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When they arrive at Alastor's quarters, Lucifer still hears the soft tones of old jazz playing from the radio in his room. Similar to the melody they had been dancing to in the foyer before for Charlie's trust exercise, Lucifer realizes with a soft smile.
"Well... there's still music playing," Lucifer ventures, knowing very well that he's pushing his luck, but emboldened by the more-than-a-couple drinks he's had. He gently offers his upturned palm out to Alastor. "Would you care for another dance?"
To his genuine surprise, Alastor doesn't immediately deny him. Alastor's brow quirks and he looks almost—mad? Is that what that expression is? Lucifer can't quite tell, but he doesn't have to ponder it for long before Alastor takes his hand. Who in Hell could possibly understand the inner workings of the Radio Demon's mind? Sure as hell not Lucifer, but this is good enough of an indication for him. His heart does a little skip in his chest and he eagerly wraps an arm around Alastor's waist to pull him just a little bit closer.
Their slow shuffle continues for a while, and Lucifer finds himself losing track of time in the graceful rhythm of their dance. Despite Lucifer's intentions to remain respectful of Alastor's personal space—he's heard from Charlie more than observed for himself that Alastor has an aversion to physical contact—soon their bodies are nearly touching. It makes the King feel giddy, almost lightheaded.
(His heart aches. It's been a long time since he's felt like this.)
He goes for a dip with the taller demon, having thoroughly enjoyed the move in the parlor and hoping Alastor will go along with it the same as before and pull himself back up with a flourish of his long coat. But Lucifer notices a minute flinch on the way down, and Alastor remains in the lowest position of the dip for a long moment. His head is turned away from Lucifer, and his jaw is set tightly.
Is he... in pain?
"Uh... Alastor? You alright?" Lucifer's concern quickly wins over and he gently pulls the taller man back up to help him into a standing position. He loosens his grip and absentmindedly moves his hands to Alastor's hips, concerned eyes searching Alastor's face for an answer.
Alastor... doesn't look at him, and it dawns on Lucifer that he's been doing a fine job of avoiding eye contact from the moment they entered his bedroom. Their height difference—plus Lucifer's tipsiness requiring him to look down at his feet more often so as not to trip—meant their gazes were less likely to meet regardless, so Lucifer didn't consider until just now that the avoidance may be deliberate.
Lucifer feels his heart beginning to sink as he realizes he must have failed to read the room. Again.
"...I know that you know," Alastor says lowly after a few moments, still averting his gaze.
"Know...?" Lucifer says, feeling more than a little dumbfounded.
Alastor scoffs bitterly and Lucifer feels a soft pull from the man's lithe body as he attempts to pull away, but the motion ends in another flinch. Lucifer gets the message loud and clear and drops his hands immediately from Alastor's waist, taking a step backward to give him space.
"You know that I can't stop you," Alastor clarifies, bitterness turning his voice rough. "That my magic is bound while this wound still affects me. I know that's why you insisted on taking me back to my quarters. There isn't anything else to it. So just... get it over with, will you? Stop toying with me."
His tone is so unexpectedly accusatory that it takes a moment for Lucifer to process the words. And before he is fully able to parse the implication, Alastor is reaching down to unbutton his own jacket.
"Wait, hang on—"
But Lucifer's breath is stolen by the sight that greets him once Alastor slips his jacket off and exposes the red fabric beneath—because there's a massive patch on his left side of even darker red, and it's growing larger by the second. The faint, sharp scent of fresh blood hits the fallen angel's nostrils, strong and almost disorienting.
"You're... hurt." Lucifer says, his mind racing as he tries to work out where Alastor could have suffered a wound so obviously severe and passed under everyone's radar. It must have been something big if someone as powerful as Alastor is still hurting—was there a recent fight amongst the nearby Overlords? He doesn't recall seeing anything in the papers.
Then it hits him—Alastor fought Adam in the battle against Heaven, didn't he? Charlie said Alastor must have been horribly wounded; she saw the blood of a sinner on the First Man's axe after Alastor fought him, and Alastor wasn't seen again until long after the battle was over. But Lucifer never saw Alastor hurt after that, despite undoubtedly being nearly slain by an angelic weapon.
But... that was months ago, now. Could Alastor have truly been hurt this entire time?
"Obviously," Alastor hisses, meeting Lucifer's eyes sharply. "That's why you dipped me so low. You saw my reaction downstairs and you wanted to aggravate it again. You knew what you were doing; don't act like you don't."
"No—hang on, no," Lucifer insists. "I thought—I thought you liked it. I thought we were having fun, but clearly—clearly I misjudged, okay? I apologize."
"What utter nonsense. I have grown tired of this charade. Just do what you came here to do and leave, your majesty."
Alastor spits out the honorific like it's poison in his mouth. Lucifer feels his heart sink lower.
So... he hates me after all.
How could he have misread the situation so badly? This is why Lucifer doesn't get his hopes up for anything anymore. Because everything seems like it's going well and then inevitably it never lasts—it always turns bad. There's never been an exception to that rule in Lucifer's life apart from his beloved daughter.
"Alastor… I didn't... I just wanted to have another dance with you. I thought we were having fun downstairs…” He trails off, unsure how to explain himself when he feels his motives should have been so clear. He takes a few more steps backward.
“Yes, I know very well how much you Morningstars like to… dance with your prey," Alastor grinds out through clenched teeth, each word dripping with disdain.
"You… what? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Is there something going on with Charlie? Lucifer feels his sunken heart spark with renewed spirit, but now with aggression rather than fondness. If there's strife between the two of them, there's no way it's Charlie's fault—and regardless, he'd take his daughter's side, every time.
"As if you don't know. The least you could do is spare me the act."
" What is going on with you and Charlie? I swear to fucking god, if you've laid a hand on her—!"
"Of course I haven't, you damn fool!" Alastor snaps, his mask cracking. Has he been trembling this whole time, or did it start just now? "Obviously I'm referring to our shared... arrangement, with the Queen!"
Lucifer frowns, his anger abruptly simmering down as it's replaced by confusion.
" Lilith? What does she have to do with anything?" It'd be a lie to say Lucifer doesn't still think about her every day, but he hasn't spoken aloud about her to another soul for years now. Nausea begins to stir in Lucifer's stomach as he ponders the implications of the rest of Alastor's statement. "...What arrangement?"
"Oh, please. I know she tells you about it all the time. She certainly doesn't hold back telling me how much you love hearing about it. I'm sure you'll be pleased to see that she's implemented a few of your requests, too—shall I show you the branding now, or after you have finished with me for the night?"
'Finished with me for the night?' What branding?
"What—Alastor. Hold on. Just. Hold on for a fucking second. I have no fucking idea what you are talking about. I haven't seen Lilith in years. Everybody fucking knows that. If I was seeing her, maybe I wouldn't be so damn—" He cuts himself off before his words can devolve into self-deprecation.
(Funny how that always happens when he thinks of her, isn't it?)
"—so damn—whatever," Lucifer continues, urging himself not to think about that now. "What, so you know where she is after she's been missing for seven years, and now you two are—I don't know—fucking, or something?" Lucifer laughs humorlessly. "Please tell me why the fuck you think my ex-wife would make a point to come back and tell me all about her new lay, like some kind of fucked-up post-divorce bonding activity? What the fuck, Alastor?"
"Because you're as sadistic as she is, aren't you?" It's Alastor's turn to give a humorless laugh, but it's noticeably weak. It's then that Lucifer takes note that Alastor's posture is sagging ever-so-slightly to one side now, one hand over his torso and the other subtly resting on his fireplace's mantel for support. "You get off on hearing about it. And seeing it—she shows you the pictures, doesn't she? She says it at least—at least once a week, how much you enjoy hearing about it, seeing the Radio Demon's pathetic tears when she pushes me past—past what this damn body can take!"
Alastor's gaze shifts downwards toward his bleeding torso, his expression filled with distaste as if it has betrayed him with its vulnerability—never minding the fact that it bears a wound only from the single most dangerous weapon to every single demon in Hell.
Lucifer is frozen in place, feeling like the breath has been knocked out of him. Enough pieces have fallen into place. But Lucifer doesn't want to take a step back to look at the full image. He really, really doesn't want to.
"She... hurts, you," Lucifer says, wishing he knew little enough that he had to pose it as a question. 'Hurt' doesn't cover it. 'Torture' would be the much more fitting word.
He can't bring himself to say 'rape'.
Lucifer is certain for a moment that he's going to be sick, but he forces the feeling down.
"Every night," Alastor says, but the anger is noticeably less present in his tone now, giving way to audible exhaustion. "And you know that."
" Every—!?" Lucifer barely manages to get a handle on his emotions. Every night? Every damn night this is happening? Lucifer shakes his head vehemently. "No. Alastor, I know nothing about this."
"You're lying." But for the first time, there's visible uncertainty in Alastor's eyes. Or maybe they're just glassy...?
"I'm not. Where the hell does she even meet you?"
Alastor narrows his eyes, studying him carefully.
"I don't understand why you're pretending not to know all of this. What, do you get your kicks out of having your captives recount their misery to you?"
"'Captives'—I'm not pretending, dammit! Why is that so damn hard for you to believe?"
Over his perpetual smile, Alastor's lips pull back in a snarl.
"Then why did you bring me here? Why else would you take me to my room like this, if not to force me as she does?"
"Geez..." Lucifer buries his head in his hands for a moment in disbelief, trying to collect himself before raising his head again. "I was walking you to your room, I was just keeping you company, I thought."
"But why? " Alastor grits out.
"Because—I—I like you! Because I have the same damn emotions that any other demon has, believe it or not, and I enjoyed our dance, and I wanted to spend more time with you. I know I suck at this, but—fucking christ —I never wanted to hurt you! Especially not like—" Lucifer's voice catches in his throat. He swallows hard, and then reels in his volume. "Especially not like that."
Alastor's eyes are still narrowed, and it's obvious he still doesn't believe a word Lucifer has said. He sways on his feet, and Lucifer notices the one hand he's got supporting him is trembling.
Lucifer takes a deep breath and does his best to gather his emotions.
"Look. You need to get that injury taken care of. It's from an Angelic weapon, isn't it? From the battle with Adam?"
"That is none of your concern, your majesty," Alastor says coldly, but his words lack true conviction. His energy is surely waning. How he's even managing to stay standing upright, Lucifer can't begin to understand. Alastor's signature stubbornness in its purest form, he supposes.
"Actually, it is my concern. Even if I didn't care about you, you've made yourself a crucial part of my daughter's emotional well-being, so you don't just get to die on us, asshole."
"I'm... not going to die from this, you pompous..." It's an obvious effort to get the words out this time, even as his sentence trails off. Alastor's full weight is almost entirely supported by his grip on the mantel now, his legs beginning to tremble as if they're moments away from giving way beneath him.
"Yeah. Okay. That's it." Lucifer's had enough of this prideful bullshit. He closes the distance between them, reaching for Alastor with the intent of helping him into the armchair closest to him.
Alastor flinches away from the King's advance, and it puts him off-balance enough that he begins to fall. Lucifer manages to catch him just in time, but there's a sharp surge of static the moment his hands contact the other's waist to save him from the fall.
"Gh—you damn—"
"Calm down. We're just getting you to sit." Lucifer is as gentle as he possibly can be as he guides the Radio Demon's weight down into his chair. Up closer, Lucifer sees the sweat beading on Alastor's forehead from the exertion of staying upright. Or perhaps it's his nerves.
"W-wait." Alastor's breaths are unsteady, uneven. His eyes are unfocused, but the fear is unmistakable now, as well as some new conflict hiding beneath the surface. Lucifer wonders if it's his aversion to touch flaring up under the stress. "I—I can't, control my voice like this, I..."
"You're fine. You don't need to." Lucifer snaps his fingers, simultaneously locking the door and casting a spell. "There. Silencing spell. You don't have to worry about anyone outside of this room being able to hear the fact that the great Radio Demon is capable of being in pain. Just let me fix you, alright?"
Alastor's breath catches, and Lucifer thinks for a moment that he sees tears welling up in his eyes, but they're gone as soon as Lucifer blinks. Alastor leans back in the chair, his breathing still uneven, but the fear in his expression smooths out into something more like acceptance.
Taking the lack of protest as assent, Lucifer reaches for the injured demon's bowtie, but he pauses.
"I really have to take your shirt off to see the wound, okay? I can cover you back up as soon as I've tended to it."
Alastor blinks slowly, his expression unreadable.
"As you wish, your majesty." His words are quiet, his defiance drained away.
The audible resignation makes Lucifer's skin crawl, but he makes the conscious decision not to dwell on that now.
Lucifer manages to make quick work of getting Alastor's bowtie and shirt out of the way, and underneath the layers of clothing he finds a bandage wrapped around his entire midsection. The damn thing surely used to be white, but it's soaked with red now, so much so that it's seeping out through the bandage.
"Okay. Uh, fuck." Lucifer puts a hand to his forehead, trying to contain his alarm. He knew it had to be bad, but this bad? How the hell has Alastor managed to keep this from everyone for months? "I'm going to lay you on the floor, alright? I need to have better access to this thing to heal it."
He tries to make a point of asking for Alastor's approval before he does it, but it clearly makes no difference in the other demon's mind.
"Yes, your majesty."
Lucifer nods and tries to ignore the tone the same as before, with little success. Still, he moves to guide Alastor to the floor before realizing Alastor now lacks the strength to move on his own at all. Instead, he carefully gathers the taller demon into his arms.
"Holy shit, you're light," Lucifer mutters under his breath. It makes sense given that Alastor's figure has all the substance of a healthy twig, but it's somehow mildly surprising just how light the Radio Demon is nonetheless.
Gently, he sets Alastor on the plush carpet. He summons a pair of scissors and cuts away the soiled bandages, taking care not to pull them away too harshly as they stick to the bloodied gash beneath. Lucifer fights off a shudder; it's just so unnatural how bad the gash looks. The wound is jagged, still red, and yet it's crusted over with old, blackened blood. It's a miracle that it isn't infected.
"Shit. This is deep. Did you not even stitch it up—?"
Lucifer levels a hand over top of it, extending his healing magic. Energy flares off of the open wound in response, highlighting green threads of otherworldly light that snake across the cut. They're the only thing tethering the jagged edges of flesh together, and the sight makes Lucifer's stomach turn. "—oh. What the hell?"
He glances up at Alastor's face and notices the same green threads stitched over his perpetual smile. When Lucifer's magic fades at his fingertips in his shock, the light of the threads fades as well, turning invisible once more.
"Did... she...?" Lucifer doesn't know how to phrase the question, but the agony in Alastor's eyes is all the answer he needs right now. "Okay. Worrying about that later. Let's get you healed."
Lucifer levels his palm over the gaping wound once more. The threads glow green again, and as he makes a concentrated effort to press forward, a golden glow flares from the center of the wound alongside them. He keeps the hold on his power steady, allowing his magic to wash over the area and draw out the destructive angelic energy. Alastor lets out an uncharacteristic whimper beneath him, his eyes squeezing shut in the agony caused by disturbing the wound, but Lucifer doesn't let it distract him from his goal.
Slowly but surely, the golden light fades under Lucifer's power as the damaged flesh begins to pull itself back together. The bleeding finally halts, and the edges of the gaping gash gradually close in until they finally knit closed completely. With the newfound absence of the wound, the green threads once intertwining the edges of it dissolve into nothingness.
In mere minutes, all that's left of the life-threatening injury is a thick, red scar that will likely fade with time.
Lucifer lets the flow of his magic recede as pulls his hand back from the freshly-healed injury. He takes a deep breath, admittedly mildly surprised at the immense relief he feels at having healed Alastor successfully. Not bad for being slightly inebriated, if he does say so himself.
"Alright. All healed up," he says. No longer worried about disturbing the wound, Lucifer waves his hand, using his magic to eliminate the remains of the bloodied bandages. Alastor still looks dazed—as expected, with how much blood he's probably lost—but a spark of lucidity has returned to his expression, his mind no longer clouded by the agony he must have been experiencing.
Alastor's breathing has evened out, but he remains silent, his gaze now fixed on the ceiling. It's unnerving.
"Uh... do you want some fresh clothes, then?" Lucifer prompts carefully, motioning to Alastor's open dress shirt, still soaked in blood.
Alastor's brow furrows, his expression incredulous as he levels his gaze at the King once more. "What would be the point of that? Don't you want them off in the end, regardless?"
Alastor's words slur slightly, but they feel like a punch in the gut all over again nevertheless.
"No, what? Alastor, I...," Lucifer hesitates, at a loss for words as he wonders again how to explain something that he feels should be so obvious. "I just... saved your life."
"You did. So tell me what it is you demand in return. I regret to remind you, however, that my soul is no longer available for me to offer."
"No! God, that's not what I meant at all. I meant that of course I don't want to—wait." Lucifer pauses as the implications of Alastor's words sink in fully. "Wait. She—does Lilith own your soul? "
Alastor is silent as his eyes search Lucifer's expression, studying him intensely for a few long moments. The look on his face changes gradually, the hardened skepticism melting away into something almost vulnerable—his brow furrowing further in genuine uncertainty, raising in realization, and then his expression finally softening as he seems to accept some silent conclusion.
"You truly... did not know about this."
It's not a question, but Lucifer affirms the truth regardless.
"No. I wasn't lying. I had no idea."
"You truly did not know about any of this..." He sounds less certain this time.
"I didn't. I haven't seen her in years. I... suspected she was gone permanently, for whatever reason—whether she died, or abandoned her people, or anything else. I even..." Missed her. Cried over her. Grieved for her. Lucifer cuts himself off before he can make the mistake of admitting it aloud—particularly to Alastor. "I didn't know anybody had contact with her since she disappeared. And I didn't know she was capable of such... cruelty."
Alastor's brow furrows again, and he looks away.
"More of her mind games then, I see." Alastor laughs weakly. "Likely an attempt to make me feel unsafe in my own living area. It certainly succeeded, I will give her that much."
Lucifer's stomach and heart drop in unison as he realizes Alastor has been spending all this time... fearing him. Not enjoying his presence.
Lucifer kicks himself. He was stupid. He was so stupid to think that anything could have come from this. Alastor seemed to be one of the only demons who didn't cower in fear when he was around, and that was part of what made Lucifer start to finally enjoy spending time with him after all these months together in the Hotel.
But that was all a lie. Alastor has been terrified of him, maybe since they first met. He'd been aggressive toward Lucifer at the very start—and this was why, wasn't it?
It's selfish of him to even be thinking about something so trivial when Alastor is clearly suffering so much at Lilith's hands, he knows. But he had let himself hope for once. He really had.
Maybe he'll finally learn his lesson this time.
Alastor's arms shift, and his upper body strains as he makes some attempt to sit himself up. Lucifer reflexively makes a move to help support him on the way up, but Alastor shoots him a warning glare that makes him stop himself and avert his gaze for a moment. Eventually, Alastor manages it on his own.
"You said... she hurts you every night," Lucifer says slowly, still trying to make sense of it all.
"Correct."
"Then that means... tonight...?"
"I did say every, did I not?" There's a tangible shift in the Radio Demon's demeanor, any scrap of vulnerability evaporated in an instant as his tone snaps to aggression. Like a cornered prey animal. "In any case, I don't see why this would be any of your concern, seeing as you clearly aren't involved."
"It is my concern! It's Lilith, for one, and I don't understand why she's doing this, but—you're suffering, you..." Lucifer thinks back to all of the odd behaviors that he's been writing off as eccentric traits typical of the inscrutable Radio Demon. But with this new knowledge, the pieces are all falling into place. He's been suffering for a long time now, in plain sight—and yet, undetected by anyone. "You've had dark circles under your eyes like you haven't slept more than an hour in at least over a month. You're skittish when we're in large groups, you refuse to be alone with anyone, you've been keeping your distance from everyone—" or rather almost everyone, Lucifer excluded, and that just makes more guilt bubble up in his throat and makes him even more upset, "—you look like you're in pain every morning, you flinch when anybody gets too close, you—!"
" ENOUGH! "
Lucifer's words die on his tongue in an instant, shocked into utter silence by the outburst.
Alastor's sclerae have turned black, his pupils now glowing red radio dials. His razor-sharp teeth are bared in a vicious snarl, his antlers suddenly far larger and more threatening than they were moments ago. His hands have curled into claws, his shoulders hunched like he's ready to jump at Lucifer's throat. It's the first time Lucifer has seen even a hint of his Demon form in months.
And he has never heard Alastor shout like that before. Never.
Lucifer assumes the reaction is one of fury. But then, in the corners of the Radio Demon's piercing eyes, Lucifer sees the tears welling up.
He's suffering.
There are a heavy few moments where their gazes are locked, and then Alastor's incomplete transformation is gone as quickly as it arrived. The tears are gone, but his fists remain clenched, and his body's trembling is only marginally reduced when he closes his eyes and takes a shaky breath.
"Get out."
Alastor's voice is a stark contrast to his outburst, quiet and deceivingly calm.
"Alastor, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said all of that. I shouldn't have pushed. But please, let me help y—"
"I said, get out," Alastor hisses. "I cannot understand why you insist on trying to get involved here, but you have no part in this matter. I don't need your meddling, and I certainly don't need your false pity. Forget all that you have learned here, and leave, Lucifer.
Lucifer wants so badly to protest. But Alastor's words leave no room for argument, the finality like the drop of a guillotine.
(Some distant part of Lucifer wonders if that was the first time Alastor has used his real name.)
"...Okay. Fine. I'll go." Lucifer stands up, snapping his fingers once more to unlock the door and dismiss the silencing spell. He makes his way to the door silently, but he turns around once more when his hand reaches the handle.
Alastor is looking down at himself, one hand resting over his new scar.
"I'll pretend I don't know anything," Lucifer says. "But I can't just forget. When you decide you're ready for help, I'll still be around."
Alastor doesn't look up from his scar, and Lucifer doesn't wait on a reply. He slips out the door, closing it behind himself without another word.
As he departs for his own room, Lucifer's mind is plagued with the memory of those tears in the Radio Demon's tortured eyes.