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Alastor stared at the floor, his own reflection illuminated by garish neon conduits. He sat motionless, wrists bound behind his back, arms and ankles bound to the chair. The living wires hugged him tight, pulsing with every sleep-heavy sigh of their master. Shirts, pants, and under garments littered the floor, both Vox and his paramour too worn out from their earlier romp to pick up after themselves.
Despite the lack of windows, the blinking gadgets and glowing cords kept the room well lit enough that escape via shadows was not an option. Not that Alastor could. Not yet.
Rosie's collar sat proud and heavy around his neck, still. Not one rift in its grip. Why hadn't it let go? He had lost. Everyone had seen it. If he was still the strongest sinner in Hell, hogtied to a chair and paraded around like a trophy, then he would eat his hat. He was a joke. The ultimate has-been. Nothing more now than Vox's feral little… yet, the collar remained. Sturdy. Secure. Suffocating.
He wracked his brain, combing over Rosie's wording for the umpteenth time. So vague, he could kick himself for his recklessness. Strongest sinner in Hell could account for anything. It could also not account for many things. Strongest by what definition? By where he sat, currently? Or did it only consider him at his full potential?
It must be at his full potential, why else would he still be choking on that leash? But how was he to navigate that? How could he give up his power without losing it forever? He couldn't—wouldn't be powerless again. Never again. There had to be a loophole. There had to be a loophole.
He licked his dry, cracked lips behind the juvenile metal mask. Thin enough to pass for cloth, but deceptively strong; keeping his jaw locked and his voice muffled. Blood soaked his shirt, his fur sticky with it. The wound had reopened in several places, not thanks to Vox's manhandling. It burned, leaving him nauseous, too hot, too cold, stiff and groggy and sloppy.
His ears rang, and he hissed, pressing them down. If the hideous decor wasn't enough, the musty, tight space of the Vee Tower has also left him with a truly hellish migraine. He could hardly keep his eyes open for more than a moment without his vision splitting. It could be the mask; knowing Vox, there was a tranquilizer of some sort coating the inside. Perhaps a poison.
The ringing persisted, louder, sharper. Then it fizzled into familiar static. Alastor's breath hitched, and he looked up. Vox's bare chest rose and fell rhythmically, his screen still black. If he was asleep, who was tapping into the airwaves? It wasn't impossible for other sinners to do, but no one had ever dared, before his capture.
Motionless, he tapped into what was left of his power. If some sad fool wanted to gloat, he would need to catalogue the voice for later, once he was free. And he would be free. This was not how he wanted to cash in his favour from Charlie, but he had little doubt she could egg Vox on enough to get him to lay hands on her. Alastor didn't exactly want the girl to take a hit for him, he would prefer a sillier slip-up (a condescending pat on the shoulder, perhaps. Now that would be funny), but he would make it up to her if it happened. After he ripped Vox in two.
"Testing, testing!"
Alastor jolted, his chest throbbing at the sudden movement.
"Can you hear me, Sir?"
He grinned despite the mask and channeled his voice through the radio. "Niffty, Darling! To what do I owe this pleasure?"
Several voices yelped. A stampede crowded whatever vessel Niffty had used, chattering and shoving their way into range.
"Alastor!" Ah, poor Charlie sounded on the verge of tears. "Alastor, wh-what happened?! Vox—Vox took you and—and—what's going on?! What did he do to you?!"
He grimaced. "I believe that can be discussed once I'm free of his clutches, hmm?"
"Y-yeah! Yeah, of course! Oh, Alastor, I'm so sorry I wasn't there to—!"
"Don't dwell on it, Darling. I'm sure you were preoccupied with other issues." He tried not to think too hard about what a monumental waste of time this all was. "Now, do me a favour, and assist in my daring escape?"
"Yeah! Yeah, okay, um, I'll—I'll email Voxtech in the morning to set up negotiations—"
A record scratch cut her off. "Negotiations?" With Vox? Negotiate? What was she on about? "That's not quite what I had in mind, Dear, I would imagine Vox would be rather unhelpful in that regard."
"Well, yeah, but... Alastor I—I know you two don't get along—"
What?
"—But I really think we could get a good word in for the hotel if I just explain to them that they've got us all wrong, and—and when they let you go, with you and them, we could finally get people to listen, and we could save so many—!"
Alastor's chest throbbed with his rapid breaths. She couldn't possibly—was she that naive?Negotiate? Was she trying to get him killed?! Was she trying to get herself trapped in another deal?! She was damn lucky he had been in a forgiving mood when they struck their first; vague wording so as not to hit her too hard should she fail to keep up her end, but Vox? With Charlie's insistence of wearing her every weakness on her sleeve, he would ruin her, after he ruined everyone and everything she cared about.
Had Lucifer taught her nothing?!
Had he, as a king and a father, been so ambivalent to his daughter's life that he saw fit to let her wander through Hell thinking herself above lies and immune to manipulation all because she was the princess? And now she wanted to put her faith in Vox?! After what he had done to him—
"No," hissed a high, nasally voice. "We are not emailing them, we're goin' to get him back right fuckin' now!"
"Angel, we can't just—"
"Can't just what, Charlie?! Save our fucking friend? Do we need permission t' bring him back? Gotta sign the forms for split custody?"
"No, no, of course not—"
"Why are you still tryin' t' placate them?! I told you they're bad news, you saw it yourself! They tried to fucking murder Husk for views! They been slanderin' you and the rest of us for months now!" Oh. Angel's voice was shaking. "And, oh yeah, they're friends with fucking Valentino! Remember him?! I sure fucking do!"
"Angel, I—I didn't want to upset you—"
"Oh no, don't turn this around on me! You saw what Vox's been doin' to him, we all did! An' you're just gonna let them keep doing it for, what, a fucking delusional business opportunity?!"
"Angel, stop—!"
"All our guests are family, huh? What a load of horseshit."
"Stop." Another voice, stern, low, strained, cut him off. Alastor heard Angel panting. Heard Charlie's poorly concealed whimpers. Heard soft footsteps approaching the radio. "Alastor, it's Vaggie. Can you hear me?"
He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes."
"Do you know where you are?"
"57th floor, bedroom. Accessible through the third window to the west, down the first two right hallways, behind the garish double neon doors." He had scouted with his shadow when he had first been brought in, just in case.
Vaggie huffed once. "Okay. How many security cameras are we gonna need to break?"
"I got an EMP with your name on it, Tall Dark and Creepy," said Cherri Bomb, and Alastor heard the slap of fist on an open palm.
"Vaggie we can't just barge in there—!"
"The fuck we can't!" Angel shouted, his voice cracking. "What, are you scared Daddy won't love you anymore if you grow a damn spine and stand up for a sinner?!"
"N-no, no, I just—I—Dad can cover for him while we figure this out—"
Alastor flinched as though he had been punched. Of course. Swoop in once the hard part was over, and act like he'd been there the whole time. That was all men like Lucifer Morningstar knew how to do.
"You do realize," Husk cut in, "that if you wanna replace Alastor, ya gonna lose me and Niff too?"
"Wha—no! No, I don't wanna replace him, I'd never—that's not what I'm saying at all!"
"Sure sounds like it," Angel spat.
"You guys aren't listening to me!" A pop in space-time made the airwaves hiss. Alastor cringed, ears pinned flat to his head.
Vox stirred.
"I can't spread the word about the hotel by word of mouth alone, especially not with the news breathing down my neck!" Charlie exclaimed, horns undoubtedly out, now, eyes most certainly yellow on crimson. "We need them on our side, or no one's going to listen to us! Alastor's—Alastor I—I'm sorry, I lo—you've been amazing, really, I want you here with us, but no one's—people don't really use the radio as much anymore, and—and after the last extermination I—I need to prove that this—that we can do this! And we can, I know we can! If people would just listen, and try, we could do so much more! No one would have to die again!"
Alastor disconnected before Vox sat up.
~~~
Vaggie stood between a fuming Angel Dust and her blubbering girlfriend, trying—and failing—to quiet the argument. The few guests who stayed did not need a late-night screaming match to add to their list of reasons to quit.
Husk, to his credit, was holding Angel back, speaking softly, trying to calm him down. Niffty watched, eye wide in shock. Vaggie didn't blame her. As temperamental as Angel could be, he rarely lost himself while sober. Now, both of his sclera were black, glowing pink irises burning with rage and hurt. She understood that, too.
Vaggie loved Charlie with all her heart. She was her world. She would do anything for her.
But she… she wasn't ready for all this. Hell was no place for a hug-it-out mentality, at least not right away. It wouldn't stir the hearts of people like VoxTech, like Lute, like… well, like Lucifer. Fallen or not, The King made his opinion on sinners very known. He couldn't even be bothered to remember the guest's names—except Alastor, weirdly enough. And all Charlie had to offer in response was soft, rather self-pitying disappointment.
Vaggie tried to be understanding. He was her dad, and her mom was MIA. Of course she would crave attention and validation from the only family she had left. The hazbins being family was a nice, but shallow sentiment. It was what everyone said to gain favour with the public. Of course Charlie cared for all her guest… just not as much as she cared about her father, now that he was back in her life.
And she was under so much stress. Dealing with harassment at every angle while coping with her first real loss. If Vaggie could pick up all her girlfriend's problems and throw them into a lava pit, she would.
But that was what Alastor had been doing since his first week on the job. She hated to admit it, almost hated him for doing it. Taxes, business and liquor licenses, loans, supplies, budgeting; all tasks Alastor had delegated and tackled with aplomb. Of course Vaggie had handled a hefty chunk too, wanting to spare Charlie the chore so she could focus on the more creative aspects of the hotel. Alastor had made weekly mail sorting an uphill battle, the prick, but had helped when asked, even cashing in smaller favours here and there to take some of the weight off.
He was surprisingly tolerable when he wasn't trying to be the main character.
And he didn't deserve the humiliation Vox was putting him through. She didn't care what had happened in their past, that fucker had no right to treat him that way. No right to stalk his every move like an obsessive ex. No right to target people, things, Alastor cared about just to make his day a little worse.
She knew what that felt like. Could see it reflected in those little snarls Alastor tried to mask with a smile. Alastor was a son of a bitch, but he was their son of a bitch. Their hotelier, their ally, their friend. And until he did something to hurt Charlie, to hurt the hotel, Vaggie was, unfortunately, on his side.
When Angel shoved her out of the way, she didn't fight him. He was hurt, but he wouldn't do more than yell. And he wasn't insulting Charlie anymore, just… telling her how he felt. Not an ideal way to talk things through, but… Charlie could handle it. She was resilient. And maybe, just maybe, she needed to hear it.
Swallowing the urge to wrap her in her wings and take them both back to bed, she gave Charlie's hand a squeeze, and planted a lingering kiss on her cheek before heading to the front doors. "Uh… Vaggie?"
"I'm going to get Alastor."
"What—wait! Vaggie, we can't just—!"
"Charlie, I love you." She met her eyes, making sure the words stuck. "I love you so much. But this isn't working. You can't work with VoxTech on this. They will never listen to you no matter how hard or how long you dance for them. I know you think… I love your optimism, Sweetie, but some people just… suck." She bit back a shaky breath. "And you can't let them walk all over you, especially when they gloat about hurting our ally on live TV." She turned away before her girlfriend's wide, watery gaze could change her mind. "I'm going to get Alastor. I'll be back in a few minutes."
She snatched one of her jackets from the coat rack and threw it on (she had a feeling Alastor might want the extra layer). Her spear—condensed into a charm hanging from her belt loop—bumped her thigh as she reached for the doorknob. Footsteps jogged after her. "Not by yourself y' ain't."
Angel threw the doors open, marching down the cobblestone path.
Vaggie blinked, the swinging door stopped by her outstretched hand. Part of her worried what Valentino would do to him, but, well, Angel wasn't stupid. He knew what he was walking into. If he was willing to take that risk, then, Vaggie would just have to fight hard enough to keep both him and Alastor unharmed.
She started after him, forcing her gaze forward, lest Charlie's whimpering pleas sway her. She would make it up to her girlfriend later. She hoped.
The faux night sky was darker than usual, with Heaven's light muffled by their shield. Cobblestone shifted to cement, the click of hers and Angel's boots echoing behind them. The street lights flickered, the city having yet to recover from the massive drain that had been Vox's broadcast.
"Miss Vaggie?"
Vaggie yelped, stumbling into Angel as Niffty eyed them both with excitement. "Can I come too? Please? I didn't get any new bad boy pieces for my collection last time," she offered as an explanation, wringing her hands together and giggling to herself.
Vaggie smiled. "Sure. If you find any of Alastor's, keep them safe for us."
The little cyclops nodded enthusiastically, dimples prominent as she beamed up at her.
"If we find any a' Alastor's," Angel said, speaking through gritted teeth, "Imma pop that fucker's kneecaps out an' feed him his own dick and balls."
Vaggie hesitated. She had never been good at calming people down; that was always Charlie's thing. "Vox or Alastor?" She eventually asked, cringing as soon as the words left her mouth.
Thankfully, Angel huffed out a half-laugh. "Both," he said, stiffly patting her shoulder as he walked.
~~~
Vox grunted, surveying the room with unnerving alertness.
Perks of being half machine, Alastor supposed, eyeing the plethora of empty glasses on the nightstand. Despite Vox and Valentino's celebratory degeneracy ending several hours ago, Alastor couldn't shake the revulsion festering in his gut. His chair had been turned to the bed the entire time. Every leer. Every repulsive comment. Every wretched noise. He had seen and heard it all. Would likely see and hear more in a few moments. A fitting punishment for his hubris, some would say. He supposed he should consider himself lucky Vox wasn't the type to indulge in… amoral sexual deviancies.
For the same reason he never cheated at poker.
He wanted to win on skill alone.
Vox turned, shooting Alastor a sneer. "Begging for rescue already?"
Alastor blinked, trying to appear bored.
"Your age must be catching up with you," he began, sauntering towards Alastor like a boastful cat who finally caught his toy mouse, "if you forgot the airwaves are mine," he snatched a fistful of Alastor's hair and yanked him nose-to-non-existent-nose with him, "as much as yours. Bambi."
Alastor grit his teeth, refusing to speak behind a mask like a muzzled pet.
Vox huffed an alcohol-soured chuckle into his face. "What's the matter? Waiting for permission to speak? Have I broken you already?" Slowly, basking in Alastor's growing discomfort, he brought a claw tip to his face and drew it down his cheek, chin, neck, then back up again. "Who'd have thought the fearsome Radio Demon was just a little kitten."
Alastor couldn't help but snarl despite himself. He had endured worse. Far worse. Some light repulsive touching was hardly dire. And yet, his chest tightened, his throat burned, and his stomach coiled into knots.
Dad can cover for him.
No one will have to die next time.
I'm sorry, Alastor. I'm so sorry.
How could he have been so stupid?! Of course they wouldn't come for him. She wouldn't bother, not now that Lucifer was around. What could he offer, that The King couldn't provide a thousand times over? She would probably ask her father to sever the deal and be done with it. He was useless to her. To them. He knew that. That was why he'd quit!
Rosie had to be wrong. There was nothing to be gained with his presence there. Unless she just wanted to have a laugh at his expense. Wouldn't be the first time.
Why this obsession with the Morningstars, all of a sudden? With Heaven and this Redemption poppycock? It would go nowhere, like all the other errands she had sicked on him, and he would be back at her heel once again. If Vox ever deigned to let him out of his sight.
"Hey," the other man spat, grabbing Alastor's face and yanking his head up. "Look at me when I'm talking to you."
For several sickening moments, Alastor was freshly 18, shallow breaths muffled behind a sweaty palm, staring into the eyes of a producer several years his senior.
He blinked rapidly, relieved, for the first time, to see Vox's visage piece itself back together before him. "I've never seen you so docile," he mused, pinching Alastor's ear between his thumb and forefinger. "You thirsty, hmm? Throat hurt from all that empty shit talk?" He ran his claws down Alastor's neck again, and he refused to let himself swallow. "Or are you just brooding? Pouting and pissing over the fact that I fucking won." He tightened his grip on Alastor's hair and threw him aside.
He landed on his side, the thud echoing through the too-empty room. The fall jostled his stitches, and a small bleat escaped his throat and a spike of pain left him trembling. Blood soaked his shirt. He coughed, blackened clots coating the inside of his mask.
Vox tsked as he approached, leering down at his pathetic display. "Ah, I see." He toed him onto his back, jostling the stitches again. The coughing was worse, like this. Alastor gagged on more clots, forced to swallow. He attempted to blink the sunspots out of his eyes, catching the edge of Vox's too-wide grin before blackness ate away his vision.
And then a sharp, merciless blade drove through his already split chest.
Alastor screamed, blind in his panic. The blade twisted, smearing blood and rotten flesh on his ruined shirt, into his fur. He shook his head, writhed against the restraints, and shrieked when the blade came down again. "I guess you're just in too much pain to speak, huh?" Came Vox's voice, muffled, like it was underwater. "Poor little buck."
Alastor's vision returned in pieces. Vox loomed over him, leaning over a bent knee as he watched him struggle. Not a blade, but the heel of his shoe, dug into Alastor's gaping wound, grinding like he was making sure a meddlesome bug stayed dead.
"What do you think, Babycakes?" Vox called over his shoulder. "Should I put the thing out of its misery?"
Alastor spotted a disgruntled Valentino sitting up in bed, brow twitching irritably. "Papi, c'mon, just fuck him and get it over with so you can come back to bed. I need my beauty sleep," he bemoaned as he flopped onto his back.
Vox grimaced. "Babe. Sweetcheeks. Tino. I do not, nor have I ever wanted to, nor will I ever want to fuck him." He shuddered, grinding his heel into Alastor's wound again and chuckling when he flinched violently. "Fuck him up, sure. But fuck him? I'm not that desperate." He made a disgusting noise in the back of his throat, then spat, right into Alastor's eye. "Up-tight little virgin would probably bitch the whole time, anyway."
"Aww, but that's half the fun," Valentino purred. "You get to break them in."
Vox laughed. "Watch that mouth, brat. And keep your hands on your own toys." He kicked off Alastor's chest, grinning wider at the gasp he failed to swallow. Alastor's vision swam as Vox leaned close, huffing whisky and ash into his face. "You should really let that thing breathe," he murmured, walking his fingers up Alastor's bloodstained chest. It rose and fell with his rapid breaths as Vox slipped button after button free. Slowly, savoring it, he tugged the ruined shirt away, exposing the wound and broken stitches. Nails, cyan and glowing, pierced the bruised, blotchy skin surrounding the wound. Alastor yelped, voice breaking on a shuddering gasp. "Wouldn't want all those clothes to rub up on it," he raked across the wound, "and make my special guest uncomfortable," he blew on his chest, pushing his shirt out of the way, "now would we—?"
Alastor's vision was still splotchy, his ears still ringing, so when he heard a yelp, and Vox was no longer hovering over him when he opened his eyes, he thought perhaps he had finally died.
There were more sounds, cursing and clanging and gunshots, but it was all far away.
His chest pulsed with every shallow breath, open wound throbbing as it was jostled once more. He was moving, or being moved, though he couldn't tell which way. Something drummed softly against his ear. A buzz like the purr of a cat rumbled against his face.
A new scent hit his nose: iron and brown sugar. No, not quite… richer. Molasses. And brimstone. He furrowed his brows. Scrunched up his nose. Opened his mouth, just so, and felt no resistance. The mask… had it fallen off?
There was a gasp, or perhaps a gag, and then something new was shoved against his mouth. It was warm, solid but pliant, and wet. The wetness coated his lips, and he instinctively opened his mouth, lapping at it. Watery and sweet, metallic and hot.
He was so, so thirsty.
"That's it, there you go," he heard someone say. Stern, low, strained. "I'm sorry, I know it's gross, but it'll help, I promise."
His eyelids fluttered open.
Half her face was hidden by her bleeding arm, but he could still make out her pinched brows, her tight-lipped frown, and her racing pulse, visible against her neck with how fast it was going.
He never thought he would feel relieved tears prickling at the corners of his eyes at the sight of Vaggie, of all demons. Truly, he had lost his mind.
She pressed her arm a little harder to his mouth. "Come on, you're nowhere near stable," she urged, gaze flicking over her shoulder.
A gunshot, clearer now, followed by a curse layered in static.
Alastor licked up more blood, trying not to think too hard about it. He was not a cannibal by choice—one of the many curses Hell had saddled him with once he shook Rosie's hand. He could hardly stomach a proper meal suited for his diet, relying mainly on animal carcasses. It had never really been and issue; even malnourished he could best any fool that challenged him. Malnourished and injured, however…
At least Vaggie didn't only taste like watery metal.
The arm disappeared. Alastor furrowed his brows, opening his eyes—when had he closed them?—to find a much clearer picture of Vaggie's concerned visage. "You with me, Alastor?"
He rolled his head—cradled by her arm—to the side. "Mm… you're bony."
Vaggie huffed, a small smile on her face. "Thank fuck. You scared the shit out of me." The tightness around his arms and ankles disappeared. He groaned, pins and needles tickling up his overstimulated skin. Vaggie moved him quickly and carefully, sitting him upright against something solid and metallic. He shivered.
Vaggie winced, glanced to her left, winced again, then shrugged off the thick black jacket she had been wearing. Quickly, she wrapped it around Alastor's shoulders and slid his arms through the sleeves before zipping it up halfway.
There was a clang, louder than expected, and Alastor's ears flattened. "How typical," he heard Vox buzz, "once a murderer, always a murderer."
Another clang. Another gunshot.
"What would your precious princess think?"
Angel Dust dodged a bolt of lightning, more focused than Alastor had ever seen him. He fired a smaller, golden gun, just barely missing Vox's shoulder, where three other bullet holes sat, sluggishly bleeding. The right side of his face had been cracked by a fist. There was another hole in his thigh, one more through his bicep. He was panting, teeth bared as he began to spark.
Angel vivisected the metal tendril hurtling towards him with a keen shot, shoved a hand into his cleavage, and pulled out an unassuming square switch. When he flipped it, Vox jolted like he had been shocked, and fell to his knees. The tower groaned and went dark; only the glow of their demonic eyes and Vox's screen lighting the room.
Ah. The EMP. Alastor hadn't known Cherri Bomb was one for such gadgets—a tad more math-heavy than her bombs.
"Ain't nowhere in this fucking tower," Angel growled, taking a deliberate step closer to Vox, "that you can hide from us."
Oh. Well. That was certainly interesting. Alastor had never heard Angel take that tone of voice. All grit and rage. It suited him… wait a moment—! Alastor blinked several times, clearing the fog from his mind. Angel was here. Vaggie was here. They had… he had thought… if anyone were to care, he hadn't expected…
Maniacal laughter broke him from his thoughts, bubbly and familiar. Niffty flew across the room—likely having been thrown, she did so love that—landing on her feet with a breathless giggle. "Ooo, this bad boy's feisty. I like it." She zoomed forward, much to the apparent horror of Valentino, who shrieked and fired his gun wildly.
Alastor smiled, charmed, as usual, by her gusto. So Niffty had come too. That, at least, made sense.
Vox snarled, scrambling to his feet and raising a sparking hand in Niffty's direction.
Angel fired.
Vox cursed, stumbling back and flubbing his attack. A fourth hole made its home in his shoulder. "Heh… you really are just looking for an excuse, huh?" Vox said, bearing his teeth as a mob of wires sprang up around him. They swarmed Angel, twisting and writhing around his shots. He beheaded one, three, seven, before they tangled around his limbs and threw him against the wall.
Vox panted through gritted teeth, his gaze snapping to Alastor as more wires rose like charmed snakes. Alastor cursed, attempting to push himself to his feet, only to be knocked off balance by a mighty gust.
Vaggie stood before him, wings puffed in irritation, blocking the attack with her spear. She twisted it, pulling Vox off balance, and sliced through his wires with grace. More swarmed her, attempted to swarm Alastor, but she cut through each one before it could reach him.
Damn his weakened state. They weren't even Overlords, they shouldn't be fighting his battles for him! He called on his shadows, his poppets, anything, but all he managed was a gurgle and a splatter of bloody spittle on the shiny tiled floor.
"I've had just about enough of you," Vox hissed, stalking closer to Angel, still restrained. The other man thrashed and writhed, but more wires rose to hold him still. Vox snatched Angel by the chin and yanked him face-to-face, his left eye widening. "It's about time you learned to be more of a team player."
"Get away—get the fuck away from me!" Angel squirmed, grunting as he tried to pull himself out of the Overlord's bruising grip. He squeezed his eyes shut. "Vags, Niffty—!"
Vox backhanded him. He laughed at the other man's pained moan, dug his nails into his eyelid, and pried it open. "It's almost cute how you struggle every time."
A golden throwing knife shot through Vox's screen, sticking in the wall just beside Angel's head. The Overlord screamed, gripping his broken face with both hands.
Vaggie pounced; weaving and slicing her way through the wires until she met Vox where he staggered. With efficiency befitting an exorcist, she impaled the media Overlord through the gut. He gasped, slumping at the impact, hands rushing to his bleeding stomach. Vaggie planted her foot against his injured shoulder and kicked, yanking her spear free and knocking him onto his back.
"Vox, Valentino," came a sharp voice from the doorway, "if you cunts don't stop fuckin' the WiFi down, I swear to—"
Vaggie spun around and whipped a golden knife towards the door.
Velvette shrieked, gripping her bloody eye and stumbling backwards.
"Niffty," Vaggie shouted, "tag me!"
The little darling stopped ripping Valentino's fur out, her eye wide with excitement. "Okie-dokie!"
She dashed across the room, hopping off the nightstand to high-five Vaggie before tackling Velvette and rolling out of the room.
Vaggie spread her wings, soaring out of range of Valentino's bullets. She swooped, tackling him to the ground, using her spear to press him down. He grunted, using all four arms to push against it. "Feisty little puta," he spat, sweeping his leg and knocking her off balance. He yanked the spear out of her hands as she hit the ground. "You've got the stamina for some marathon—!"
Angel leapt to his feet and jumped on Valentino's back, making him grunt. He grabbed Vaggie's spear, attempting to wrestle it out of the moth's hands. "Angel you fucking demented crackwhore slut, I'm gonna put you on fucking snuff duty for the next fucking century if you don't—!" Vaggie shoved a throwing knife through his knee, then another through his hip. He twitched, teeth clenched as Angel finally yanked the spear free.
Above him, Vaggie snatched it, then dove to deliver a clean blow through one of the moth's wings. She tore through the thin tissue with ease, and Valentino shrieked. She shredded his other wing, then impaled his knee, forcing him to crack his chin against the ground. Angel pinned all four of his arms, bringing out his own third pair to dig into what was left of his wings. Valentino thrashed and raged, but Angel didn't budge. His glare was cold, grip steady on every limb, every tender nerve.
"I told you already, Val," Angel said, his voice steady and hollow. "I'm not gonna let you mess with my friends."
From across the room, Vox barked out a wet laugh. "You… you really think you're his little friend? How cute." He sneered, pushing himself up on shaking arms. "He doesn't give a fuck about you. If we had you here instead of him, he'd laugh while Val used you till you gaped, you fucking dipshit slut."
Alastor grit his teeth, calling upon the shadows to break the other side of his screen, but they fizzled out. Electric blue cuffs flashed around his wrists.
"You're all wasting your fucking time on a jackass who wouldn't fucking light you a torch if his ass was on fire. Making an enemy out of three Overlords who kicked his fucking ass. He can't protect you from us, even if he wanted to." He laughed. "And news flash: HE DOESN'T! Because there are no fucking friends in Hell!" He turned his feral smile towards Alastor. "How pathetic are you, that you needed your little simps to come save you like a fucking damsel in distress while you can't even stand up? Most powerful sinner in Hell my fucking ass."
Alastor swallowed dryly.
The invisible weight around his throat remained, strong as ever.
Vaggie's wings flared as she pressed her spear into Valentino's neck. "Speaking of friends." She leveled Vox with a glare. "Valentino allegedly means something to you, doesn't he Vox? Business partners destined to take over Hell together, or some shit?" She pressed harder. Valentino winced. "What would you do to keep me from slitting his throat right here, right now?"
Alastor stared, awestruck. What had gotten into them? He wasn't complaining; far from it! Bloodlust was always a lovely surprise, he had simply never expected to see it from Vaggie. Not after the fallen exterminator ordeal. Angel, well, he had his moments, but Alastor hadn't expected him to be so cold about it. How titillating! It almost made this entire humiliating waste of time worth it!
Vox's snarl shrunk into a small, tight frown. "You—you fucking won't—the princess—!"
Quick as a viper, Vaggie stabbed Valentino's shoulder. "Will never believe you," she said, withdrawing it to place it back at his neck. "It's nothing I haven't done before. Used to be pretty fucking good at it, actually. And between you and me, those angelic wounds aren't getting any smaller. I'd want to treat them as soon as possible, if I were you."
Vox growled, shooting Alastor a baleful glare. "Fine," he spat. "Take your stupid pet and fuck off."
"Uh-uh, that ain't how this works," Angel snapped. "Whatever you did to keep him here, deal, promise, bet, whatever; drop it. Let it go, no bullshit."
"FINE!" Vox brought a shaky hand to his bloodied chest. He dug all five nails in, right above his heart, and hissed, "I hereby release Alastor The Radio Demon of his ties to me. Our transgression is through, your debt is repaid, and our deal is null." He ripped the ties—a tangle of glowing neon blue wires made from the magic that held their deal together—from his chest and dropped them, seething as they melted into bubbling, fading light.
Alastor stared, transfixed, as the entire ordeal melted away. Just like that. A desperate, foolish "plan" that ripped his reputation to shreds, gone like it was never there.
He stood on jellied legs. Flexed his claws. Met Vox's burning gaze.
"You… you're just a fat fucking hypocrite, aren't you?! What, do you get off on contradicting yourself?! Is that it?!" A grin, too wide and too tight, split his face. "When you laughed in my face, should I have just bent you over the bar and—?!"
A shadowy tendril plunged through his screen. It flicked to black, and Vox went limp.
Alastor growled, his chest flaring up. He panted, swayed, and for a moment, closed his eyes. Hands guided him to lean against a soft, fluffy chest. "Easy, big guy," Angel murmured, "We'll be back at the hotel soon."
He grunted, the migraine creeping back behind his eyes.
"Let's go," Vaggie barked, stopping by Alastor's side to hand him his staff (still broken). "Before they regenerate. Niffty!"
The little darling skipped through the door, drenched in blood, dragging a maimed Velvette behind her. "Coming!" She tossed the body on top of Valentino, who laid still in a small pool of blood.
Alastor furrowed his brows, looking to Angel in confusion. "I used my regular gun," he said, staring down at it. "Wouldn't want Charlie getting on my ass about shooting a poor defenseless rapist dead."
Vaggie sighed, but said nothing. She supported his weight as best she could as they stumbled out the door, into the elevator, and out into the night.
~~~
The walk back was a blur of pain and exhaustion. Alastor supposed he should be grateful the streets were still empty at this hour. Though it wasn't like the Pride ring could think any less of him by now. Idiot. Idiot! Why did he ever think that would work?! Oh, he simply didn't have enough problems, why not add labeling himself a pathetic fool to the list?! Surly it would do wonders for his lack of enemies! Brilliant, just fucking brilliant!
"Do you need more blood?" Vaggie asked, offering her still open wound to him.
He wrinkled his nose, smothering his pitching static. "No, Dear, cover that up. You wouldn't want the wrong demon catching a whiff."
She shrugged, re-wrapping it with the sock she had sacrificed. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"
He huffed through his nose. "You need not mother me."
"I'm friending you, shitlord. Are you hurt anywhere else?"
"No," he hissed through gritted teeth.
"Good." She very gently nudged his side with her head, rubbing her forehead against him as if using him to scratch an itch. "I'm glad you're still here."
"Ditto," Angel said, adjusting his hold.
Alastor's ears flattened. There are no friends in Hell. But there were allies. Cohorts. Familiar people. He could never be lacking in those. "Thank you. For coming."
"I'd always come back for you, Sir!" Niffty chirped.
Alastor's smile softened. "And I'd always count on you, Niffty Darling."
Niffty giggled, skipping up the cobblestone path leading to the hotel doors. "Husk wanted to go too, but Miss Charlie wouldn't stop crying, so he stayed with her!"
Alastor's ears dropped. "What's wrong with Charlie?"
Angel huffed and rolled his eyes.
Vaggie winced and averted her gaze. "She's just going through a lot right now. With Pentious, and Vox's smear campaign, and then you." She glared at him. "Listen, every TV channel wouldn't shut the fuck up about how you rolled over and showed your belly, but frankly I don't believe a word that comes out of that shitstain's mouth, so once we take care of that wound you'd better tell us everything."
"Not even an opportunity to rest my weary head? Oh thou art a cruel and unjust woman."
Vaggie snorted. "Fine, drink some coffee and have a nap first."
"In that order!"
"No."
Niffty skipped ahead to get the door. The moment it opened, guttural sobs hit Alastor's ears. He sped forward, nearly falling out of Angel's hold in his rush.
At the bar stood Husk, one arm stretched across the counter, palm smoothing down Charlie's shaking arm. Her shoulders shook as she wept, hugging herself tight. To her right sat Lucifer, floundering, panicked, rubbing her back with one hand and frantically wiping her tears with the other. "Charlie, Honey, please, whatever happened it'll be okay! You just tell me what you need and it's yours. Anything, Sweetheart, you know I'd do anything for you."
She crumpled inward, blubbering nonsense as she trembled.
"No no no, please, Charlie, don't cry—!"
Vaggie dashed to her side, taking her face gently in both hands. "Charlie, hey, it's okay, Hun, everything's okay—"
"Alastor," she gasped, wide, wild eyes zipping across the lobby. "You're back—where—where's—?!" She spotted him, and the next thing he knew, he was on the ground with an armful of Charlie. He grunted, losing his breath as she squeezed him like he may disappear if she even considered letting go. "Alasto-o-or!"
He hugged her back. Exhaled slowly, grimacing against the agony in his chest. It could wait. Somehow, someway, he was irreplaceable to this girl, enough so that she wept over his alleged departure. He needed to keep it that way.
"Alastor I'm so-o-o sorry! I didn't mean to make you f-feel like you didn't matter, you matter so much to me, please, please don't qui-i-it! I'm sorry, whatever happened I'm sorry, I'll fix it, I—"
"Charlie, Charlie, shh. Deep breaths, Darling, don't waste those tears on little old me." He wiped them away with his thumbs. Grimaced as he noticed the thin trail of blood flowing from her nose. The broken deal must still be quite painful for her, fresh as it was. "Easy now, Dear, I'm here, aren't I? I'm right here. Who said I was quitting?"
"D-D-Dad said you two f-fought and—and you quit, and you were gone, and then Vox had you and I didn't even try to help—and then—and then our deal broke and I thought—I thought you were dead!" She buried her face against his chest, heaving sob after sob into his borrowed sweater. He cringed as a splotch of blood marred the center.
"Oh, that." He hesitated. There were a plethora of lies he could tell, all of which she would believe. But the Father of Lies who sat behind her, glaring at him like he had stepped on his toast? He wasn't keen on testing whether or not the living lie detector rumor was true. "I've reconsidered, after a little talk with Rosie." He huffed through his nose, bristling at the memory. Instead, he focused on Charlie, on drying her cheeks with the sleeves of the sweater. "I suppose I've been… rather irritable lately. My apologies for worrying you."
She sniffled, pulling back to meet his eyes, only to gasp and jolt away. "Oh shit you're bleeding! What happened?! What—your chest!"
Ah. Right. Between the mask and the stomping, he must look an absolute mess. His ears drooped, betraying his embarrassment. "I suppose I could do with some first aid."
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I just jumped right on you and—oh fuck did I reopen it? Are you in pain? Of course you're in pain," she thumped her own forehead, "stupid."
"Now, now," he took both her hands. "I'll not have you speak that way about our Charlie. She's our dear friend, and she's trying very hard."
More tears streamed down her face, a thin, drawn-out whine filling the room. "I'm so sorry I invited them here without talking to you, I, I was so stupid and selfish, I wasn't even thinking about how it would make you or Angel or anyone feel and I just—just keep fucking everything up! I'm sorry, I promise I won't ever, ever, ever, ever, ever—!"
"Hush," he soothed, giving her hands a squeeze. "All is forgiven. In the spirit of redemption." His mouth twitched in an attempt at a wider smile. "Take deep breaths, Sha. Us hazbins need our leader's dazzling smile!"
That got a wet, weak laugh out of her. She sniffled, wiped her eyes, and offered a wobbly smile.
"Lovely. That's my girl."
He twitched. The soft slip of the tongue earned him a blood red glare from Lucifer and a wet gasp from Charlie. The girl offered him a bashful but genuine smile, squeezing his hands in return. "And that's my Hotelier." Her words were small, handed to him with care, as if guarding a small candle flame from wicked winds. "Welcome back home, Alastor."
~~~
As it turned out, leaving an angelic wound to fester for two months was a terrible fucking idea. Who could have guessed! Almost as terrible as turning himself into a trophy for funsies! Good golly, he was just full of bright ideas, wasn't he?
His lungs were full of angelic debris that left him easily winded and prone to internal bleeding. His diaphragm had been punctured. Several nerves had been severely damaged, meaning it would never really stop hurting. Bi-weekly healing sessions with Hell's most squeamish king were going slowly, but at least they were moving. Stuck in a borrowed bed until his body was strong enough to undergo surgery, Alastor enjoyed tormenting the nuisance to the best of his ability. Last time Lucifer had been stuck heaving over his toilet for a full 15 minutes! Plus the 10 it had taken him to find it in the bayou. The memory of his little cheeks puffed in irritation still brought a smile to Alastor's face.
It truly was the simple things that mattered most.
The others came and went throughout the days, keeping him updated on hotel happenings or staying to chat for a few minutes. Charlie always brought him coffee, and though he couldn't drink it without blood, he pretended to. Sometimes, she sat quietly and listened to the radio with him. Sometimes, she borrowed one of his books, and came back to tell him about the chapter she finished the next day. Sometimes, she stared at his chest for too long and started to cry.
If he was sweet enough, he could occasionally bribe Vaggie to give him some paperwork. Sometimes, she sat with him, and they worked side by side in silence. Sometimes, they compromised and she brought him some Sudoku puzzles instead. Sometimes, he caught her staring at his chest, glaring at the bandages like they personally offended her. He had come to accept it as her way of showing concern. Highly preferable to all the crying. At least she didn't treat him like an invalid.
Niffty often brought him meals from Cannibal Town, anything from venison steak to blood pudding. Sometimes she made them herself and walked him through every gory detail while he ate. Sometimes she sang along to the radio when she came in to clean. Sometimes she helped him change his bandages, and he would feel her little fingers gently brush the edge of the wound before re-wrapping it.
Today, Angel had brought him an update. "'S eerie," he said between sips of the atrocity he called coffee. "First time since that day I even seen Val on set, and he wouldn't look me in the eye. Barely got his directions out. He ain't even hit on me." He tittered around another sip. "I ain't seen him so jumpy before."
Alastor hummed, adjusting the stack of bills on his lap. "Perhaps we scared some manners into him?"
"Pfft, I wish. He'll be back to his bitch self in a few days. I just thought it was weird. I ain't work with the shitbox much, so I dunno how he's doing, but Val's always in a better mood when they're fuckin' regularly, so—"
Alastor growled, ripping the sheets with how hard he gripped them. He still clearly remembered the bed, the clothes thrown about, the sounds. The way Vox had gripped his chin with one hand while using the other to—
"Sorry," Angel blurted, lifting all four of his hands in surrender. "Sorry. Forgot."
"Aww, don't apologize to him, Aloe, he's just prissy like that." Alastor's ears flattened without his consent.
Lucifer leaned against his doorframe, hand propped on his hip, smirking like he'd said something clever.
"Ah, Your Majesty. Here to put the 'wreck' in 'recovery', are you?" He snapped, poofing the paperwork onto his desk, marked for later.
"Like you put the 'pain' in 'patient'."
Alastor furrowed his brows. That wasn't—he sighed, already too tired to get into it. Lucifer would just say something back, keep this whole charade going the entire healing session, and Alastor was, just, over it. He didn't want to focus on comebacks while his flesh was purged of infection and stitched back together. He only wanted to close his eyes and wait for it to be over.
Angel stood, the legs of one of the chairs from Alastor's fireplace squeaking against the hardwood. Lucifer, the slob, had left it there after healing him for the first time, and the others used it too frequently to warrant moving it back. "For the second time today, fifth time in total, my name's Angel Dust."
Lucifer blinked, face slack in surprise.
Alastor, too, eyed Angel warily. His fists were clenched, though not shaking. He stood up straight, looming over The King twice over, though his posture was loose. Not looking to throw a punch, but undoubtedly annoyed. "An' Al's only prissy cuz he's got a fatal chest wound eatin' away at him after risking his life to fight the exorcists you let rampage through Pride in the first place. If ya ever wanna stand up an' thank him for it."
Angel turned from the gaping king to the stunned Radio Demon. "Imma hit the hay. See ya later, Al."
Alastor blinked away his surprise, chest light as he grinned. "Of course. Good night, Dear."
"Don't 'dear' a guy unless ya gonna follow through, hot stuff."
"Sweet dreams!" Alastor sing-songed after him, wriggling his fingers in a mock-goodbye. He supposed it should bother him in theory; the blatant flirting, but he had come to appreciate the effort Angel put into it. He could be quite a poet when he put his mind to it. Besides, he knew the fellow was only being playful, had been assured as much the first month of his visit. It had become their own type of banter; easy and comfortable.
Polar opposite to the diminutive king's needling, which had only gotten worse since his rescue. It was all Bambi and I should give you a sponge bath, you reek and can you seriously not even summon your own powers right now? and get plenty of rest! You neeed it~ and maybe Charlie'll put you on as a greeter when I'm done saving your life AND doing your job, but better.
Like he was making up for lost time over the day and a half Alastor had been gone.
"Well," Lucifer said, brushing off his pristine coat, "real ray of sunshine, that one." He slid the garment off and flung it over the coat rack, kicking the door shut behind him as he pranced over to Alastor and hopped onto the edge of the bed, using the chair as a foot rest. Without removing his boots. Alastor's lip curled, but he kept his comments to himself. It would only prolong the session.
The bed barely dipped with The King's weight as he shuffled closer. "You sinners really know how to welcome a guy."
Alastor's brow twitched. "Typically those who were invited are always welcomed."
"I was invited."
"For a visit. Months ago," he grumbled as he unbuttoned his shirt.
"And yet here I am, not kicked out," The King mused as he snipped the bloody bandages with a claw. The wound was no less raw, and just as large, but the infection was almost gone, and it no longer hurt to take a deep breath. Some redness and irritation had return since his last healing, small bubbles of puss collecting around the deepest cuts. Lucifer hovered both hands over him, sticking his forked tongue out in concentration as he drew out the new infection. "Luckily for you. Still waiting on a thank you for saving my miserable life, Lucifer, by the way. Whenever you're ready."
"You've remained because Charlie is too afraid you'll lock yourself away for good to risk asking you to leave," Alastor spat, clinging to the sheets as Lucifer's hands moved closer. Not touching, thankfully, The King had respected his request for no contact even when Charlie was elsewhere.
Lucifer's brow twitch, his mouth a tight grimace. "Can you, like, stop bringing my daughter into this? I know this is our thing, but the 'absent father' bit is kind of a touchy fucking subject, for both of us."
Their… thing? His smile curled, flashing gums and razor sharp teeth. He chuckled. Snorted. Laughed out-right. His chest protested, skin splitting and oozing fresh blood as he choked on mirth and dread.
"Fucking Hell!" Lucifer hesitated above him, hands starting and stopping on their way to his chest. "Would you—just—you're fucking up all my progress!"
"You," he drawled, lifting a trembling hand to press his index finger to The King's smooth nose, "think we have a thing?" He threw his head back and cackled. "Oh, you're even more pathetic than I thought! Are you so desperate for company that you'll let a lowly sinner such as I spit upon your image just for a little attention?" He sat up as best he could with an open wound, shoulders still bouncing with laughter. "It's no wonder Lilith left you! How sad!"
Lucifer's hands stopped glowing. His throat bobbed. One of his eyes flicked to red, his dark gold slit pupil thinning until it almost wasn't visible.
"Honestly, you'd think your centuries down here would have smarted you up, but you consistently underwhelm! It's like you still think you're the universe's favourite! The infallible King, so mighty is he that anyone will take his company alone with gratitude." The King's brows pinched, his eyes widened, his mouth a tight line. A familiar, terrifying look. "Well, surprise: your company is less than worthless! There isn't a damn soul in Hell who would listen to your incessant drivel for free! The only things we have are deals, contracts, favours for favours! That's all anyone could ever want from you! Nothing else will ever be enough!"
Alastor panted through gritted teeth. His fists shook where they clutched at his hair. Heavy, burning pain spread through his chest, dripping fresh blood onto the sheets and his shirt. "Oh you can try all you like, be a gentleman, a real hoot, but it will never satisfy. And yet you fool yourself into thinking it will, this time it will be different, over and over and over again until there's nothing left of you for people to take!"
He gasped through choppy breaths. His heart hammered against his ribs. Every bit of him itched to move, to pace, to flee. Surely he had done it now. The King was going to kill him, turn him to dust at his lowest, and he would be forgotten a failure; a joke.
The noise blurring his vision receded as he blinked hard and collapsed onto his back once more. Lucifer's face was blank as he studied him, like a predator searching for the deadliest place to strike. Neck? Leg? Eye? When he raised his hands again, Alastor's breath hitched. They came down, right above his chest. Then began to glow once more.
Alastor heard himself swallow. Heard the rustle of sheets as he tightened his grip on them. The hum of his crooked staff. Ticking from the clock. Lucifer's soft breathing.
The King worked in silence, eyes half-lidded as flesh mended and infection burned. Alastor didn't dare speak as he watched the other man, bracing for a strike, a twitch, the mutter of a spell. It never came.
When Lucifer withdrew his hands, what remained of his wound was pink, still raw, but much more shallow than before. It might have even healed on its own, were it not for the shavings in his lungs.
Lucifer hopped off the bed, brushing non-existent dirt off his sleeves. "That should do it, for now," he said breezily, scooping his hat up and settling it on his head. "Now, you just keep your ass in bed until next week, and it should be smooth sailing from here." And with that, he spun on his heel and trotted out the door.
Alastor couldn't look away from the empty space he had occupied. What was the little menace's game? Was he planning a long-con? A consequence Alastor would only realize well after it was too late to avoid? He had to be. He never surrendered so easily. He was too emotional for that. Emotional and oblivious and soft. Our thing, he'd said, as if barely concealed hatred were a measly inside joke. A meet-cute.
He laughed, sharp, strained, and caught himself in the reflection of a glass of blood he was certain hadn't been there before. His mussed hair, back to its natural curls thanks to his lack of maintenance. The deep bags under his eyes. The film of oil covering his fur thanks to the lack of proper baths.
The array of stuffed animals Charlie had placed around him. The remaining royal purple nail polish from Niffty's last visit. The cognac Angel had smuggled up for him, peaking out from between the nightstand and the temporary bed. He slipped his hand under his pillow, squeezing the angelic dagger Vaggie had reluctantly given him, on the off chance someone were to squeak past the hotel's defenses and try to finish him while he was down.
Only while you're on bedrest, you hear me? Once you can walk, I'm taking it back, no whining, no bargaining.
Hmm, deal.
…No. Mutual understanding.
Hrmph. You're no fun.
Alastor.
Fine, fine, you fuddy duddy.
She hadn't really pressed, when he asked for it. Only looked at him with that same repulsive pity they had all been burying him under. He clicked his tongue, releasing the dagger and swiping the glass. What a joke.
~~~
The operation left him bedbound for another five days. A loose scalpel had driven a shard of angelic steel further into his lung, requiring three broken ribs to properly retrieve without causing damage his demonic healing couldn't fix. The doctors told him if Lucifer hadn't been there to keep him alive while they panicked, he may not have opened his eyes again.
The little king was in the room when he woke up and was told the news. Perched in a chair with his legs crossed, reading a book. And holding his hand.
The moment the doctor stepped out, Alastor yanked himself free, ready to scold the snake until his ears rang. A wave of stinging agony knocked a gasp out of him before he could form a single sentence.
"Whoa!" Lucifer snatched his hand again, and the pain vanished. "I know, Charlie told me about your touch thing, but it's the only way to… keep the pain manageable."
Alastor growled and tried to tug his hand free again. "A hospital doesn't have access to pain killers?"
"Not any kind that would help you. We don't exactly treat sinners nearly poisoned to death by holy oil and suffering sever damage from angelic steel very often; not much is known about how to handle it other than to just get that shit out of you. The painkillers they have here are for, like, broken bones. Not direct attacks against your soul."
Alastor slumped back. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, at least. Even at Hell's most exclusive care facility, he had expected the amenities to be lacking. That was how it had gone when he was alive, when his mother had come down with the Spanish Flu. He had opted to bring her home and let her die comfortable, in her own bed, with her favourite record and her moonshine and her only son by her side.
"You healed my chest without touching me, why not do the same?"
"Already tried," Lucifer said, putting down his book and leaning across Alastor to nudge his free hand. A faded sigil had scared on the inside of his wrist, and Alastor's eyes widened as he took in the hives littering his arm, all the way up to his shoulder. "Turns out, you're allergic to holy magic if it lingers on your skin." The King shrugged. "A lot of sinners are. S'pose I could just hover my hand over you if you want, but this way," he held up their linked hands, "I can funnel it directly into your soul, so it can process it and make it more… you-coded, so your body doesn't freak out."
Alastor sighed, accepting his fate. If it had to be anything, a hand in his was the least offensive form of physical contact. "Why go through all that trouble?"
"Hm?"
"You've made your disdain of us sinners abundantly clear, myself more than most. Why not let me writhe in agony and be done with it?"
Lucifer frowned, his grip tightening just slightly. "Because, unlike some people, I'm not a sadistic monster?"
"Hm. More's the pity."
Silence fell over them.
"That's not going to work, you know," Lucifer eventually said.
"What?"
"Your whole pushing people away shtick." The King leaned back in his seat, eyes back on his book. "I see it, now. Took me a while, but I got there eventually."
Alastor's hackles rose. "Oh dear, should we be checking you in for brain damage? I'm afraid you're talking nonsense."
Lucifer continued to read.
Alastor's brow twitched. "If I push you away, it is because your presence repulses me. One would think that would be quite obvious."
"Not who I was talking about, Bambi."
My, what an articulant young buck. I wonder how long that'll last, once I'm done with you?
Alastor yanked his hand free, static hissing with his irritation. His chest felt as though it had been ripped open, a wooden spoon inserted and his insides mixed into a bastardized dough. The hives itched to the point of burning, like a mud wasp that just wouldn't unlatch. Alastor grunted, arms trembling as he pushed himself up. Lucifer was saying something, reaching for him again.
When he blinked, Alastor was 18, and squeezing the neck of the producer who had cornered him in the supply closet.
He slapped The King's hand away, his claws catching on his wrist and tearing a bloody gouge into his flesh. "My name," he buzzed, throwing the blankets off and getting to his feet, "is Alastor. Not Bambi, not Bellhop, not Busboy, Alastor. I know it's more than two syllables, but I'm sure if you try very, very hard, you'll figure it out."
"Whoa, hey, Ba—uh, y—get back in bed—!" The King was backing away from him, hands up, frantically looking from side to side. "You're going to tear your stitches!" His back hit the wall. Alastor slammed his palm down, near enough to his face that Lucifer flinched.
"I will not sit here and be talked down to by an absentee king who couldn't even be bothered to show up on time to fight the genocidal army that stated directly their intent to come for his daughter and her loved ones, never mind giving the okay for said army to raze Hell for sport every year. I will not stand to be demeaned by some hapless buffoon who considers redecorating and snapping his dainty little fingers to be worth the same as an honest day of real work. I have had enough of clueless white men stepping out of their cushy bubbles just to spit on the folks who built it for them in the first place! You are not above the basic manners required to call me by my name. I am not your pet, I am not your property, and I am not your sack to kick when you need to feel big!"
Alastor's chest screamed with every gasping breath. His throat burned with lingering static. His arms shook from where they were pressed to the wall, caging Lucifer in. The King was staring, wide-eyed, mouth slightly open, lithe frame coiled like a defensive snake.
Alastor's vision faded. His knees hit the floor, rattling his bones with the force. Exhaustion overtook the pain, and despite the rage still thrumming behind his remaining ribs, his body betrayed him.
When he next opened his eyes, he was back in bed, blankets over his legs, hand once again captured by The King's. No pain remained, but his vision was bleary with sleep, his limbs still jellied and uncooperative. No words left his mouth when he attempted to speak, only a soft noise of protest when Lucifer squeezed his hand.
"…We really didn't have a thing, huh?" The King murmured.
Alastor's brows furrowed in groggy confusion. He was still on that?
"You meant every word of those insults."
Like you didn't.
Lucifer sighed, dropping his head into his free hand. "Fuck, I still suck at this." He ran his hand through his hair. Strands came loose, dangling dull and oily in front of his avoidant eyes. "Look I—I thought we were just having fun. I didn't mean to make you feel like… I mean, I get it, I think… I mean, I don't get it, but I get the message, at least." He lifted his head, gaze locking on their joined hands. "I wasn't trying to imply that you were—well, okay, I was implying that I was above you, but I didn't think it would actually bother you. You kinda seemed… untouchable, in that way. Like nothing ever got to you. I guess that's the point of these." He lifted his other hand, flashing a small spool of bloodied, glowing green thread.
Alastor startled, lifting a trembling hand to press on his cheek. It felt like nothing, like pressing against scar tissue, but his fingers came away bloody. The hand around his tightened. "They snapped, and they were just… hanging out of your face and smearing blood everywhere. I figured you wouldn't wanna wake up all gross, so…" he waved vaguely, tossing the spool into the nearby garbage.
"Heh… Y'know what's funny? I just thought you were bad at this. Like you couldn't tell the difference between playful banter and something actually hurtful, so you were just doing everything to try and win without really thinking."
"Rather obtuse of you."
"Tell me about it." He shook his head, grimacing at their entwined hands. "I just… I thought about it that day you, uh, kinda snapped at me, and, uh, I kinda don't hate your company? It's nice having someone to talk to who won't just grovel or blame me for all their problems. I want to keep hanging out with you. And I'm sorry. You've risked your life for my daughter twice now, and I'm," he gulped, "I owe you. Big time."
Any hint of grogginess fled Alastor's mind. Hearing him say it so openly… The Devil owed him. Ha. Hahaha! Oh, everything, every humiliating talk show, every repulsive sound in that room, every ounce of pain was worth it!
Lucifer recoiled, cringing like he had bitten into a lemon. "Okay, don't look too happy about it; this isn't a deal. Just an understood thing."
"Whatever His Majesty prefers to call it." He wriggled further into bed, enjoying the way the pillow absorbed him. Oh, this would be fun! He couldn't come right out and ask him to break his deal, that would leave him right back at square one. He still needed to be smart about this, find a loophole that left him with the cards in his hands. Lucifer's possible assistance opened so many doors.
"Yeah, well, if I'd been able to get there sooner, I would have. Heaven keeps me on a tight fucking leash."
Alastor perked up. "A leash, you say?"
Lucifer huffed out a humourless chuckle. "Yeah. After Lilith…" his throat bobbed. "After she disappeared, the Heavenly counsel came knocking. I tried to hide it from Charlie, but I guess she still found out… They said an uprising would lead to all out war, and, well, the Hellborns didn't deserve to suffer for the sinner's hubris. So…"
That… made sense, he supposed. Alastor hadn't considered the Hellborn in his assumptions, at least not the littler ones—imps, hellhounds, incubi and succubi. They were Lucifer's people too. "I see. They made you choose."
"Essentially."
"Why not quell unrest among the sinners yourself? You are The King of Hell, as you're so fond of reminding us."
"See, that's the thing about Hell; it's a punishment for everyone." Lucifer lifted his free hand, scorched and, upon closer inspection, covered in thin, gold cracks. "Mine, is that I'm stuck down here with a bunch of selfish, power-hungry, shit-taste having psychopaths, and I can't do a damn thing about it. Apparently I caused enough harm for one lifetime, so," he waved vaguely, "I just tried to ignore them."
Alastor blinked one eye at a time. "You… cannot hurt us?"
"No matter how much I want to." He shot him a glare. "Now don't get any ideas. Just because I can't hurt you doesn't mean you can hurt me."
Alastor's mind reeled. Lucifer couldn't hurt sinners. That was why Charlie hadn't—when he'd been taken—and the loan sharks—Vox's smear campaign—! "But—how are you to—how did you manage to keep Charlie and Lilith safe from them, if that's the case?"
"Well, they all liked Lilith, and Charlie is her daughter too, so," he shrugged. "Besides, it's not exactly well-known."
"Yet you've confided in me?"
"Pfft, after that stunt you pulled? No one will ever believe you."
Alastor's static pitched in annoyance. "A stunt to protect your daughter and her dream."
Lucifer laughed, light and airy. "No it wasn't, you fucking liar." He said it lightly, in the same tune one would call another a 'silly goose'. "I mean, I know you included her safety in the deal, which I appreciate, but it wasn't for her sake. Terrible fucking plan to break a leash that's technically already broken."
Alastor stared, slack-jawed. "What."
Lucifer smirked, flashing his canines. "King of Hell. I technically can know every deal every sinner ever struck. I just choose not to, most of the time. Too much information at once. But yeah, you wanted to be the most powerful sinner in Hell so you could continue 'your fun'—fucking freak—right? Well, doesn't the forced seven year hiatus directly contradict that?"
Alastor stared at The King, static slowly building. Lucifer only smiled sweetly. "If you'd caught it then, you could have gotten off your leash right then and there."
Alastor grasped blindly behind himself, snagged a spare pillow, and pressed it over his face. "How could I have missed that?!" He bellowed, a screech of feedback rocking the building's foundation. It had been right in front of his face! And now that it had taken him so long to notice, there was no way to wield it.
If the contractee fails to keep track of their own demands, then, well, they're askin' for it, Rosie had told him once, during his early days in Hell. It was the way he had gotten Husk to do half the nonsense at the hotel! "Fuck!" He was truly competing with Lucifer in the Idiot Olympics, wasn't he? About to take home the gold, too.
"If it makes you feel better, if I could do something, I might've."
"This ridiculous deal is the reason I'm assisting Charlie with the hotel in the first place. Were it to break…" He furrowed his brows. Charlie was a sweet girl, he didn't mind being around her. The others had become much more tolerable as of late, too. While he loathed the pity in their eyes, it was rather funny watching them struggle to keep up with all his tasks while giving him the Princess Treatment. He was certainly sick of being seen as the hotel's errand boy, though. He missed his radio show, his art, the fear he commanded.
"Then maybe I wouldn't do anything. Charlie'd miss you too much if you left."
Alastor stared at the off-white wall ahead of him. He tightened his hold on Lucifer's hand. Turned towards him, unable to keep the wide, manic smile off his face. "I believe I have a proposition for you."
The Devil tilted his head. "Yeah?"
"You are powerless to protect yourself and those you hold dear from sinners such as Vox and his cohorts due to divine ruling. Are you prohibited from having another act as defense and attack in your stead?"
Lucifer frowned, tilting his head. "You," he pointed at Alastor, "want to follow orders from me?"
"Oh, I would have my own fun from time to time. Of course, those under the protection of the Hazbin Hotel would be spared for the duration of their stay."
"And you'd keep working at the hotel?"
"So long as I'm free to come and go as I please."
"And what are you getting out of all this?"
"Mm, well, aside from the power," he snapped, pulling his busted staff from the aether. "I don't suppose those crafty hands of yours would be able to fix this up for me?"
Lucifer took his staff, studying the haphazard repairs. He smiled, lopsided, and hovered his free hand over it. The staff floated above his lap, cradled in ribbons of golden light. A coil of magic slithered up the bottom, knotted itself at the bend, and rested its head where the microphone sat. The mic began to glow, then morph, until it thinned into the shape of Lucifer's sigil. The bundle of ribbons keeping it afloat darted up and into the side of the mic until they solidified into a long, curled blade.
Alastor's heart leapt as Lucifer shooed his mended staff in his direction. He grasped it as it sank towards his lap, the blade zipping back into the mic head the moment he made contact. "Next time you decide to take on an archangel, I thought you could use a little extra oomph." The King fluttered from the chair to perch on Alastor's bedside table. "See here?" He pointed to the middle of the staff, where the lower half swallowed the upper in the vague shape of a snake's maw. "Just give it a twist," he reached down with his free hand to twist the bottom. A soft click was the only warning before the blade shot out again. "Or, you can summon it with your magic, if you prefer."
Alastor squeezed the neck of his staff, trying to give it the mental instruction to retract. It did so with no issue, sliding back into hiding with a vwoop! He could feel the new magic sniffing at his essence, curious and eager. It left his palm tingling, his chest light, his heart full. The power Rosie had gifted him never felt like this. So airy and… jovial. A taste of the angel Lucifer used to be.
Perhaps that was why he spent so long locked away, creating whatever he could think of. If his magic felt this good to wield, and he couldn't take it out on the scum of Hell, what else was he to do? "We haven't even shaken on anything yet. What will I owe you for this?"
He felt Lucifer bump his shoulder. "This one's on the house. In exchange for almost getting yourself sliced in half to protect my daughter."
Alastor sent his staff back into the aether, already feeling the new power warm his core. "So, my king," he extended his free hand. "I shall act as your hands."
"And I, your wings."
"No one under the care of The Hazbin Hotel will be harmed by my blade."
"And you are free to have your fun, so long as you come to your hotel job when we need you."
"You give the order, I decide how they die. And if we find ourselves in disagreement, the matter will be resolved via a conversation."
"I will not force you to kill against your will."
"And I will not harm those who earn your mercy." Alastor bowed his head. "My loyalty lies with you, Lucifer Morningstar, and your daughter, Charlie Morningstar."
"And my trust lies with you, Alastor Michèl Magnon." Lucifer extended his hand, sparks of gold and white igniting under his skin. "Deal?"
Alastor grinned, "Deal," and shook The Devil's hand.
Their combined power burst every nearby window and shook the building. Every ring quaked with the weight of its new hierarchy. Up in Pride, sinners shuddered and gave one another nervous looks. In cannibal down, an unassuming mayor dropped the fresh vase of roses she had been tending to and collapsed, seizing and gurgling on her own magic as it punished her for breaking her word. She would not stand up for several days. For she had failed to keep her thrall the strongest sinner in all of Hell, and instead, The Devil had beaten her to it.
In sloth, down the road at the butcher, fretting over which cut of meat her Hotelier would prefer, Charlie Morningstar felt the rush of a soul not her own settling in her chest for the first time. Her girlfriend would only have time to give her a curious look before an unholy shockwave decimated the roads and toppled buildings.
Alastor cackled as the rose gold chain snapped off his neck. It crumpled into dust before it could hit the floor. A new, bright gold chain materialized around his wrist, then traveled the short distance to clamp around Lucifer's as well. It faded in seconds, leaving a tingling warmth behind. The euphoria was so intense, Alastor hardly noticed the hives crawling up his other arm.
"Oh shit I forgot—!" Lucifer brought his free hand to Alastor's wrist, palm glowing where it pressed to stop the spread.
Alastor collapsed in a heap of giggles and exhaustion. "Ah, don't fret, Lu, I won't feel it while you have me in your clammy clutches." He yawned, oblivious to the bright gold flush overtaking The King's face.
Sighing, he settled in, and sleep found him easily for the first time since he was a boy.
~~~
"Do you wanna cuddle?"
A screech of feedback filled the room. "I beg your pardon?"
"Cuddle," Lucifer repeated, staring like he was the one not making sense. "Me, you, curled up nice and cozy."
Revulsion coated his tongue, bitter and acrid. His hand twitched in Lucifer's grasp. "Absolutely not."
Lucifer shrugged, "Okay," then turned back to his book. Plucked from Alastor's shelf, and a little frayed from being used as a bludgeon the first time Lucifer attempted the dogear method of page-keeping.
All things considered, holding hands with The King of Hell to stave away the agony that was his body regrowing ribs and mending its own lungs at a regular, human pace, wasn't a horrid experience. Bathing and other bathroom habits were more than a little awkward at first, but with creative use of Lucifer's portals, he didn't technically need to be in the same room as Alastor to touch him.
On the occasion Alastor needed both his hands—cooking, concentrating on his powers, fixing The Wall—Lucifer would typically shape-shift into a snake and coil around his arm, or, stand or sit behind him with one hand slipped under his shirt, resting on his waist.
Far more intimate than Alastor would like, but it kept him out of the way. And Lucifer's hands never wandered. At most, he would rest his free hand on Alastor's hip and invite whoever was nearby to join the conga line. He had taken very well to his scolding, never once addressing Alastor as anything but his name since. In return, Alastor kept Charlie and his ex wife out of their spats.
They had gone back to bickering, but it was less barbed. He poked fun at Lucifer's height. Lucifer poked fun at his diet. He insulted Lucifer's decor. Lucifer insulted his fake accent (how he had even known it was fake, Alastor wasn't sure). They ended each day laughing and friendly, much to Charlie's relief and everyone else's bewilderment.
Alastor stared at the little king, mind still reeling. "Where in the wold did that come from?"
"Just thought I'd ask."
Alastor's ears flattened. "…Do you want to cuddle?"
"Yeah, a little." The King sunk into the high-backed chair that had taken up permanent residence next to Alastor's borrowed bed. Lucifer sometimes stayed in Alastor's room to hold his hand, claiming it was nice to not be alone even if his companion was asleep. Apparently it helped him focus while he was crafting. Alastor didn't mind; the noise of a constantly open portal was impossible to tune out, especially when it was right beside his head. "I used to cuddle with Lilith all the time, and Charlie when she was a kid. But, y'know, she's a little too old for that now, I don't wanna embarrass her…"
"And I'm not?"
"You're not my kid."
"I'm also not your wife," he hissed.
Lucifer snorted. "Of course not. You could never compare to her."
Alastor huffed, turning his head away from the other man. "Rude."
"Just being honest."
"Hrmph."
Lucifer laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. "Brat."
"And yet you wanted to cuddle with me."
Lucifer shrugged again. "Never said I didn't like that. Though, maybe some TLC would mellow you out. You don't seem like the kinda guy who's used to being taken care of."
"I've had more than enough of that lark for the rest of my damnation, thank you very much."
Lucifer only smiled. "They're only fussing so much because they care."
"Astute observation." He plucked one of the many stuffed animals—a pink bunny with a yellow bowtie—Charlie had left for him off the bed, holding it by the ear with a grimace.
"Being taken care of doesn't make you weak," Lucifer echoed his daughter's heartfelt sentiment from that morning.
Alastor hissed at the word. Weak. Even with the power granted by his new title, Hell's first Executioner was on restricted hours until the healing was complete. Lucifer's pain relief was almost too good; he felt fine, better than fine thanks to all the power humming at his fingertips. He wanted to stretch his legs, have a night on the town, do a little hunting. What was the point of having all this power if all he could do was sit and wait? No wonder Lucifer was such an aloof nihilist, this was torture.
He threw the covers off and slid to the edge of the bed. "I need some air."
Lucifer hopped up after him, hands still clasped as he lagged behind, face still buried in the book.
Alastor trudged towards the elevator—Charlie had insisted he avoid the stairs—jaw clenched. Perhaps there was some light manual labor leftover for him. Hell, he would take paperwork. Anything but staring out the window, watching his days slip away. Well, anything except cuddling. Honestly, what went on in that man's head? How could Lucifer, The Devil, be so… mundane?
Sitting quietly by his bedside, holding his hand, and reading Orlando at a snail's pace. He had apparently missed many classics as humanity evolved and had decided to catch up while they were stuck together. Alastor had half expected him to rot his mind by scrolling on that awful cellular device, but the one thing they had in common was a disinterest in modern technology. Even formats for which Alastor could reluctantly see the appeal—audio books, podcasts, cartoons—Lucifer had never touched. The Radio Demon never thought he would be the one failing to convince someone to sit and watch a screen for a few minutes. Only because it was a crime to have never seen the animated accompaniment to Cab Calloway's Minnie The Moocher at least once.
Perhaps, if he bribed The King with something sweet, today would be the day. Lucifer had reluctantly admitted to loving the apple pie Alastor had made on a whim, the night before the botched extermination. Melted cheddar cheese on top and all. An apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze, The King had said, to his daughter's absolute mortification. Alastor had been too tickled to reprimand him for the crude words. "How does his majesty feel about a pie?"
Lucifer's head shot up, wide eyes glowing with excitement, muffling an eager gasp with the book. "Apple pie?"
"Mm, if we have any, I suppose."
Lucifer all but scrambled out of the elevator once the doors opened, half-yanking Alastor after him. The Radio Demon chuckled, stumbling into the lobby with the dressed down devil beaming up at him. The pajamas were, as expected, hideous: a glue-stained pink turtleneck that the miniature monarch was practically swimming in, and pink and white striped pants that dragged along the floors. Alastor himself never left his room without a proper set of pants, shoes, and a collared shirt, though these days he would tolerate a thin, well-tailored turtleneck. Only until his fur grew back over the sensitive scar across his chest.
The idle chatter he had been aware of but not paying attention to stopped. Ear flicking, he glanced towards the lounge, where he spotted Charlie, and—
"Oh, Alastor, there you are!" She wore her usual red gown. Her hair was tied in a bun under her wide-brimmed hat. Her voice was as grating as the very first time she had sung that stupid song.
Lucifer, dragged from his focus by the vice grip on his hand, followed Alastor's gaze. He dropped the book.
Rosie's eyes locked on their hands, her jaw clenching with forced cheer. "My goodness Alastor, you really know how to pick 'em." Her endless eyes lingered on Lucifer, brows pinched in… irritation? Concentration? Alastor wasn't certain.
Charlie wheezed out a too-loud laugh. "Oh no, no no no, Rosie, they're not—! Dad's just helping Alastor with his pain, that's all! Th-the surgery was…" she deflated. "Really brutal."
Rosie's lips curled upwards. "That's quite a shame. Poor thing."
Alastor squinted, grinning wide on reflex. "So sorry to interrupt," he began, lifting his head and strutting into the lobby. Lucifer staggered behind him, inverted gaze never leaving Rosie. "I was just getting a little restless. I do hope we haven't missed anything important."
Charlie laughed, high-pitched and strained. "Well, uh, Rosie did kinda drop a huge bombshell on me…" she plopped back down on the couch, sagging forward. Rosie cooed and sat next to her, resting a hand on the small of her back.
"I know it's a lot to take in all at once, Sweetie, I do wish I could'a said something sooner, but I'm here now. And look what a great help he's been!" She gestured to Alastor, grinning broadly. "I just knew he was the man for the job, and so did your—"
Before Alastor could get a word in, Lucifer 's horns shot out. He snarled, each step shaking the hotel as he marched forward, pulling a bewildered Radio Demon behind him. Charlie's frantic calls fell on deaf ears. Rosie's grin remained tight as she tilted her head demurely. Once face to face, The King exhaled smoke through gritted teeth. His fists shook. "Where is she?"
"Why, Your Majesty, I'm afraid I'm a little confused. What's got you so upset?" She slipped off the couch, subtly shifting to stand behind Charlie. "You'll give a lady gray hair, making faces like that."
Lucifer growled, flames spewing from his sharpened maw. "Don't play coy with me, sinner. I'm the fucking King if Hell, I can sense her magic all over you. Where is she?!"
"Whoa, Dad!" Charlie stepped between the two, glaring down at her father. "That's not necessary! Rosie was just telling me everything! Mom and her made a deal to look after us while she was gone, and so Rosie sent Alastor here to help me run things! That's all!" Charlie turned those wide eyes unto the cannibal overlord. "Right, Rosie?"
Rosie offered a closed-mouthed smile and tilted her head. "Why else would I have loaned you all my cannibals, hm?"
Alastor's ear flicked. "Dodging the question, are we?"
Rosie shot him a tight grin, a warning he would not heed.
"Is it right, Rosie Dear? Is what Charlie said true?"
"Alastor, what are you doing?" Charlie approached him, frowning in confusion and concern. "It's just Rosie."
"I'm well aware of who it is."
"Alastor?"
"She is lying to you, Charlie. Whatever she's said, she's lying. Do not—" Dread gripped Alastor's heart. "Tell me you didn't shake her hand."
Charlie's frown deepened. "I didn't?"
Oh thank everything.
"We were talking about—about teaming up, and I wanted to wait for you, but I thought you were resting…" Slowly, Charlie shifted from confused to wary. She turned back to Rosie, who's grin faltered. "But you were being really pushy."
"You," Lucifer growled, a jewel of hellfire igniting between his horns, "tried to strong-arm MY DAUGHTER into a deal?!"
Rosie began to back away. "Charlie, Honey, I don't know what's gotten into them, but I think it'd be best if I took my leave—" A frenzy of shadows climbed up the walls, blocking the doors and windows. Grinning dolls piled up in the hallway entrances, ensuring there was no escape. Rosie grimaced, her gaze lingering on the sturdier gold stitching holding Alastor's minions together. "This is not funny, Alastor. Why start a fight here, when Charlie's worked so hard to keep it peaceful?"
Alastor chuckled, smile stretching unnaturally wide as he cocked his head. "Oh, I'm not starting a fight." He pulled his staff from the aether, twirling it with his free hand and releasing the blade to slam it to the ground so hard it sparked. "I'm starting a broadcast."
He swung the scythe across the floor, sending a blade of light hurtling towards his once tormentor. She stumbled out of the way as he brought his mic to his mouth. "Welcome, sinners, to the grand return of The Radio Demon. Today, we have a very special guest; local mayor of the quaint little cannibal town, and traitor to the crown, Rosie!"
Canned applause, and an occasional 'boo!', chimed to life.
"Alastor, what is going on?!" Charlie grabbed his arm, wide eyes wet with confused tears.
"Well, Charlie, our beloved princess, you see, this woman," he used his staff to point at Rosie, who was pressed against the wall, staring at him in shock, "has always had a nose for hearts, and while both you and your father have a bad habit of wearing yours on your sleeves, thankfully, our king knows a liar when he sees one." He brought his staff back to his mouth. "Now, let's start this segment off with a little game: true or false! Contestants ready?"
"I'm ready," Lucifer said, his eyes empty and cold.
Rosie snarled at him.
"Then let us begin! Rosie, true or false: you lied to our princess about your relations with her missing mother, our queen, in order to gain her trust and manipulate her into shaking your hand?"
Rosie grimaced, but said nothing, her eyes locked on the king.
"Ooo, missed the buzzer!" Alastor jeered, a faint bzzt! playing in the background. "Let's try again. Rosie, true or false: you know exactly how I managed to make all those Overlords permanently disappear throughout the years."
She dug her nails into the wall, jaw clenched as she continued to glare at Lucifer.
"My, my, are we getting stage fright?" Another bzzt! sounded. "Third time's the charm! True or false: despite your earlier lie about your relations," he sneered, "you do know where Queen Lilith is, don't you?"
Rosie finally met his gaze, mouth twisted in a defiant smirk. "She is safe and taken care of. Far away from her burdens and regrets."
Charlie's breath caught on a whimper.
Lucifer's hand shook in Alastor's, his skin hot, his grip tight enough to bruise. Alastor did not look when he heard The King sniffle. "Do you know?" Lucifer whispered, and Alastor knew, somehow, that he was talking to him. He shook his head, shooting the man an apologetic smile. With a long, weary sigh, The King locked his gaze back onto the cannibal Overlord. "You have no relations with my wife. It's not Lilith's magic I sensed." The hellfire between his horns flared as he glared Rosie down. "You have one chance to tell me the truth. Where is The Root?"
The sonorous demand pierced Alastor's sensitive ears. He gritted his teeth, unsure the mic would even pick that up. "Such poor manners." Rosie tsked, putting her hands on her hips, a feral, toothy grin betraying her rage. "The lady has a name, Samael."
Lucifer froze, his grip a vice around Alastor's fingers.
"Dad doesn't use that name anymore!" Charlie blurted, outraged.
Rosie only hummed. "A changed name doesn't change the coward hiding behind it, Charlotte."
"Alastor?" Alastor finally looked down. Lucifer's jaw was tight as he huffed through gritted fangs. The jewel of hellfire burned bright enough to rival the stars he had once helped create. Tears streaked down his flushed cheeks. "Kill her."
Alastor's grin split his face. "As you command, my king." He twirled his cane and marched towards the seething woman. With a hop, Lucifer, still holding his hand, morphed into a garden snake and coiled around his wrist.
"How cliche, Alastor," Rosie spat as she frantically searched for an exit. "A deal with the devil? Sucking up to the monarchy? I thought you were more interesting than that."
He chuckled, gripping his staff tighter and swinging for her head.
Rosie dissipated into dust, reappearing behind Charlie and grabbing her before she could run. Her talons pierced The Princess's arm as she yanked her into her grasp, arms pinned to her sides. Rosie lifted her free hand, bone-thin and sharp, poised to impale.
With a roar, Charlie flung her head backwards, crushing Rosie's nose and slitting one of her eyes with the tip of her horn. Rosie grunted, then laughed, a masochist and sadist to boot. "How cute. I could just eat you up."
Alastor knew the rush of shadow travel, and had always assumed teleportation felt the same. Oh how wrong he was. In a blip, he was airborne, slicing through the arm that dared try to strike his girl.
A thought, and he was behind Rosie, vivisecting one of her legs. He smacked her with the blunt end of his staff, grabbing Charlie's arm and yanking her behind him as Rosie stumbled backwards.
A whim, and he was to her left, swinging his scythe through her stomach.
Gold-tinged tendrils burst from the floor, coiling around what was left of her limbs and slamming her down. She coughed up blood, her chest jackrabbiting with her uneven pants. Alastor cackled, clenching his fist to squeeze her tighter. "My, my, what a mess you've gotten yourself into, my dear!" His eyes spun, radio dials boring into his former tormentor's baleful glare. "To think, all of this could have been avoided had you just fixed my fucking staff!"
He sliced her in half, clean cut above the pelvis, just like she had taught him.
Rosie finally screamed.
Alastor wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Ah, but it seems our time's almost up. In the spirit of redemption, I'll make this quick."
It was a testament to Rosie's power that she was not yet dead. Gurgling, she turned her head towards Alastor as he hefted the scythe above his head. "Looks like ya daddy was right about you," she sing-songed. "Ain't never gonna be nothin' but another man's chew toy, with that soft, pansy heart of yours." Her grin was bloody as she quoted the only nightmare Alastor had ever had. "Is that what drew you to that waffling little snake? Did it make you feel less weak and pathetic to be surrounded by such a sniveling brat and his whimpering spawn?" She laughed, blood splattering her dress. "Why don't you be his good little pet and finish me?"
Alastor swung his scythe, decapitating her with a growl. Her head remained frozen in a rictus grin as it rolled across the lobby. He panted through his Cheshire grin as Lucifer poofed back into his humanoid form, both hands clinging to his. "And that's a wrap on ol' Rosie!" He spoke without moving his mouth, teeth flashing with every word. "Let that be a reminder, to one and all: do not mess with The Radio Demon!" He laughed until the knots in his gut untied, and ended his broadcast.
"Dad! Alastor!" Charlie rushed to their side, throwing her arms around them. "Thank goodness. I—Alastor, that was… really gross, but also, thank you. Are you okay?"
"Peachy," he hissed. With a twirl, the blade retracted, and his staff dematerialized. His minions gathered the salvageable flesh and dragged it to the kitchen. The rest went into a spare garbage bag and down the chute. He would eat it now, but Charlie's arm shook around him, her breathing uneven and shallow. Her father wasn't fairing any better, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping him from falling through the floor. He took a deep breath. "Are you alright, Sha?"
Charlie smiled, bright as the sun. "I'm fine, thanks to you. Even with three missing ribs, you're the most powerful sinner in Hell."
A pleasant heat rushed up Alastor's cheeks. He tittered, waving his free hand dismissively. "Oh, you! I suppose I couldn't have done it without your father's pain relief." He had barely turned towards the other man before Lucifer collapsed to his knees, dragging Alastor down with him, and choked on a sob.
"Dad?!" Charlie dropped down next to him, hesitant hands hovering over his frame. "Dad, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Did she hurt you?!"
Lucifer shook his head; less a denial and more a motion full of misery. His shoulders jumped with his shaky breaths, hardly complete before he choked on a new one. With a long, strained whine, he collapsed into Alastor's lap and wept. His tears were as angry as they were mournful; Alastor could tell by how hard he ground his teeth, the smoke puffing from his lips with every sob, the jewel between his horns flaring on every inhale.
Tears dripped from Charlie's chin onto her father's quivering form.
Alastor pulled her to him with his free hand. "Hush, now, it's alright. We're alright." He gave The King's hand a squeeze. Words of comfort did not come to him, so he bent forward until his forehead touched Lucifer's temple, and rested there. It felt wrong, so soft and weak, but he refused to move. He would not allow barbaric ghosts from his past to lecture him on how to treat his people.
Sniffling, Charlie joined her father on the floor, curling around him like she could shield him from the world. "I love you, Daddy," she whispered into his heaving shoulder. "Let it all out. We've got you."
Lucifer quaked through a fit of sobs. He uncurled enough to roll onto his other side, bringing his free hand to Charlie's face to wipe the tears off her cheek. "My baby," he rasped, tucking her under his chin and kissing her crown. "I love you so much, Sweetie. I—I'm sorry you had to—to s-see me like this," his voice broke around another sob.
She is safe and taken care of. Away from her burdens and regrets.
Alastor leaned a bit further down, wrapping them both in his arms. He said nothing, content to let them talk and cry until they tired themselves out. He hoped, for Lucifer's and Charlie's sake, that he never met Lilith face to face.
~~~
Once allowed to roam the hotel for more than a trip to the dinner table, Charlie had eagerly led Alastor to the lobby by his free hand, looking ready to burst from excitement. "Close your eyes, close your eyes!"
He huffed, obeying with a fond smile on his face. Charlie led him from hardwood to carpet, giggling under her breath all the while.
"Okay okay, one, two, three… open your eyes!"
Where once sat a clunky, tacky television, now hung a pull-down screen. Between the two couches sat a projector, already beaming silent rubber hose cartoons onto the screen. "Surprise!! So we can still have movie nights, but you don't have to deal with the Vees spying on you," she explained. "And! A new hotel rule! Technology owned and operated by VoxTech is to stay in guest's personal rooms at all times, unless they're leaving the hotel with it!"
Baxter groaned from his place on the couch.
Vaggie joined Charlie's side, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "We got new phones," she added, pulling a much smaller device from her pocket. When she pressed on the side, it slid opened, revealing a small keyboard. "We figured we really don't need anything fancier."
Husk grunted in acknowledgement, flashing his own new device of a similar model.
To Alastor's surprise, Angel and Cherri did the same, each offering him a smile far too kind.
A fwip to his side caught his ear. Lucifer flashed his own smaller phone, this one flipping vertically as opposed to sideways. "Glad I never threw out Charlie's old one!"
Alastor had not cried since he was a boy, and he was not about to start, thank you very much. "This is… rather excessive. But appreciated." He cleared his tight throat, meeting Charlie's beaming face with a soft smile. "Thank you, Sha."
The hug he received was exceedingly gentle, but he tucked into it regardless. If he allowed it for longer than usual, the others either didn't notice, or wisely kept their mouths shut. "Anything for my reliable Hotelier! We rented a few new movies to try tonight, everyone put in requests!"
Angel and Cherri began to chant "K-Pop Demon Hunters", or something equally ridiculous, in unison.
Charlie giggled and led Alastor to his preferred chair. Lucifer perched on the armrest, pressing his legs out of the way as Alastor reached for the eight movies on the table to his right. "We can watch whatever you want, and I'll deal with the food!"
"Why, nonsense, Darling! You've all gone through all this trouble, the least I could do is give you a proper meal."
"Wha—Alastor we couldn't ask that of you—!"
"Ah, but you're not! I'm telling you that I will." It had been ages since he had cooked. Even with the wound poisoning him, he had always handled dinners with aplomb. Weeks rotting away in bed had left him itching for his Maman's jambalaya, even if he couldn't actually eat it. Titillated, he slapped the absurdly named K-Pop Demon Hunters to the top of the pile, hopped to his feet, and tugged Lucifer into the kitchen after him. "Ta, now! I'll see you all for the show!"
~~~
"Can we watch Who Framed Roger Rabbit after the demon hunters thing?" Lucifer asked, his face smooshed against Alastor's back. He was rather clingy tonight.
Alastor wasn't sure what had triggered it, but the man seemed determined to press himself as close as possible without impeding on Alastor's cooking. If he walked to the pantry, Lucifer followed him instead of making a portal for his hand to slip through. If he bent to grab ingredients from the bottom of the fridge, Lucifer knelt beside him. If he stood before a sizzling pan and a boiling pot, Lucifer was right behind him, one hand in its usual place under his shirt, the other on his hip, his cheek pressed to Alastor's back.
He didn't hate it, he supposed. He did not feel trapped by the hands on either side of him; the touch was light, a suggestion of being held. Strange. The cheek against his back was stranger. Strangest of all, Alastor found himself leaning into it. "As you wish, my liege."
Lucifer chittered happily and began to softly rub his cheek against Alastor's back. As if scratching an itch.
"You are awfully affectionate today, aren't you?"
The rubbing stopped. "Oh… sorry. I'm sorry, I can stop."
"I did not ask that of you. I'm simply curious. Have you been having one of your days?"
"No, no, 's just… I dunno. I really miss cuddling."
He felt Lucifer tense up, like he always did when he was afraid he had said something stupid. "Mm. Have I reawakened a beast via near-fatal injury?"
The King's soft laugh warmed him through his shirt. "Maybe. But still, if you want, I'll stop."
"I believe you, Lucifer." He gave the jambalaya a stir. "Answer me this: the rubbing, is that angelic in nature? Vaggie did it to me when we fled Vee Tower and I found it quite out of character."
"She did? For how long?"
"Not long at all, a couple seconds at most."
"Ahh. Yeah, it's an angel thing. She was probably just glad you were safe. 'S kinda like hugging." The rubbing continued. "Alastor?"
"Mm?"
"Once you're healed, can we still hold hands sometimes?"
Alastor pretended to mull it over as he stirred the gumbo. "Hm… I suppose I'm amiable to that. How ever did you survive as a recluse while being this clingy?"
"Barely. That's what all the stuffies and big sweaters were for."
"Well, you're free to continue as you are so long as you promise to iron the shirts you wrinkle."
Lucifer raised one hand, preparing to snap. Alastor grasped it and moved it back to his hip. "No, not with magic. I expect you to put real work into it."
"Hey, magic is real work! It's the whole reason you're not writhing in agony right now!"
"Afraid of a little manual labor, Sire?"
"Dodging the truth cuz you can't handle it!" Lucifer proclaimed, creating a portal to point one dainty claw in Alastor's face.
Alastor leaned forward to nibble it. "Dodging the question because he does not like his own answer."
Lucifer gasped dramatically and yanked his hand back. "Mean to me!!"
"Very, very mean, how do you stand me?"
He felt The King shrug against his back. "Guess I'm a bit of a masochist. And a sucker for a winning smile."
Said smile softened. "And I suppose I'm a sucker for foppish, pathetic little men who make me laugh."
Lucifer chuckled and went back to nuzzling him. "Can't believe my best friend's Jessica Rabbit."
Alastor nearly dropped his spoon. Best friend? He was Lucifer's best friend? They had been spending a lot of time together, but out of necessity! Surely Lucifer had others in his life? The sins? Higher ranking demons? Charlie?
Though, he supposed it would be a bit odd for his child to fulfill that role. There were secrets best friends carried to their graves that the children would never hear a whisper of. And Kings didn't typically shmooze with their… co-workers? Subordinates?
But then, Alastor supposed he was The King's co-worker now, too. Some might even call him a right hand. Perhaps all those forbidden romance novels his mother often read weren't too far off after all. Though there was no romance between himself and The King, the rest of the hotel seemed to disagree. If he heard Angel make another exaggerated Aww in their direction one more time, he was going to be contributing to several statistics. "I suppose you are my best friend too," he muttered, removing the jambalaya from the burner. How had he managed to get himself into this situation?
He felt Lucifer's hum against his back. "You poor, unfortunate soul."
"In pain, in need," Alastor played along as he checked the beignets. Perfectly gold. He slipped on an oven mitt and retrieved them, settling the tray on the nearby cooling rack.
Lucifer's laugh tickled up his spine. "You don't need to be any thinner, and I'm not sure you like girls."
"But you'll help me?"
"Yes indeed!" He rubbed his cheek a little harder against Alastor's back.
Alastor couldn't hep but smile a little wider. "Silly duck."
"Quack," said The Devil, his smile pressed into Alastor's skin.
He cooked in silence until a proper feast was made. Alastor knew everyone's favourites by now: The jambalaya he had made on his first day and the Viet-Cajun hot dogs he had grown up with for Charlie, beignets for Vaggie and the clingy little cockatiel wrinkling the back of his shirt, deviled eggs for Niffty, andouille pasta for Angel, and a shrimp and sausage gumbo for Husk. The newer guests were sure to find something they liked among the options.
He sighed, stepping slightly away from Lucifer to stretch. His back ached, his joints were stiff, and his legs were burning from standing for so long. He felt amazing. There was nothing quite like cooking to put him in a wonderful mood, especially with such eager mouths to feed. Always happy to hear the others praise his food, he swiped the jambalaya and bowl of beignets with one arm, and the pasta and deviled eggs with the other. "Shall we?"
Lucifer beckoned the hot dogs and gumbo, as well as several plates and silverware, with a whisper of magic. "Lead the way."
~~~
To his surprise, Alastor liked K-Pop Demon Hunters. It didn't hold a candle to the music of his time, but there was something fascinating about the style combined with such expressive animation. It brought him back to Betty Boop; the one good thing he found in his relations with Vox.
Lucifer only made it half way through the movie before falling asleep. He had migrated from the arm of Alastor's chair to the space between said arm and Alastor's lap, curled up like a pretzel with his head tucked under Alastor's chin. His little legs were dangling over the other arm, occasionally twitching in his sleep. One hand remained under his shirt, staving the pain away.
Alastor could feel the others staring. He sighed, meeting their expectant gazes. "All right, out with it."
"Are you hookin' up with short king?"
"Angel Dust, please."
"Hey, we was all wonderin'!"
"No, we are not 'hooking up'. We are not together."
Angel gestured at the two of them frantically.
"We are not together," Alastor repeated. "Lucifer simply wanted to cuddle."
"And you said yes?" Husk asked, eyes wide in disbelief.
Alastor shrugged his unoccupied shoulder. "He is very persuasive."
Vaggie took a slow, deep breath. "Okay. So, then, what's up with the scent marking?"
Alastor's static pitched in shock. Lucifer grumbled and nuzzled further into his shoulder.
"Yeah, that. You do know that's, like, a thing couples do, right?"
"Then I'm very curious to know why you did it to me the night you came to my aid at Vee Tower."
Vaggie's entire face flushed. "Th—I didn't—that's different! It was for like two seconds! Lucifer's doing it every two seconds!"
"What is the significance of the time spent nuzzling one's target? From what I've been told, the gesture is the equivalent of a hug."
"It—it sort of is, but normally angels don't just hug people unless they're married. It was always really hands off."
"Was that the case for everyone, or just Exorcists?"
Vaggie opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked down at her lap.
Alastor eyed the sleeping angel in his seat. "Perhaps Lucifer simply remembers a time where casual affection was normalized, until everyone suddenly decided it was impure or… weak, to seek such things."
No one said anything else.
Alastor happily turned his attention back to Who Framed Roger Rabbit. It was an interesting little tale, he could see why Lucifer liked it. Though the staff continued to spare him the occasional glance, Alastor allowed himself to rest his chin on Lucifer's head. If The King was going to drool on his shoulder, he may as well be useful about it. Alastor closed his eyes, just for a moment, enjoying the apple pie scent of Lucifer's shampoo as the film carried on.
There was a flutter, and then something soft landed over him. He squinted one eye open. Porcelain hands, longer than Lucifer's but just as thin, withdrew from the thick blanket now covering his torso and The King's entire body. It was covered in yellow cartoon ducks, faded with age and corse in that well-loved way a childhood blanket often became. "Oop, sorry," he heard Charlie whisper somewhere to his left. "Go back to sleep."
"I'm not sleeping." He yawned. "Just resting my eyes."
"… Right." He could hear the smile in her tone. "Well, what do you wanna watch next?"
Alastor furrowed his brows. He really didn't feel like opening his eyes. "Dealer's choice."
Charlie hummed in acknowledgement and shuffled to the side table. There was the swish of thin plastic boxes being shuffled. "Alastor?" Her voice was low; he could almost picture her shielding her mouth with one hand. "You know, if you and Dad are… together, that's okay. I know Mom's pr-probably not coming back. A-and, he deserves to move on, and you both deserve to be happy."
Alastor lifted one hand, grasping blindly until he found hers. She clung to him like a desperate child would cling to a Magic 8 Ball, begging for an answer she could understand. "We are not together. Your father still wears his ring for a reason, Sha." He could feel the smooth, cold of it against his exposed waist. "Like I said, he wanted to cuddle, and he's very persuasive."
"Okay… and you wanted to cuddle too? He didn't pressure you?"
Alastor grumbled, ears pressed flat against his head. "I was amiable."
Charlie giggled. "Okay, just making sure. That's all?"
"That's all."
There was a decisive hum, and then Charlie's hand slipped out of his. "Can I give you a hug?" She whispered.
Alastor sighed dramatically. "You Morningstars and your hugs and cuddling." He lifted his arm, inviting. Charlie squished herself into the embrace, pressing her cheek against his and nuzzling gently. Alastor wondered if she had learned it from Vaggie or her father.
"I love you, Alastor."
He swallowed the static that wanted to hiss and spit. Letting out a slow breath, he draped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "Heard and reciprocated, Sha."
Charlie released him, then leaned down to press a soft kiss to her father's head. "Love you too, Dad."
The King smiled in his sleep.
Sighing like she was relieved, Charlie swiped Singin' In The Rain off the table and skipped to the projector to load it in. Vaggie helped realign the screen. Angel offered to refill everyone's plates. Husk and Cherri flicked pieces of popcorn at one another, and Baxter and Niffty lay side by side on their stomachs, feet kicking in the air as they enjoyed the previews.
Alastor closed his eyes once more, hiding his smile behind Lucifer's hair. He pulled the blanket closer, tucking it around his torso and basking in the extra warmth. Despite always running hot, the chest wound had left him rather chilled, even after his recovery. Lucifer, he was quickly finding out, did not have the mass to hold body heat. Alastor tucked the blanket a little tighter around The King, who melted soft and buttered over his lap. Adequately cozy, Alastor closed his eyes once more—just to rest them, of course—and let the croon of Gene Kelly and Donald O'Conner carry him somewhere soft.