Chapter Text
Angel Dust slouched at the dining table, idly stirring his coffee and trying very hard not to look like he was watching the doorway. Beside him, Husk was already nursing something amber in a rocks glass, his usual morning scowl firmly in place. Across the table, Vaggie looked like she hadn't slept, while Charlie vibrated with her typical morning optimism, reviewing some brightly colored flyers. Niffty was a blur beneath the table, presumably eradicating stray cockroaches with extreme glee.
Angel risked a glance towards Husk. Fifty bucks. That grumpy cat owed him fifty bucks, he could feel it. Last night, seeing Smiles stalk out after Short King… oh yeah, something had definitely happened. He just needed proof.
The main dining room doors swung open, and Lucifer walked in, already holding his signature yellow duck mug, steam faintly rising from it. Angel immediately straightened up, eyes narrowed, observing. The King of Hell looked… different. Less tense than usual, the perpetual frown lines around his eyes seemed softer. He paused, surveying the room with a slight smile.
A moment later, the doors swung open again. Alastor. His crimson presence filled the doorway, smile wide and sharp as ever. He swept his gaze across the room, an unreadable assessment.
And then, the impossible happened.
Lucifer turned as Alastor entered. Their eyes met briefly across the space. A nod. Not mocking, not challenging. Just… a nod. And Lucifer offered a small, genuine smile in return before heading towards the table.
Alastor followed suit. Angel held his breath. Charlie hadn't orchestrated anything this morning; the seating was haphazard. Husk hadn’t moved. Vaggie was next to Charlie. Cherri Bomb was loudly munching on something that looked suspiciously like a leftover explosive casing repurposed as a cereal bowl. There were plenty of open seats scattered around.
Lucifer, seemingly without a second thought, slid into the chair directly opposite Charlie. A moment later, Alastor, with unnerving grace, took the seat right beside him.
Voluntarily.
Angel’s jaw dropped. He whipped his head towards Husk, jabbing him sharply in the ribs with an elbow. Husk merely grunted, swatting his hand away without looking up from his drink.
But Angel couldn’t look away from the center of the table. Lucifer and Alastor weren't ignoring each other. They weren't radiating waves of mutual hatred. They were… talking. Quietly at first, Lucifer gesturing animatedly with his mug, Alastor leaning in slightly, his smile still present but somehow less predatory when directed at the King. Then, Lucifer said something, his shoulders shaking with a soft chuckle, and Alastor responded with a dry comment that made Lucifer laugh outright – a genuine, surprisingly light sound that echoed slightly in the room.
The effect on the rest of the table was instantaneous and profound.
Vaggie froze mid-sentence, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth, staring at the pair with an expression of pure, unadulterated shock mixed with deep suspicion. Charlie, predictably, beamed so brightly it was a wonder the lights didn’t dim, clasping her hands together under her chin, radiating pure, undiluted joy. Cherri Bomb choked on her breakfast, coughing loudly before staring with wide, disbelieving eyes and letting out a low whistle.
Niffty zipped out from under the table, momentarily pausing her hunt for cockroaches. She tilted her head, wide eye fixed on the laughing pair. "Ooh!" she chirped loudly, "The two big bads are getting along!" before giggling manically and diving back under the table after a fleeing insect.
Husk finally deigned to look up at the commotion. He watched Lucifer and Alastor converse for a long, silent moment, his expression utterly impassive. Then, he slowly, deliberately, rolled his eyes and took a very long drink.
Angel practically vibrated in his seat, unable to contain his glee. He leaned over, whispering loudly in Husk’s ear, "Pay up, Whiskers! Pay! Up! Told ya they were doing the horizontal tango!"
Husk just shot him a withering glare. "Chatting isn't fucking," he growled under his breath, though perhaps a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face before he resolutely ignored Angel again.
"Oh, Dad! Alastor!" Charlie chirped, unable to help herself. "It's just so wonderful seeing you two getting along so well this morning!"
Lucifer glanced at his daughter, his smile warm and enthusiastic. "Oh! Yes, sweetie, just running through some brilliant ideas I had for the decorations! Sparkle, pizzazz, maybe some automated duck fountains? And Alastor here is... providing valuable input," he added, glancing towards the demon with a surprisingly neutral, almost appreciative expression.
Alastor inclined his head smoothly, his smile losing a fraction of its usual sharpness as he addressed Charlie. "Progress is indeed being made, my dear," he chimed in, his voice lacking its usual condescending edge when discussing Lucifer's ideas. "Your father possesses a rather… potent creative energy. We are endeavoring to channel it effectively for the festivities."
The cheerful, almost normal exchange somehow made the situation even more bizarre for the onlookers. Angel Dust didn’t care about the details; he was already mentally spending his fifty bucks, already planning exactly how he was going to gloat. This was going to be fun.
As the breakfast chatter began to resume its normal (if slightly stunned) rhythm, Charlie practically skipped over to where Lucifer and Alastor were still seated, a clipboard overloaded with colorful notes clutched in her hands. Her smile was blindingly bright, aimed squarely at the two demons.
“Dad! Alastor! That was amazing!” she gushed, leaning slightly over the table between them. “Hearing you two talking and laughing just now, working together on the party plans – it’s everything I hoped for!” She beamed, conveniently ignoring the sheer awkwardness and underlying tension that had defined their interactions until very recently.
Lucifer managed a smile that felt only slightly forced this time. “Just trying to make your party perfect, sweetie.”
Alastor simply inclined his head, his own smile unwavering. “Merely fulfilling our assigned duties, my dear.”
“Exactly!” Charlie clapped her hands together. “And speaking of duties… I have a super exciting favor to ask! Since you two are working so well together now,” she beamed, “I was hoping you could handle two crucial commissions for the party today! First,” she tapped her clipboard excitedly, “I need someone to go down to ‘Sinfully Sweet Delights’ – you know, the ones who make those incredible sculpted cakes? I want to commission a cake from them shaped like a miniature version of the entire hotel! Can you imagine? It would be amazing publicity! They’re the best at detail work, and having you both go might ensure they prioritize our order and make it absolutely spectacular! And second,” she leaned in slightly, her voice full of excitement, “’Damnation Dishes Catering’ might still have an opening! You know how booking them guarantees all the big names will show up! Could you maybe stop by there too, see their operation, really charm them into taking us on? Having the King of Hell and the Radio Demon show interest should definitely make an impression!” She looked between them, eyes wide with enthusiastic hope. “Would you mind? For the party? It would be amazing!”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow slightly, glancing at the detailed notes on Charlie’s clipboard. “A miniature hotel cake?” he repeated. “Sweetie, you know I could just… poof one into existence, right? Perfectly detailed, zero fuss, probably done before elevenses.”
“I know, Dad, but that’s not the point!” Charlie insisted, leaning forward earnestly, her manager persona kicking in. “We need to do things properly! As the Hazbin Hotel, we should support other Hell-based businesses! Plus, using a famous place like Sinfully Sweet Delights gets people talking, it generates buzz, it’s good publicity! It shows we’re serious and connected!”
Lucifer and Alastor exchanged another glance. Charlie’s business logic, while enthusiastic, wasn’t entirely unsound, even if her primary motive was likely still getting them to spend time together. The errands remained… doable.
“A miniature hotel cake for publicity, huh?” Lucifer mused again, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. “Alright, Char Char, if that’s what you want…”
“…then we shall secure the necessary arrangements,” Alastor finished smoothly. “Consider it handled.”
“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Charlie squealed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You two are the best team!”
As Lucifer and Alastor made polite murmurs about preparing to leave, Vaggie, who had been watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes, quickly grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled her a few steps away, lowering her voice to an urgent whisper.
“Hon, are you sure about this?” Vaggie hissed, glancing nervously towards where Alastor was now standing, adjusting his coat. “Sending them out together? Into the city? After… everything?” Her gaze was sharp with mistrust. “Something’s weird, Charlie. Alastor doesn’t just change like this overnight. Him being… agreeable? It feels wrong. I don’t trust him.”
Charlie gently patted Vaggie’s hand, her expression softening but still radiating determined optimism. “Oh, Vaggs, relax!” she whispered back reassuringly. “It’s okay! They just needed a little push. See? They took my advice! They’re finally trying to get along, just like I asked. This is good! It shows progress! Letting them work together on their own will just help solidify things!” She beamed again, utterly convinced. “Trust me!” She then grabbed Vaggie’s other arm with renewed purpose. “Besides, we have our own important job! Those fabulous party posters aren’t going to hang themselves all over Pentagram City! Let’s grab the adhesive paste!”
Vaggie didn’t look convinced about Alastor, her frown deepening as she watched Lucifer and Alastor head towards the hotel entrance, but she allowed Charlie to pull her towards their own task, merely crossing her arms with a worried sigh.
Stepping out of the Hazbin Hotel’s relative sanctuary and onto the bustling, chaotic streets of Pentagram City felt like plunging into a different kind of noise altogether. Horns blared (some literally demonic horns attached to vehicles), indistinct shouting echoed from alleyways, and the air hummed with a discordant symphony of suffering, commerce, and desperation. Alastor navigated the throng with his usual unnerving ease, his crimson coat a sharp slash of color against the grimy backdrop, his smile fixed and unreadable.
Lucifer walked beside him, trying to match his stride but feeling distinctly out of place. He kept closer to Alastor than he probably would have weeks ago, the newfound accord from their corridor conversation providing a strange, unspoken anchor amidst the sensory overload. He found himself looking around, truly looking, in a way he hadn’t in… well, centuries, probably.
“Wow,” Lucifer murmured, glancing up at a garishly lit billboard advertising some kind of soul-binding contract service. “It’s certainly… vibrant out here. Been a while since I just walked around like this.”
Alastor tilted his head, his curiosity piqued, though his smile didn’t change. “Oh? And why is that, Your Majesty? One would assume the ruler of this domain might take a more active interest in its thoroughfares.”
Lucifer grimaced, shoving his hands in his pockets as they sidestepped a brawl spilling out of a nearby bar. “Yeah, well,” he sighed, a note of genuine bitterness entering his voice. “Turns out, after you give humanity the grand gift of free will, watching how spectacularly they choose to squander it… gets old. Every Sinner down here,” he gestured vaguely at the chaotic crowds with the red apple topping his cane, “every act of petty cruelty or pointless violence… it’s just a constant reminder of potential wasted. A gift thrown back in your face.” He kicked absently at a loose cobblestone. “Kind of puts a damper on wanting to take scenic strolls, you know?”
They walked in silence for a block, the sounds of the city swirling around Lucifer’s bitter admission. Alastor seemed to consider his words, tapping a clawed finger against his microphone cane.
“An interesting perspective,” Alastor finally drawled, his tone thoughtful rather than mocking. “But perhaps, Sire, you’re only admiring one facet of the gem.” He paused as they passed a crumbling theatre where surprisingly intricate, demonic-looking puppets were being advertised for a macabre show. “Free will,” Alastor continued, “isn’t solely about the capacity for failure and depravity. That’s merely the most… obvious outcome.”
He gestured subtly towards a Sinner meticulously tending a small, strange-looking potted plant with glowing blue flowers on a grimy windowsill above them. “It’s also the capacity for… novelty. For unexpected creation.” He glanced towards the hotel, far behind them now. “For loyalty, however misplaced. For striving against the odds, even when damnation is assured. Think of your daughter’s little project – pure, unadulterated free will attempting to defy the very nature of this place. Isn’t there entertainment, perhaps even value, in that struggle? In the choices made despite the darkness, not just because of it?”
Lucifer listened, surprised by the lack of derision in Alastor’s voice. He hadn’t expected… philosophy. Loyalty however misplaced? Striving against the odds? His mind immediately pictured Angel Dust, with his contradictory, exhausting efforts to be something more than what Valentino had made him. He thought of Husk, gruff and cynical to the core, yet undeniably there for Angel recently, offering support and stability in his own grumpy way. He followed Alastor’s gaze towards the glowing plant, then thought again about Charlie’s own relentless, seemingly impossible project right here in the hotel. Alastor had a point. He’d been so focused on the Fall, on the failure represented by Hell and its inhabitants, that maybe… maybe he had missed something. Hell was punishment, yes, born of a choice he still grappled with, but the Sinners living within it still made choices every day. Acts of creation, bizarre acts of kindness, strange loyalties, endless, determined struggles… It wasn’t all just mindless violence and misery.
Having reached this realization, Lucifer felt a genuine shift in his perspective. He glanced at the Radio Demon walking beside him, the usual sharp edges seeming slightly less pronounced. A small, real smile touched Lucifer’s lips. “You know… maybe you have a point, Alastor,” he admitted quietly, the words feeling surprisingly easy. “Maybe I’ve been a bit too focused on the… downside.” He offered a nod of acknowledgment. "Yeah, Charlie’s been helping me see that. Thanks for reminding me."
Alastor met his smile, his own grin widening, red eyes gleaming with dark amusement as his usual persona snapped back. “Ah, but mind you, Lucifer,” he added, his voice taking on a conspiratorial, staticky edge, “a splash of blood and gore now and then isn’t entirely without merit down here! A little violence certainly makes the eternity less monotonous, wouldn’t you agree? It has its positive aspects!”
Lucifer rolled his eyes dramatically, but couldn’t suppress a small smirk. Typical Alastor. “Right,” he drawled, though without any real heat this time. “The ‘positive aspects’ of gore. Duly noted.” Okay, maybe he could handle Alastor’s brand of philosophy after all.
They continued walking, turning a corner onto a slightly less chaotic street known for its artisan shops and heading towards the bakery Charlie had mentioned. Lucifer’s gaze scanned the strange wares displayed in the dusty windows as they headed towards the bakery. Then, something made him stop short, his eyes widening with sudden, intense interest.
There, in the window of a shop filled with bizarre antiques and repurposed infernal technology, sat a stunning vintage record player. It was crafted from a deep, polished red wood, gleaming under the dim shop lights. What truly captivated Lucifer, however, was the intricate engraving decorating its lid: a whimsical, yet elegant design mingling cheerful ducks with graceful, stylized fawns. Ducks and deer, carved together into the rich wood.
Lucifer leaned closer to the glass, completely forgetting the errands for a moment, an instant, inexplicable pull towards the object making his heart do a strange little jump. A wide, delighted grin spread across his face. He nudged Alastor lightly with his elbow, pointing excitedly towards the engraving. “Al!” he exclaimed, the nickname slipping out naturally in his sudden enthusiasm, “Look! It’s us!”
Alastor followed Lucifer’s pointed finger, his gaze settling on the record player. He took in the red wood, the unusual engraving, and the absolutely besotted expression on the King’s face. Lucifer’s direct, almost childlike delight, the easy use of the shortened name, and the surprisingly apt comparison were… noted. Very noted. Alastor filed the image – Lucifer’s utter captivation, the specific red record player with its ducks and fawns – away with keen interest. He even allowed a brief, almost imperceptible twitch of amusement to touch his own smile at Lucifer’s comment before regaining his composure.
Lucifer finally pulled his gaze away from the window, though the delighted smile lingered. “Okay, okay, focus,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head slightly as if clearing it, though he cast one last longing glance back at the record player before turning resolutely towards the bakery down the street.
Running errands in Pentagram City with Alastor turned out to be… surprisingly efficient, if slightly unnerving. Securing the services of ‘Damnation Dishes Catering’ involved less charming and more pointed negotiation, mostly from Alastor, whose polite inquiries carried an undercurrent of menace that had the head chef sweating profusely and agreeing to all of Charlie’s terms with remarkable speed.
Commissioning the cake at ‘Sinfully Sweet Delights’, located, as Charlie had indicated, on a bustling street bordering the eerily cheerful pastel facades of Cannibal Town, was a similar affair. The proprietor, a large demon with far too many teeth and frosting smudges on his apron, initially seemed overwhelmed by the presence of both the King of Hell and the Radio Demon discussing miniature hotel replicas. However, a few calmly worded suggestions from Alastor about the importance of timeliness and quality for such… high-profile clients ensured their order for the grand hotel-shaped cake was bumped to the absolute top of the list. Lucifer mostly tried to look regal and occasionally chimed in about wanting extra sparkle on the hotel’s miniature apple-themed spire, receiving wary but swift agreement from the baker.
Now, standing outside the slightly-too-sweet-smelling bakery, the chaotic energy of Cannibal Town humming just a block or two away, Lucifer felt a strange sense of accomplishment mixed with relief. They’d actually done it. Cooperated. Without (major) incident.
“Well, that’s done,” Lucifer said, adjusting the lapel of his coat. “Cake commissioned, caterers intimidated… Charlie will be thrilled.”
Alastor surveyed their surroundings, his gaze lingering towards the distinct architecture of Cannibal Town nearby. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And since our tasks are concluded and we find ourselves practically on her doorstep…” He turned his gaze back to Lucifer, a polite, almost inviting smile playing on his lips – different from his usual predatory grin. “We are quite near Rosie’s Emporium. Perhaps we should pay her a brief visit? I would be delighted to make the formal introduction.”
Lucifer blinked, taken aback. Alastor suggesting they socialize? Voluntarily? And with Rosie, one of the Overlords Alastor actually seemed to respect and consider a peer? This felt like a significant step beyond just agreeing to be “friends” in a corridor. It was an invitation, of sorts, into Alastor’s closely guarded circle. Before Lucifer could formulate a response, still processing the unexpected offer…
WHIIIRRRRRR.
A low, electronic humming sound cut through the street noise, growing rapidly louder. Both Lucifer and Alastor looked up simultaneously. Several sleek, black drones, emblazoned with the unmistakable bright blue ‘V’ logo of VoxTek Industries, descended rapidly from the smog-filled sky, hovering directly in front of them.
The central drone projected a flickering, larger-than-life image into the air between them. Vox’s smug, flat-screen face materialized, static buzzing around the projection, his digital eyes narrowed into mocking slits, a wide, unpleasant grin plastered across his screen.
“My, my, what do my eyes spy?” Vox’s synthesized voice boomed, dripping with condescension. “Or maybe I should say… what do my drones spy?” His digital gaze flicked dismissively over Alastor before settling on Lucifer with a fraction more attention. “Look what crawled out from under a rock – the dusty old Radio Demon himself.” His screen-grin widened as he focused back on Lucifer, affecting a tone that was perhaps meant to sound respectful but felt deeply insincere. “And… Your Majesty! Fancy seeing you out and about, especially keeping such… vintage company. Taking in the sights together? How positively… charming.”
Lucifer stiffened, annoyance flashing across his face, while Alastor’s smile merely tightened, the static around him beginning to hiss almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the flickering image of his rival.
Before either of them could offer a retort, the projected image of Vox crackled violently, pixelating for a second before dissolving into static and vanishing. The drones whirred, retracting slightly.
Then, with a sound like a short-circuiting television and a brief flash of glitchy blue light on the sidewalk just a few paces away, Vox materialized. Not a projection this time, but his physical form – sharp suit, flat-screen head displaying that same wide, unpleasant electronic grin, hands clasped behind his back in a posture of arrogant confidence.
He surveyed the two of them standing there, the King of Hell and the Radio Demon, side-by-side outside a pastry shop on the edge of Cannibal Town. His digital eyes seemed to gleam with malice and opportunity.
“Well, well,” Vox said, his voice smoother now, though no less mocking, carrying clearly in the street air. He took a slow step towards them. “It seems it’s time for proper introductions.”