something like that. Let Lucifer dream, okay?

“What’s got you so worn out?” he asked as he deftly rolled up one sleeve.

“I had errands to run.” A disgusted sneer. “In the Entertainment District.”

“Ah. What errands?”

“Apparently we’re overdue an upgraded television in the guest lounge on the first floor.”

“And they sent you?”

“It was regrettably on my way. There was also an overlord meeting today.”

Lucifer started on the second cuff. “Really? What about?”

“Just a quarterly check-in and the usual run-of-the-mill paranoia, nothing involving us. Vox seemed especially miffed about the rising tech competition, though. That was fun, if terribly loud and repetitive.”

“Makes me think we should invest even more in those imp-made electronics once we’re done with this covert operation,” Lucifer said, rubbing his wrist in a way he hoped was at least a bit headache-alleviating. 

“Or take the finer route of turning everything back to analog, but nobody listens to me in this house.” Alastor sighed. “I looked over your territory sheets while drowning out Vox. They were as accurate as one could hope around here, good job.”

“Oh. Um, thanks.”

And no, Lucifer did not feel himself turn into a tomato (the yellow kind) over being mildly praised for paperwork. Definitely not. He merely ducked his head to make sure he’d rolled Alastor’s sleeves symmetrically.

“Thank you,” Alastor said, also inspecting them. They must have proved acceptable, because he went on to take off his gloves. “I must confess, you don’t look much better than I feel.”

“Hah. Thanks. Had a bit of a shit day myself, I guess…”

“I can tell,” Alastor said.

Then he pushed a few errant strands of hair behind his ear. 

Lucifer closed his eyes and leaned into the touch without thinking. Then felt a bit mortified. Then lost that feeling too when Alastor repeated the gesture.

Five days were not enough to get used to this. Five decades wouldn’t be either. Five centuries? Maybe. Did he really use to have this every day, once? Easily, comfortably, without fearing it would be swept from underneath him at any point? He couldn’t imagine taking this for granted. Perhaps he hadn’t even when he was younger, but it was so hard to remember. He was no longer the same person he’d been then.

When he opened his eyes again, there was an amused smirk in the corner of Alastor’s mouth. “Are you aware of the faces you make whenever I touch your hair?”

Lucifer buried his face in his chest. “Ugh, don’t tell me.”

Alastor’s fingers sunk deeper into his hair with a few leisurely strokes. “I’m sure our dear Angel would have quite the repertoire of adjectives for it. Most of them involving some form of sugar.”

“Al,” Lucifer groaned, wrapping his arms around his middle in a frankly shameless display of mixed signals, even for him.

A soft tug, followed by more lazy combing. “It brings to mind, oh, what was that quaint avian term? Ah, right. Preening.”

Lucifer groaned more loudly, but still didn’t pull away. After all, he could feel Alastor’s silent laughter against his cheek. God themself couldn’t have moved him in that moment.

It wasn’t just his laugher either. There it was, a heartbeat exactly where it should be. As fast as his own. Faster, even, when Lucifer tightened his hold on him. Not so heartless after all, he mused.

Alastor’s other arm came to rest over his shoulders, and oh, okay, that was one way to make him forget about an entire day of stress, for sure. Careful fingers massaged his scalp. Lucifer tried very, very hard not to go boneless.

“What were you working on?” Alastor asked more quietly.

Lucifer gestured in the approximate direction of his worktable. “Something for Charlie to wear at the meeting.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Al, I would literally let you take out a kidney right now if you managed to find a way to do it without taking your hand out of my hair.”

Lucifer had thought that moderately funny, but there was no more laughter against his cheek. In fact, Alastor didn’t say anything, simply continued petting his hair silently for some time. “I don’t think I like that.”

“What? Kidneys?” Lucifer pulled away just enough to look at him. “I guess we could settle for a liver…”

“No, this… thing you do.” Alastor was frowning now. “It’s like you think you deserve pain for the things you want.”

Lucifer blinked, trying to make sense of the words. Then a gear must’ve slipped out of place in his brain, because the next thing he knew was that it was immensely important to not decode any meaning from that, at any cost.

“Do I? I, ah, didn’t, haha, realise that’s how it sounded… wow, that’s embarrassing, gotta come up with some new jokes, I must’ve sounded like a broken record—”

“Lucifer.”

“No, no, I’m fine. It was just… stupid, not funny at all, I see it now. Sorry, you know me, can’t keep my mouth shut once I open it, who knows what’s gonna come out next, really, hah, shouldn’t have made fun of all those prophets years ago, right? Haha…”

“Lucifer.” Alastor pressed his fingers to his mouth.

Lucifer deflated. “I… really sound like a hypocrite right now, don’t I?”

“A little bit.”

“Sorry,” he said, still against Alastor’s fingers.

Lucifer felt… in a way. In multiple ways, actually. Like running away and burrowing his head into Alastor’s chest, all at once. Like throwing up and laughing, all at once. Alastor cupped his cheek, and it didn’t help making him any less confused. But his face must’ve given at least that away, because Alastor dropped his hand and took a step back, giving him space to breathe. God, what a wonderful idea! Look at all the breathing he was doing today!

Breathe, Lucifer. He’d wanted to let Alastor in. This is what it meant. He just hadn’t expected Alastor to get his hands on all the rusted keys of his soul this fast. Bastard had probably already made copies too.

Lucifer blinked several times in fast succession, just to make sure there weren’t any unshed tears waiting to put on a show this time (there weren’t, thank fuck), then he pulled his gaze away from the wooden floor. Alastor wasn’t looking at him with pity or disdain or even embarrassment, he was just—looking. Waiting. 

A nice thing to do, waiting to be let in when you already had all the keys.

“I’m…” Fine was a door shut in his face. A mess was him opening an adjacent door in hopes of hiding away this one. Sorry was just throwing himself out a window for no reason. “...gonna work on it.”

“Alright,” Alastor said, with a slow blink. Lucifer thought of cats. 

It put a smile on back his face. “Wanna see what I made?”

“Desperately.” 

And lo and behold, there was only a touch of sarcasm in there.

Lucifer gingerly picked the bracelet up and held it out to him. The blue crystal he’d placed over the carvings glittered white even in the mellow orange light of the lamps he’d hung around the remnants of several centuries’ worth of hyperfixations.

“It’s a spell-to-go. Literally, hah. You touch it and it opens a portal right under the constellation carved there, in that corner.” To demonstrate, Lucifer pressed his thumb to the crystal, and a small opening appeared in the air between them, reflecting nothing but clear night sky. “You press it again and it takes you right back where you started.”

He made to put it away, but Alastor grabbed a hold of his hand before he could. The edges of the portal crackled a bit with his proximity, but didn’t outwardly harm him. Though they could, and most likely would, if his hand drifted any closer.

“Yeah, it’s… kind of like any other gateway out of Hell.” Lucifer winced. “Sinners can’t really access them.”

Alastor didn’t say anything, just kept gazing at that tear in the fabric of reality. Beyond it, maybe, where… oh.

There were no stars in Hell. Lucifer hadn’t even considered that this would be the first view of them Alastor got since his death. And to be told to watch only from a distance, too. He opened his mouth, apology ready on his tongue, then closed it again. And shifted so they were watching that shimmering sky side by side.

They stayed like that for a while, until Alastor blinked once, twice, cleared his throat and looked away. “Your craftsmanship’s getting better.”

Okay, that was already two compliments in the same evening. Lucifer took that as his cue to set the bracelet back down and give him a few moments to collect himself. He settled for sorta tidying his working space.

By the time he turned around, Alastor was already inspecting a few dusty sculptures from his very brief Dadaist phase. Lucifer shook Oz’s thermos a bit. Yep, perfectly empty, just his luck.

“Do you want some tea?” he tried. “Or a drink? I don’t really have anything for us to sit on up here, so I think we’d better relocate downstairs.”

Alastor peered around a shelf. “You have a bed right there.”

Lucifer followed his gaze. Squished between several boxes of paintings and moth-eaten theatre costumes, practically set right on the dusty floor, was a thin mattress and a few clumsily embroidered pillows. It wasn’t unfamiliar, but damned if he could remember when he’d put it there. Oh, God, was it from that time he’d tried trust falls on his own?

“That’s a cot at best.”

Alastor rolled his eyes, set his monocle down on Lucifer’s worktable, and made his way over. “Blue-blooded to the very marrow.” 

All Lucifer had time to do was a quick spell to get rid of most of the dust gathered on and around it before Alastor sat himself down. “How is it snobbish to want a bedframe?”

“I don’t know, but you make it seem so easy,” Alastor said before leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes. He let out a much longer breath than Lucifer had ever heard from him. “All the pictures in my rooms have started screaming.”

“Ugh.” Lucifer gingerly sat himself beside him. “Any idea why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Allergies?”

“Who knows. I stopped trying to understand the habits of this building.”

Liar. He was too nosy to ever give up on a challenge of this magnitude. But Lucifer let it pass for now.

“Want me to take a look?”

“No.” Alastor grabbed his hand without opening his eyes. “I want you to stay right here.”

Oh. The rapidity with which Lucifer could swing from mildly curious to spilling over with affection usually took him by surprise, but this time it left him almost dizzy. He turned his hand around so Alastor could entwine their fingers. Alastor did. His hands were colder than usual.

“That TV really did a number on you, didn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Alastor cracked an eye open to scowl at him. “Was that supposed to be witty?”

“Nah.” 

Alastor dragged a hand tiredly down his face. Irresistible as the allure of being a little shit usually was, Lucifer’s grin faded a bit at that. It had been a long day.

He patted his hand reassuringly. “Alright, I’ll shut up.”

Alastor sighed, making a show of turning to face him. “I don’t remember making you.”

Then Lucifer found himself in urgent need to swallow back his words as Alastor cupped the back of his neck and kissed him.

Rather thoroughly too, with the prickle of static on his tongue and teasing teeth on his lower lip, which ultimately morphed into a few downright decadent strokes that left him breathless.

Not breathless enough, apparently, because as soon as they broke apart, Lucifer said, “You said you didn’t use to like this…?”

Alastor looked about as pleased with this line of questioning as he’d expected, but for once in his life, Lucifer’s expectant stare must have worked, because he actually got an answer.

“Something like that,” Alastor said with the weariness of a thousand prophets. Bit dramatic, but Lucifer would take it. “I remember some mild unpleasantness on a couple pre-arranged evenings. The matchmakers of Louisiana were not very happy with me.” 

“The image of you surrounded by a dozen fastidious grannies does have its charm.”

“It was only three or four, but I’m glad this is entertaining for you,” Alastor said, words dripping sarcasm, yet his lips were just as soft when they found and lingered on the corner of Lucifer’s mouth.

But Lucifer seemed to be on a suicide mission today, because instead of turning his head and kissing him properly, he said, “And after that?”

Alastor sighed and leaned back on his elbows. “Thankfully, my disinterest remained as complete in the afterlife too.” A displeased glance Lucifer’s way. “Until recently. Stop grinning.”

“Sorry,” Lucifer said, grinning and not feeling sorry in the slightest. At least, for a few good seconds, before doubt reared its head once more. “Does it bother you?”

“Does what bother me?”

Lucifer hesitated. “That I might have… dragged you into this?”

Alastor rolled his eyes. “You didn’t drag me into anything, this is a hell of my own making. You’re just the curator.”

“I see.” Still. “When you say hell…?”

“I mean I consciously made every decision that landed me here and I have yet to regret it. Stop stressing. I wouldn’t be in this room right now if I didn’t want to be. God knows this hotel is big enough.”

Which translated to… exactly what he’d just said. What a lovely, novel development. Lucifer’s heart actually eased. “Okay.”

“None of that makes this any less absurd, mind you,” Alastor went on. “I don’t need this, you certainly don’t, and yet here we are.”

Lucifer actually snorted. “Careful, Al. If you start doing only what you absolutely need, you’ll end up a depressed bastard in a lonely tower.”

“My tower’s fine.”

“It is. I’d like to keep seeing it.”

“You might.” Alastor’s hand found one strap of his suspenders and pulled him closer. “Since we’re such good, trusting friends right now.”

There was that insufferable grin. Lucifer had missed it. “Is that what the kids call it nowadays?”

“Mm, and what would you call it?”

Lucifer bit back the easy retort and instead leaned his head in thought. “I actually don’t know.”

“Good, then we’re of one mind.” Alastor tugged on his strap again. “Now, is it too much to ask that you kiss me instead of continuing this dreadful conversation?”

Oh. That. Lucifer could certainly do that. But he was, you know, still the Devil, so he didn’t.

He pouted instead. “It’s not dreadful.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Alastor groaned. 

“So was it when you brought up my Catholic guilt earlier, and I didn’t complain!”

“You most definitely did complain—”

Lucifer kissed him.

Perhaps with more zeal than he’d intended, because the momentum made Alastor fall back onto the mattress as their teeth clashed together rather painfully. Yet Alastor only laughed, cupped Lucifer’s cheek, and drew him back into the kiss. More pleasant, this time. 

Lucifer braced his elbows on either side of his head and made use of this novel position to take his sweet time, until there was no more ache in his teeth and no more nervous static on his tongue, and Alastor sighed like this was a warm bath at the end of a hard day. There we go. Lucifer kissed him even more gently just to hear it again.

He’d been honest when he’d said he didn’t know how to classify this. 

It wasn’t like it had been with Lily. That had been fire and lightning and the joint exhilaration of both of them taking the reins of their own lives for once. A comet burning bright, smouldering even long after it crashed to the ground.

This wasn’t that. It wasn’t even on the same axis, but it didn’t affect him any less. It didn’t feel less important solely because there was no fire to either stoke or put out.

Alastor touched him like he was reading a book, focused and thoughtful, taking his time with each page, in no rush to reach the ending, whatever that might have looked like. It sated parts of Lucifer that had long lain dormant, shrivelled with disuse and decades of self-imposed loneliness. It made him feel… wanted, in the simplest sense of the word. 

He wouldn’t have called it romantic. It didn’t sound quite right, though at his sappiest moments the lines seemed to blur and become a kaleidoscope of fondness. It wasn’t about lust either, but then again, with him it hardly ever was that simple, much to Oz’s chagrin. 

Truth be told, Lucifer tended to match the energy thrown his way when it came to these things. If left to his own devices, well, he supposed he was what Lily had called a cuddlebug. He would’ve crawled inside another person’s chest cavity and used their heart as a body pillow if he could. But he behaved. For now. 

He’d loved Lily’s fire, that ardent desire to live that had made even him believe that his life had worth outside of the celestial congregation. That zeal that told him everything was possible, if only he could keep up. But he also loved this growing comfort, this trust that had been put in his hands, this dawning realisation that somebody wanted him around even with all his fuck-ups and his disappointments. That, maybe, he was still worth something, even after all the fire had died down.

Alastor was right. It was a terribly dangerous feeling to have in Hell. What a fortuitous turn of events, then, that Lucifer had always been so fucking bad at staying away from danger. 

Alastor was frowning when they finally pulled away. “What are you laughing about now?”

“Nothing,” Lucifer said, still somewhat giddy. “Just… this is the best part of today.”

“I’d be flattered if I didn’t already know your day was, I quote, ‘rather shit’.”

“Be flattered anyway,” Lucifer countered.

There was no animosity behind Alastor’s scowl, merely that fond exasperation that Lucifer wanted to preserve in a snowglobe and shake it every time he felt sad. He looked… relaxed, at ease in a way Lucifer would not have thought possible mere months ago. Laughter lines lax in lack of a smile, lips faintly bruised, hair mussed, though Lucifer had never touched it.

No sooner had the thought came to him, that the need made his hands itch. “Can I touch your hair?”

Alastor gave him a slightly confused look, as if he hadn’t been asked anything of the sort before, which was—kind of sad, actually. Then, somewhat tentatively, “Sure…”

“Ears?” Lucifer pressed on. “Don’t frown at me, I’m just asking. You can say no, and I won’t.”

“You can try.”

“Is that a threat?”

Alastor bit his lip. “It’s an… offer.”

Lucifer tried. At first, he pushed his fringe out of his eyes. Then he moved on to the longer strands of hair, gently combing his fingers through them, from red to black. Softer than he’d expected.

Alastor still looked a bit afraid, but now Lucifer understood. He kept his touch light as he followed the curve of his ears, as he smoothened the fluff at the base, as he went back to pushing strands off his temple.

When Alastor leaned into the touch, Lucifer’s lips found his cheek again, trailed down along his jaw until he was guided back to his mouth with slightly shaky fingers.

An intermittent quacking sound broke them out of it. More than a bit disoriented, Lucifer looked for the source. “Ah, Charlie’s wondering where I am.”

“What? Christ, why is it so loud?”

“Sorry, sorry, on it!” Lucifer scrambled (on slightly wobbly legs) off the mattress and rushed to a slightly less dusty shelving unit, from where he picked up a glowing duck. “Gotcha!”

“What’s that?”

“Emergency duck!” Lucifer grinned. “Helps me bring her wherever I am if she can’t find me.”

Alastor had pushed himself back to a sitting position. “That would’ve been helpful an hour ago.”

“Aw, do you want one too?” The quacking intensified while Alastor merely scowled at him. “Oh, right. Um, do you mind if I bring her here? I should show her how the bracelet works.”

“Why would I mind? It’s your workshop.”

“Yeah, but you’re, uh…” Out of his suit? Not smiling? Messy-haired? Looking like he’d just been methodically kissed for the past half-hour? “...informal.”

Alastor shrugged, like this wasn’t at all world-shattering to the uninformed population. “It’s just Charlie.”

“Right.” Just Charlie. “You sure?”

“Yes. Please, just stop that noise.”

Lucifer squeezed the duck once, and just Charlie stumbled into the room mid-sentence. “—and remember to change the cutlery to—aaah! Hey, dad! Wow! Where are we?”

“Attic, still the hotel. What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing! You told me to make sure you remembered to send back the Grimoire. Sorry it’s so late.”

“No, I did. And it’s okay, I actually wanted to show you—”

Charlie was already poking at various old toys and pop-up books around the room. “Gosh, is this the same as at our old place? I haven’t seem some of these in ages! Oh, hello, I remember you, and you, and—Al? Al! Didn’t see you there, are you alright?”

Absolutely the right question. Because Lucifer doubted anyone in this hotel would get to see the entirety of his dress shirt without there being a mortal wound hidden underneath. And even that was not a certainty. But he’d said it was just Charlie, so Lucifer let him handle it.

“Everything’s fine, my dear. Your father and I were…” He shot Lucifer an innocent smile. “...socialising.”

Lucifer should not have let him handle it. Though he couldn’t say he was surprised.

A moment passed, and then Charlie’s eyes went very wide and her face very red. “Ah! Okay! I’m, uh, glad nothing’s wrong, then!” She turned back to face Lucifer with the frantic smile of somebody trying very hard to put the last few revelations on the backburner. “You were saying, dad?”

“Right!” Lucifer said, realising too late that they basically had the same pitch now. He didn’t even need to turn around to know that Alastor was grinning. The bastard was probably treating this like prime time entertainment. “I finished the thing I told you about. I was wondering if you want to take a look.”

Just like that, Charlie’s demeanour was back to her usual frantic ebullience. “The portal?”

Then Lucifer was promptly swept into an entire presentation of the various properties and uses and design choices of the thing he’d built mid-panic attack during this afternoon. Somehow, with Charlie’s questions there to keep him talking, it lasted way longer than the brief explanation he’d given Alastor earlier. Lucifer, again, wasn’t surprised. But his throat hurt again when Charlie kissed him goodnight and disappeared in a flash along with the bracelet.

Focused as he'd been on explaining all these logistics, Lucifer hadn’t even noticed when Alastor had disappeared from the room. But he sure did when he came back, because he was even more, uh, informal, having changed the rest of his clothes into a pair of black long-sleeved pyjamas. Simple, cottony, but perfectly ironed. Lucifer had never ironed pyjamas in his life.

Even his slippers were matching. Lucifer, for the third time this hour, wasn’t surprised.

“That’s twice you’ve left me to fend for myself in a conversation today.”

“Is it?” Alastor said with the same innocent smile as before. “I like to think of it as providing ample bonding opportunities. You’re very welcome.”

His hair was slightly damp. Right out of the shower, he smelled even more strongly of cedar. Lucifer was trying very hard not to have an opinion on it.

“Thanks,” he said drily. “Let me guess, these are your diplomatic visit pyjamas?”

“I decided to take a page out of your book and just choose whichever were most comfortable,” Alastor said, taking back his seat on the mattress. “Do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”

Lucifer blinked. “Up here?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve got a perfectly good bed right below us.”

“I like it here just fine.”

“The morning light will be terrible.”

“I’m an early bird.”

Well, he’d tried to be a good host. “Alright.” He counted to five then stepped off the metaphorical ledge. “Can I stay too?”

“If you’re not worried that your fragile bones will be crushed by sleeping on fewer than fifteen mattresses, sure.”

“Very funny.” Lucifer conjured a fluffy comforter from downstairs and dropped it on top of him. “Give me a moment.”

He flickered out of the room and landed in the reddish darkness of his bedroom.

Yep, just as he’d suspected. He had absolutely no dignified pyjamas lying around. Nor an iron. Well, clean ones and a shower would have to do. 

When he came back, most of the lights in the workshop were off, but for a couple naked bulbs near the mattress, which made it seem, well, not quite as uncomfortable as he’d previously thought. Cross-legged underneath the comforter, Alastor was turning an antique music box in his hands.

“That was one of Charlie’s,” Lucifer said, slipping under the comforter too. “It hasn’t made a sound in ages.”

“What did it play?”

“I don’t remember. Some… soothing hymn from back when I still knew them.”

Alastor hummed and set it aside. Then he turned off the remaining lights and lay down too, facing him.

“Bambi?” Lucifer asked.

“Having the time of its unlife with the screaming pictures, last I saw it.”

That sounded about right.

They stayed a while like that, facing each other in the dark, sharing a comforter but not touching, and neither of them really trying to sleep. There were faint sounds coming from outside. Animals, plants, car chases far in the distance, maybe a murder or two down the street. It was almost peaceful.

“What colour were your eyes before you got here?”

“Brown.”

Lucifer closed his eyes. “Pretty.” It was peaceful. “Play me something?”

A long-suffering breath, then somewhere, in a long-forgotten box, a radio started playing. Lucifer strained to hear the lyrics, then snorted. 

“Sure, I’ll take it.”

“What colour were yours in Heaven?”

“Green.” A snort made him open his eyes again. “What, too on the nose?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You always say something.”

A brief shift of fabric, and then Alastor was holding his hand.

“I taught art therapy today.”

Alastor raised an eyebrow. “How was it?”

“Tearful. Humiliating. I think I liked it.”

“You would.”

“Yeah.” Lucifer yawned. “I would.” He pressed his forehead against Alastor’s shoulder. “You smell nice.”

Alastor made a displeased sound, but didn’t push him away.

Lucifer snuggled even closer. “You always smell nice, it’s infuriating.”

Alastor turned on his back. “On second thought, perhaps I’ll try my luck with the screaming pictures.”

“Nope. Too late. You're here now. No retractions.”

It was a little bit too easy to throw one leg over Alastor and practically climb on top of him, lying down on his chest like debris. Much too easy. 

This proved to be because Alastor had gone perfectly still underneath him, mouth a thin line and wide eyes staring directly at the ceiling. Cold showers had been less effective than this in the past. Lucifer pushed his apparently insatiable cuddling tendencies away and attempted a retreat.

Alastor held him in place. Lucifer hesitated, watching his expression, but he still wasn’t meeting his gaze. He tried to slide off him again, less panic-led this time. Alastor still held on. 

Okay… Message received? He guessed? Lucifer tentatively lay his head back on his chest. Alastor’s vice grip lessened. His heart was beating so fast, it was a miracle the whole room wasn’t filled with static. 

“I can make myself lighter if it bothers you.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alastor said. “Can you… make yourself heavier too?”

“Hm? What, like this?”

Lucifer watched his reaction carefully, but Alastor only blinked at the ceiling.

“Yes, like that.” Another prolonged pause. “Can you go even heavier than this?”

“I guess so,” Lucifer said, and did just that. This time, Alastor let out a sigh. “This okay?”

“Yes.”

Just to see what would happen, Lucifer made himself even heavier. What happened was Alastor basically melting underneath him, all the tension in his body seeping away as he wrapped his arms around Lucifer.

“Yes, that’s perfect.”

Lucifer briefly considered burrowing into his ribcage.

He let out a pleased sigh when Alastor started running his fingers up and down his spine. Shivered when he pressed the heel of his palm into the tense spots where his wings usually were, then slowly melted too as Alastor kept on carefully kneading the tension out of his back. 

It was dangerously close to lulling him to sleep. But better to make sure.

“Can I sleep right here?” Lucifer mumbled.

“I don’t know, can you?”

“Al.”

Alastor ran a soothing hand through his hair. “Yes, you may.”

Asshole. Lucifer wanted to seep into him like water in a sponge. He did the next best thing, though, and fell asleep.

 

---

 

In the end, it wasn’t the morning light that woke them, but a loud shriek coming from two storeys bellow.

Or, rather, not a shriek, but an enthusiastic cry, since when they got to the family kitchen, nobody seemed to be in mortal peril, and everyone was accounted for. And talking a mile a minute.

Lucifer caught Alastor’s eye, but he seemed as lost as he felt.

Then Charlie turned around, starlight and tears in her eyes, the travel bracelet on her wrist. And Lucifer only had one moment to connect the dots in a possibly terrifying line before she said the last words he’d ever expected to hear:

“Sir Pentious is redeemed!”

Notes:

(Of course he'll take it, listen to this ego-booster.)

Please look at these dashing gentlepeople made by julesdraws for this chapter!

Chapter 8

The hardest thing about living in a hotel staffed entirely by people with some hellish version of ADHD was that you couldn’t trust any of them to keep a secret for longer than two days unless you gave them: 1) constant supervision, and 2) a place to vent about said secret at the end of each day. 

Lucifer understood. After all, he was one of them. But at the end of the day, he was also the oldest person in the building, which made him feel more than a little responsible for all of them. At least, that was what he liked to tell himself whenever he found himself wondering yet again how the Hell had his very private workshop become their main meeting room.

The real reason had nothing to do with any of that. After all, there were plenty other, better places in the hotel to do this, which wouldn’t even have involved him squeezing all his trinket shelves into the walls and summoning that sage green set of armchairs and loveseats he’d never really liked from the palace, to accommodate all of them.

But Charlie had asked, and as if that wasn’t enough, Charlie had then started saying, “That is, unless that’s where you and Al—” So of course Lucifer had agreed immediately just to get out of the conversation sooner.

His workshop must’ve picked up on the hotel’s tendencies too, because Lucifer could practically feel it squirming at the sheer amount of people it currently had inside it.

It was early afternoon on the third day since they found out about Sir Pentious, and so far, no news had broken out of their little group, but they all knew they were cutting it pretty close. Which was why everyone was brainstorming a press release right now. 

Well, almost everybody. Lucifer was making tea.

“Yeaaah, I don’t know if it’s better to just not mention what got him redeemed at all until we know for sure,” Vaggie was saying, hair held up in an untidy ponytail and fingers spattered with ink.

“Except you know that’s the first thing people will ask,” Husk said.

Charlie groaned, hands (also inky) in her hair. “But there’s no way to find out right now!”

“I wish they’d let us talk to him,” Angel sighed. 

“Yeah, I mean, how do we know it’s not just a bluff? They’ve got no proof!” Cherri piped up too, although her usual energy had been replaced by angered worry.

“They gave us a note,” Niffty pointed out.

“Anyone could’ve written that note!”

This time, Angel seemed less sure. “I dunno, Cher, would they have known to use all those nautical references and wax poetic about the shade of your hair in the bomblight that precisely? ‘Sides, I’m pretty sure I heard him mumble some of those lines to himself when he was half asleep.”

“Shut up!”

Lucifer decided to start bringing the tea with her mug first. “Circular conversation, guys. What’s next on the list, Char?”

“Right, so we went one more time through what happened during the last extermination, correlated the public news about Heaven with what we now know, so now we should see how we can share the news in a trustworthy way without giving Emily away and—” Charlie went on and on.

Lucifer nodded every few sentences as he kept distributing the tea around the room. They’d gone through this three and a half times already. This was, after all, the construction of the final draft. Not because there wasn’t more interest in rewriting the whole thing (because between the eight of them, there was more than enough), but because, as already stated, secret-keeping was getting more risky by the day. 

It was Alastor who had put his foot (and cane) down and said they would be broadcasting it tomorrow, whether revisions were done or not. Lucifer had been guiltily glad for it; he’d just recently managed to get on first-name basis with the rest of them, and he’d been loath to undo that progress by attempting to be firm.

Something for him to discuss in art therapy, for sure.

For now, he’d settled for making the last mug of tea exactly as Alastor liked it (think of chai, then double the pepper, triple the cloves, and substitute the milk with non-alcoholic amaretto; yes, it did taste like spicy cyanide, why do you ask?).

But when he offered the gold-tinted mug to Alastor, he was left hanging. Because while Alastor had seemed to be silently paying attention to the conversation all this time, a closer look betrayed the fact that he was just staring into nothingness, his brows slightly pinched, smile hanging on by a thread.

Nobody seemed to have noticed it yet, but that only left Lucifer at a bigger impasse. Trying not to stir anyone else's attention, he whispered, “Al?”

No response, not even a blink. The mug was starting to scorch his fingers.

“Al.”

This time, Alastor jolted as if he'd been abruptly woken up, but the panic in his eyes subsided when he noticed it was only Lucifer beside him.

Lucifer hesitated. “You okay?”

Alastor took the tea with a frown. “Of course.”

He didn’t look okay, but then again, none of them did. Happy as the news about Sir Pentious might have been, it still shook the foundation Hell had been built on for all of them. It was, to put it mildly, a lot to take it. It was, to put it even more mildly, a grotesque amount of responsibility put on them.

The only reason Lucifer wasn’t talking in circles himself was because he had been partially running on autopilot since he’d realised Charlie had gone to meet an angel without telling him. Silver linings, he fucking guessed.

But yes, as he was saying, they were in the middle of world-changing events. Of course everyone was more on edge than usual. So Lucifer said nothing, just leaned against Alastor’s armchair and pretended not to watch him take the first sip of tea, nor to preen when it elicited a pleased sigh.

Everyone else was still talking, but by now Lucifer was well and truly out of the loop. Thankfully, before anyone could ask him anything, Alastor set his mug down and summoned a few red-tinted sheets of paper that he sent right into Charlie’s hands.

“I agree we’re on the right track, but we don’t have any more time to beat around the biblical burning bush, so I took the brazen initiative to draft a transcript of my own. Give it a read, add things if you must, as long as you keep it under fifteen minutes, and please memorise it by tomorrow morning We broadcast at seven on the dot, no interlocutors, no distractions.”

“Can I see that too?” Lucifer asked.

“Of course, my dear.” Alastor rolled his eyes, but it didn’t take him even a moment to summon a new set of pages in his hand and pass them on to Lucifer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, somebody should make sure none of the residents are poking around where they don’t belong. Charlie, let yourself into my tower at 6:45, I’ll be waiting. Good evening!”

Then he got up, summoned his cane, picked up his mug, and melted into the floor, tea and all.

“Ugh, I hope it’s not just a repeat of that TV commercial he made us,” Vaggie groaned.

“No, it’s…” Charlie blinked at the papers in her hands, eyes travelling at lightning speed over them. “Oh, Al.”

Lucifer had to agree with her. He’d noticed it from the first paragraph, but took a moment to skim the entire text before letting his heart swell as much as it wanted.

There, in neat cursive script, were all the ideas they’d all been talking over the past few days, summarised and reworded and rearranged into perfect order, yet still keeping the sentiment of each one. It wasn’t mocking, nor condescending, nor detached. It was just what Charlie had been saying all along, made clear and concise. 

And Charlie knew it. The tears in her eyes knew it. Lucifer smiled at the papers, then tucked them carefully in his breast pocket. That soft, soft bastard.

 

---

 

It was incredible what a difference a day and a terribly early broadcast could make.

Yesterday, they’d all still been a bundle of secretive nerves sequestered in Lucifer’s attic, and their hotel hadn’t made headlines in a good few months. Today, Charlie was seated in one of the fanciest studios of Voxtech Enterprises, chatting about the hotel without a single person interrupting her, and it wasn’t even midday yet.

It all seemed to be moving at lightning speed, and Lucifer was still waiting for the momentum to kick his ass.

He and Vaggie had formed the awkward ex-angel support squad around Charlie since they left home, and were now watching the proceedings from the shadowy sidelines. Vaggie, in her full security detail suit, complete with brass knuckles and angelic spear. Lucifer, in a black suit that didn’t look much different than his regulars, but whose wards should keep him unrecognisable for a few hours. 

Today was about Charlie and the hotel, and he did not need to steal the spotlight. The sunglasses, however, had been Vaggie’s idea, and he wasn’t one to ever turn down a bonding opportunity.

Who was it? God, he was bad with names. Ah, yes, Vox was talking to Charlie with the fixed grin of someone knowing he was one wrong move away from ending his whole career. He had been doing so for twenty minutes now. Lucifer could practically see some of his pixels fizzing out.

“I do not like him,” Vaggie said under her breath.

“Because of how many hidden cameras we found in the hotel months ago or because of how he’s leering right now?”

“Both. All. I hate that he gets the credit for sending Pen to the hotel in the first place.”

“Oh, yes, the necessary evils of publicity,” Lucifer did his best impression of Alastor from when the invitation had come, jazz hands included.

Vaggie choked back a laugh. “That was pretty good.”

“Thank you, I’ve been practicing.” Lucifer looked around the studio. “Which one’s giving Angel shit again?”

Vaggie subtly pointed to the side without taking her eyes from Charlie. Lucifer followed her gesture. Subtly.

“Oh, no,” he said under his breath. “No, no, no, that costume’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“A what?”

“Don’t worry about it, Vaggie,” Lucifer said, already haven taken an equally subtle photo and sending it to Oz. “When dealing with roaches, you gotta attack from all directions.”

“I thought you said you can’t get involved in overlord affairs.”

“Oh, I can’t. I’m just a simple citizen letting the concerned parties know they should be just that. Concerned.”

Vaggie bit her lip against a smile. “Is this your coping mechanism?”

“Yes, it might be, I hate it here.”

“At least you finished your ordeal for the day. I still have to sit through that interview with Killjoy tonight.”

Lucifer had, because somehow he’d let Alastor convince him that auspicious as the early morning hours were for the broadcast, it wouldn’t have gone amiss if someone were to, say, cause a city-wide power outrage that only left the radio waves flowing freely. 

Auspicious my ass. But there Lucifer had been, one eye on Charlie and Alastor during their impressively smooth discussion, and one eye on the back-up generators of the Entertainment District. Exactly what one wanted before their first cup of coffee. (And hey, it wasn’t cheating, Voxflix and 666 News did it all the time.)

He must've zoned out at some point, and Vaggie must've let him, because the next thing he knew, the spotlights were off and Charlie was skipping towards them. Or, rather, to the bottle of water Vaggie was holding out.

“Thank you,” Charlie rasped out and downed the whole bottle in one go. “Whoa, I haven’t had to talk to that many people since—I don’t even remember. Vaggie, please tell me that was the last of them.”

“For this afternoon, yes,” Vaggie said, checking their scribbled napkin schedule. “But tonight we gotta—”

“Oh, thank fuck! I’m starving,” Charlie moaned. “Let’s go home.”

“Do you want a pretzel?” Lucifer tried. Look, it wasn’t him who’d been trained as security detail, he didn’t know what he was doing.

“I want…” Charlie’s eyes widened and filled with stars. “I want one of those burgers we used to get at Lulu World! You know, the ones that dripped juice all down your arms? The ones that mom would only have to-go?”

“I’m… sure we can order,” Vaggie said, shooting Lucifer a questioning look.

Lucifer was already tracking down the chef from a two centuries ago on his phone and providing them with a rather extensive list of meals to be delivered by the end of the hour. Okay, fine, in two hours. This was already Hell, no need to be a shit and harass fast food workers too.

They had a portal already open by the time Charlie grabbed his sleeve, a little shyly, and pulled him back. Both he and Vaggie looked at her questioningly. “Actually, can I… still have that pretzel, dad?”

“Uh, yes…?” Fuck, where the hell was he supposed to find a pretzel now?

Charlie nodded. “Vaggie, you go on ahead, we’ll catch up.”

“Alright…” Vaggie said with about as much confidence as Lucifer felt. 

Then she stepped through the portal, and it closed, and it left them alone in a nondescript lobby in the Entertainment District. Thankfully, Charlie seemed to have some direction in mind, for she grabbed his hand more firmly and onto the wild, loud, crowded streets. For a little while, at least. Until they took a few turns and ended on slightly less populated alleys leading away from the central hubs.

Lucifer, well, went along with it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the actual city, not to mention with Charlie of all people. And if any tabloids spawned wondering who was the mysterious stranger going on the walk with the princess of Hell, well, buildings catch fire sometimes.

“I wanted to thank you, dad,” Charlie started out of the blue. “Really, really thank you. For the support these past few days, these past few months, for your help with the hotel, for giving me a way to talk to Emily. Yeah, dad, I know it was you, come on. Just… yeah. Thank you. It feels like we hardly ever get a moment to talk plainly in the hotel, but I really needed to get it out.”

“Charlie…”

“Don’t.” Charlie wagged a finger at him. “Don’t deny it. You did help. A lot. You still do.”

Lucifer let out a bittersweet sigh. “I try. But what I wanted to say, Charlie, is that… you shouldn’t thank me. It’s not a favour I’m doing you, nor charity. It’s what I should’ve done all along, without even needing you to ask me. Because I’m your dad.”

“I…” Charlie hesitated. “I still want to thank you.”

“Alright, but I’ll thank you back.”

“I’ll thank you more?”

They both laughed. At the corner of one of these suspicious side streets, there was actual pastry cart. No pretzels, but some strangely squirming donuts that would have to do.

“I also wanted to say I’m sorry,” Charlie went on, brushing red icing off her lips. “If you're still mad at me.”

Ah, yes. Lucifer had almost forgotten.

“Not mad, seething with completely warranted worry,” he said and pinned her with a sideways look. “It could’ve turned out really badly, you know?”

“I know…”

“Leaving in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah…”

“Without telling anyone.”

“Vaggie was with me!”

“When we’d already settled a perfectly manageable waiting time of two days.”

“I know, dad, but I just had a feeling, I couldn’t not—”

Lucifer squeezed her hand a bit more. “It’s okay, Charlie. I get it.”

“You… do?”

Lucifer sighed. “Yeaaah, impulsive decisions run in the family, maddening as it is. Just make sure you don’t learn anything from this. This was a lucky occurrence. It likely won’t happen again, so don’t assume it will.”

Charlie shook her head. “I won’t.”

“Good. And tell me next time.”

“I will.”

“Even if you think I’ll be mad.”

“Yes.”

“Even if you think I’ll try and stop you.”

“Okay.”

“Good!” 

Lucifer swallowed the rest of his donut. Charlie still held on to half of hers. 

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m glad you’ve forgiven me, but I was expecting a little bit more fire and brimstone,” she said.

“Oh, that. Yeah, count yourself lucky, Al’s already had to bear the brunt of my breakdown days ago.”

And what a breakdown it had been. A+ performance, all he’d needed was an ancient Greek mask to complete the melodramatic tableau.

But instead of further digging up her own grave by asking about that, Charlie went instead for a completely different plot of land in the emotional cemetery. “So, uh, are you and Al…?”

Lucifer closed his eyes and took a fortifying breath. “Yes?”

“Er, well, dating?”

Were they? Lucifer turned the word around in his head and found it still didn’t quite fit. “I’m… not sure.”

“I mean it’s, it’s okay if it’s just something casual, I’m not saying—”

“Oh, no.” Lucifer actually laughed. “No, I don’t think either of us is built right for anything remotely close to casual. We’re… together, but not dating? I guess? If that makes sense?”

“I think it does…” Charlie inclined her head, then chuckled. “But that’s, wow, really good to hear! Vaggie thought you were hate, uh…” She faltered as Lucifer stared pointedly at her. “...socialising.”

Good to know that Vaggie could still hold a civil conversation with him even while under the impression he was angrily undressing their hotelier on the regular. “No, nothing of the sort.”

“Yeah, it didn’t look like it. I mean, a lot of things keep adding up now. You know he asked me about your food allergies when he started cooking again? And reminded me to give you more updates on my whereabouts when we were doing that whole reconnaissance mission around the city. Oh, and recently he asked me what pattern I thought you’d like when we were choosing the drapes for the pavilion. Dad, you’re blushing so much right now.”

“It’s a medical condition,” Lucifer said stiltedly, feeling his cheeks heat up even more.

Charlie laughed. “I’m happy for you, dad. And I’m happy for Al too. None of us ever dared say anything where he might hear, and you know there’s no getting him to group therapy, but he seemed… rather lonely, the whole time I knew him. I’m glad he’s finally opened up to someone.”

Lucifer pondered on that a while as they drifted closer to the suburbs. “I think he’s warmed up to everybody more than you give him credit for, Char. You just gotta… read between the radiowaves.”

Charlie blinked. “Huh. Maybe you’re right.”

“ Don’t tell him that though.”

“Yep, no, I learned my lesson months ago.”

The hotel was a glittering fixture in the distance now. Lucifer wondered if they could stop by a bakery and get a celebratory cake for everyone waiting on them. But while he pondered on that, Charlie seemed to have been on a completely different train of thought.

“He doesn’t actually want me to call him dad, does he?”

Lucifer burst out laughing. “Hah, no, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s more of a creepy hermit uncle you only see during the holidays.”

“That’s what I thought too!”

 

---

 

On the third day after their broadcast (still holding onto that Jesus trademark, are we?), Heaven finally decided to make an announcement itself. It had all the favourite things of the angelic court: pomp, fanfare, carefully cultivated anonymity, and the informational content of exactly fuckall.

The announcement, a speech delivered by a perfectly forgettable principality projected right above the embassy and broadcasted in everyone’s livingrooms, said as follows:

1. Heaven does indeed confirm the existence of a redeemed soul. (Fucking right they did, now the secret was broadcasted throughout all the seven rings of Hell and they were missing half an army.)
2. Heaven understands the need for a reconvening of the dialogue with Princess Morningstar on the subject of her hotel. (Note how they never said they would actually do it.)
3. Heaven abstains from speculating on the actions that might have redeemed said soul until further study. (Emily had better be right about Sir Pentious being  kept safe, because that sounded like an unclassified case waiting to happen.)

And lastly, the poisoned cherry on top of the rotten cake, “ —furthermore, Heaven stands by its initial assessment that until now, no other damned souls have ever been redeemed, nor has the Heavenly Court been offered any proof that such a process could be successfully undertaken. 

“Given the fact, however, that Heaven’s access upon the Seven Rings has been limited since shortly after the creation of the afterlife, this may very well be due to an accessibility issue. Please know that had there been even the slightest shadow of a doubt shred upon this matter, the treaties concerning the problem of overpopulation in Hell would have ended with much different solutions.

“As such, Heaven asks the High Court of Hell to provide the data they themselves have accumulated on the matter, so that we may fill this void of information and form a plan of action that prevents further loss of perchance innocent life. Lord bless us all.”

The reaction, at first, was utter, shell-shocked silence, amid which Lucifer’s mind started whistling like a teakettle. Oh, those motherf—

Both the thought and the silence were suddenly broken by the sound of shattering glass and grinding gears as the hologram contraption they’d all been gathered around was suddenly torn to bits by several jagged shadow tendrils. 

“Whoa—”

“Al!”

“Oh, fuck yes, I wanted to smash it too—”

“But it was brand new—”

None of which seemed to reach Alastor, not that it would have made a difference, because his eyes were already all black and his antlers were growing even faster than the white noise in the room. 

His pupils were pinpricks of red when he turned towards Lucifer. “ They’re putting this on you! ”

They were, and half a minute ago Lucifer had wanted to scream and set fire to an entire building about it, but then again, “What’s new about that?”

“Dad!” 

And yep, there were Charlie’s horns too. Absolutely perfect. All that was left was for Angel to take out the machine guns, Husk, the dice, Cherri, the explosives, and Niffty, whatever creepy shit she had up her tiny sleeves, and they would have been ready to go on a good old murder spree.

“Look, we knew this might happen!”

“We did not!”

“How fucking dare they—”

“And after everything —”

“I’ll tear them limb from limb—”

“Hey, watch the tentacles!”

Fucking Christ, how did deescalation work again?

It was a lucky thing Alastor and Charlie had been sharing the same couch on this occasion, because it allowed Lucifer to stand in front of both of them and press a hand to a cheek each. The eldritch looks didn’t subside at the contact, but at least now he had two sets of fiery eyes set on him. Perfect.

“Look, I appreciate you two turning into the feral defence squad for little old me, but I think both of you should take a few big breaths right now.” Miraculously, after a bit more glaring, they did. Lucifer took one himself; you never knew when you needed extras. “Alright? I’m fine, guys. I’ve had much worse coming from them. As propaganda goes, this was even a bit shoddy, you can see they have a ageing staff.”

“But we just…” Charlie sniffed. “And you helped, and…”

“And I know you know that, and that’s the most important part. Now, one more big breath? Good. Now, you know what they say, the more aggressive they act, the more scared they are. Isn’t that right, Al?”

“They could do to be more scared,” Alastor gritted out.

“And they will be, by the time we’re done here.” Lucifer grinned. “Now, final big breath? Thank you! All good?”

Charlie’s horns had already receded most of the way as she nodded. Alastor’s eyes were still black, but the static had gone way down, and his antlers were, well, more manageable.

“Good!” Lucifer said with an absurd amount of enthusiasm and patted their cheeks softly before stepping back.

“Wow,” Husk whispered sardonically from the margins.

“It’s like watching a tiny jester tame two wild lions,” Angel agreed.

“I wanna learn how to do that too,” Niffty said, bouncing on the spot.

“Niff, you are the lion.”

“Yes!”

Lucifer clasped his hands together hard enough to gain everyone’s attention once more. “Now then, I think we have a party to plan, don’t we?”

That had the enthusiastic response he wanted from everyone. Well, mostly everyone. Lucifer didn’t miss Alastor sinking into the shadows the moment the subject was changed, but he didn’t comment on it. Everyone, as said, dealt with these matters in their own ways. 

 

---

 

That is, if Alastor was in fact dealing with them at all. Because Lucifer barely caught glimpses of him for the next couple of days, as the preparations for the grand opening (and victory party) of the pavilion were well underway. This being added to them having barely spoken alone since that fateful morning Charlie had found out about Sir Pentious.

Which was fine. These were world-changing events and everybody, Lucifer included, was all over the place, and the guests had more questions than ever, in case they ever stood still. On his part, Lucifer had started single-handedly repainting the basement.

Did he miss their late-night talks? Absolutely.

Did he sorely, sorely wish they could have a repeat of their attic sleepover? Absurdly so.

Did any of this stir his abandonment issues as it once might have? Not really.

Strange how talking openly with someone and baring your heart and soul out sometimes had good repercussions too. For once, Lucifer was actually fine (basement repainting aside).

That is, until he, Charlie and Niffty returned from a last-minute shopping trip and Angel beelined for them with a conflicted expression on his face. 

“Hey, uh, has either of you talked to Al since breakfast?”

Lucifer frowned. “I thought he was out.”

“No, he’s, uh, upstairs. I wanted to ask him about these new yoga mats I heard we have in storage somewhere, but, uh, didn’t manage to.”

Charlie jumped to her feet from where she’d barely set the bags down. “Is he okay?!”

“Dunno. I mean, maybe? He’s playing a lot of angry piano on the third floor right now, and there’s this creepy shit around the door so none of us can get in—Niff, wait, didn’t you hear me?! Oh, well, she’s gone.”

Niffty had indeed disappeared up the stairs. The three of them followed, albeit more slowly. Lucifer was caught between wanting to fly up there right now or preparing an entire arsenal of drinks to calm him down. For now, he settled for matching Charlie and Angel’s pace.

The closer they got to the third floor, the louder the music became. Lucifer struggled at first to place it, which was troubling in itself, but eventually he recognised the piano of Simone’s Love me or leave me. Just in time to recognise the missed notes in it too. Now that really wasn’t a good sign.

They found Niffty sprawled in front of the technically open door. Technically, because the entirety of the doorframe was covered with an almost opaque film of shadow that seemed to both keep some of the sound in and keep everyone else out. This theory proved right once Niffty slammed head-first into it once more and was knocked to the floor.

“Is this…” Charlie hesitated. “Did any of you say anything to him?”

“No, me and Cherri were just talking about what Pen might be up to with the feathery fellas after you guys left, when he just stormed out of the kitchen, and no one’s seen him since,” Angel said. “Well, until this impromptu concerto, I suppose.”

While they talked, Lucifer inspected the door until he finally found himself looking down at Alastor’s shadow, holding the barrier together. As the amount of missed notes grew, he gently cupped the side of its face. It felt like cold smoke, and looked just as miserable. He tilted his head and darted his eyes past the doorway, then back to its face. An inquiry.

It avoided his gaze for a while, clearly as uncertain as it was dejected, but eventually it did make up its mind and twisted itself round Lucifer’s arm, leaving the doorway a bit more see-through.

Lucifer shot Charlie a look over his shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do. You get started on dinner.”

“Are you s—” Angel started, but Charlie batted his question away and gave Lucifer a wobbly thumbs-up before picking up Niffty too.

Lucifer appreciated the show of faith, even if he had absolutely no fucking idea what he was doing. Then again, when did he ever?

He stepped into the room with close to no resistance from the shadows, then made sure to close and lock the actual door before slowly making his way to Alastor’s side. From the back, he looked not much different than when dealing with a minor issue, hair in place, antlers only a bit grown, ears flattened to his head. 

Only his hands gave away the strength of whatever he was feeling, trembling even as they hit the keys viciously enough to bruise. It was a lovely song. It was also a great song to have a mental breakdown to.

Lucifer stopped a few paces away from him and listened for a while, and only when the melody started looping once more did he try to touch his shoulder.

Alastor flinched, though he must have known Lucifer was there, and his shadow slid off Lucifer and went to hide inside his suit jacket. But the melody seemed to be drawing to a stop at last. Lucifer waited it out, then waited a bit more.

“I butchered it,” Alastor said.

“It’s a hard piece.”

“I still butchered it.” Alastor turned to look at him. “Are you here to deal with the noise complaints?”

“No. I’m just checking on you. Are you… How are you?”

“Splendid, as you can very well see,” Alastor said drily and turned back to the piano. “You can tell the others I’m fine. No need to add my untimely demise to the list of celebrations.”

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s the right vibe for this group,” Lucifer said and seated himself beside him on the bench, facing the opposite way. “Talk to me.”

Alastor didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that Lucifer stopped expecting an answer and just enjoyed the simple act of sitting there in silence, with the sunset casting eerie shadows all throughout the room.

Then Alastor asked, eerily calm, “You want to know what thought I had earlier this week?”

Lucifer turned to watch the side of his head. “What?”

“I thought…” Alastor chuckled. “For the briefest moment, I thought, I could see my mother.”

He laughed a bit more, dragging a hand over his own face. Lucifer could only stare.

“Do you have any idea how insane that is? How ludicrous? How fucking sadistic? It occurred to me that though I never doubted I was where I belonged, this has never truly felt like Hell until now. It’s kind of funny, when you think of it.”

“Al…”

“Don’t. I don’t want your pity. I’m simply telling you a fact. It doesn’t make a single fucking difference, and yet it feels so much worse than it ever had before. It’s funny and it’s grotesque and it’s so fucking… futile.”

Here, he stopped to take in a shuddery breath, and Lucifer’s heart broke at the unexpected sight of—tears, running down his face. Glinting warmly in the fading light. He’d never seen him cry before. He felt like he ought to look away. He couldn’t.

Alastor wiped angrily at his face. “A farcical comedy, that’s all it is. I walked into it the very moment I set foot in this place, and didn’t even see the warning signs. Consider me well and truly humbled. You must love that.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t,” Alastor sighed, defeated. “It doesn’t matter, in the end. Nothing’s changed. I wasn’t there for her before, and I won’t be there now. I know who and what I am. I’m not going anywhere, nor do I want to. Yet it still…” He pressed a hand against his chest with a pained expression. “It doesn’t matter. In a hundred years, it will hardly make a difference.”

A hundred years was nothing when it came to grief, but Lucifer knew not to say it. “She’ll understand.”

“You can’t know that.”

“If she loved you as much as she seemed to whenever you told me about her, she will.”

More tears fell, and this time, Lucifer reached out just enough to hold his hand. It had worked before, on the hill, and it did now. Alastor closed his eyes and stopped fighting it for a while. And when he was done, he didn’t even refuse Lucifer’s gold-rimmed handkerchief when it was offered.

Lucifer leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling.  “You know… I don’t even think this place should only be about reaching Heaven anymore.”

Alastor startled. “What?”

Lucifer shrugged. “It’s like you said, Heaven is not as good for all of us as it would be for some. Heaven was the goal when it was the only refuge from the exterminations. I don’t think our goal is the same now.”

“Interesting moment you’ve chosen to have a change of heart.”

“Hah. Yeah. It’s a gift. But I don’t think it’s a change of heart, it’s just the next steps, you know?”

“I await with bated breath for you to tell me.”

Sarcasm was good. Sarcasm meant he was on the way to feeling better. Lucifer still rolled his eyes. “Okay, so, redeeming works. Great! That’s what I’ve been saying since the start! Now we gotta find out why it stopped working, if it ever did at all, and what this means for the future of both Heaven and Hell. 

“Exterminations can’t happen anymore, not when redeeming’s on the table, oh, no, that would be very bad for Heaven’s image, but they’re also such suckers for rules up there that I don’t doubt they’re already looking for loopholes of how to send any potential souls back here as we speak. So, first, we gotta make sure we avoid falling into that cycle. We can’t just play fucking ping-pong with people!

“But also, we’ve been subjected to Heaven’s particular brand of righteousness for aeons now. Maybe some technically redeemable sinners wouldn’t even want to ascend. Why would they, when they would have to share Heaven with pricks like Adam, God not rest his soul et cetera? At least down here we have free drinks after city-wide rampages.

“So, no, I don’t think simply moving people from one plane to the other is enough. There needs to be a systemic change across the entire afterlife! Not that the seraphs will ever agree to a meeting about that, but thanks to us, this is now a public matter. They can’t cast us out without any explanation anymore. Not with how much they value their image. Huh. Actually, I wonder if we could piss them off just enough…”

Lucifer trailed off, becoming suddenly aware of the way Alastor was staring at him. Which was… huh, he didn’t even know. He’d never seen that expression on his face before.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing,” Alastor said casually, getting up. “I suppose I just never expected to catch such a vivid glimpse of what Eve saw in Eden.”

Then he offered Lucifer a hand up, like that was in any way a normal or sane thing to say. Lucifer thanked his stars his knees didn’t give out the moment he stood up. And immediately regretted counting his blessings that soon, because Alastor proceeded to press the back of his fingers to his cheek with an amused smile, as if checking the temperature. Which he probably was, the bastard.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“I’m not. I agree with you.”

“That’s even weirder.”

“Tell me about it, I have to be the one thinking it.”

Lucifer grinned. “Shall we go check on dinner?”

Which made Alastor tense up all over again, his smile more of a grimace now. It seemed like not even flustering Lucifer could make him forget the earlier display of musical vulnerability.

“I’ll pass tonight.”

“Come on, Al.”

Alastor scowled even harder. “Why can’t you be satisfied with only seeing me get humiliated in private? Must we really make it a public affair?”

“Nobody’s getting humiliated. And it’s not a public affair, it’s dinner with our friends and family. Hardly a pillory.”

“You say that now,” Alastor said with a resigned sigh, which Lucifer took as his cue to link their arms and lead them both to the staff kitchen.

 

---

 

It was Vaggie’s turn to cook, so there was no smell of burning, and there were already several simple but filling dishes on the table (she was trying to branch out, but had insisted on learning the basics first; the process was quite methodical). Charlie was walking around with a spice tray, peppering things seemingly at random, and she almost dunked the whole jar of chilli flakes in Angel’s mashed potatoes when she saw them come in.

“We’re almost done!” she said, all smiles.

“Yes,” Vaggie agreed, scowling down at a bubbling saucepan. “Alastor, can you check that pot in the corner? I tried to make something you like, but I don’t know if that’s it.”

An infinitesimal jolt of surprise, before Alastor blinked and made his way over. “It looks fine, my dear.”

A few silent moments passed, then Vaggie turned to look at him. “That’s it?” 

“Why, I’m saving the rest of my compliments for once I taste it.”

“No, just… you usually joke about getting poisoned around this time.”

Alastor nonchalantly inspected another pot. “Hm, I’ve had a hard day, you’ll have to excuse my lack of witticisms tonight.”

Which was, wow, as close to genuine sharing as it ever got with him. Lucifer struggled not to drown in his swelling pride and gave Charlie a subtle thumbs up. This time, Cherri caught the tray before it could topple into the nearest dish.

“Al…right,” Vaggie said, clearly befuddled. “Then take a seat, we’ll—”

She was interrupted by the sound of tiny pounding steps as Niffty bounded into the room and latched instantly to Alastor’s legs. She frowned up at him.

“You look weird.”

Alastor’s smile turned a bit more fond. “It happens.”

“Do I need to stab someone? Oh, or tie them up and take their fingers one by one and hide them around the house or—”

“I’m alright,” Alastor said, patting her head. “No need for bloodshed today, sadly. But I’m rather curious to hear the rest of that scenario at some later date.”

“I’ll make a presentation!” She grinned and let him go, skipping happily to the table. 

Lucifer looked around. No twitchy shadow was looming on the walls. Definitely progress.

Dinner went well, especially with their newly instated rule of no worrying or conspiring or anarchy-planning while dishes were still on the table. They commenced the moment the last tray hit the sink, but oh, well, some things couldn’t be helped.

Lucifer, once again, offered to do the dishes. It was both a comfort and a way to let the rest of them talk freely while he could drown the more anxiety-inducing plans of action in the sound of running water.

He wasn’t at all surprised when Alastor came to his side and silently started drying the plates he’d just washed. He was rather proud. Both of Alastor managing to sit through the whole meal without damaging any piece of furniture, and of everyone else, for not prodding so obnoxiously at his state of mind this time. Not that they hadn’t (Angel’s lone, pragmatic “You good, toots?” getting an eye twitch), but, well, they’d learnt some tact at last.

So it fell to Lucifer to be the obnoxious one this time. 

“See?” he asked once all the dishes were put away and he was finally taking off the rubber gloves. “They just wanted to know you’re okay, nothing nefarious.”

Alastor gazed at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression, such that Lucifer half-expected him to melt into the shadows at any moment. What he didn’t expect even a quarter was for Alastor to lean down and kiss him. Short, soft, just a press of the lips, but undeniably a kiss, lingering just enough for Lucifer to return it.

There was a hint of apprehension in his eyes afterwards, which simply wouldn’t do, so Lucifer smiled warmly up at him. The apprehension eased.

The room, however, had gone eerily quiet around them.

Lucifer let out an internal sigh and turned to see their shell-shocked faces (except for Charlie’s, which was beaming). “World-changing events, guys, remember? Let’s not get distracted now. What’s next on the agenda?”

Which sorta made some of them return to the topic at hand, even if they kept shooting strange glances both at them and at each other. About as much as could be hoped, given the circumstances.

Still, Lucifer leaned in conspiratorially. “Do you wanna go to my room?”

Alastor smiled slyly, even as Angel groaned a pained, “Oh, come on!”

And so they went.

 

---

 

It had mostly been for a funny bit, to stir some less world-weary talk at the dinner table, so Lucifer didn’t expect to be manhandled the moment they landed in the middle of his reading room. Yet here he was. Hoisted up on his desk and having the daylights kissed out of him.

Alastor dragged his teeth slowly over his bottom lip as he pulled away. “It’s concerning how much I’ve come to crave this.”

Lucifer smiled and draped his arms leisurely around his neck. “No concern necessary. Have your fill.”

No need telling him twice, it seemed. It started more slowly this time, both of them taking their time as the kiss gradually grew deeper, until Alastor’s hands were deep in his hair and Lucifer was sighing into his mouth.

“I want,” Alastor started saying between kisses, “to wind you up in a music box.” His lips trailed over Lucifer’s jaw. “To carve you up and pick out your bones, then fold you small enough to fit in a jewellery box.” His mouth opened softly against his neck. “Then eat it piece by piece.”

Lucifer might have been shaking a little bit. His laughter certainly did.

“But, like, in a non-sexual way, right?” There was a record-skip sound and Lucifer grinned to himself. “Because either way’s fine with me. Just take good care of my clavicle, I’m rather attached to it.” 

Alastor scowled at him.“Don’t tempt me.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it. Comes with the title.” He leaned in to press a quick peck to his lips. “Are you spending the night? Just to sleep,” he added at Alastor’s conflicted look.

“You don’t need to coddle me.”

“I’m not coddling you. I’m just saying I’d like to spend time with you, however you want it.”

Alastor ran a finger down his face. “How do you want it?”

“In any way that involves a bath,” he said. “And maybe a back massage?”

The levity seemed to work, because Alastor looked more amused than anything now. “A bath?”

“Yep. Last thing on Charlie’s list. I’ve got so many calming soaps ready to dissolve in that tub that I wouldn’t be surprised if we both end up falling asleep and drowning in it.”

“Tempting.”

“Told you.”

Alastor laughed. “Alright, then.”

So they took a bath. And it was lovely. And Lucifer only risked drowning once.

 

---

 

It was much, much too late at night, when Alastor said, in the darkness of the bedroom, “I hear you’re now trying to nullify Angel’s contract?”

Lucifer groaned and pressed his face deeper into his pillow. “Even trying is putting too much stock in it, I’m just… wait. Where did you hear that?”

“I have my ways. Don’t worry, it hasn’t spread through the hotel yet.”

“Oh, good…” Lucifer sighed. “I, yeah, I figured it’s worth a shot. He said he has someone he’d like to see up there, and you bet Heaven will say sinners have to own their own souls to be redeemed. Should—” Yawn. “Should get a visit about it in a couple of days.”

Alastor hummed. “Are you going to attempt Husker’s next? You know he’d never go anywhere without him.”

“What? Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“When did that happen?”

“I neither know nor care. But just so you know, I’m afraid that one won’t be as easy.”

Ah. So that’s what this was. “I’m not going to interfere in your business, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“No,” Alastor said. “What I’m saying is that even if I wanted to, I can’t break that contract anymore. Or any, for that matter.”

“What? Why?”

“Leverage,” Alastor sighed. “The souls are still tied through me, but they’re no longer mine to give back.”

“What about Charlie?”

“I never asked for her soul. Also, that was struck after that particularly ugly business, so it’s not linked to it, if that’s your worry.”

Lucifer felt he wasn’t really worried. Not for Charlie, at least. But he was wide awake now, so he propped himself up on his elbow. “Is that all you gave away?”

Alastor actually laughed. “Of course not.”

Lucifer ran his hand through his hair until the laughter calmed down. “What happened…?”

“I was stupid,” Alastor said, still with a bit of that graveyard humour. “And tired, though I couldn't see it.”

“Al—”

“Don't ask me anything more. Please.”

“Okay. I won't. Just, please… when it’s time, let me help, if I can?”

Alastor stood silent for a while. “I’ll try.”

That was as good as he was going to get. Lucifer was thankful anyway.

As even the quaint sounds of murderous wildlife died down outside, Lucifer turned towards him and tapped his hand in an approximation of a lullaby. “You do know Charlie would have given you what you needed without the need of a deal, right?”

“I know that now.”

“Good, just so we’re on the same page.”

Alastor looked at him pensively. “You’ve been remarkably lenient about that.”

Ah, so it really was a night for all unbreached subjects, after all. Lucifer half-heartedly wondered if it was the bath salts’ fault.

“Who am I to chide her for making deals? It took me twice her years to understand they’re a bad idea for us. Besides, it builds character” He shrugged. “I would’ve been way less lenient if I ever thought you would hurt her.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

“Was that a threat?”

“No,” he said, pushing himself up. “It was a promise.”

Then Lucifer easily moved on top of him. He hovered for a few moments over Alastor, pinning his gaze even in the lack of light, then softly ran his hand through his hair.

“You won’t hurt her, Al. And I’ll be there in case anyone tries to hurt you. We’ll all be there. We’ll get through this too.”

Alastor simply stared at him, so Lucifer pressed a kiss to his temple, then scooted back so he could lay his head on his chest, careful to maximise the points of contact before letting his mass grow until he felt the mattress dip a bit underneath them. Alastor’s shadow came and twisted itself around him too, another comforting source of pressure, before Alastor draped the comforter over both of them and wrapped his arms around Lucifer. Tightly, securely, almost protectively. 

No, not almost. It was so, and Lucifer let himself feel all of it, even though it hurt, even though it was terrifying and lovely and bittersweet all at once.

And without any effort at all, he fell asleep.

 

---

 

In the evening of what was to be Hazbin Hotel’s first big celebration party, Lucifer was already late. Purposefully late and, if he could just fix his cuffs, fashionably so too. All the residents of the hotel had already been ushered and/or lured to the pavilion, most of the lights have been dimmed to a minimum, so he was having a pretty good time making his way along the corridors right now (cuffs not included).

When he let himself into Alastor’s rooms, he found him leaning over a vanity and applying a last touch of blood red lipstick. Embroidered suit ready, matching the gold and dark red of his nails, and not a hair out of place where it had been braided on both sides and fastened off in a ponytail (he had to thank Niffty profusely and maybe buy her new stabbing supplies for that one). He glanced at Lucifer out the corner of his eye and capped his lipstick.

Lucifer kinda wanted to preserve him in amber.

“You’re late.”

“So are you,” Lucifer countered. He looked around. “I never asked, how did you manage to make the pictures stop screaming?”

“Ah. That turned out to be just Janet practicing for some ghostly contest. They stopped on their own soon enough.”

“Did she win?”

“Of course.” Alastor walked over and fixed his cuffs with a couple expert movements. “You look… acceptable.”

“You like it?” Lucifer grinned and looked down at his own black and gold suit. Much more fitting for this occasion than for trekking up murder hills, for sure. “I figured if I’m to be a pariah, I might as well dress the part.”

“Charming.” Alastor sighed. “I still intend to leave the very moment anyone gets drunk enough to try and buy me a drink.”

“Even me?”

“Especially you.”

“Well, then.” Lucifer offered his hand with a laugh. “I’ll behave.”

There was some faint music coming from outside as they made their way to the landing, but it wasn’t loud enough to cover the bubbling sounds coming from beyond the closed door of room 403.

“Nuh uh, not today!” Lucifer pointed an accusatory finger at it, and the bubbling stopped. “Good girl. Here you go!” 

He snapped his fingers and a small plaque appeared on the door, calling it Room of the Month. There were some faint chirrups from inside. Alastor let out another sigh, but offered no further comment.

When they got to the main foyer, the music was more distinctive, something loud and cheery and new, unlike anything he’d been listening to lately. But the light from the pavilion was casting colourful glimmers through the wide stained windows of the hotel, and the foyer was tantalisingly empty, so Lucifer pulled Alastor into a half-pirouette.

“Really, now.”

“Yep. Don’t even try to stop me.”

He didn’t. What Alastor did instead was accept his challenge and kick it up a notch, twirling Lucifer around the foyer before pulling him back in his arms, letting him go, pressing his back against his chest. Typical. Lucifer laughed and met him where he was.

It seemed strange that they’d never danced before, what with all their musical evenings. Lucifer made a mental note to rectify that in the days and weeks and months to come. For now, though, they both got lost a bit in this dance, without any rules or steps or coherency, paired with the rhythmic music from outside. It was nice. Lucifer almost felt young.

When they finally drew to a dizzy halt, Alastor cupped his face gently. He pressed both his thumbs to Lucifer’s mouth, where his breath was still coming in a bit too fast, and caressed his lips slowly, with a pleased smile. And nothing more.

Oh, so that’s how it was, was it? Lucifer wasn’t worth ruining his lipstick over, well, then what if he—

There was a knock on the open door and they both started, but it was only Charlie, peeking around the doorframe with a smile. “Hey, guys. The party’s going well, are you two still dropping by?”

“Uh, yes, absolutely!” Lucifer said, still holding onto Alastor’s waist. “We’ll be there in a moment!”

Charlie didn’t seem at all bothered by the picture. “Great! I’ll save you some cake!”

Alastor frowned as she disappeared. “Cake?”

“Don’t question it,” Lucifer said, and pulled him down for a kiss.

He would fix it later.

Notes:

(I didn't want to repeat artists, but the piano section here is out of this world.)

So that's it, folks! Thank you so much for all the kindness you've shown this fantasy writer while they were trying to get through writer's block by writing this fic. It worked! I also got so many lovely and insightful and comments, I don't know how to thank you all enough except with, well, this last chapter.

Check out this Gorgeous fanart for this chapter by singlearrowquiver!

And for those of you who liked my musical send-offs, here's a list of some of the songs that didn't make it into the end notes:

1. Love me or leave me - Ruth Etting (also good, less angry piano)
2. La seine - Joséphine Baker
3. Cocktails for two - Betty carter
4. When you’re smiling - Teddy Wilson & Billie Holiday
5. I sold my heart to the junkman - Dinah Washington
6. Shout sister shout - The Boswell Sisters
7. You’re the top - Jeri Southern
8. Bye bye blackbird - Etta Jones
9. It’s de-lovely - Ella Fitzgerald
10. Some call it madness (but I call it love) - Nat King Cole Trio (hello, fellow Malevolent fans!)

Thanks again!