Work Text:
It was a plant.
Little more than a sprout at this point.
Despite his links to the bayou (to the point that any place he spent considerable time in tended to develop reeds and Spanish moss), Alastor could, on pain of death, admit he didn’t know much about plants. He appreciated them for their beauty, admired their ability to extract life from death, found solace in their quiet growth, and had absolutely no idea what made a vine different from a sprawling plant.
This was a tiny, insignificant sprout, curling up from the earth at the back of the hotel.
Little more than a weed.
Something about it made Alastor’s cheek twitch.
“Oh, my god, Dad, seriously?”
Bent over her guest register, Vaggi looked sideways at her girlfriend, who had been quietly working on a lesson plan, and then up and around the lobby. It only took a second for her to find the source of Charlie’s annoyance.
Lucifer was lethargically making his way from the stairs, once again draped only in a fluffy robe, with his messy hair held back by a headband, and his face covered in a peeling mask. He looked, frankly, like a disaster. It wasn’t unusual, but it was hardly the impressive, reliable look Charlie liked her staff to convey. But honestly, it was seven in the morning – Vaggi considered it impressive he was even awake.
“I’ve asked him so many times to get dressed before he comes down here,” Charlie complained, throwing down her pen. “I know he’s just coming to get coffee, but seriously. He’s got so much magic! It takes him less than a second to look presentable, why can’t he even try?”
Vaggi grimaced. “He probably doesn’t think about it.”
“He’s the Sin of Pride!” she argued. “He should have a little pride in how he looks! I swear—I know this isn’t what he’s doing, but I swear—sometimes he’s just trying to undermine me.”
“Uh, okay, um… could you maybe explain that one a little more?” she asked. “How does the King of Hell coming down in a robe and slippers undermine you?”
“Because he looks depressed!” she said, gesturing to him with both hands. “This hotel is supposed to help sinners become better people! Happier, more proud of who they are and can be! And yet my own father, Sin of Pride, King of Hell, all of that, looks like he couldn’t be fucked getting dressed in the morning! How do you think that looks?”
Raising her eyebrows, Vaggi bounced her head in reluctant agreement. She could see that. One of Alastor’s preferred ways of niggling at the king was pointing out how he looked more like a sad housewife than a mighty leader. If Vox were still around, it would absolutely be the kind of shit he’d grab on to and make into a big deal. They both had a point.
“And like, I know he doesn’t give a shit what sinners think of him, but it’s like, come on, Dad!” Charlie continued. “What if Mom showed up tomorrow? You think he’s going to win her back looking like that?”
“Okay, well, maybe we should do something about it, then,” suggested Vaggi. “I mean… not fix your parents’ marriage or whatever, but like… help cheer him up. Address some of his issues, whatever. Or at least, convince him to look presentable in public.”
Charlie looked at her blankly for a moment, then gasped, stars appearing in her eyes as she latched on to the idea. “Oh my god, that is the best idea! A therapy exercise for my dad! Help him achieve great things and give him a positive outcome to hold on to! Yes! Holy shit, Vaggi, you’re brilliant!”
“Uhh… okay?”
“Yes!” She shoved her current plan aside and grabbed up her markers to start sketching. “Okay, so, Dad’s whole problem is that he feels useless, right? And the way he deals with that is by building crap. Specifically ducks, which are cute and all but aren’t exactly helping to make Hell any better. Not that he gives a shit about Hell, but you know what he does give a shit about? Me and Mom! And I am helping to achieve Mom’s plan, so if he can help me then obviously it’s like two birds with one stone! Uh, maybe not birds, you know, given the ducks, but you get the idea. So we need to motivate him to help me with the hotel somehow! He’s not going to be any use in the therapy sessions, and can you even imagine him trying to do any of your work, hah, no, so obviously we need him to work on the building itself—”
As if summoned by the very idea of someone impinging on his job, a pool of shadows formed on the carpet in front of the front desk, and Alastor slid into being, staff held behind his back and his creepiest smile in place. Still furiously planning, Charlie didn’t seem to notice, but Vaggi braced herself with a short breath. That particular smile never meant good things.
“Good morning, Alastor,” she greeted evenly.
“Ah, wonderful. You’re both here,” he said, stepping forward to stand directly in front of them. “Charlie, I –”
“Uh-uh-uh!” she yelled, throwing out one hand to stop him, all without even looking up. “Can’t talk! Planning! This is going to be so amazing!”
Alastor’s smile twisted slightly. “I’m sure it will be, but you know I wouldn’t –”
“No, seriously, Alastor, this is going to be the best idea ever, but if I don’t get it down right now I’m going to lose it!”
Sensing immediate carnage if Alastor wasn’t given the attention he clearly wanted, Vaggi waved her hand through his line of sight and offered, “Anything I can do for you?”
“Ah-ha,” he said, and took a breath before refocussing on her. “Yes. I know the back grounds are of little consequence to the hotel at present, but I have noticed a new growth. It should be removed. Immediately.”
Vaggi stared blankly. “Uh. Okay?”
“I thought that might be something one of you might have interest in,” he said lightly, pulling one hand from behind his back to casually curl his claws through the air. “After all, you have such a… particular style when it comes to our hotel, I assumed you would have opinions about the garden. And of course, once it’s done I will be more than happy to maintain it, but the actual development is much more of a you thing, don’t you think?”
“Technically, the creation of the hotel is more of a Lucifer thing,” she said. “But I don’t think the garden’s something we’re looking at right now. Do whatever you want with it; we’ll change it later if we need to.”
Alastor’s grin stretched higher, his hair bristling as he chuckled. “I would welcome your opinion first. You should at least take a look.”
“Oh, my god, Alastor, whatever!” Charlie said wildly. “Get rid of the growth, do what you need to! It’s fine!”
He looked at her, then back at Vaggi, before tilting his head back to Charlie. “Is that an order, Charlie?”
“Yeah, sure, fine, make it an order,” she said, waving him off. “As princess, I order you to clean away the new growth. Happy?”
His shoulders dropped a little, his hair falling back around his face, and he pulled his hand back into a fist by his waist. “As you wish.”
And with that, he slipped back into the pool of shadows and disappeared. Vaggi leaned over to look down at where he’d been, her eyebrow rising as she tried to figure out what that had been all about. “That was kind of weird. Even for Alastor.”
“Oh, you know what he’s like,” Charlie said quickly. “He’s probably noticed some weeds and thinks it looks bad, but he breaks out in hives if he actually does something nice without being forced into it. And that gets him out of our way for a while!” she added triumphantly, straightening up with pages of coloured drawings spread out in front of her. “Which is super important to make our plan work! Behold! Charlie’s awesome plan to cheer up Dad by making him a useful member of staff at the Hazbin Hotel!”
Vaggi blinked again. She swore Charlie had only been using black marker, but somehow the pictures were in rainbow coloured crayon.
“Step one! Breakfast!”
“Breakfast?”
Charlie leaned in close, until her sparkling eyes and broad, fanged grin were all Vaggi could see. “Breakfast.”
Death had not recently been great for Husk.
Honestly, it had been pretty terrible from the start, though the drinking, gambling, and eventual collection of souls had certainly helped, until the metaphorical coin flipped and he fell into Alastor’s chains. But it had been getting a little better. Angel had been a good distraction.
But now Angel was gone.
Temporarily, Cherri insisted. She had ideas. Charlie wasn’t giving up. Husk was waiting to figure out Alastor’s next move with the Vs and see if they could benefit from it.
But for now, the days crawled by. He was stuck behind his lousy bar, mixing shit-ass drinks for losers that didn’t realise their hopes were pointless. And right now, he was mixing the worst drink for the biggest loser of them all.
“This is still the most disgusting thing I’ve ever served,” he said, pushing a weak coffee with six sugars across the bar. “I want you to realise that. I know three cocktails with actual demon cum in them, and I still think that’s the worst thing I’ve been asked to make.”
Even as he reached for his drink, Lucifer shrugged carelessly. “I mean, when you think about it, it’s all just different kinds of protein, so it probably works the same as an egg white. Nothing that special about it.”
Husk’s lip curled in disgust. “Just get your coffee from the kitchen next time.”
“Ha-ha, no!” he said, eyes wide. “That creepy asshole haunts the kitchen in the mornings, I am not dealing with him without caffeination!”
On the one hand, fair. On the other: “That shit you’re drinking barely counts.”
“Aaaand!” Charlie’s chipper voice interjected, which was all the warning they got before she suddenly jumped up from behind Lucifer to grab his shoulders in an exuberant hug, “Alastor isn’t in the kitchen this morning, which means we need to be!”
“What?” both Husk and Lucifer asked blankly.
“Breakfast needs a-cooking!” she said, shaking her father playfully. “And Alastor’s busy doing something-or-other in the garden which means meals are on us! Come on, Dad, grab a griddle!”
“Wait, what?” he asked, before she snatched him up and started running for the kitchen.
Husk stared after them for a moment, looked around the lobby and briefly debated whether Alastor would give a shit if he left, then decided he didn’t care. He plodded out from the bar and followed the pair into the kitchen.
The biggest secret of the Hazbin, if only because it freaked people out if they thought about it, was that Alastor fed everyone. So yeah, he was in the kitchen fairly frequently. But this morning, the room was completely empty, without even a bubbling pot for lunch or dinner. Charlie deposited her father in front of the stove and then snatched up his hands.
“So what I was thinking, Dad, is that you were so happy and useful and great when we were rebuilding the hotel! So to be happy again, and stop making it look like I can’t even make my own family anything but a depressed housewife, you should totally help out around the hotel! And since Alastor is busy this morning, that means you can do his job!” she babbled, and then swung around, gesturing expansively to the kitchen. “And in the morning, that means making sure everyone in the hotel has breakfast! A hearty breakfast is the start of a hearty, productive day! So we’re going to need a lot of food, all –”
“Charlie?” Lucifer interrupted, and she swung back to look at him wide-eyed. He clicked his fingers, and golden fire erupted out of his hand to dance across the countertops, summoning dozens of plates filled with food. Pancakes, bacon, soup, rice, soup, bread, eggs, baked things Husk couldn’t even recognise. He and Charlie stared blankly for a second, then looked back at Lucifer, who smirked. “Yeah, I know, I’m awesome. You’re welcome. Much better than that useless stick insect. Where is he, anyway? Shouldn’t he be in here to squirm at how he’ll never be as good at this as I am?”
“Uhh…” Charlie blinked rapidly, clearly wrong-footed.
Out in the garden, Alastor clicked his fingers, green fire lashing out at the sapling.
But rather than wither away to ash and regret, the plant sucked up the flames like a summer rain, growing higher and sprouting thorns.
Alastor’s eye twitched.
As much as he didn’t particularly want to touch the damn thing, obviously more elegant methods were out of the question. He crouched down over the plant, inspecting its new growth. While it currently looked more like a vine, the curve of its thorns definitely had the hint of roses. And didn’t that just feel like a personal offense.
He clenched his fist around the base of the plant, intending to rip it out, but before he could even begin to pull, the plant whipped around, thorns biting into his skin as it tried to find purchase on his wrist. He barely managed to yank free, his blood spraying across the dirt around them.
“Ah,” he said, backing up a few steps. “It’s like that, is it?”
He stomped his foot, summoning a large, spectral greenhouse around him and the plant. The inevitable eyes swivelled to watch him, and he sneered in return, shadow arms bursting from his back.
“There is more than one way to strip a branch.”
“Ooookay, Dad, that’s… great, thank you, but it wasn’t really what I had in mind,” Charlie said, rallying as best she could. “Because you know, magic is great and all, but you know, Alastor knows how to do all this by hand.”
He scoffed. “Like that’s so impressive.”
“Weeeeell, some people might think it is,” she said, faux-innocent. “You know, actually proving that you have the skill and knowledge and are willing to put in some real effort to take care of the people you say you love…”
Husk blinked slowly, biting back a sigh. An amazing actor, Charlie was not, but her audience wasn’t exactly looking to call her out on her bullshit. Lucifer frowned. “And uh, would – would you – um, would you be one of those people?”
She made a big show of avoiding his gaze, twisting her hands and swaying her body from side to side. “I mean, this whole magic thing is great and all, but… you know…”
“Hey, I can do stuff by hand!” Lucifer snapped, slapping a hand to his barely-robed chest. “I know how to do stuff! Lots of stuff! I’ve been around for ten thousand years, I have had the time to learn, I know so much more than that creepy red guy and could do all of it a thousand times better!”
“Oh, I’m sure you can, and do, and… of course,” she said, smiling at him. “It’s just not something you do.”
“But I could!” he insisted. “I could and I will! You just let me know! Anything you need, sweetie, anything you want done today, I will do and I will do it by hand, you just tell me!”
She actually fluttered her eyelashes like a little girl. “Oh, Dad, I wouldn’t want to put you out when you’re not even dressed yet…”
In a poof of light and feathers, Lucifer was suddenly dressed in his full white suit and hat, smiling with a mouth full of sharp teeth. “Go ahead, sweetheart, I’m all ready and raring to go!”
To her credit, Charlie managed an entire four seconds of pretending to be reluctant before snatching a list out of the air and shoving it in Lucifer’s face. “Great! So this is a list of the chores I’ve seen Alastor doing around the hotel—I don’t actually know everything because he tends to disappear when we see him actually doing stuff—”
“Just this list?” Lucifer laughed, taking it from her. “Let’s see… cooking meals, already done, hah, security, check, whatever, repairing damage, fixing plumbing, electrical, managing the wiffy? What’s the wiffy?”
“Wi-fi,” Husk supplied in a deadpan. “Internet.”
“Really? That guy knows about the internet?”
Husk did not rub at his temple. He also did not point out that the internet was just very fast radio signals. He did not like remembering that Alastor could control a lot more of Hell’s digital landscape than he cared for. He barely liked knowing that limp-wristed psychopath was actually a high-quality handyman with the skill and curiosity to figure out basically any piece of hardware he needed to. It was much easier to think of Alastor as a creepy warlock stuck in the 1920s.
“Well, I’m sure it can’t be that hard. Staff management—ah hah! Get back to work, slacker!” he added to Husk, who stared back at him wearily before turning his glare on Charlie.
“Does Alastor know about this?” he asked. “He’s going to be pissed if his majesty fucks up anything and needs rescuing.”
“Hey, anything that fucker can do, I can do better and faster,” Lucifer insisted. “I will never need any help from that useless dust pile.”
“It’ll be fine,” Charlie told Husk breezily. “If he shows up, just tell him I want to talk to him. I’ll explain everything.”
“Yeah, that’ll smooth everything right over,” he muttered, but he also decided that whatever was going on, he had better things to do than get involved, so he turned back toward the lobby. “Good luck.”
“Oh! Wait, there’s a bit here about the bar!” Lucifer said, making Husk freeze in his tracks. “Red guy helps at the bar?”
“Uh, no,” Husk said quickly. “No, that –”
“Yeah, right here, manages bar stock and inventory!” he said, and the next thing Husk knew, he had a face full of over-excited king grinning at him. “Let’s start there! Managing bar inventory! That’s easy enough!”
“Remember Dad!” Charlie called. “No magic!”
Husk glared at her over Lucifer’s shoulder. Alastor’s inventory might have come from real suppliers but the day that twink lifted an actual finger when magic could do the job was the day snow fell soft on the streets. She grinned back at him maniacally.
“Fuck my whole afterlife,” he muttered, and started heading back to the bar.
Lucifer strode along beside him, twirling his cane and smirking at the world like a king on a Sunday stroll, rather than a deadbeat dad being ordered around by his overprivileged daughter. Once they reached the bar, he slammed down his cane and gave the shelves a cock-eyed examination. “Well, looks all full from here! What next?”
“This is just the expensive shit,” Husk said irritably, and gestured to the ingredients carefully shelved under the bar, and flicked open the first of the cupboards. “We keep most of it out of the way.”
“Seems inefficient,” he said, and then cast out his hands. “Let’s fix that.”
“W- no!” But too late. In a burst of shining gold light, the shelves rearranged themselves to make way for glistening golden refrigerators, and the cupboards flung themselves open to empty out, dozens of bottles disappearing from their careful shelving to line the new shelves and fridges. Glasses of every variety appeared hanging from the ceiling. They would be much easier to grab, fill, and serve. It was all beautiful. Perfect, even. Husk groaned, rubbing his temples. “Ah, fuck.”
“Much better!”
“Dad!” Charlie shouted from across the room. “I said no magic!”
“Oh, sorry, sweetie!” he called back, and then grinned at Husk. “Sorry, forgot about that! But hey, it’s done now!”
“No, you -!” Husk bit down on his urge to call the king exactly what he was. “You ever been in a real bar, your highness?”
“What? Of course I have. Lillith used to love going to those,” he said flippantly. “How do you think I know what they should look like?”
He glared at him. “You ever seen a bar fight?”
“A bar fight?” he repeated, and looked over the gleaming shelving. “You expect this thing to get up and fight?”
“A fight in a bar, you –” Husk cut himself off again with an angry sigh. “When a fight breaks out, people grab what they can as weapons. Bottles and glasses are easy if they’re in sight. And the psychos who can throw people around like dolls—” and ranged fighters like him, “—don’t always look where they’re tossing. You keep all this shit out on display, you’re gonna have to replace it all. Do you have any idea how much all this crap costs?”
Lucifer blinked twice, face blank. “Uh… a click of my fingers?”
“Oh, so you’re gonna keep replacing all my bar every time a fight breaks out in here?” he demanded. “You’re gonna clean up all the broken glass? Every fucking time? ’Cause I don’t wanna do that! No! Those prohibition assholes were inefficient bartenders but fuck if they didn’t keep their booze and bar clean. The good shit stays on display for the look of it, but the bulk of your money stays locked up behind solid wood that don’t break easy. That’s how you run a good bar in Hell!”
Unsurprisingly, Lucifer didn’t look impressed, or like he really understood. “Ooooor you could just use the power you’re gifted to make life easier.”
Fucking angels… Husk propped his elbow on the side of the bar and leaned over, eyes narrow. “I was ‘gifted’ the ability to summon dice that can blow shit up and cards that cut. I bought the ability to fight with magic. And my stock comes a guy that pays cold hard fucking cash to keep your daughter’s liquor pouring. I ain’t got no gifted power to keep this bar in shape, so unless you’re planning to take my job—and you’re fuckin’ welcome to it, your highness—we gotta keep this damn bar easy to maintain. That means no glass on display and the stock behind the goddamn counter, you understand?”
Again, Lucifer just blinked, one eyelid after the other. “Seems like a waste of effort.”
“Yeah. Welcome to fucking Hell,” he said, and then roughly pointed to the glasswear. “Now if you’re actually gonna help out, put that shit back where it came from!”
“Without magic!” Charlie added from the reception desk.
Lucifer sighed like a balloon letting out air.
Since fire and shadows had only made the sapling grow into a bramble, Alastor stepped back, both hands on his cane, and summoned a half-dozen imps that cackled at the approaching carnage. He narrowed his eyes, grin widening with vicious pleasure, and the mob launched themselves forward.
Claws ripped into the vines, slicing off shoots with a spray of dark sap that almost distracted Alastor. It looked… felt… familiar. Not blood, but…
But then a branch lashed out, tightening around a behatted imp’s neck, and another was caught by the waist. They scratched at the vines, and the other imps latched on with teeth, biting down and wrenching.
The vines only tightened, slowly dragging the screeching imps toward the roots.
And then down, into the ground below.
Cold like shards of ice itched up Alastor’s legs in sympathetic resonance, and he stumbled back until it dispersed, clutching his staff higher.
A single red rose bloomed like a threat, and Alastor snarled static back at it.
Once the bar had been put back in order, magic mercifully allowed to remove the new shelving, Vaggi decided it was probably worth her stepping in before Husk’s frustration overrode his self-control and made him reach for his angelic steel. She led Lucifer down to the basement.
“Fresh towels, pillows, and sheets,” she said, pointing to the shelves as they walked toward the laundry room. “Niffty does most of it, but I hand out new ones when they get requested. No one’s asked for anything yet today, but we like to have enough ready in case every room asks for something new.”
Lucifer eyed the shelves. “And this isn’t enough?”
“Not if everyone asked at once. It won’t happen, but as much as I hate to agree with Al, he’s right on this one. We live in an eldritch hotel that changes itself to suit its inhabitants. You have to be ready for anything,” she said dryly, and then pushed open the laundry door to reveal the towering washing machines and mounds of dirty towels, sheets, pillows, and even a single mattress with suspicious bloody stains. “I’ve never seen anyone in here, but then, I’m pretty sure only Charlie would actually survive seeing Alastor do anything useful. The rest of us would have to avoid getting eaten.”
“You really think that bellhop actually does anything but mouth off?” Lucifer asked incredulously, and she shrugged.
“I can tell when he doesn’t,” she said. “When he got himself kidnapped by the Vs, we ran low on basically everything, and the hotel started acting up.”
“Acting up?”
“Pipes, electricity, it was all a little dodgy. And the kitchen burned everything. Even if we put the heat on low for like twenty seconds; it would still char.”
Lucifer blinked, and she shrugged again.
“Eldritch building, remember?”
“I built this place!” he cried, flinging gold sparkles from his fingertips. “It’s perfect! It shouldn’t be alive, let alone answer to that murdering psychopath!”
“And yet,” she said lazily. “Also, I know you didn’t exactly think the Hazbin was impressive before we rebuilt it, but you should’ve seen it before he joined. It was basically a derelict. He made it a working building. We think it appreciates that.”
“That’s insane,” Lucifer said blankly. “It’s a building. My building.”
She considered him for a moment, shifting her weight onto one hip and folding her arms under her chest. “With all respect, sir, you built most of Hell, didn’t you?”
“Egh,” he said vaguely, summoning his cane apparently just so he could fold his hands over it and swing back his weight, looking like he didn’t give a damn about anything. “Basically. I mean, you know, the basics were… it is my prison, after all.”
“Right. But you made it liveable.”
“Sure did! My prison, my rules, ha-ha.”
“And yet there’s a whole lot of it that doesn’t behave the way you think it should,” she pointed out. “It’s changed over ten thousand years. The creatures you created, the sinners, the world itself, they all have power. Power that goes beyond your control. Why would the hotel be any different?”
He didn’t look at her, his eyes still trailing over the room, but it was obvious he wasn’t really seeing any of it. He was frowning at something beyond them. “The things I created do as I want them to do. The sinners are my punishment, and I have to live with the things they ruin, but I made this hotel, so it should behave as I demand!”
“We all helped build it, sir,” she argued gently. “Including Angel Dust, Cherri, Niffty, and Husk. It’s not entirely your creation.”
“Fine, but then it should only answer to them! Bambi wasn’t even around when we did all of that!” he snapped, and she let out a patient breath.
“We don’t know where Alastor was when all that went down. Maybe he was working behind the scenes. We don’t know and he wouldn’t tell us,” she pointed out, and winced at his immediate red-eyed glare. “The point is, the hotel seems to like him, and it works better when he’s here. Which he is,” she added to the room at large, just in case it was listening, “he’s just off being mysterious again, which means this laundry isn’t getting done. So we should do it.”
Lucifer wordlessly grumbled, but didn’t actually object so much as just cast another judgemental eye over the mounds of sheets. “And how would we do that?”
“Uh, well, um,” Vaggi paused, looking at the machines. She’d never actually had to use them, but surely they couldn’t be that hard, right? If Niffty and Alastor could figure them out, they had to be fairly simple. “We put the dirty stuff in there and then some… powder… or uh… liquid… cleaning stuff, you know? It should be around here somewhere.”
“Alright…” he said slowly, but then shuffled closer to her, leaning in to whisper out the side of his mouth. “You know, Charlie isn’t here. She would never know if I just… you know…” He rubbed his fingers together meaningfully, and Vaggi sighed.
It would be easy. And Charlie wouldn’t know. But…
“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t like lying to Charlie. And she’d be really disappointed if she did find out,” she pointed out, and he sighed again, slumping over.
“Fine.”
“Besides, it really can’t be that hard. There’s just a couple of dials on these things,” she said as they wandered over to the machines. She noticed a large box and hurried over to open it. “And look! I think this is the powder you use! So you put some of this in these, along with as many sheets and towels as will fit, and then you turn them on.”
“Seems simple enough,” Lucifer agreed, reaching for the machine door.
Unfortunately, it was not actually that simple.
They quickly learned that the two machines were not actually identical. The first one they picked actually turned out to be a dryer. And when it didn’t start filling with water the way Vaggi expected, they both assumed it had to be broken. They checked all the hoses and plugs going into it, but nothing seemed wrong, so they had a quick discussion on whether it was worth assuming something was wrong with the pipes before they decided it was probably easier for Lucifer to just fill the machine with water and let Alastor fix it later.
It didn’t clean the clothes.
If anything, it seemed to make some of the stains worse, spreading the red and browning the white.
So then they tried the other machine, which did fill with water on its own, and they declared a success until it also started filling with suds. Too many suds. Soon the suds were leaking out of the machine and pouring down the sides. They were dealing with a minor flood by the time Niffty walked in and found them both panicking.
“Why’s the dryer got water in it?” she asked, pointing to the first machine, and then looked down at the lake rising half-way up her legs. “Why’s the floor got water all over it?”
Vaggi and Lucifer exchanged panicked glances, and Niffty slowly started to grin.
“Ooh, Charlie is gonna be so mad at you two…!”
A vine slammed down in the place he’d just been, and Alastor had barely skidded to a halt before he needed to leap straight up, the tips of his shoes scraping the thrusting branch that had aimed for his mid-section. He threw out a wave of shadowed daggers that tore through the greenery, but the wisps of darkness slid down into the dirt like so much water, and the plant quickly healed, only growing larger for the evident fertiliser.
“I hate gardening!” Alastor grunted as he dodged under a returning spray of razor-sharp thorns and then somersaulted out of the way of another wave of vines that he slashed at with his claws. Despite being a plant, the rose briar somehow shrieked and immediately started reaching for him again, and he slid down into the shadows to move closer to the base. But no sooner had he emerged, claws fully extended to attack, than a vine lashed out, snagging his wrist and forcing him into an uncomfortable tug of war for his own arm. “Fucking… let go, you –!”
Mine…!
He stiffened, eyes going wide as he stared at the plant. The red roses turned toward him, and he swore he saw a pair of painted lips in their shadows. Ice bit into his veins as horrible, irrational recognition bloomed.
Come on, sweet thing. Come home now.
He hunched forward, tearing the vine with his teeth until it was weak enough for him to yank his arm free, and then leapt back, summoning his staff to hold it out like a shield, despite how badly that had gone for him all too recently.
The plant shivered like it was laughing at him.
“You know, I was ordered to get rid of you,” Alastor said, raising his frequencies until his very being began to drip, burning sizzling holes in the dirt under his hooves, “by the Princess of Hell. This is not something I can stop without greater consequences. So I think it’s best for everyone if you just fucking die already!”
In the acidic glow of his power, the plant shot up, roses bursting into full bloom and thorned vines violently lashing out against the edges of the greenhouse. The fight began anew.
Lucifer and Vaggi were silent as they walked out into the foyer, eyes wide and faces contrite. There were still suds clinging to their legs.
The few sinners lingering in the foyer wisely decided to leave.
Taking a deep breath, Lucifer folded his hands over his cane. “So, we both agree that never happened.”
“Yes, we do,” Vaggi said blankly.
“If the crazy bug lady ever tells anyone she had to rescue us from an exploding sud-wall—”
“She’s nuts,” Vaggi said, utterly toneless. “No idea where that came from.”
“Good. Good.”
They paused, soap slowly dripping off them both.
“I suppose lunch needs to be prepared,” Lucifer said, trying not to let dread seep into his voice. He didn’t know any recipes by hand. And he just knew Charlie would somehow know if he summoned anything.
Vaggi shifted her weight awkwardly, then clapped her hands together. “But you know what? I am kind of in the mood for fried hell-chicken-thing. With the wings?”
“And the gravy-potatoes!” Lucifer said, latching onto it like a lifeline. “With the uh… the…”
“Biscuits, yeah,” she said, and they both pointed to each other. “I can order that.”
“A treat for the hotel!” Lucifer agreed with a charming smile. “How nice.”
“Totally nice,” she said, and pulled out her phone. “Great. Okay. Let me just um… yeah.”
He sucked in a breath and let it out, trembling slightly. “So uh… stock, laundry, lunch… what else is on the bellhop’s schedule?”
“Oh, uh… I mean, nothing’s blown up lately, so no maintenance is needed,” she said as she focussed on her phone. “I think we’re good until dinner unless someone attacks the –”
The hotel doors slammed open so hard the glass cracked, revealing a sharp-heeled leather cowboy boot for two whole, dramatic seconds, in which Lucifer groaned.
“Charlie’s gonna make me replace that by hand. Do you know what a bitch glass is to work with?”
“Alright, Red Guy’s getting eaten by an Eden plant, so this place is lubed up and bent over to get fucked! Hands up you overpriced and oversold sinner bitches, this is a kidnapping with style!” an unfamiliar voice announced, and three bright red imps launched through the door, one wielding an axe bigger than Vaggi, another wielding an advanced angelic steel-tipped rifle, and the other with heavy burn scars and a surprisingly stylish coat. It was the last one that continued with a vicious grin, “Hand over the peacock bitch and no one gets hurt!”
More confused than anything—Mimzi had made a more impressive entrance, all told—Lucifer and Vaggi just blinked wearily. Eventually, Lucifer asked, “Peacock bitch?”
“Oh, shit,” the imp with the gun gasped, obviously recognising him, but the coated imp didn’t seem to notice.
“Yeah, purple chick, tall, too much make-up,” he said carelessly, walking forward like he owned the place despite the other two trying to snatch his coat and drag him back. “Weird feathery shit on her head. We’ve got a contract to tear her eyelashes out and sell them to a hat-maker. Apparently she cheated on her wife with—just wait, this is some convoluted bullshit—her wife’s teacher’s boyfriend in this fucked up voyeuristic thing where she was tryin’ to get an A for the wife or something but she was lousy in bed so she only got a fuckin’ C-plus and then the wife died on an alcoholic binge and fuckin’ Christ, Moxxie, what the shit is wrong with you now?”
“Sir!” the imp with the gun screeched quietly, and then pointed to Lucifer. “That’s not a sinner, sir!”
“What? You mean the clown guy?” he asked, and then looked Lucifer up and down in obvious and unimpressed appraisal. “What are you, some kind of… I don’t even know what the fuck you are. What comes outta Sloth?”
Lucifer immediately burst into brimstone. “You dare?”
“Sir,” Vaggi said quietly, reaching out to touch his sleeve. “They’re not worth it.”
The one with the axe glared at her, but still sidled up beside the coat to quietly point out, “Blitzo, that’s uh… that’d be Lucifer?” she stage-whispered. “Y’know… king of Hell?”
“What?” He looked Lucifer up and down again, then laughed. “No way! The king of hell’s been pussied up and moping since his wife left him. Besides, I’ve seen all the Sins, they’re all much bigger and cooler looking than this pansy.”
Lucifer erupted in wings and sharp teeth, and the three imps flinched, though the one in the coat quickly recovered.
“Oh, okay. Wrath demon, cool. Didn’t realise that was all scar. Sorry dude, know them feels, but seriously, we’re cool then,” he said, despite the imp with the gun apparently trying to melt into the carpet. “So anyways, hi, name’s Blitzo, the ‘o’ is silent, and I am the leader of I.M.P.. You have no doubt heard of us as the premiere assassin’s agency in all of the seven rings of Hell. If you ask nicely, I can leave you a card, but first: We have been hired to torture a sinner that our research says is hiding out in this dump of a what-the-actual-fuck-was-the-architect-thinking circus shithole, so if you wouldn’t mind just pointing out the slut we can be on our way.”
“Okay, maybe they are worth it,” Vaggi deadpanned, and the one with the axe tugged a little harder on Blitzo’s coat.
“Blitzo, seriously, we need to go now or we are going to die.”
“Oh, please, even the radio fucker didn’t kill us, this loser won’t,” Blitzo said cheerfully, and Vaggi blinked.
“Wait, radio fucker? You’ve met Alastor?”
“He the red fox sinner with the weird voice and witch-fucker powers?” he asked, and Lucifer growled deep in his throat.
“He’s a deer.”
“Mm, no, pretty sure he’s a fox,” he said. “Anyway, yeah, came to check out this place once before because my boyfriend wanted to know what the princess was up to, and fox-guy drop-kicked us into this fucked up dimension with screams and tentacles that didn’t even give good bad-touch that sent us back to the office. Fucking tease,” he added with a grimace before grinning again. “But he’s currently getting his ass kicked, so we figured the getting was good.”
Lucifer pulled back from the fire and brimstone, and Vaggi frowned. “Getting his ass kicked? Alastor?”
“Yeah,” the imp with the axe interjected, apparently hopeful that this would be enough distraction to keep them alive. “In the greenhouse out the back? We checked it first, hoping the peacock would be on the grounds somewhere so we could avoid coming inside, but the Radio Demon was out there trying to fight an Eden Plant.”
“We don’t have a greenhouse.”
“And Eden Plants don’t grow in the Pride Ring,” Lucifer added irritably, making Vaggi glance at him curiously.
“What’s an Eden Plant?”
He waved a disinterested hand, still glaring at the imps. “A briar that gains nourishment from sin. Eve’s punishment, because thorned roses were her favourite flower in The Garden,” he explained. “Some of the goetia grow it for the look, but Lilith banned them from the Pride Ring.”
“Banned or not, that’s what’s going after the Radio Demon,” the axe-imp said. “Right, Moxx?”
“Definitely,” the one with the gun confirmed. “I’m pretty familiar with Eden Roses. I thought I might grow them to help us… uh… never mind why, your highness! I gave up very quickly! Because um, well… uh… they’re too hard to maintain without a… constant diet of sinner-magic. So I –”
“Holy fuck, enough gardening talk!” Blitzo snapped, and pulled a large, silver-encrusted pistol from inside his coat that he pointed directly at Lucifer’s face. “This is a fucking kidnapping! Give us the peacock bitch or I’ll –”
“Yeah, no,” Lucifer said, and clicked his fingers. A golden portal ripped through the air under Blitzo’s feet and he dropped through it with a yelp. The other two exchanged glances, looked down the hole, then quickly scrambled to follow. It closed behind them, and Lucifer turned to look at Vaggi like the whole thing had been an only mildly interesting diversion. “Alastor’s a psychotic dick, but why would he grow a plant that only eats sinners?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” she said, shifting her weight onto one hip as she thought about it. “Sometimes he does stuff just for his twisted sense of humour. But he wanted Charlie to go to the garden this morning, not our guests. Would this plant be any kind of danger to her?”
“No, only human souls,” he said, and shifted his attention to the back wall, as if he could see through it to the garden. “And he apparently built a greenhouse to contain it.”
Vaggi blinked at him. She was pretty sure Lucifer was trying to look disinterested, but his eyebrows were twitching, and something in his jaw kept dragging it into a distinct look of concern. “Is this plant a big deal?”
“Hm? Oh, no, not really. Some good old divine light will shrivel it up. Easy fix.”
“Alastor doesn’t have any light-based powers, though,” she said, and watched Lucifer’s eyes tighten. She hesitated, not sure whether she wanted to entertain the thought edging around her mind, before she decided to give them both an out. “You know, sir, uh… the reason we’re doing Alastor’s job is apparently because Alastor is busy with this plant thing. So if we took care of the plant, Alastor could get back to his normal job and we could go back to our own lives.”
Lucifer blinked at her, one eyelid after the other, and then grinned. “Great point, Haggis!”
“Vaggi, sir.”
“That one!”
Honestly, Alastor had to admit this morning had not gone as he’d intended.
Blood dripped off his cheek as he ducked under a large branch, and he lashed out with his staff to parry another thrusting vine, static roaring to blast back the bulk of the rose petals. He thought his grip was tight, but as he had to leap out of the way of another branch, the vine wrapped around his staff and yanked it from his grip.
“Fuck!”
The heat of his highest frequencies only seemed to burn the roses themselves – the vines twined luxuriously no matter how much radioactivity he put in the air. Using his tentacles had proven disastrous, only feeding the beast until the shadows of his greenhouse were creaking under the strain of keeping it contained. So without his microphone, he was down to teeth and claws. He scrabbled backward, gnashing at the next thrust for his face, but that kept his focus off his feet, and he didn’t notice the vine snaking around until he felt the tug on his ankle, and he was yanked down and forward.
“Shit,” he hissed, twisting around to gouge his claws into the dirt and stones. Something dark and painful bit past the keratin and he bellowed but refused to let go. He kicked hard, but the vine snared his second leg, thorns cutting deep into his skin as it curled further up to his hips and started trying to drag him back. His shadow flailed, trying desperately to grab and pull him forward but also having to dance and twist away from the tentacles that would absorb it in seconds. He ground his teeth together, arms burning as he refused to give even an inch. “I… will not…! I am not your… plaything!”
Familiar laughter echoed throughout the greenhouse, and static squealed as Alastor was abruptly dragged several feet back, claws raking through the dirt until he managed to catch a large stone and drag himself back up, his bones audibly cracking from the pressure. His hands were growing slippery with blood, and he looked up to meet his shadow’s gaze, quickly calculating the chances of blood magic helping or only making things a dozen times worse.
Before he could decide, pain arced through him as his greenhouse abruptly shattered, golden light slicing through the dark. He and the plant both froze for an instinctive second, before they recognised the holy light for what it was and Alastor’s lip curled in disgust. But anything more was cut off as he was suddenly yanked back with even more vehemence than before.
“Holy shit!” Vaggi yelled from somewhere behind the light, but he couldn’t pretend to save face. He was too busy snatching at rocks, dirt, his own withering shadow and blood, all for nothing as he was quickly dragged down into a vortex of green vines and familiar pain.
“Hold on, Bambi!” Lucifer’s voice boomed, and Alastor snarled. His hooves were literally being consumed by dirt.
“What do you think I’m trying to do, you angelic imbecile?” he roared back, and snatched at the warm hand that reached for him. He had to shield his eyes as the vines gripping him rotted under the soothing golden light, but he didn’t let go, even as a second hand grasped his bicep and started pulling back against the earth still trying to drag him in.
He is mine!
“The fuck he is,” Lucifer growled back, yanking Alastor’s arm into his chest. “Let go, bitch!”
I claimed him! He is mine to do with as I wish!
“Get in fucking line,” Alastor snarled, clawing with his now-free hand to help tear at the dying vines. “I’m busy!”
“The Hazbin gets him first,” Lucifer agreed, and then shone so brightly that Alastor heard himself squeak like a fawn as he ducked his head away from it, but it worked. The plant shrieked and shrivelled, and finally his legs were released enough that Lucifer could drag him back, pulling his feet out of the dirt until he could collapse, boneless, against a wall of angelic light. Despite himself, Alastor snatched at the silvery coat, unable to hold himself up as the pain and darkness slithered away, leaving only a comforting warmth that tingled against his skin and claws.
“Easy, Bambi. Easy now,” a soft voice whispered, and for a moment, Alastor let himself breathe.
“Alastor! Alastor, are you okay?”
At Vaggi’s shout, the humiliation stabbed, and Alastor shoved himself back from Lucifer with a sneer. Unfortunately, his ravaged hooves didn’t get the same message and collapsed underneath him, dropping him to his hands and knees. He growled viciously, well aware that he was literally grovelling in the dirt at Lucifer’s feet. Fuck his entire afterlife.
“Holy shit,” Vaggi gasped. At least she had stopped a good few feet away from him, so with his head bowed he could only see her legs. He would not see her pity. “That’s so much blood… What the fuck happened?”
“Not bad, busboy,” Lucifer said lightly. “You know, not many sinners could stand up against an Eden Plant for more than a couple seconds. How long you’d go? Five?”
“Fuck you,” he growled, and sent his shadow off to find his staff. He didn’t like how it was simpering.
“Did you say sinners usually get eaten in seconds?” Vaggi asked weakly. “Alastor’s been out here for hours!”
“Like I said: not bad,” Lucifer said. “But of course, you’re still a sinner, and that means you needed rescuing. You’re welcome. If I hadn’t come along when I did, you’d be fertiliser right now. Did you even know what you were fighting there?”
His shadow returned, staff mercifully intact, if covered in dirt. Alastor tore off some of the jagged remains of his bloodied coat and started wiping it clean. “Since you clearly want to gloat, do tell, your shortness.”
“Ah-ha-ha, so hilarious, deerling. It was an Eden Plant. It eats sinners. Nothing someone like you or pretty much any human soul can do to it,” he said. “You were doomed from the start.”
“So those imps were right? It really was an Eden Plant?” asked Vaggi, before she swore. “Alastor, please tell me this wasn’t some stupid-ass game you decided to play.”
He slowly looked up at her, grin twisting at the edges. “And what game would that have been, my dear?”
“I don’t know, you plant this stupid thing and hope it eats all our residents or something?”
Alastor’s patience had been worn thin about the time he realised his shadows had been little more than blood and bone for the plant’s soil, so he wasn’t entirely surprised that all his usually brilliant mind could come up with as a response to that was pure, rage-filled static. He swiped another layer of dirt off his staff with a touch more effort than was strictly required, and ultimately decided on a shorter answer. “When I want to kill someone, I prefer to be direct about it.”
“Good point,” she acknowledged, shifting her weight with something almost like an apology. “So how did this plant get here?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted through clenched teeth. “But rest assured, when I find out, there will be more blood than this, and none of it will be mine.”
Lucifer hummed, making Alastor reluctantly look up at him. He wasn’t looking back, though, and he actually stepped around Alastor, wings rising with courtesy to avoid smacking him in the head, to thump his cane against the ashy remains of the plant. “This isn’t turned earth, and the roots go too deep. No one planted this.”
Since his staff was as clean as it would get without soap, Alastor used it to awkwardly lever himself to his unsteady feet, trying to gather the remains of his shattered dignity. “I did think it was an unwelcome weed when I first saw it.”
Vaggi frowned as she cautiously edged up beside him, craning her neck to see past Lucifer’s wings. “But you said Eden Plant doesn’t grow in the Pride Ring. Can weeds just pop up like that?”
Lucifer considered it for a moment, then tilted his wings back so that when he turned, he could meet Alastor’s gaze. His eyes narrowed in an emotion Alastor didn’t recognise from Lucifer or, indeed, anyone he’d ever met. He didn’t look away as he told Vaggi, “You know, I think there is some work on the hotel I’m gonna do. The bellhop here can keep working on the building. I’ve got the garden from now on.”
“Excuse me?” Alastor sneered. “I am perfectly capable –”
“Evidently not,” he replied shortly. “I’ll take the garden. Go tell Charlie, would you, Maggie?”
“Vaggi,” both Vaggi and Alastor corrected. Vaggi glanced at Alastor, then back at Lucifer, before nodding. “Okay. I’m glad you’re okay, Alastor.”
“Ha!” he scoffed, and she rolled her eyes but didn’t comment before heading back to the hotel. Alastor hesitated before turning his attention back to the king, who continued to stare at him with that odd expression until he took a sharp breath and looked back out over the untamed land of their back garden.
“So, do you regularly pick fights with plants, or did this one offend you somehow?”
Alastor sneered. “As I said. It looked an unwelcome weed.”
“You recognised it?”
He tilted his head back, wishing he had enough strength to shadow himself away from this pain of a conversation. “No. But as it grew it did feel… familiar. Somehow. And I believe you heard it as well I did. It seemed to know me.”
“Yes, it did,” he said quietly, and then continued, “Eden plants are designed to feed on sinners. Tear them down into the worst parts of themselves as fuel for –”
“So I have become aware, yes,” he snapped. “I suspected it was dangerous when I saw it. I will not underestimate it again.”
“You will not tangle with it again,” Lucifer corrected quietly, firmly enough that something in Alastor’s chest quietened, warmth curling against his broken ribs. But then the angel raised his voice and tone to add, “It would upset Charlie if her hotelier got himself eaten by a punishment for the first evil.”
He scoffed. “A bad look for the redemption hotel, no doubt.”
“Exactly! So I’ll take care of it next time it shows up,” he said, and swung around, his wings flaring so he could float up, hovering in front of Alastor’s eyeline. But of all the things he could have done at such a height, Alastor was not expecting Lucifer to quietly reach out and run his thumb over the bleeding gash on Alastor’s cheek, skin quietly stitching itself shut not with its usual acidic thread, but the gentle warmth of angelic healing.
It was so unexpected and foreign that all humour fled Alastor’s brain entirely. He could only blink, grin barely hanging in as he blankly stared at Lucifer’s smug face.
“Always happy to help out,” Lucifer said. “You just have to ask.”
“I… think not,” Alastor managed to get out, and Lucifer grinned before disappearing in a burst of light and feathers.
Left alone, all Alastor could do was stare at the air in front of him until his shadow rose up, looking even more confused than he felt, and they silently agreed it had been a strange, unsettling morning.
But at least his legs and feet seemed healed enough to walk on.
“We will never speak of this again,” he warned his shadow, who nodded firmly, and they began his hobbling walk back to the hotel.