Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The show, it must go on. 

He’d said it himself – had reached for his daughter’s hand to pull her up out of the ruins that had reduced her fierce, singing heart to a tired whimper. 

Charlie, being Charlie, had found her footing again in the arch of their soaring harmonies. And those of her friends, all eager to rebuild their home together.

Home.

Now that’s a funny word. 

A weird word, a confusing word, an entire mindfuck of a word. It’s a word he hasn’t felt much attachment to in a long, long time. In fact, he’s come to realize that “home” forms itself in the shape of people rather than walls or a roof or the divine glow of paradise. Certainly more so than the red-flushed pentagram sky that he’s tried his best to embrace.

Lilith used to make it easier. 

It’s a thought that’s found him more and more these days. Must be because he sees so much of her in Charlie. She’s there in the turn of her golden hair and the sincerity bright, blazing, earnest in the eyes she casts upwards when she sings.

Or maybe she gets that last part from him. An angel, no matter how far he’s fallen, still feels Heaven’s glare so sickeningly righteous burning down, down, down into his ugly cesspit (reminding him of what once was, what he can never have again). But it’s hard to say, when he hasn’t exactly been making an effort to know who Charlie is as a person… and what makes her his daughter besides flesh and blood.

It still stings to accept that this isn’t good enough – that blood only ties together a family so much when there needs to be more, needs to be active love.

So he can’t keep wallowing in old mistakes and old scars that don’t even stay carved in (un)holy meat. These days, Lucifer has new priorities – the kind that are more be-a-better-dad -based and less build-a-better-duck -based. 

Well, maybe not entirely, but who’s splitting hairs? What his powers can’t do to lift the mood around here, his ducks can probably fill the gap. Probably definitely. 

It’s not like he’s hunched over his workbench at the moment, though. He’s actually being quite the social butterfly, resisting the urge to bury himself in impulsive tinkering and instead strolling the halls with a spin in his cane and a smile on his face. He hopes it distracts from the awkward laugh hiked up high in his voice when he bumps into Husk while rounding a corner or the exaggerated boom to his greeting when Vaggie nods to him as she walks past.

Listen. It’s… been a while. Been a while since he’s shared much space with others to any sincere degree of interest. With folks like Asmodeus or Belphegor, he’s all business and showmanship. Even then, he usually just texts or calls to get shit done. It’s good for his intimidating, all-mysterious and enigmatic ruler of hell vibe, anyway.

But this is different. This is a place that’s important to the only thing that truly matters to him. This is Charlie’s baby. Sure, it’s… a strange, creepy, freakshow of a baby (like, the kind you’d find abandoned in a backwater gas station bathroom on the outskirts of Wrath). But it’s hers. And she’s been kind enough to share it with him, let alone offer him a place within its walls. Walls that are very solid, thanks very much.

And the concept of “redemption” is starting to taste a little sweeter these days.

Lucifer’s never been too accustomed to fitting in, though. Not in Heaven and not even in Hell, much as he’s often pretended otherwise. He likes to think he’s the life of any party when he turns on the charm, but Charlie’s friends have proven themselves less taken in with his title and bravado. Though he’s always pleased to see their eyes go wide when he opens his glittering sprawl of wings to shower them with the ol’ razzle dazzle. 

Oof. Can’t think those words right now. Dazzle’s death is still a fresh wound. Not as deep and damaging as some, but still a small pound of flesh all the same. Lucifer’s not nearly mentally stable enough to unpack even the smallest speck of grief when he’s only just starting to unfurl from his cozy little depression shell. 

Give him more time and more ducks, then get back to him.

“Dad!”

He blinks. Dang, a guy could get used to that. Dad. 

His sharp-toothed mouth splits into a wide smile to see Charlie jogging toward him from across the lobby. He can tell she’s been crying again this morning from the tired, red rings around her eyes, but she’s all sunshine right now. 

As far as he’s concerned, she’s always the sunshine.

“Hey heyyyy, sweetheart!” He glances over her shoulder (needing to lift onto his tip-toes just slightly) to glimpse some of her motley crew scattered behind her. Angel Dust is all spindly limbs, sprawled along his favorite couch and scrolling his phone while Niffty hums gleefully to herself as she sits on the floor, slowly plucking the legs off an assortment of insects she’s collected. The legs are being carefully stored in her pockets for later.

The others must still be busy around the Hotel or have wandered out into town for the day, because there’s actually a rare stillness in the room right now. And it’s quiet, even peaceful.

But not entirely quiet.

There’s the telltale plinking of the ivories – claws dancing across a piano’s keys in some ragtime rhythm that makes Lucifer’s neck prickle. 

Coooooool. Great. Rad. Fantastic .

The pianist himself is all smiles. But Alastor is always all smiles.

Asshole.

Luckily, Charlie seems to notice Lucifer getting huffy with distaste and simply steps into his focus to break his line of sight with Alastor, who’s still playing without so much as a care in the world. 

“Soooo I was actually wondering if we could chat?” Charlie asks him, rocking back on her heels slightly. “Just the two of us?” 

It’s easily the best way to distract Lucifer from whatever ire had begun to needle itself under his skin. And as soon as she asks this, Alastor is completely forgotten behind her. 

“Well, of course! Uh, duh!” He laughs, then aims a finger pistol at her and fires. “If there’s one thing I’ve got, it’s time to spare for my little girl!” 

He owes her that much, at least. They’re in this together, after all, especially now that he’s made his support known in so many craters still burned into the bedrock out front. Any chance to have a moment with her, to get to know her? He’ll take it. No questions asked.

But then Charlie leans enough to one side to return the piano to Lucifer’s view and he does remember Alastor is within ear-shot… Glorious, opportunistic ear-shot. 

With a fresh surge of smugness, Lucifer’s grin broadens and he puffs out his chest while making sure to shout his next few words. 

“Ha-ha! Look at us, huh? Going off to bond like no one’s ever bonded before! Just a daughter and her dad! Her number one - and only - daddy-o! Bonding away!” He wraps an arm around Charlie’s shoulders to start steering her up the stairs. “Hoo, it’ll be like no other parental figures ever existed with how much bonding we’re off to do! Just me and my little girl!”

He doesn’t hear Angel snort from the sofa as they leave. He’s too busy reveling in the fact that he’s slain two birds with one big-ass stone – he’s killing it at dad duty over here while also making certain antlered eavesdroppers totally squirm.

Take that, Alastor. Tacky fuck.

But his attention is swept away from all that as soon as Charlie walks into her room with him. Razzle is curled up on her bed, still recovering and still very much wilted in grief. Lucifer snaps his fingers, a little gold blanket sparkling into existence to drape itself quite lovingly around the sniffling demon. Its warmth seems to soothe him, so he clutches tightly to the shimmering fabric and wills himself to the comforts of sleep.

Charlie smiles sadly at the gesture, her hands lifting to her own chest for a moment (where Lucifer is sure her kind heart aches, throbs, bleeds) before she looks to her father again. His own expression softens just to see her eyes still so hopeful and bright.

“So,” she starts, sighing softly, “I… just wanted to check in. Seeing as you’ve, uh, decided to stick around for a little while.” As though sheepish, she looks to the side and tucks some stray strands of blonde behind her ear. “You know it’s okay, right? I’ll be okay. So if you’re busy, which you probably are, you don’t have to–”

Lucifer shakes his head.

“Charlie? Hey, hush. C’mere.” 

He moves to sit at the couch she's got by the window, sweeping his hat from his head before patting the space beside him. Charlie hesitates for just a beat before going to join him.

“I’m staying right here. Sure, I’ll have to pop in and out to keep the ol’ Circles spinning, but…” His voice folds itself soft and sincere, his smile more subdued to show he’s serious. “I know where I’m needed. Finally.” 

Charlie’s own expression is loving with a touch of relief in how her shoulders lower from even the smallest pinch of tension. Lucifer rests a hand atop one of those shoulders and squeezes as he continues.

“I know it’s… Well, it’s better late than never, right?” He can’t help the weak laugh that falls from his breath here. But Charlie just smiles gently, encouraging him through the throb of guilt. “Besides, someone’s gotta keep the place classy.”

KeeKee jumps up to join them, curling up on Charlie’s lap where she receives scratches behind one ear. It helps with the pause that spreads out between them for a moment. It’s not awkward or tense, just a silence that both of them don’t mind. Maybe because this – the forging of a relationship at last between them – is still a work in progress. They’ve made leaps and bounds in what feels like such a short amount of time, but there’s still a lot there that will need time to grow properly.  

Lucifer’s fine with that. He’s just glad he’s here now, doing what needs to be done to see his little girl smile that smile.

Eventually, Charlie looks up from the purring cat, voice sounding slightly tentative when she next speaks.

“And you’re… okay with my friends now?”

Lucifer laughs, giving a playfully dismissive wave.

“Okay? Pfft! Love me those lil’ sickos!” 

But he can tell Charlie had been hoping for an answer unearthed from something deeper. She wants what’s genuine, not his flashy façade. She’s always wanted that, he’s realizing more and more. So he softens his tone and lowers his hand from her shoulder as he elaborates with more sincerity this time.

“They were there for you. They’re here for you now, too. That makes them pretty damn good in my books.” He reaches to softly stroke an affectionate scritch along one of KeeKee’s cheeks, which she leans her face into with a revved-up purr. Lucifer’s smile broadens tenderly.

“I get it now. I think.” He looks back up at Charlie, who’s watching him with the fondness he remembers from when she’d been so very small. “The whole Hazbin Hotel thing,” he gestures around them, “It’s like… a family on its own now. And I’m still grateful that you’re giving me this chance to be a part of it.”

Charlie eyes get glossy and Lucifer’s heart twists. Oh, his sweet little girl. She lets her emotions spill over so freely, so open and raw. It’s a beautiful thing he never wants anyone to stifle. 

So when she wraps her arms around his neck in a hug, his own are already welcoming her close. 

He remembers thinking more than a few times that he’d never get the chance to do this again. That maybe that would be for the best, like he’d agreed to when Lilith had stepped away with tiny, wide-eyed Charlie in her arms. 

Now she’s grown into such a strong, brave young woman. He couldn’t be prouder. 

Eventually, Charlie leans out of the embrace when KeeKee makes a soft peep and leaps away to join Razzle for a nap on the bed. 

“I guess constructing an entire hotel from the ground up is one way to run a team-building exercise,” Charlie laughs softly, smearing away a tear from one of her cheeks with the heel of her palm. “So you like them? Really? It’s okay if you don’t.”

Lucifer barks out his own laugh.

“‘Course I do! That Husk makes a mean appletini, let me tell ya! And Angel Dust sure has… very colorful stories from work. Oh! Oh! And Maggie? Maggie and I are totally clicking.”

Charlie opens her mouth to correct his mispronunciation (again), but he’s already powering through and leaving her interjection in the dust. 

“I mean, we have a surprising amount in common! When you turn your back on the pearly gates Upstairs, there sure is a loooot of baggage I never even thought about unpacking. Wild, right?”

Charlie shakes her head, this time with a new laugh. It’s light and happy; the kind of laugh that makes his own heart sing. 

“I’m glad, Dad.”

Each time she says it, he wants to spread his wings and soar all the way to the underside of Heaven and back down again in a swoop to rival the one in his chest. It’s almost like when she’d just been born and he’d glanced down at her tiny face for the first time. He remembers wanting to parade her around all of Hell for his subjects to celebrate. Even if, at the same time, he’d wanted no sinner to dare gaze upon his most perfect creation.

Old angel habits, maybe. 

“Your wacky little sinners are really growing on me,” he assures her. “Angel’s explosive gal pal and, uh, the little stabby one too.”

Charlie’s still smiling, but she starts to tilt her head to one side as something dawns on her. Something that makes her expression look only slightly concerned. 

“Well, uh.” She taps her index fingers together. “If we’re talking about everybody, there is someone else who lives here.”

“Mm?”

Lucifer has his hand lifted so he can check his claws like he’s suddenly bored. Charlie starts to scowl.

“He’s kind of, I don’t know, important…”

“Weird, I’m drawing a total blank–”

That’s when Charlie groans, face bowing exasperatedly into her palm.

“Okay, this is what I was afraid of.”

Lucifer caves, throwing his arms up.

“Ugh, fine! Yes, I know he’s here too,” he huffs dramatically. “Your wacky speakeasy janitor nutjob. Person. Thing.”

“He’s not the janitor, he’s the facility manager ,” Charlie corrects curtly, but her voice drops quiet again and her shoulders slump. “And he’s my friend.”

To that, Lucifer still doesn’t know what to say. He’s not about to deny the creep’s supportive role in his daughter’s life when (unfortunately) he’s seen it firsthand, but it still rubs him all kinds of wrong. Throughout his reign, he’s seen all kinds of demons just like him and they never mean well, no matter how shiny their smiles are. 

In fact, it’s the smiles that usually reveal them for the monsters they’ll always be.

It just worries him – someone that ravenous for power so close-knit with his sweet little darling who probably only sees some desperately imagined good in him. 

The other sinners in her care are harmless enough, clearly still clutching some slim shreds of their humanity. But Alastor, the Radio Demon? He’s playing a long game and Lucifer doesn’t want Charlie to have to find out what prize he’s gunning for. There’s no doubt in his mind that he’ll chew up everyone in his path to obtain what he desires. He himself would die before he let Charlie become a mess of mangled limbs between those gleaming teeth.

He might also be just a teeny bit jealous and it’s making him petty. But that’s definitely not the main issue. Nope, that would be stupid! Immature! Pathetic!

Those just happen to be three things he feels too often at his worst. 

(Three things he sees reflected in Lilith’s eyes before she turns away and doesn't turn back.)

Charlie’s been sitting in respectful silence while Lucifer’s been chewing on how to respond, but she eventually gives his arm a helpful nudge.

“I mean, we can talk about it…? If you want?” She offers an encouraging smile.“You’re trying to be here for me, so I can try to be here for you.” She adjusts her bowtie, sounding pleased with herself. “It’s kind of what I do, y’know.”

Lucifer just looks up at her with another wash of pride in his face, his eyes. He knows it’s his sin of all sins – his essence and his downfall – but when he looks at her, he’s not ashamed in the slightest. He has every right to be damn proud.

Charlie continues, face bright like it always gets when there’s a problem she’s determined to fix.

“So what is it about Alastor that’s rubbing you the wrong way?”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, quick to return to sulking with shoulders hunching and his chin propping into his palm as he groans with frustration. Does Alastor have to be the topic of discussion here? The prick’s probably lurking just outside, clutching to every word with glee. 

Still, he can’t deny his baby girl. And he owes her more of an effort in everything he does.

“Where… do you want me to start?”

Charlie straightens up, tapping her chin as she considers some options. It’s clear she loves doing this with how she tilts her head from side to side as though sorting through file cabinets in her hyperactive brain. 

“Maaaaybe just picture him in your head and blurt out the first words that come out? Just totally raw and unfiltered!” She grins, determined. “Don’t worry, I can handle whatever it is you have to say. No judging! Cross my heart!”

She does just that, scrawling an upside-down cross over her chest.

Her eagerness leaves Lucifer a little awkward, though. Not because he’s worried about hurting her feelings with the very large library of words he could use to describe Alastor, but because this isn’t really the spotlight he’s used to. Being the ringmaster of Hell has him well accustomed to all eyes on him, but this is his daughter’s eyes. And maybe dissecting his dislike in this specific case is weirdly more difficult to admit to than he’d thought. 

Because it’s admitting to the demon’s claws prying beneath his skin even a little. It’s admitting to maybe taking the bait he knows is being dangled above him on a crimson hook.

“It’s just– It’s more like– No, I guess it’s...? Fuck, this is hard to spell out,” he hisses, carding his fingers back through his hair with frustration. 

Charlie just remains politely waiting for him to get his thoughts organized, hands over her own knees as she perches poised on the very edge of her seat.

Ugh, okay, breathe. This isn’t a big deal unless he makes it one. The last thing he wants is to give Alastor more real estate in his mind, so might as well stamp it all out here and now.

Lucifer inhales, exhales slowly, then tries again.

“Listen, I’ll just make this simple: I think the guy’s up to something.”

Charlie just lifts an eyebrow, as though prompting him to elaborate and clearly making it known that this is nothing she hasn’t considered. So he continues, doing his best to push on through teeth he’s trying not to grit together too tightly.

“I know he’s your friend and I–” he struggles with getting the next word out of his mouth, even grimacing around his tongue like he’s fighting back bile “– appreciate everything he’s done for you and your hotel. But demons like that? They’re bad news, Charlie.” 

His voice sinks into sternness for a moment. 

“He’s after something. Whether it's your power, mine, or something else entirely… he’s hunting. Even if that means lying in wait for the perfect time to strike.” 

Lucifer’s gaze lifts up to Charlie’s, uncharacteristically grim. It’s not like he wants to scare her or doubt her, but he has been around for a while. He’d like to think that being Hell’s creator would at least grant him some credibility here. 

And to his credit, Charlie isn’t brushing him off or chiding his cynicism. In fact, she’s listening with expression strangely unreadable and reserved, gaze averting to the side.

“I know, Dad. It might surprise you, but… I’ve actually already considered all of that.” Her face falls, like she’s ashamed of herself. “I do all the time.”

He hates realizing that this must not be new for her – someone assuming she’s naïve or childish for thinking the best of those around her, in believing in the smallest step toward redemption for even the most irredeemable. 

It reminds him too much of the other angels razing their glares into him, into Lilith; condemning him for seeing the potential in Eve – in all of mankind. He’d been called a "dreamer" like the word had been as depraved as a dirty slur. He knows Charlie’s faced the same cruel backlash from friends and foes alike. It wriggles uncomfortable guilt inside of him to notice how he himself must’ve added to that pile (another angel striking down fledgling hope in poisonous holy light before it can even open its wings). 

Charlie can tell he’s embarrassed and finally glances over from how her stare had stretched so weirdly distant to a corner of her room. So her voice doesn’t dip low, despairing, or lash out like a whip. She just explains further, level and kind.

“It would make me a hypocrite to pick and choose which sinners I believe in. And…” Her voice does lilt slightly sad here. “Well, he did almost die for us.” She gathers strength again, determined. “That has to mean something. Especially for someone like him.”

Lucifer can’t find it in himself to argue with that, even if his gut tightens unpleasantly. Still, he exhales a soft laugh and nods.

“Well. Here’s hoping.” He finds it in himself to offer up an earnest smile, enough to reach the red on his cheeks. “That’s… what we do here, right? Hope?”

Charlie nods, clearly touched. But before she can fling another hug on him, he finds it in himself to dig down a little deeper and admit to the other issue he’s been chewing on. He tries not to make it sound like a big deal, voice even floating up all sing-song for a moment.

“Ohhhhh and there is one other, teeny-tiny, itty-bitty, suu-uuper little extra thing that’s been bothering me.” But his tone abruptly falls flat into a disgruntled grumble that he half-hopes she doesn’t hear properly as he folds his arms tight over his chest. 

“Pretty sure he’s trying to move in on my dad cred.”

Charlie’s brow furrows with clear confusion.

“Your… what?”

Lucifer scowls, unable to keep his voice at a grumble when he’s already getting fired up just to think about Alastor’s shitty, smug face whilst patting Charlie’s head or summoning her a mug of hot cocoa from the fucking aether. 

“Like, I know I have kind of almost no experience in that field, but! But that doesn’t mean some smarmy asshole gets to tap-dance his way into your heart! It’s– It’s fucking bullshit, Charlie!”

“...Oh.” 

It’s her response being so soft and surprised that reels Lucifer back in from his snarling. Has him sitting more in silence for a moment, arms hugging tighter around himself before he finds his voice again.

“Maybe it just pisses me off so much because it took me so long to get here. Only to find out some weird freak with an agenda knows my daughter better than I do.”

That’s what he gets for waiting so long. Hell, it’s what he gets for locking himself away in his study, wanting nothing to do with anyone outside. Even Charlie. Like he’d been afraid all those years to find exactly what he’s finding now. 

But Charlie is still offering only patience and understanding, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder like he’d done with her earlier. 

“Dad.” He chances a sideways glance and sees only the softness of that smile. “It’s… not a contest. It never was.” 

The gnawing itch at the back of his neck says otherwise. At least if it was a contest, he could win it. And it would give him an excuse to flip off Alastor until the literal end of time. 

No, no. Charlie’s doing her best to hear him out. The least he can do is not let his petty grudge get the better of him. He knows it would only hurtle him all the way back to square one and push Charlie closer to that smiley bastard.

He lets her continue without interruption, even nodding slowly to show he’s listening. She squeezes his shoulder again.

“Sure, I really care about him. In his own, um, very special way, he’s been there for me too.” 

She tilts her head enough to try and get him to look up at her. He does so, blinking through the green fog of envy to notice the adoration in her gaze.

Like when he’d sit her in his lap and dazzle her with his sorcery – with glittering dancers and golden swans.

“But he’s not you.”

Lucifer smiles, warm and true. Charlie even gives him a playful nudge with her elbow. 

“I mean, you can’t compare apples to oranges, right?”

“Hah! True.”

He laughs, appreciating the cheeky sentiment like any good dad should. Not that he thinks he’s done enough to be a ‘good dad’ in writing just yet, but he’ll get there eventually. He has to.

“You’re here now and… that means the world to me.” A beat. “More than anything.” 

She’s gonna make her old man cry if she keeps this up. Not that he does, but he can’t deny the great swell of emotion in his chest just to hear her say those words again. Like those woven between their voices as they’d harmonized in the sweet sway of song together.

It’s clear that his mood’s perking back up. Enough so that Charlie’s voice turns plucky again, like the new prospect of helping resolve her dad’s conflict with Alastor has become an addition to the ambitious checklist in her head. That’s his girl, always aiming for the stars.

“I mean, yes, he’s here too – but that might not be such a bad thing! Once you try to get to know him, maybe you’ll find out you’ve got things in common!” 

“Highly doubt that,” Lucifer snaps before he can stop himself. Charlie begins to puff out her cheeks with frustration and he lifts up his palms hastily in defeat. “But okay! Fine! You… have a point. Maybe.”

Charlie settles again, looking pleased. Lucifer just relents with a laugh, knowing better than to butt heads with a stubbornness he knows she gets not just from himself, but from her mother. Definitely her mother.

Still, he slides in one last snide remark in an indignant sniff, reaching for his hat.

“As long as you’re not about to slide him some adoption papers.”

She giggles.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Before he can stand up, Charlie’s wrapping her arms around him again. This hug is slightly different, though. It’s just as warm, just as loving, but there’s a true happiness here that they’ve both been orbiting around for far too long. Mostly because of him, sure, but he knows this has been difficult for her to talk about too. Like he’d told her, the apple really doesn’t fall far.

He hugs her back, smiling into her shoulder and squeezing her close. She’ll always be the best thing he’s ever brought into this world, this universe, this everything. He can carry a thousand regrets with him, but her? Never. 

“–Oh. My bad. I'll just… go.”

A new voice breaks the moment, but it’s not shrill or snarking or sharp. It does make Charlie look up excitedly though and untangle herself from her father’s embrace to spring to her feet.

“Vaggie! It’s fine! Come in, come in!” she exclaims, stepping over to her.

Lucifer just smiles and pulls his hat back atop his head, lifting up to his own feet with a snap of his fingers that returns his cane to his hand. 

Charlie’s bouncing on the balls of her feet, grinning with an excitement Lucifer can’t help but find contagious. And he’s very pleased with how she seems to be gushing about their chat just now.

“Dad and I were just, y’know, bonding.” 

Vaggie’s voice always sways softer when she’s talking to Charlie like this. Lucifer keeps noticing how deeply they care for one another, even in the smallest gestures and details. It’s good to know his daughter’s in such loving, solid, careful hands.

“That’s great, babe. I’m glad.” Vaggie reaches up to cup Charlie’s cheek, even leaning up on her toes to press a soft kiss to her smile. Lucifer suddenly pretends to be very interested in a picture Charlie’s got hung up on her wall.

Vaggie clears her throat, breaking apart to show Charlie a gold envelope she’d been holding.

“A-anyway, someone left this out front for you. I don’t think it’s rigged with explosives or drenched in bodily fluids, so–”

Charlie’s eyes go wide and she lifts her hands to her mouth in a loud gasp.

“Ummmm oh my gosh?! Gimme, gimme, gimme!”

Lucifer can glimpse Vaggie smiling fondly before letting Charlie snatch up the letter to tear it open. She reads in record time, eyes darting back and forth before she twirls to Vaggie with a squeal.

“Holy shiii-iiiiit!” 

Both of the fallen angels in the room are smiling, but with expectation in their faces. 

“Well?” Lucifer prompts, leaning forward on the toes of his boots. “You gonna share with the class or what?”

Charlie grabs for Vaggie’s sleeves and starts to pull her out of the room.

“I’ll tell you downstairs! All the others have to hear this too! Oh my goshhhhh!”

Lucifer smiles just to see her like this. That boundless enthusiasm, that fierce excitement. And after the talk they just had, he’s feeling more optimistic than ever about building a proper relationship with her going forwards. Yes, even with Monocle McDouchebag to contend with. 

Because at the end of every long, ugly day in this disgusting pit of sinners and filth, Lucifer knows that there is goodness to be found here in Hell. It’s where his daughter was born, it’s what she’ll fight for with everything she’s got. So no matter what else tries to get in their way, he’ll do everything he can to help her make her dreams bud, blossom, and flourish.

He loves her. More than anything.

Chapter Text

Oh, if only all of Hell swayed to the swing of jazz. It might block out the yapping of very small pests that insist on skittering and scuttling where they don’t belong. 

But Alastor likes to think of himself as a very patient, polite individual – a gentleman, as his mother raised him. He has no interest in petty squabbles (but maybe in digging in beneath pretty, polished surfaces to unearth what’s rancid and rotten and watch it squirm between his claws like maggots spilt sticky from a stag’s skull). He’s an entertainer and will always appreciate amusements when they make themselves known.

Though he isn’t sure where to categorize Lucifer Morningstar just yet. 

On one hand, he’s obnoxious – loud and gaudy and overrated. He’s hot air crammed into a hilariously small package and desperate for the approval of those around him. Hardly deserving of any royal treatment when he’s more a prancing jester than a king. 

On the other hand, he’s powerful – an angel whose famous fall built everything around them. Alastor would be a fool to turn a blind eye to what he’s capable of behind his puffed-up bravado. Even to see his wings splay out plucks an ugly twang of dread somewhere inside him, reminding him that there is so much more than what Lucifer shows them.

To assume too much would make him the sad, jingling jester in this silly tête-à-tête between them and he can’t have that. 

No. Can’t have that at all.

So to now have Lucifer living amongst them (at least for the time being) might be a boon in a barb’s disguise. To have him close and so very accessible will give Alastor time to observe and dissect him – ah, if only that could be so deliciously literal in so much golden gore. But it’s like the old saying goes: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And with his deal struck with Charlie already a special rainy-day penny tucked into his pocket, he’s keen to see what else might be worth sinking his clutch into.

He does not need Lucifer’s sway or influence, but it doesn’t hurt to consider his options. A big name like that could come in handy, if one knows how best to apply it. 

For now, he can swallow down the way that voice has such a habit of rubbing up coarse on his patience. It’s his specialty, after all – enduring everything around him with a big, beautiful smile. 

And as though right on cue, he hears him shouting something undoubtedly asinine from the staircase as he stomps into earshot with Charlie and Vaggie. He’ll just have to keep playing to drown it out, soothe his sensitive ears with something far more pleasant.

But it seems like there’s an item of interest entering alongside the Morningstars – a letter Alastor can glimpse even from the piano with how it’s so tightly squeezed in Charlie’s hand. And there’s a spring in her step (springier than usual), a fire blazing in her eyes (brighter than usual) that he knows means there’s potential redemption afoot for someone. 

He makes sure to draw his song to a finish, bouncing his fingers on the last chord just as Charlie leaps from the last step of the staircase. Niffty notices this, cackling happily and clapping her applause. Oh, she’s a gem. 

As is the scowl pulling Lucifer’s face to have noticed him again. Delicious.

“Hey, guuuuuuys!” Charlie sing-songs, giving a twirl on her way closer to the small group of them. She brandishes the letter above her head. “I have the. Best. News. Ever! ”

Angel Dust doesn’t glance up from his phone. 

“There a sale on marshmallows at the store again?”

“No! Oh, but now I wish there was. Wouldn’t that be great? I’d–” Vaggie clears her throat and Charlie gets back on track. “No, listen, seriously ! I got the most ah-maze-ing letter just now and you all have to hear what it says!”

Alastor quirks an eyebrow, meets ‘eyes’ with his shadow, then adjusts his monocle as he slowly crosses one leg over the other. 

“We’re all ears, my dear.”

Even Niffty nods in heavily-panted agreement, climbing atop the armrest of Angel’s couch to perch there with an excited grin.

So Charlie clears her throat, opens the letter with a flourish, and begins to read.

“Miss Charlotte Morningstar, we of the Secretly Enclosed Redemption Ascensionists have been tracking your progress and would like to extend an invitation to attend our most important event of the year! We feel like you embody everything we have been trying to achieve in secret and, if you will have us, we hope to humbly request to stay at your Hazbin Hotel in the very near future. To make all our dreams become a reality! The courage and strength you demonstrated in fighting off the exorcists has finally given us the bravery to speak up and reach out.”

Charlie needs a moment, since emotional tears seem dangerously close to spilling out the corners of her eyes. She swallows hard, passing Vaggie a grateful look when she rests a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to continue. She does, though has to exhale a soft sigh beforehand.

“Please contact us at the number below if you are interested and would like to arrange a meeting. We are excited to finally - and hopefully - meet you very soon! Siiiiigned, Ramsy, President and Founder!”

Charlie beams, arms open like someone revealing some wonderful surprise. But the room is an awkward silence instead, everyone even shifting glances between one another before Angel Dust finally breaks the quiet as he slowly sits up from his lounging.

“Soooo not to rain on your lil’ parade here, but…”

Niffty jumps to her feet, shanking up into the air with her knife happily.

“Oooo a trap ! Like for the mice in my special boxes.”

Angel rolls his eyes, but gives an affirmative gesture with the wave of one hand. For once, he's trying to be subtle here.

“Yeah. What she said.” His expression softens some of its cheeky edge and he almost seems disappointed with his own conclusion. “It’s clearly a set-up, Charlie.”

Charlie herself is wilting with this unexpected reaction; arms lowering and face falling, though she doesn’t slump melancholic when it’s stubborn fierceness that runs through her. She props her hands on her hips and huffs.

“What? How can you just assume that? I thought we were all learning to not assume.” She lifts up a finger, bouncing it through the air like she’s writing up a lesson on some imaginary chalkboard. “Remember? Assuming makes an ass out of ‘u’ and m–”

“–They’ve got a point.” 

It’s Vaggie who interrupts her, which shocks Charlie into silence. Alastor can’t help the way he sits up slightly straighter in his seat to better take in their body language and expressions. He always loves a scrap of juicy disagreement between the two lovebirds, after all. 

Vaggie continues, turning her face away enough that her hair hides her pained expression better.

“For once, I don’t want to assume the worst, but I just think we need to consider it as a possibility.” She chances looking to Charlie again, the wide shine of her eye so very sincere and apologetic. “A big one.” 

This is enough to douse the fire in Charlie’s determination, her head finally starting to hang and a long, slow sigh exhaling through her frown. She still glances down at the letter she smoothes out again in her hands, like it’s a butterfly they’re all trying to trample beneath their shoes.

“Okay, yeah, I… I get it. I see what you’re saying. But–” Abruptly, her gaze shoots back up and her posture adjusts itself poised, proud. Alastor can’t help but laze his grin all the wider. She is quite the spitfire. It’s part of what makes her such a rare little pearl of amusement in all this sludge. Especially when she clenches her fist, furrows her brow, holds her head high as she continues. “But I just have a really good feeling about this!”

Vaggie can’t help a small, sad smile.

“You have good feelings about most things, hon.”  

Alastor can’t help but revel in the guilt that must be twisted up into so many little knots in the angel’s gut. Though Vaggie has always been stalwart in her devotion, unmoving in her support, it’s clear all the more these days that she’s still trying to stamp down so much shame. Shame in what she is, what she’s done, how she’s lied to the sweet, smiling thing that’s loved her without question. So to question her here must chew away at her – Alastor can see it in the shifting of her weight and the way she reaches to tuck some stray, ash-gray hair back into place.

It’s always fun watching the ‘strong’ ones squirm in a weakness of their own making, trapped in their own skulls. He’ll just keep making note of this. Just in case.

But speaking of troubled angels, someone speaks up who’s been eerily quiet this entire time.

Alastor’s head swivels in a sharp snap atop his neck, stare locked unblinking onto Lucifer when he steps up to Charlie from where he’d been lurking somewhere behind her.

“It does kind of scream ‘free candy in a white van,’ sweetheart.” 

He watches him fold a reassuring touch atop her shoulder. The ring on his little finger winks a golden glint of light with the gesture.

Charlie’s fervor fades again and she awkwardly folds her arms around herself. The letter is still tight in one hand, wrinkled with the determined fight still lingering in her grip. 

“I… Yeah.” She sighs again, finally defeated. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

The silence that stretches out isn’t organically awkward or unsightly in its clumsy presence. No, this time it’s much more… somber, sullen. Even Niffty’s gone still, blinking down at her knife like she’s expecting it to jump up and slice the silence to pieces. 

Alastor, however, always enjoys these moments. They’re always ripe for his voice to steal the show and for his advice to pluck the strings that tie themselves pretty around every wrist in the room.

But just as he considers opening his mouth to finally speak his piece, he takes the stage again. In a way that makes Alastor narrow his eyes in spite of the gleam of his grinning teeth.

“No, y’know what? Fuck it.” Lucifer suddenly gives a firm pat to his daughter’s back and steps forward, posture confident and head held high (for him, at least). 

Unfortunately, it makes sense that the pompous fool would change his tune. Alastor doesn’t even have to be expertly picking apart his brainfolds to understand what must’ve clicked there. Because he had seen Lucifer wrestling with it, chewing on it: the defeated shadow cast in his daughter’s eyes that must’ve been too reminiscent of his own. He’d been the original “dreamer,” after all – the angel whose big ideas had been his big downfall. Literally. 

It must’ve stung to see his own words pluck away the feathers in her own metaphorical wings. Because even when those two have come to quite the understanding lately, they’re still so deliciously messy. 

Still, Alastor listens patiently as Lucifer elaborates on his change of heart, head tilting again just so.

“Even if it’s a trap, it’s worth checking out. That’s what this – uh, we , are all about, right? Seeing the good in things, taking the risk on giving everyone the benefit of the doubt!” He’s wearing a smile that’s distinctly familiar – Alastor can see, in this moment, where Charlie gets hers from. 

Lucifer continues, hands on his hips when he stands in the center of where the group is sprawled. “We’re rebels! I mean, that’s why all of us are here, if ya think about it – me included! Trap or no trap, this is what the Hazbin Hotel is supposed to stand for and we don’t make exceptions even when shit gets sketchy.” 

Alastor can’t help but notice the glance Lucifer throws over his shoulder at Charlie once he’s spoken, like it resonates with something unseen and unspoken between them. They’ve been bonding, after all. He’ll have to keep an eye on that.

Lucifer’s tone softens more personal as Vaggie, Angel Dust, and Niffty all seem to take heart in his words. At least, as much heart as sinners (and stray exorcists) can stomach. He himself doesn’t find it especially rousing, but he’s always had much more selective tastes. Bitter, finely aged ones. 

Still, he does offer up a nod of agreement when Charlie glances around at all of them for even the smallest hint of reassurance.

“Besiiiiides, they’re just asking for a phone call, right? I say go for it,” Lucifer declares, even giving a little flourish of his cane to prompt her phone right to her hands in a swish of sparkles.

Charlie simply holds it for a moment, clearly touched by his support. And when she looks to him, her expression is bordering on hopeful all over again.

“...Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His bravado is washed away again to reveal the simple, bare-bones love for his precious flesh and blood. No bullshit, no pizazz. It’s all there in the subtle pull of a smaller smile and the softened drop in his voice. 

Charlie holds her phone to her heart.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Lucifer nods. Alastor almost snorts, but refrains, of course. It’s just funny, seeing him actually being subtle and not showering Charlie with gifts, fireworks, and the glitter off his wings.

Vaggie finally offers her own two cents, looping an arm around Charlie’s waist.

“And I’ll go with you if it’s someone’s idea of a fucked up trick.”

That’s when Charlie actually grins a little playfully, nudging her girl with her hip. 

“Even though you know I can take care of myself?” she teases. Vaggie laughs.

“You kidding? You’ll kick their ass, babe.” Her head tilts affectionately against her shoulder as she squeezes her closer. “I’ll just be there to offer emotional support.”

It’s funny because Vaggie isn’t at all very emotionally open. But if she’s anything, she’s supportive. Especially now that she’s got her wings back and isn’t afraid to unfurl them wide and protective. 

Aw, the two of them canoodling up there is going to give him lice. At least Niffty can pick those out for him if that happens.

Angel sighs loudly, dramatically, as he flops back down into the cushions of the couch, mile-long legs splaying in a languid stretch.

“Well. The cavalry’s here if ya need us. Even if the cavalry needs a hard drink and a fuckin’ nap first.”

Niffty cackles, jumping to the floor and sprinting in a frenzied circle around Charlie and Vaggie.

“They stab first, I’ll stab last! Then add their faces to my collection, okay? Okay, okay, okay!”

Charlie giggles, nuzzling into Vaggie’s hair. It’s a scene right out of a Christmas card. 

“Oh, you guys.”

With spirits lifted and confidence returned in full swell, Charlie goes off down one of the hallways with Vaggie to make the call. She assures them she’ll return once she’s got the new plan of action.

This leaves the lobby (and its occupants) as free reign… and free game.

Alastor watches, as he always does; ever-content to be the quiet observer while the others mingle. And now that Lucifer isn’t posturing for his daughter’s love and attention, he’ll be forced to adapt to a much more awkward element: bonding with Charlie’s friends.

There’s even a particularly tasty moment where the two of them meet eyes. Alastor can’t help but feel a little smug to notice Lucifer jolt, surprised and very unpleasantly so.

He likes to think he himself is a very inviting presence, but Hell’s head honcho is being very avoidant at the moment. He even sneers disgruntled in a flash of his teeth before he turns away toward the bar instead. It seems even Lucifer himself needs a strong drink to distract from what’s distasteful. Oh, Alastor is almost flattered.

Almost.

He himself simply turns back to the piano, fingers lovingly stroking across the keys without playing them just yet. 

It’s still not quite like the one he used to play in the height of life. It’s far more sleek and polished. The C# isn’t a little too flat and the pedals don’t stick after an hour. 

“I’m making you a present, sir!”

Niffty’s voice anchors his focus back to the present, has him blinking once before he glances down to where she’s pulling herself up to join him on the piano bench. 

She’s humming again and it’s to the tune of the piece he’d been playing earlier; kicking her feet whilst she assorts a variety of bug legs out onto her skirt to start carefully twining together like one might with a daisy chain. 

“Always the artist, I see,” Alastor praises. And ignores the crash of a bottle from behind the bar, even if it makes Niffty’s eye flash red and her knife return to the grip of her tiny hand.

“For fuck’s saaake,” he hears Lucifer whine. How predictable! It seems the clown is ready to perform again, doomed to the whims of slapstick. 

He himself does nothing to interfere, just letting the ever-slight lift of his brow inform Lucifer that, yes, he is always watching and he is always amused. Besides, he knows that the shrill clatter of broken glass will have someone else chewing him out in five, four, three, two– 

“The Hell’s going on down here?” 

Husk stalks down from upstairs, ears pinned back as he scowls around for the culprit. Angel Dust just snorts, pointing over to where Lucifer has magick’d away the mess with a sweep of his staff. In fact, the bottle of whiskey has been completely reassembled and returned to the rack. 

“Nothing to worry about! Just, uh. Butterfingers. Oops.”

Husk’s anger subsides as soon as he realizes who he's snarling at, just scratching the back of his head with an awkward shift of weight. 

“Oh. It’s fine.” A beat. “Uh. Sir.” Another beat. Alastor is loving this – the blind leading the blind over here. Hilarious. But Husk, ever the mindful bartender, eventually steps over to take the glass from Lucifer’s hands. 

“Here, lemme fix ya something better. I got just the thing.”

And as Husk and Lucifer make weird small-talk, Angel starts to doze on the sofa, and Niffty remains settled enough to complete her bug-leg-friendship-bracelet (she ties it onto Alastor’s wrist just for him! The absolute peach!), Charlie finally comes jogging back into the lobby. 

“Hey, soooooo had a talk with the guy from the thing–” she unties her tangled tongue for a second, “–the President person of this very cool club, and he wants to meet right now! Downtown! Ohhh, he sounded so much nicer on the phone!” 

She sighs wistfully, holding her hands to her chest as she tries to collect herself as though the excitement is buzzing her dizzy. Vaggie enters as she does this, taking her time and with her spear slung over one shoulder. 

“Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two,” she tells the group. She actually seems less skeptical in spite of being well-armed (that must just be old habits), settling a supportive touch to the small of Charlie’s back. “Try not to set the place on fire while we’re gone?”

Alastor notices Lucifer perk up, setting down the drink Husk had made him.

“You’re sure you guys got this on your own?” he asks. He glances from Vaggie, to Charlie. Her smile softens, but there’s some of that telltale Morningstar independence blazing there.

“We’ll be fine, Dad. Sit back and relax, okay? Maybe you could all…” she glances around the room for ideas, “...play Scrabble!”

Lucifer doesn’t push his luck, just smiling his understanding before taking a swallow of his booze.

And, sure, he might’ve already said his piece and offered his advice, but Alastor hasn’t. Much as he’s been a very well-mannered and quiet bystander to a lot of what’s been unfolding, he has no intention of melting into the background. 

Instead, he melts into the beckoning blackness of his shadow, allowing it to promptly conjure him beside Charlie where he appears in an abrupt fizzle of radio static. 

“Charlie! A word?”

Both she and Vaggie jump with the sudden intrusion, but she just steps toward him with her hands clasped together and her smile wide as can be. Good girl.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried too, Alastor,” she accuses in a teasing drawl. He dismisses this with a wave of his palm, laughing so cheerfully sing-song like a hum.

“I just think you should air on the side of caution, hm? It would be a shame for something… unfortunate to happen, after everything you’ve endured.”

At this, Charlie lifts a hand to her mouth, touched.

“Aw. It’s… kinda cute when you worry.”

He’s not worried, but he doesn’t want to lose a valuable asset. No, not when they’re just getting started.

“Just keep your wits about you, my dear. We shall hold down the fort in the meantime.”

He gestures back toward the others. Angel Dust has Niffty by the scruff, trying to keep her from chasing another poor roach as she froths with the need to possess it. Husk is wiping down the bar where some of Lucifer’s booze had splashed and Lucifer himself is… 

Ah. He’s seething – tense, scowling, watching him closely with a suspicious leer. Which simply prompts Alastor to very slowly lift up his hand and rest it just lightly atop Charlie’s shoulder. 

Glass shatters again. The tumbler in Lucifer’s palm has been replaced by several jagged shards that Husk starts to carefully pluck aside with a low, grumbled stream of complaints.

Charlie, however, just smiles weakly and even moves to stand in front of Alastor, hiding her concerned expression from her father over at the bar. Her voice drops quiet.

“Speeeeaking of that. Um. I was wondering if maybe you could… do me a tiny little favor?”

Alastor can’t help the pleased bark of laughter.

“Well, well! Offering up a deal of your own, are you?”

“Pfft, no, nothing like that! Just…”  She casts a worried glance over her shoulder at Lucifer. He’s still got his lip curled with disapproval, but at least Husk is distracting him with some friendly conversation. What a helpful little pussycat. 

Charlie bows her head, sheepish. “Keep an eye on my dad? Maybe?”

True to form, Alastor lifts an eyebrow and cocks his head to one side. He can’t recall the last time someone asked him to babysit, after all. 

But Charlie is quite serious with her request, voice earnest and… gentle as she explains herself. Though she’s still strangely awkward (unaccustomed to worrying over dear ol’ dad, it seems), she manages to force her chin back up to look Alastor in the eyes.

“I know you two don’t exactly see eye-to-eye, but it means a lot to me that you’re both here. And he can be kinda over-protective and you can be kinda…” she gestures vaguely to all of him, “...a lot. So maybe consider offering up an olive branch? While I’m dealing with this?”

He exhales a long, drawn-out sigh and examines the head of his staff like he’s checking it for flecks of dirt. 

“Now, now. Forcing friendships isn’t very on brand, I’m afraid. But I shall do my very best to be a gentleman. Naturally.”

“As always, right?” she chimes in, clearly tempted to even consider offering up a hug with how she rocks momentarily on the heels of her shoes, but (wisely) she thinks better of it. “Thanks, Alastor.” 

It’s funny, he thinks. She used to groan his name in a slanted sound of caution, of something akin to contempt. Now, though, it’s a warm lilt in her voice – a word she’s fond of, especially now.

“I’m just… I’m really glad you’re here,” she continues, “That you’re okay.”

And that’s why it’s beneficial to ‘die’ for one’s ‘friends.’ Or, at least, to narrowly avoid death’s cold grip, just to come limping back to the fold he’d so bravely perished for. Almost. 

At this point, he’s aware that Lucifer can no longer ignore their conversation. He’s got his elbows on the bar-top, a new glass clasped between his palms and his gaze unwavering on the pair of them. Oh, how the tables have turned! Because Alastor can recall just a bit earlier when Lucifer had walked with Charlie upstairs to have their own little heart-to-heart. Time for his behavior to turn around and bite him on the ass, so to speak.

There’s an impish gleam in Alastor’s eyes as he looks from Lucifer, back down to Charlie.

“Oh, listen to you! Such a dear, the very apple of my eye!” He doesn’t hear glass breaking, but there’s certainly a tangible tension fresh in the air now. Yes, good, stew in it. “I wouldn’t dream of missing out on what else our Hotel has to offer, now that it has quite the reputation.”

“Alastor ,” Charlie sighs, choked up all over again. Vaggie rolls her eye, muttering her disapproval before finally just giving Charlie a nudge toward the doors. 

“Come on. Don’t wanna be late.”

“Oh! Right! Duh! ” Charlie laughs and lets Vaggie steer her out, but the appreciative look she gives Alastor is one he’s grown quite fond of, in his way. 

She’s a good kid with so much good potential. 

“Yes, off you go! Make good choices,” he calls after her, then shrugs. “Or don’t!”

Good choices have no place in Hell, a wound carved bloody into the ground and made the very personification of poor choices, bad judgment, impulsive decisions. One could say her father also embodies these traits. After all, look at that garish hat. Certainly… a choice, that one.  

And as he watches Charlie leave with Vaggie ever loyal at her side, Alastor can’t help but feel his own surge of pride. He likes Charlie, after all; he hadn’t been exaggerating completely when he’d found himself feeling akin to parental fondness to see her succeed. Cannibal Town had been testament to that – to a stepping stone in the direction of a powerful combination.

As he’d thought before, she’s a good kid.

But now the Hotel is quiet with its bursting, beating heart having stepped out for the day. It’s back to the piano, then. There had been a few songs he’d been feeling - some classics from the good ol’ days - and it’ll certainly make for some decent atmosphere should Lucifer want to set this straight. 

In a way, jazz is Alastor’s own version of an olive branch. Or an olive twig. He’ll have to see if Lucifer bothers himself with reaching out for it.

He himself might want to keep dangling it out of reach (not difficult) or lacing it with venom just for funsies. As much as he will certainly be the gentleman here, he can’t deny how much fun it is to watch Hell’s High and Mighty squirm like any of the worms at the very bottom of the ladder (writhing, wriggling in the dark muck of the dirt and the shit). 

Respect is earned, not an obligation.

So upon seating himself at the bench again, Alastor flexes his fingers, testing them lazily before he begins a new song. 

It’s slower than the ragtime from before – some swanky jazz he remembers used to make couples swoon even in just the lingering of their stares across a dim-lit room. Even Husk seems placated by this one, a small smile on his face as he pours a drink for Angel. Because Lucifer has left his stool and Niffty’s rubbing a stain away behind the bar somewhere with zealous growling.

And while she is busy, Lucifer is not. Instead, he comes to lean against the side of the piano with arms folded as he clears his throat. Alastor doesn’t look up from the keys and waits for Lucifer to speak first. He wouldn’t want to assume , after all. 

“...Heyyyy there. You.” 

Alastor’s gaze is still watching his own hands as they glide over the ivories. He’d like Lucifer to put in a little more of an effort if he’s going to humor him at all. 

Even when he’s not looking directly at him, he can tell he’s fidgeting a little; awkward and annoyed. Good. He’ll get the gist of it, eventually. He’ll learn that he doesn’t get to clap his hands and have the denizens of Hell leaping through hoops of fire. Not without a little oomph , of course.

Alastor hears him clear his throat and try a different approach.

“Take requests or what?”

Finally, the demon lifts his head to look right at him, his smile shining bright.

“No!”

Oh, the look on his face. Priceless. His eyes had gone wide, his lips pulled into a frustrated scowl. How many get the chance to drive Lucifer, His Majesty himself, a little bit mad, hm? 

Alastor’s fingers keep dancing a tune into the piano – very Rhapsody in Blue at the moment, which is always a delight to play around with. Eventually, though, he continues speaking. He… did give his word that he’d be a gentleman. And Lucifer might start to assume anything less of him if he doesn’t play nice. 

“I doubt we have the same taste in music, my good sir. Circus jingles aren’t really my thing.”

See? Playing nice. He could’ve been so much more callous with his insult. 

He hears Lucifer huff over his music.

“Ha, ha. Real original. You here all week or what?”

“I’m here for as long as Charlie needs me to be.”

“Oh, don’t you start. Doooon’t you fuckin’ start.” He waggles his finger at him. Alastor just lowers his eyelids slightly to show he’s hardly impressed or intimidated. As always, his smile doesn’t budge. 

Lucifer groans. It’s becoming clear that he may have had a similar chat with Charlie about their… animosity toward one another. But he has much more to lose if he falls out of his daughter’s good graces (again). That’s a fall that might hurt more than the one from Heaven.

“Listen. Alastor.” At that, he cocks his head with a very, very subtle flick of one ear. Lucifer keeps talking, slow and steady with the clear effort to behave himself. “I just think maybe we got off on the wrong cloven foot, here. And we both want what’s best for Charlie, so why don’t we just… Try again?”

He doesn’t answer right away. First of all, because it’s funny. And second of all, because he himself doesn’t like how Lucifer can make his skin itch like it does. He’s the only one who’s been able to have him slipping from his manners, the only one who’s gotten his mask to crack even in the thinnest fracture line no one else can see. Though he likes the idea of playing nice with him for all the reasons he’d considered earlier, there is the smallest, scarlet shred of him that bristles with the very tiny possibility that Lucifer might be able to look at him… and see something. 

The act of being perceived is such a dangerous one to balance just right.

Regardless, he eventually brings his song to a close. There’s a beat, a pause, then he starts up a new one. But this time, he maintains eye contact with Lucifer as though to emphasize the familiarity of the tune that can easily be played alongside a fiddle. Particularly golden ones. 

Can’t go wrong with classic Joplin and the ol’ Maple Leaf Rag. It’s still ragtime rather than the jazz he’d been playing before, but he can meet him somewhere basic for the time being. Once – if – he earns the right. 

The “truce” that Alastor offers doesn’t sail over his head, thankfully, because Lucifer’s violin appears right on cue as he jumps into the melody with ease. At least his skills don’t make that instrument yowl like a cat in heat.

They sound good together, too. It’s a start. But the trouble is that, even though it’s simple enough to fall into the rhythm together and play off one another, Alastor isn’t necessarily… satisfied. Story of his life (and afterlife), it seems. 

So even though he and Lucifer again make eye contact over their instruments and accept that they can create something together, he can tell that he’s also not quite convinced it’s something that’s meant to stick. And also that his ego is muttering the same thing that his own is – so is that all you got? 

Time to pick up the pace, then. 

Alastor starts to play the tune faster. As it's the piano, this sets the baseline and forces Lucifer to meet him there. He does, of course, but now he’s also got that competitive spark flared up in his glare. He fiddles faster. 

And then Alastor plays faster than that. And then Lucifer meets him there. So Alaster plays faster still. Lucifer meets him there too. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” groans Husk from the bar. His tail gives an unimpressed flick and his ears are folded back as though to protect themselves from the well-played, but very intense duet battling it out. Angel Dust has an eyebrow raised and a smirk slanted crooked up one side of his mouth. 

“They should just get a room and–”

“Do not even say it, man. I’m beggin’ you,” Husk growls. 

Niffty seems to love their music, though, and is spinning, springing, and skittering all over the place; half-hazardly singing along.

Alastor can’t deny the spike of adrenaline this is rushing through his blood. The thrill of besting Lucifer himself – the triumph even just in pushing him enough to meet him where he is… Oh, this is suddenly opening up the potential to be quite fun. Especially to keep their stares locked in tight together; to see the sheer hate in Lucifer’s eyes…

Hm. Interesting.

They’re finally coming to the finale, though, and the heat striking up in the air is like that of the friction on Lucifer’s bowstrings that could probably strike a literal fire if they’re not careful. The still haven’t missed a single note, climbing the crest of the song’s frenzied climax in such zeal that Alastor hadn’t even noticed himself rise to his feet or how Lucifer had leaned in closer as though this would somehow shove his sound down his throat all the more.

Yes, that’s right. He wants him to push himself, derange himself, unhinge himself and—

The doors suddenly crash open. Vaggie bursts through on tousled wings, toppling to the floor with enough force to leave pale skidmarks of angel’s blood in her wake.

“Shit! Vaggie?!” Angel Dust squawks out, jumping to his feet and sprinting over to her. Husk is right with him, trying to help her up to her feet.

She actually shoves them both away with a hard, angry flap of her wings and a yell of frustration; fists slamming down into the tile hard enough to form cracks. Even Niffty is too transfixed with what she’s seeing to obsessively clean this new mess.

“It– It was a trap! Fuck!” The room is deathly quiet, fiddle and piano completely forgotten as both Alastor and Lucifer walk in closer to see what’s happened. Vaggie doesn’t dare look up at any of them, face bowed with her hair spilled out around her. “I didn’t see what happened, I didn’t know where she went! All it took was– was one fucking minute alone and they took her!”

Still, complete stillness on all sides. It’s only Lucifer who chances a step forward, looking like he’s starting to kneel down closer to her when she suddenly lifts her head to look right at him. 

There is so much emotion in her eye – anger and sadness completely overwhelmed into hopeless panic that gazes desperate and lost. 

“They took Charlie! She’s fucking gone!”

Lucifer’s face is blank with shock. Until it isn’t. Until it is unholy rage that sprouts horns and burns his eyes red.

Alastor himself feels a prickle clawing the back of his neck as the reality of this news starts to sink in. His shadow stretches out, its expression warped with… intense dissatisfaction.

Well. Shit.

Chapter Text

The next few hours feel like Hell more than Hell itself ever has. 

Lucifer doesn’t feel present for most of it. It’s more like he’s riding the automated reaction – this thing of fury and fire and so, so much fear. He knows his body moves and his voice speaks, but he’s frozen numb inside like a captive. One held hostage by himself and every scenario that’s been running in his head since Vaggie crashed through the doors.

He leads the search party with her. Nothing gets the job done like an angel with righteous purpose, after all. But they find nothing, learn nothing. 

All traces of this “club” have disappeared along with Charlie. There aren’t even signs of a struggle or even a friendly meeting between the two parties. Just an empty room that Vaggie had seen them slip inside before she’d been distracted enough for them to vanish entirely. 

There isn’t even the blood spatter on the wall that Vaggie swears had been there before. It had come from her own forearm when she’d lifted it up to block the slash of a knife. She hadn’t expected it to be a blade forged or coated in the angelic steel she’s vulnerable to. 

All of Pride is searched – no, it’s completely picked apart as Lucifer, all wings, horns, and eyes, uses his unholy reach to demand every building and hovel be investigated. But it’s obvious he won’t find anything. Whoever has taken Charlie is a professional. This person - or group - knows what they’re doing and what they want. This isn’t just some grab-and-go for a quick buck or some leverage. It’s calculated, precise, and… 

Fuck, he has no idea what to think right now.

As day sinks defeated down into crimson night, Lucifer finally just sits, exhausted and quiet, in the Hotel.

Because if she shows up on her own, this is where she’ll go. It’s home, after all.

Her home.

Lucifer closes his eyes, face bowing down into his palms. Guilt is a sick pool of nausea and shame in his stomach. He can’t help but replay everything he’d said before Charlie had been stolen away – how he’d been the one to speak up and insist she go meet the bastards that did this. 

He’d wanted to support her. He’d wanted to show her he’s more than just so much emotional baggage and clingy hang-ups. He’s more than just a fallen angel rotting in his own candy-coated cynicism. But that’s still all he is, it seems. 

Or all that he should be, if it keeps his daughter safe.

He can even hear it like a ghost in the back of his head – Lilith’s voice, quiet and disappointed. 

I told you. He swallows thickly. You can’t be what’s best for her right now.

Back then, she’d been right. Right now? Maybe nothing’s changed.

The emotional scars of so many mistakes itch like teeth chewing slowly into his skin, taking their time and tasting the bitter regret in every mouthful. He feels a shudder in his back, burning into the marks where his wings unfurl from. Once, they had blazed like raw, puckered scar tissue from the agony of his Fall. Now, it’s like a twisted return to that; a return to the despair that had made him want to rip them off again and again and again. 

Or maybe it’s the righteous anger in him – the burning in every angel, fallen or not, that demands justice. That cleaves everything into black and white without remorse. 

He sighs, long and slow. This… isn’t what Charlie would want. 

Tempting as it would be to descend into a bleak spiral of self-loathing (he’s been there plenty of times before!), he can’t let her down again. Not this time. 

Though it’s not like he’s eager to hop to his feet and whistle a heart-lifting tune, he can at least do what Charlie would want – check on the others. Make sure they’re okay.

Vaggie especially. Because if there’s one person who’s tearing herself apart impossibly more than he is, it’s her. 

So Lucifer forces himself up to his feet. He doesn’t reach for his staff or his hat, though. He looks like shit with hair tousled and bow tie undone, but it’s not like it matters right now. Especially when he’ll definitely be pouring himself a shot at some point tonight. Even if the burn of it never thaws down the numbness into anything that makes sense. It’s as good as knocking back room-temp tap water.

Whatever. First things first, he’ll head to Vaggie’s room. Vaggie’s… and Charlie’s.

Even stepping out of his own chambers makes him scowl with how tenderly raw it feels to be anywhere but hidden away. But he swallows down the discomfort, especially as he walks down the hall to hear sniffling from the doors looming ahead. 

Oh. 

Shit, maybe he shouldn’t intrude, actually. Vaggie’s a creature of pride and the last thing he wants is to make her feel like her dignity’s lost alongside the woman she loves. But at the same time, he knows he’s just trying to use it as an excuse to turn coward and sulk away again. 

Time to buck up. Be the big guy in charge. It’s… something he needs to improve on, anyway.

After an awkward few moments rocking hesitantly on his boots, he finally raps a light knock to the door with his knuckles. The sniffling stops. Okay, cool, think Charlie thoughts. Think sweet, kind, rainbow thoughts that will definitely fix the problem and not make it ten million times worse.

“Hey, uh… Maggie?” The silence lingers. Lucifer continues. “It’s me. Y’know, just… just Lucifer here. Hangin’ out.” 

No ! No, stupid, ugh, this is serious . Try again.

“I mean! Not exactly ‘hangin’ out,’ ‘cause everything’s a load of shit right now, so it’s more that I was just in the neighborhood, thought I’d swing byyyy, see how you’re vibin.’ That’s– That’s what they say these days, right? It’s all about the vibes?”

Fuck, this is a disaster and his voice is garbling into a high-pitched, laughing mess barely stumbling through the words he’s tangled in. 

And there’s still silence behind the door. Lucifer sighs, runs a hand up over his face. Again, he tries to think about what would make Charlie smile her smile if she was here with them.

Okay, once more. Third try’s the charm. It helps that his voice sounds less erratic and more solid, soft, and stable. 

“...I can sit with you. Just for a minute. If it helps.”

And for just a minute, it’s still sad silence. Not even a sniffle or a snarl – nothing, which makes Lucifer’s heart lurch defeated in his chest. Maybe he’s just being annoying and intrusive. Maybe he’s never learned his place in such things, when thousands and thousands of years have been wasted behind the closed doors of his study. But then–

“Come in.”

Maybe he’s just being dramatic, getting trapped in his own head. He does that. A lot.

He nudges the door open to slip through just enough, closing it quietly behind him. The look he throws over his shoulder is concerned and careful. All the more so to see the strange fragility that Vaggie’s sitting with, one of Charlie’s pajama shirts wrapped up in her arms and held to her chest like the most precious of treasures. It makes Lucifer’s heart tighten with a deep, dull pain he knows Vaggie’s feeling too.

She doesn’t look up when he steps over to sit at the foot of the bed. Razzle’s curled up against Vaggie’s side, eyes glossy and reddened with tears. KeeKee’s here too, curled up on Vaggie’s other side and looking wilted and worn. 

No wonder the Hotel, a beacon of hope as it is, seems just as sad, sunk all the way through into its wallpaper.

Lucifer takes a moment, gaze searching sullen over the floor before he finds words to start with. His tone is that same, grave sincerity that doesn’t throw any bullshit into the conversation.

“The others wanted us to come downstairs soon. I think some of them might have ideas on what to do next.” 

Husk had told him this when he’d dragged himself up the staircase to be alone after his failed search efforts. To be fair to him and the others, there had been something akin to optimism flickered alive in his eyes. It had reminded Lucifer of Charlie even just a little. Every day, he’s finding little details that tell him how much of an impact she’s had on all these lives assembled so gracelessly around her.

Vaggie still doesn’t look up and her voice is flat when she manages to speak.

“Doesn’t matter.”

She embodies everything he himself is feeling, but he can’t let that show through right now. If he lets that side of him win, they won’t get anywhere. So he looks over at her, gaze searching her face and seeing only a hard, sturdy wall of ice. Still, he preserves. 

“Of course it matters. Just because we haven’t found any leads right away doesn’t mean we won’t find any at all.” His hands grip into his knees slightly. “I think this is all just… a shock.”

Vaggie clutches tighter to Charlie’s shirt. It’s pink with a happy sun beaming from the center. Like the girl herself used to as a small, small child gasping in awe at the magic he’d weave into the shape of the shining sun she’d never see.

He swallows. Much as this is threatening to crash into him all over again, he has to endure. He has to rise above the emotions that want to split apart into rage or sorrow. Or into both… and let it rampage like the monster he’s supposed to be.

The monster all of creation hates and fears.

“It hasn’t even been a day. And Charlie– Well, Charlie’s tough,” he assures her. And himself. “You know that.” I know that. 

Saying it out loud… does help, on some level. Because inside his head, words can get twisted and maimed and warped into anything. Out here, the words are what they are and can’t be changed. And Vaggie can hear them just as much as he can; can remind him they existed just in case his mind tries to tell him otherwise.

His expression softens as he considers the words he’s placed out there between them, too. Because it’s Charlie who’s had to remind him that she’s stronger than she’s given credit for. Though he’s had to swoop into her rescue occasionally, he has seen firsthand what she’s capable of. And it’s nothing to scoff at.

So determination bends his brow slightly and lifts more strength into his voice as he keeps talking.

“And much as we both want to blame ourselves, we can’t. That’s not going to help her. And it’s not what she would want.”

This, at least, makes Vaggie look up finally. Her eye fixes a heavy, tired, lost stare into his face. And though it’s clear she appreciates what he’s saying, she can only shake her head.

“What help am I anyway?” Her stare lowers back onto the beloved shirt she’s clutching to. She smooths it out slowly, taking such care and love even just with this. “I couldn’t stop them even when I knew it was suspicious as soon as we walked in. I knew and I still–”

Her arms go limp when she's unable to even bring herself to keep fussing with Charlie’s shirt.

“I failed her.”

“Vaggie.” He remembers how Charlie had told him to pronounce it. Not Maggie, no. Vaggie . He’ll try to get it right from now on. “You didn’t.” 

She’s not convinced, posture all the more wilted with slumped shoulders as her eye stares blankly down into the fabric of the shirt. So Lucifer continues, his own gaze joining hers in all that pink.

“You did what she wanted. You didn’t go in, spear raised at the ready. Your guard was dropped… because you were trying your best to see the good in those shitheads.”

He reaches out, straightening the collar of the shirt. His fingers remain there, dark and gentle, before he lifts his eyes back up to Vaggie’s face again. There’s a stronger push of determination in his voice when he next speaks and in the subtle furrow beginning to knit into his brow.

“They failed her. They fucked up.”

This finally seems to make something click behind her eye – the flicker of a light like the sparks in the struck flint of a lighter meant for a cigarette in the dark. Vaggie’s still wordless, but it’s clear she’s contemplating his words now instead of just letting them slide aside like water down a duck’s back.

Lucifer feels a small smile settling into his voice as much as in his face. Not because there’s anything to grin about, but because he’s feeling it too – the motivation to keep strong rather than succumb to the juicy temptation of rolling over, giving up, razing all of Hell into worthless cinders.

“And if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Charlie isn’t letting any of this get her down,” he realizes fondly, letting the thought line his will with iron. “She’ll be fighting on her end so we have to keep fighting on ours.”

His heart hurts. No, it outright shivers in his chest, hard like the drumming of wings that will fly him to his sweet baby girl. Because he will find her. And so will Vaggie, who’s finally lifted her head to look up at him with her eye wide in something so very akin to the hope they’ll have to cling to with every fucking thing they’ve got.

“We’re only failing her if we give up,” he tells her, and it comes directly from his throbbing heart. 

She seems to sense this, because there’s actually the start of a very small, sad smile turning up the corners of her lips. She even brushes some of her hair out of her face, exhaling a tired ghost of a laugh.

“...It’s funny, how much you two can sound alike.” Her smile lingers sheepishly as emotion swells visibly in Lucifer’s eyes. Maybe enough like Charlie here too, because she has to avert her gaze down to her own hands as she continues. “I’ll, um. I’ll be down in a minute. To talk with the others.”

Lucifer nods, sliding off the edge of the bed and onto his feet. He watches Razzle nuzzling his head into Vaggie’s side and KeeKee resting a tiny paw atop her knee to further comfort her. 

In a way, he feels like he has a responsibility here specifically – to keep Vaggie safe, to make sure she doesn’t let her anger or her misery warp her into something she’s not. Charlie loves her, after all. So as far as Lucifer’s concerned, Vaggie’s family. And he wants to do better where all family is concerned.

Slowly, he bends to carefully pick up the pink ribbon left abandoned on the floor from where Vaggie must’ve angrily torn it off. He presses out some of the wrinkles for a moment, then steps over to offer it to her. 

“We got this, Vaggie,” he says in all sincerity. “We’ll get her back.”

Her expression is usually difficult to read, but not right now. It’s not relief washing over her, but more like… appreciation. Gratitude. Like hearing him say it is the thinnest sliver of hope, but is hope nonetheless. Enough so that she can dig her grip into it and hold on tight rather than plummet backwards into that ugly void of self-loathing. 

So she’s still smiling faintly when she takes her ribbon from his offered hand.

It’s weird. He has this urge to open his arms, to offer some kind of reassuring embrace. He doesn’t, of course; he can tell Vaggie isn’t one to have her personal space rudely invaded and their dynamic is still its own work in progress. It’s been a long time since he’d been able to open his own shielded heart to anyone besides those very near and dear to it. 

Vaggie might not be flinging hugs around his neck like Charlie would, but she nods her gesture of fondness all the same.

“Yeah.” A beat. Her smile very gently widens. “Thanks.”

At that, Lucifer leaves her to it. But he can’t deny the warmth trying its damn best to press up through the cold dread he’s been feeling for the last few horrible hours. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. He can work with something. Both Lilith and Charlie were always good at that. He owes it to both to make the effort, he tells himself. To try and be Lilith’s strength and Charlie’s heart. 

But thinking too long about either, let alone both, is a one-way trip to Mope-Town so he’d rather avoid that route, thanks very much. Instead, he exhales a long breath as he makes his way to the stairs, carding his fingers back through his hair.

He has to believe every single word he’d told Vaggie up there. He has to believe they’ll hunt down the fuck-ups responsible and bring Charlie home. He has to believe that she’s fine wherever they’ve taken her, probably giving them a version of Hell all her own. He has to believe she’ll fight her way back if they can’t make this mystery budge. He has to believe they’ll all be together again – that he’ll be able to take her in his arms and soar into the golden whisps of their harmony again.

He has to.

So his resolve is slightly more steeled by the time he makes it to the lobby. The others have all assembled there – Angel Dust, Husk, Cherri Bomb, Niffty, and… Alastor. Well, at least the bastard’s gonna do his part, pull his weight. He fucking better, since he never shuts up about how dear Charlie’s become. 

Their petty pissing contest isn’t important right now. And Alastor seems to be in agreement here, because his expression isn’t nearly as smug as usual when he makes eye contact with him. His smile hasn’t dislodged itself from his face, but there’s a difference in his eyes – a frustration, a severity. Even if the demon thinks all of this is a game, at least he seems to be treating it with the gravity it deserves. 

Good.

Lucifer sighs heavily by the time he flops into one of the armchairs. He doesn’t want the group seeing much of his weakness, but he’s still just a dad at the end of the day. At this point, they should know that. These folk don’t demand posturing or power from him like the rest of Hell does. 

Still, he tries not to seem sopping wet with defeat. Though his shoulders are hunched with his exhaustion and his voice low with worry, he’s not going to look the mess he’d looked in his own chambers. 

He even glances across the coffee table where Alastor’s sitting. No mocking glint in his eyes or snarking taunt slung his way. He’s just… sitting. Politely. Patiently. 

It would be unsettling in any other scenario. Right now, it’s… weirdly appreciated. 

Lucifer blinks, though, and glances over at Husk who slides a drink across the table to him. Good man. 

One thick swallow and a clearing of the throat later, Lucifer finally speaks.

“So.”  

Just one word, but somehow it sinks heavy on everyone’s shoulders. Not because it’s a word that means anything, just that it’s the start to a conversation none of them want to have. Lucifer’s right there with them, of course. But they have to move forward – they have to acknowledge the situation and then dissect it under a microscope and burn it beneath a spotlight. Avoiding the topic will only turn it into something unspeakable, something untouchable. And if it’s untouchable, there’s no way in all the Rings of Hell that they’ll be the ones bringing Charlie home. 

Lucifer sighs again with head bowed, like a tired soldier bracing for the impact of gunfire.

“Seems like we all just keep finding dead-ends. Which… isn’t great.”

Understatement of the millennia, but it’s difficult spreading all of this into words that aren’t snarled, hissed, or burned in literal embers through his teeth. When he continues, he tries once again to think about how Charlie would be handling this if their roles were reversed. He knows her horns would be showing, but she’d keep her voice level all the same. So he lifts his head, ignoring that his expression must look much more exhausted than enraged. He can literally feel the dark circles sunk cold beneath his eyes.

“But there has to be a clue somewhere. Or a witness or a lead - any lead. Because this is Charlie we’re talking about. She’s not the type you can just grab in broad daylight and get away with no evidence to show for it.”

He looks around at the group, taking in their own expressions for the first time. 

Angel is holding Fat Nuggets in his many arms; the warm weight of the pig clearly a comfort. Husk is sitting next to him, elbows on his knees and his glass of whiskey in both hands as he swirls the gleaming amber slowly, only pausing to take slow swallows. Cherri is leaning against the nearest wall, arms crossed over her chest and her eye downcast. Niffty is atop the couch’s armrest with Husk and Angel, so strangely quiet and rocking restlessly, helplessly. And Alastor is in his own armchair, one leg folded over the knee of the other, but not with the casual indifference he’s usually toting alongside his staff. He doesn’t swing his leg or bounce his knee. He just sits there, his own eyes keeping their stare up and level rather than low-slung like the rest – he still just looks right at Lucifer, attentive and invested. 

For some reason, this just sinks in the severity impossibly deeper. Lucifer shakes his head, gazing back down at his own drink like he’s waiting for it to produce the answers he’s looking for.

“It just… It doesn’t make sense,” he mutters. The others clearly agree, scowling in their own frustrations. Angel’s pig grunts very softly into pink spider-fluff, offering what further comfort he can.

Lucifer still powers through, of course. With every word comes the threat of despair sinking barbed fish-hooks into his heart to drag it down, down into glacial numbness, so he has to keep clenching his jaw in angelic steel to endure. Has to keep a vice-tight grip on even the thinnest silver lining and ray of hope, like he’d been telling Vaggie to do upstairs. 

Which is why he actually ends up on his feet. Sure, he knocks back the rest of his drink in one hard swallow to get him there, but a guy takes what boosts he can in times like these. Hell, he even slams the glass down once its emptied and claps his hands together in a determined blaze of motivation. He needs to ride that while he can.

“So now that we’ve raked the area with a fine-toothed comb and still can’t turn up shit, I think it’s safe to say we should start trying to find new angles!”

He starts pacing, needing to put himself in motion as though this keeps him out of depression’s ravenous reach. It's kind of helped in the past. Kind of. 

As he keeps speaking, his determination grows in zeal.

“If any of you have even the smallest idea or know a guy who’s a friend of a friend of a friend of someone who might have somehow seen something in the area? Share it,” he tells them. He stops pacing just enough to look into all their faces; a wordless plea where his own infamous pride won’t let him ask blatant and raw. The way his voice lowers soft, though, makes it plain enough. “Even if it seems insignificant, it… might be just what we need right now.”

Lucifer hates the silence that responds, though. It’s only for a few moments, but silence has always been something that rubs his feathers wrong. Much as he’d been working with Charlie to accept the quiet that sometimes roosts between them comfortably, this is much different. This is a void hollow and empty that offers up no movement forward, no escape from the despair still trailing at his heels.

But the others don’t let him down – it’s actually Cherri who speaks up, awkwardly shifting her weight where she’s leaning. Her tone, though, is genuine.

“I mean, I’ve been hittin’ up all my favorite spots asking for info. Fuckin’ nada,” she admits. “Usually some shady bitch has seen somethin’ , right? It’s like it didn’t even fucking happen!”

Lucifer hears the frustration growling in the edges of her voice. She might not have helpful information, but he appreciates the tenacity. And the fact that no one seems to have seen anything is, in itself, a clue. A shitty clue, but a clue. 

This is when Angel Dust starts to straighten from where he’s been curled up. At first, Lucifer’s eyes flicker hopeful to see that he clearly has something to contribute. But his brow starts to furrow slightly the more he reads the expression on his face. His gaze is averted, his head still slightly bowed. There’s a reluctance here that can’t be good.

“See, I’ve been thinkin’ about that myself. How no one’s seen anything.” 

Lucifer nods. So do several of the others. Except Alastor, who only narrows his eyes just slightly.

Angel frowns to himself, gaze lifting to the group as he continues to elaborate.

“But, the thing is, that just literally can’t be true. Not just ‘cause sinners and demons are nosey lil’ pricks, but, uh…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s a guy who’s got eyes everywhere and we all know it.” He snorts sardonically. “The dickhead never shuts up about it.”

“Nah, nah, nah. You can’t be serious,” Husk grumbles immediately, lifting his claws to rub into his temple like a headache’s coming on. 

It’s here, though, that there’s a momentary pause as everyone acknowledges Vaggie at the top of the stairs. She slowly descends the steps to join them. Lucifer’s glad, at least, to see she’s tied her hair back into a high ponytail like she’d worn for the battle at their doorstep; an angel preparing for a new plan of attack, which is just what’s needed right now.

Seeing Vaggie like this seems to bolster Angel’s courage enough for him to continue with his idea, even setting his little pigling aside to gesticulate through what he’s suggesting.

“I mean, I know he’s a piece of shit – I really fuckin’ know. It’s not like I’m gettin’ any pleasure outta even suggesting it when it’ll probably piss Val off. Or worse! Fuck if I know.”

Conflicted, he wraps his long, long arms around himself and squeezes. His gaze even drifts out toward the windows for a moment; a man accustomed to bolting from the tension in his chest, the tightness in his gut. But rather than excuse himself or change the subject, he looks to Husk’s face and sees a tenderness there. Lucifer can see it too – the reassuring nod, the subtle support in how his gaze holds his. Apparently, it’s helpful enough to nudge Angel into sticking to his guns and keep talking.

“But it’s like you said: ‘ Even if it seems insignificant, it might be just what we need,’ or whatever,” he says, gesturing out with one hand before his voice lowers quiet. “I don’t want Charlie to suffer. The guy’s a piece of shit, but he’s our best chance at a lead toward helpin’ her.” 

Finally, he sighs to loosen up the fear that keeps trying to claw up his throat, brow furrowing with determination.

“We should talk to Vox. There’s no way he didn’t see something.”

These words carry weight, apparently, because everyone in the room goes all the more still, somehow impossibly more quiet. It’s not in dread, like that of the mouse that freezes beneath the hungry gaze of the snake. It’s more like this is supposed to mean something – like there’s a sense of danger lurking in the undertow of his voice, a shadow that suggests the possibility of something bigger hiding in the dark.

Or maybe it’s just someone famous and Lucifer’s so terribly out of the loop. He always is, when it comes to Ring-centric politics and popularity contests. 

They’re all just sinners at the meat of them, after all. 

“Who now?” he finally asks. “I get freaky weirdoes mixed up all the time.”

Everyone’s exchanging glances, not quite sure how to answer or explain. When he himself looks to Alastor in the hopes that the know-it-all won’t be able to help himself, he instead notices that the Radio Demon currently sits with a strange stiffness and with claws rolling a slow, clacking caress over his cane. 

For some reason, this helps realization snap awake in Lucifer’s head to accompany the snap of his fingers.

“Ahhh right, the screen junkie! He does info-mercials? Or something? That’s the guy? I kinda… sorta remember now.” He lifts his hand to his chin thoughtfully and resumes his pacing. “That’s actually not a bad idea. I mean, I get that there’s some weird friction here? Or something? But if he’s our best bet, lets–”

“–Hmmm , no.”

Lucifer stops in his tracks, blinks, and stares startled over at Alastor, who has finally spoken up from his armchair. He himself scoffs and sets his hands on his hips.

“Well, why not? I think Angel’s onto something here.”

Alastor seems much more interested in casually sweeping flecks of dust from his knee.

“And I think it’s a terrible idea that will waste our time, along with Charlie’s. So no!” 

“But–”

“Did I stutter?”

Now Lucifer starts to scowl and his hands fall from his hips to ball into fists.

“Listen, if you got a problem with this asswipe, that’s fine. I don’t fucking care! But this is my daughter and–”

“–And I already know a much more beneficial alternative.

Alastor cocks his head to one side, unfazed and unyielding on his stance. 

There’s a burning deep in Lucifer’s stomach; a low smolder in the very pit of his belly that he knows too well. It’s the kind that wants to flare up through him – grow wings and eyes and horns and wreaths of righteous flame. But it doesn’t. Not over something so simple as a disagreement. He’s not usually one to throw his temper around, after all. It’s more that this resistance, this stubborn refusal to budge on something so simple, is really not what’s needed right now. 

Especially with so many pairs of eyes flitting back and forth like it’s a goddamn tennis match, watching and waiting to see who wins the point.

There are no points. There’s no winner or loser, there’s just some pompous piece of shit who probably even wanted this to happen and the hurting, angry pieces of a father with no clue.

And when Lucifer glances to the side even momentarily, he glimpses Vaggie with her own eye narrowed and her hands folding a tight grip over the edge of the barstool she’s perched on. 

Okay, no, this needs to stop. 

He swallows his ire down as best he can (oh and it cuts and slices all the way like jagged shards of glass) and finally just steps over to Alastor’s armchair, bending at the waist to look him right in those red, red eyes. 

“Let’s take a walk.”

Alastor says nothing. His stare just smiles alongside his teeth and he rises to his feet. 

“You guys uh… just sit tight,” Lucifer stiffly advises, forcing a toothy smile of his own. Vaggie, at least, seems to appreciate what he's doing; the tightness in her shoulders starting to slacken as she gives him a grateful nod. It helps that Husk steps over to her with some conversation that might offer up some stability right now.

Meanwhile, he himself is bracing for the further frustration he knows this conversation is going to needle beneath his skin. Which is why he makes sure they’re quite far down one of the hallways splitting off from the lobby before he turns to Alastor in a sharp pivot of his heel.

The demon just smiles and smiles. Lucifer is starting to understand why so many denizens of Hell might want to tear it apart.

“...The fuck’s wrong with you?” he hisses, his own eyes sharpened harsh into a golden glare. “I get that you’re supposed to be someone with ‘storied history’ with a lot of freaks out there, but right now? Right now I don’t fucking care. So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go chat up the talking television for a lead when I will take anything that helps me find Charlie.” He leans in closer, putting thick emphasis on the syllables he practically spits in his face. “Any. Thing.”

Alastor’s expression doesn’t share much. That smug, scarlet stare just keeps fixed intently within his own. It’s reminiscent of any predator sizing up what could either be a rival… or prey. Which is often the norm with those down here so hungry for power that they’re practically salivating for any opportunity to stab exposed backs, devour the weak.

It almost makes Lucifer wonder what kind of horrible monster this guy must’ve been in his human skin, his human life. Almost.

Alastor himself finally speaks, eyes moving from Lucifer’s leering face instead to the microphone atop his staff which he lazily turns between his claws.

“Vox is all hot air and bravado. Nothing more than a charlatan who will spin us along some wild goose chase before he would even dream of helping us! And that’s if he even could. I have my suspicions that, in spite of being quite the nasty little Peeping Tom, he’ll have nothing to show us.” 

His gaze snaps back to Lucifer and he hums a little laugh. 

“Let’s not entertain talentless hacks, hmm?”

Lucifer lifts an eyebrow. What’s being said does make sense, but he’s not about to drop it just yet and he props his hands atop his hips to show for a man confidently unimpressed.

“The thing is, your suspicions are just suspicions. Even if there’s a chance he’ll do everything you’re saying, I don’t know how I can just ignore the possibility that you’re wrong,” he tells him. And then he snorts a cynical attempt at a laugh with a dry smirk curving his mouth up one side.

“Because I know this might come as a huge shock to you, but you can be wrong.”

Something shifts just so behind Alastor’s eyes; a shadow, a flicker, a passing doubt or troubling thought of some kind. Lucifer hasn’t seen anything like that stir there before. Immediately, it… intrigues him, has his eyes narrowing a curious squint as he studies his face.

Alastor, of course, simply lets his beaming grin show how uninterested he is in humoring him and his voice is as perky as ever when he responds. Though he does adjust his monocle very slightly, as though this had all just been a trick of the light.

“Oh, this I know. Don’t you worry.” 

Even that, though, sounds off to Lucifer – like there’s a story buzzing just below the frequency projected around his voice. Every man has his secrets, after all. Especially those warped into demons too comfortable in the shapes Hell carved into them.

Maybe it’s also because Alastor’s shadow, pressed up against the wall behind him, had very briefly stretched up taller with antlers splaying their points out higher, sharper. But only briefly. He’d blinked and it had vanished, just leaving him with a bad taste in his mouth that makes him scowl again.

Ever unbothered, Alastor continues with a nonchalant straightening of his own sleeve.

“I also know you find this quite difficult to believe, but I’m extremely invested in the task at hand. So much so that I’ve been spending every hour since her disappearance using my broadcasts and connections to scrounge for even the smallest morsel of a trail. It has been as you yourself said: dead-end after dead-end. Which is why our dear Angel Dust is not the only one who considered this… unsavory option.”

There’s a clear slant of amusement hummed like a sing-song laugh into his voice to say it like that. Lucifer hates that he’s starting to feel little nips of curiosity biting at his mind the more this feud with Vox gets mentioned or suggested. He pushes it all down, still staring down Alastor skeptically as he waits to be further convinced. 

Kinda fun to make him work for it, he’ll admit that much.

Alastor himself starts to step aside, moving toward one of the paintings hung on the wall to straighten its frame. Lucifer hadn’t even noticed it was crooked.

“I had my own eyes and ears looking into him as a possibility for both the deed itself or evidence to help us along the right path,” the demon continues, “and do you think I found anything of substance?”

“Well, no, because–”

“–Obviously not!” Alastor interrupts with a sharp bark of laughter. “Because Vox is so very, very useless. Bless him.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes. Alastor takes the momentary pause to walk in close again, cane propped to the floor between them with his hands clasped casually atop its microphone as he leans his weight forward on it. He proceeds to speak more matter-of-factly now, seemingly bored already of giving Vox even this much real estate in the conversation.

“Though I cannot swear on my mother’s grave that he hasn’t seen anything, I can swear that it will be nothing of value.” There’s a beat, then his voice turns more… personal? For him, anyway. Lucifer even thinks he’s dropped the distinct buzz of his frequency for the moment and is speaking oddly plain with him in the next few words he offers. His gaze, too, is distinctly fixed within his like it means to pin his in place as one would would with a physical body mounted to a wall.

“And it would be quite good of you to trust me on this.”

Trust. Usually, Lucifer would laugh in a demon’s face for daring to sling that word around. This is Hell, after all, and most sinners of this caliber couldn’t possibly wrap their head around the word itself as anything more than a hollow promise, a rope to tie a chokehold around the throats of the naïve. 

And this is Alastor , of all demons. He’s the very image of everything ugly and despairing about this terrible pit in the ground. He’s everything Lucifer wants far, far away from Charlie and what she’s fought so hard for. He’s the one sinner under this roof he truly can’t see clawing his way into redemption’s good graces. It’s not like he seems like he wants to, anyway.

Still, this is… a unique circumstance. It’s not like Lucifer can afford to turn away anyone willing to help, especially someone like this who does have useful sway and sharp, capable wits. Alastor has his uses, even if all of them feel like they come with a catch stitched into the lining. 

But this moment seems significant. With how Alastor’s voice leans itself with more weight between them even for just this instance and with how he’s watching his face in something like legitimate curiosity… Lucifer knows he can’t let his natural urge of skepticism lash out. 

Not when Charlie’s voice floats into mind, soft and sweet.

Well, he did almost die for us. That has to mean something. Especially for someone like him.

Lucifer sighs. It’s like she herself had said about Alastor: he can’t pick and choose which sinners to believe in. Not now, anyway, where the situation calls for unity if they’re going to bring her home.

“...Fine,” he relents softly. He thinks he sees something light up whip-quick within Alastor’s gaze. He himself just runs his fingers back through his disheveled blond hair, free arm giving a flourishing gesture of surrender. “Fine, okay. Yeah.” 

Here, though, his voice levels into something serious to show he’s offering him the weight of his word – his, Lucifer Morningstar’s, Lord of all Hell’s, golden word. 

“We won’t go to Vox.”

This satisfies Alastor, granting him a polite nod of approval. Lucifer, though, is keen to continue the discussion to something of substance now that their disagreement is no longer the focus. He needs a plan of action or he’ll start going mad with helplessness.

“Sooo if Vox is off the table, what’s this ‘beneficial alternative’ of yours, smart guy?”

Alastor straightens his posture.

“It’s simple - the Overlords. Carmilla Carmine, specifically.”

“The one who helped arm everyone for the fight with Adam?”

“Just so!” 

“Well, what the Hell is she gonna contribute?” Lucifer huffs, “We need a witness, a blood spatter, a trail of fucking bread crumbs. This doesn’t really seem like her circus or her monkeys.”

“Let’s just say that I have a hunch. And contacts who have already been whispering, gathering.”

“Always so much fucking scheming with you demonic little– Ugh.” Lucifer pinches his brow before lifting his palms in defeat. “Okay! Okay. I’ll bite.”

Alastor laughs and gives his cane a twirl.

“Hah! Buy me a drink first, my good sir.” 

Lucifer groans, unimpressed. Banter? With this guy? He himself would need a strong drink (or six) to even humor the idea. Especially when he knows Alastor is just back to playing his little games - pushing his buttons, plucking at his patience.

The sooner they find Charlie, the better.

“...You better not be bullshitting me here,” he warns in a grumble, “I mean, you probably are, fucking look at you, but…”

He stops himself from the original snark he’d planned on hissing through his sneer. Because that dumb, sharpened, horrible ache throbs in his chest again to remind him of what’s important… and why he’s here having this talk at all. 

So his voice grounds itself stern again; even dropping low as he turns away so he doesn’t have to endure Alastor’s mocking leer when he says it.

“But I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. Like she would – like she does .”

Sure, I really care about him. In his own, um, very special way, he’s been there for me too .

Lucifer lifts a hand momentarily over his heart. He has to be better, he has to do better. He has to follow through with what he’d promised her in this sad, wounded thing between his ribs. Especially now, that conversation has to mean something.

But this doesn’t stop him from scowling fresh and flinging out his index finger in an accusatory point right at the Radio Demon’s perfect smile.

“For now, at least. Don’t think for a second that I’m taking my eyes off you.”

Alastor steps in nice and close. Closer than usual, even – enough so that Lucifer catches the scent of him iron-sweet. He swallows thickly before he can help it, keeping his glare pointed into the hungry red of his.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alastor drawls. 

His voice is eerily low and languid, stoking up embers of frustration in Lucifer’s gut enough that he has to grit his teeth. Fuck, this guy is annoying.

Still, they seem to have forged an understanding. Now’s not the time to fixate on all the little bits and pieces of a thorn wedged in his side (specifically the pointy bits) when they can make a move forward to try and find what’s truly important here: Charlie.

With that settled, Lucifer walks back toward the lobby with Alastor lurking at his heels. He doesn’t blame the expressions of uncertainty that greet them when they return to the group. Like they’re walking with a nuke dangled precariously between them. Lucifer just grins to offer reassurance, clapping his hands together.

“Okay, gang! We got ourselves a plan!”

Funnily enough, the loud boom of his voice that had slipped out by mistake is met with more… positivity than expected. Everyone is sitting on the edges of their seats, eyes all fixed attentive on him. It’s because it sounds like her again, he realizes. 

He exhales a weak laugh and continues.

“We’re putting a pin in the Vees for now - though the idea is a solid one, Angel, you definitely fingered a good one there!”

Husk and Cherri both snort loudly. Vaggie turns her face to the side, muffling a noise of her own behind her hand. 

Angel himself lazes a smirk into his gold-gleaming grin, firing a finger-pistol.

“Heh. I always do, Big Daddy.”

All innuendo is lost completely on Lucifer, who’s just grateful that everyone seems to be leaning into this new sway of optimism. His smile feels less empty with how it widens with some newfound sincerity curving it proper. 

He snaps his fingers, conjuring his coat, hat, and staff back into place on his person.

“Soooo Alastor and I are gonna go have a chat with Carmine and the other Overlords. Anyone’s free to join us, but we should definitely have at least one person hang back. Y’know, just– Well, just in case.”

Just in case she finds her way back all on her own. In all honesty? That’s what Lucifer’s betting his money on. His little girl’s all hellfire and hope wrapped up in a powerful package. She could even be on her way right now or only taking her time because she’s trying to redeem her own kidnappers. 

Fuck, he misses her.

Husk gets to his feet, a hand on one hip as the other raises his glass to him.

“We’ll stay,” he volunteers, gesturing to the group on the couch with him. “Go and see what you find. Anything changes, just let us know.”

Lucifer nods, then turns toward the doors. But rather than exit through them, he lifts one hand in a flourish that peels open a portal – a ring of gold-dusted light with their destination ready and waiting right through it. 

He glances over to Alastor, who is still grinding his gears by bending slightly at the waist and gesturing toward the portal to suggest Lucifer go first; the gentleman oh-so-kindly holding the door open for his companion. 

Lucifer clenches his jaw, but luckily is distracted by the hand he feels abruptly resting atop his shoulder. He whirls around to see Vaggie standing there, spear gripped tight in her other hand and her gaze fortified, determined.

“I’m coming.”

At that, Lucifer just smiles and nods.

“Good. Let’s go.”

The trio step through the portal, which glitters pretty when it closes up behind them.

Chapter Text

Alastor knows these walls well. 

He also knows that it won’t just be Carmine greeting them once they step into her office. Her daughters, of course, seem to have expected the opening of Lucifer’s portal in the exact placement where the trio step from; both giving curt bows when Morningstar himself tips his hat to the pair. 

“We’re here to see-” he starts, but they interrupt him in perfect unison.

“Right this way, sir.”

“Oh. Huh. Talk about good service,” he laughs weakly, though shoots Alastor a suspicious squint. Always so very on edge , isn’t he? It would be so very delightful to pry apart between his claws if their situation wasn’t so dreadfully dire. 

Yes, he himself has already discussed most of their predicament with Carmine one-on-one. Yes, he had arranged this meeting far before he’d suggested it to Lucifer during their plucky little waltz of words in the hallway. And yes, he already has his own plans weaving, spinning, twisting alive within his own head – so many different angles and routes being considered in what might be revealed with what they discover going forward. 

Alastor considers himself a perfectionist in every field he dabbles in. To attack this challenge with anything less than a thousand separate avenues angled at the ready in his mind? Pathetic. He wouldn’t be caught dead , of course. Not a second time, anyway.

So he barely reacts at all when the doors to Carmine’s office part ways to show that there are two other Overlords with her: Zestial and Rosie. Who else, after all? He’d suggested them to Carmine as the only ones to keep in the loop for the time being.

Lucifer doesn’t seem very surprised, which is a shame. In fact, he seems strangely stoic as he steps forward with his arms behind his back and his expression so strangely grim. Ugh, it doesn’t suit him. A clown’s better off smiling or sobbing, there simply is no in-between.

It’s amusing, at least, to watch such proud figures as Carmine, Rosie, and Zestial to offer bows of their own when Lucifer approaches. But they’re also quite traditional and respectful of Hell’s hierarchy. It’s why Alastor thinks this will be the best team to get things done when everyone here lives according to certain codes of honor. Striking any agreement with the Vees would be doomed from the start, destined to be dishonored whenever it suits the three egocentric upstarts.

Also, Alastor knows this is all probably throwing Vox into a frustrated tantrum. He’s definitely watching, after all. Watching and squirming and writhing and whining because he’s not even a blip on their radar.

“Your Majesty.”

Carmine is the first to speak, gaze sharp and stern as ever as she regards Lucifer in its focus. But there’s a touch of something there Alastor himself has never quite glimpsed before – a touch of sympathy, of sadness. She seems to relate to the hurt she’s gleaning off the look in his face.

“It’s a shame what’s happened with the princess.” She opens her long arms. “It isn’t news we take lightly.”

Though Zestial’s eyes are downcast to suggest his discontent with the circumstances, it’s Rosie who looks truly concerned. Her hands are clasped together, her frown as genuine as Alastor’s even seen it. Her fondness for Charlie clearly has her eager to help where she can. 

Alastor places himself beside Lucifer and Vaggie does so on his other side. He can see Carmine’s hawkish gaze turn to her too with the same sincere sense of empathy.

“Then you know why we’re here,” Lucifer says. “I’m sure Alastor’s caught you up on all the juicy details.”

His voice is flat, Alastor notes. Probably because the situation is delicate and he harbors no familiarity with the Overlords that both himself and Vaggie do. 

That flatness, though, comes also from exhaustion. Alastor can hear it easily now where Lucifer’s frustration and hurt had covered for it before. It’s nestled in the subtle crackle that creaks when his voice starts up at the back of his throat; that barely-audible growl that often presses into someone’s vocal chords when they’re either drunk, aroused, or tired. 

As hilarious as two of those options would be, obviously it’s the last one. It’s like the man’s plummeted down into Hell all over again. He’s allowed to sound a little worn down. 

Plus, he’s skeptical. That’s a trait of his that’s undoubtedly begun to raise its hackles all over again in spite of how Charlie had made headway in soothing it quiet.

Luckily, Alastor is here to help. And here for one hell of a ride either way.

“I have indeed!” he assures him, stepping past to actually offer Rosie a crisply-folded handkerchief square from inside his coat. “Because if anyone is going to know the true goings-on around here, why, I knew it would be you three! And was I wrong to make that little assumption?” 

Carmine’s eyes might still be softened somber, but her head tilts up proudly as she replies.

“No, you were not.” She glances to Zestial, then to Rosie, and continues. “We have been discussing the matter amongst ourselves and have an idea on where to find one possible lead to be pursued.”

This is when Rosie, who’s been dabbing at her glossy eyes with Alastor’s handkerchief, steps forward to offer up her own voice on the matter.

“I want to help,” she says, resting a hand atop her heart. Always the maternal sort, that Rosie. “As I understand it, there was supposed to be blood at the scene? But you couldn’t find any evidence? Let me fix that.”

Alastor catches the quirk of Lucifer’s brow and the opening of his mouth like he’s going to interject with something undeniably obtuse… before what she’s suggesting dawns on him and he closes it. Alastor himself can’t help the way his grin slants more into a smirk. 

Vaggie, though, is the one to voice a response out loud. 

“Oh. You’re saying you can maybe… smell it or something? Because you’re a…”

“ –A cannibal! Yes, darling, exactly!” Rosie chuckles, flashing her pointed teeth. “There’s never been a blood spatter that gets past me! A girl’s gotta be able to differentiate her Type ABs from her Type Os, after all!”

Rosie laughs again and Alastor joins in, nodding with complete understanding. It makes quite the difference when pairing with certain cuts of meat – a true connoisseur of taste wouldn’t dare pair a Type O with a thick slab of flank. Ugh, the sweetness would be overpowering. 

Lucifer and Vaggie hardly seem as amused as they do. In fact, Lucifer’s frown has deepened within his face and he adjusts his gaze from Rosie to Carmine. It makes sense that he feels more understood by the woman whose priorities will always align with the safety of her beloved children. 

It’s Zestial who speaks to him, though, even looming closer (lower), with a note of empathy tucked into the deepness of his voice.

“Thou hast been worn exhausted by thy plight. Perhaps a moment of respite before the next step in thy pursuit?” 

Lucifer stares at Zestial as he considers the offer. Alastor notes how tired Hell’s Big Boss actually looks now that Zestial has drawn attention to it. Well, he’d seen plenty of evidence while they’d argued in the Hotel’s hallway not too long ago, but it’s peeking more and more through the cracks. He wonders if it’ll bleed blood like his angel’s golden viscera when it oozes past the fractures, the open wounds of his grief and stress.

Lucifer seems suddenly self-conscious of this and tugs his hat tighter atop his head with a huff.

“No, no! I– I’m fine. Er, kind of you as it is to offer, I… just want to find her.”

Still, Carmine stands from the seat behind her desk. And when she does, she towers over them on her deadly pointe shoes, moving toward her private liquor cabinet for a glowing, pale bottle that makes Zestial hum a low purr of curious amusement.

“Hm. Interesting.”

Lucifer, though, laughs weakly and lifts a palm to reject the offer he knows is coming.

“Honestly? I think I’ve had enough to drink right now.” Alastor sees the strain tugging at the corner of his forced grin – the kind that says he certainly hasn’t had enough to drink, but he won’t push it. This time. 

Regardless, Carmine pours three shots.

“It’s less a drink and more… an elixir,” she assures him, turning to offer two of the short glasses to Vaggie and Lucifer. “The two of you will find it especially helpful.”

Vaggie stares wide-eyed at her shot glass, slowly sloshing the shining liquid around. Lucifer himself wrinkles his nose skeptically when he takes a whiff… only to blink with realization.

“Wait. This is… Heaven’s Dew.”

Carmine offers the final glass to Alastor, who takes it to be polite (but does not drink). 

“The very same,” she confirms. Lucifer and Vaggie seem startled, though look down at their shares with new interest. Alastor doesn’t really see what all the fuss is about. Not when he himself favors flavors that are more… full-bodied . But he’s also never liked a drink with a label too terribly beloved by the bourgeoisie.   

“How did you even–” Vaggie starts. But Carmine cuts her off.

“–It was a gift. One I suggest you partake in to prepare for what might await you.”

She sits back down, her head bowed again. Her daughters step up close to her on either side, which she seems to appreciate with a very small smile. And the gaze she shifts out toward the three of them is its usual harsh severity, but with something else that dulls the edge with which she usually wields her glare as expertly as her blades.

Maybe it’s fear, dread, or the worst of all, uncertainty . 

“Trust me when I say that I do hope you succeed. My generosity does not normally extend past my own household and interests, but Charlie Morningstar has proven herself valuable to Hell’s survival. Not only that, but…” her eyes lock directly into Lucifer’s, “But because there is nothing more horrific to me than the loss of a child.”

Ah. Alastor understands now. It isn’t just parental empathy, but something far more basic than that: Carmine’s worried that Charlie’s permanent disappearance or, worse, the potential concept of her death , could spin Lucifer down a spiral that could doom Hell far more than the exorcists could’ve ever hoped to. Like she herself has considered the monster she could become if her children were lost to her.

She’s afraid this is a tipping point, a final straw, the edge that could plummet him into the unimaginable, the unthinkable. 

Grief and loss have the terrible power to change people in devastating ways. 

To Alastor, these are usually tools he can use to manipulate those around him. In fact, he’s considered that Charlie would always be a valuable asset to utilize if Lucifer ever became a threat to his future conquests. Not like this , of course, but he’s still a demon who enjoys having the right cards in his deck.

Lucifer himself is eerily stoic again, which Alastor has decided he dislikes very much. It makes it too hard to tell if what Carmine’s implying has soared high over his head or has sunk in deep to his heart of hearts, resonating with the cuts, scars, and bruises that must be throbbing there.

Whatever the case, Lucifer doesn’t say anything for a minute. He just lowers his gaze into his glowing drink, stiffens his jaw, then throws back the single swallow it takes to drain the glass.

Alastor watches the effects — the sigh of relief, the loosening tension in his shoulders, the warmth that seems to colour the pink in his cheeks. It’s like watching a wilted orchid take in the small spritz of water it needs to perk up dried petals.

He stares down at the same drink in his own hand, lifting an eyebrow and cocking his head. It smells all too acidic and fruity; not the earthy bitterness he prefers.

Glancing up again, he watches Vaggie drink from her own glass and she even hums from deep in her throat such a soft, contented sound. Is this some kind of holy water bullshit? 

He’s curious, though. And it’s not as though he’s ever found a drink he couldn’t handle. So after much deliberation, it’s bottoms up. 

Oh. Oh, it’s quite vile.

But this doesn’t show on his face much or in any bend or sway of body language. He might stiffen slightly, might squint his eyes just a bit with how the stuff burns its holy fire down to his stomach, but otherwise he remains cool and collected.

And he can’t deny the effects that plunge into him as soon as it’s down: the warmth that fills him, undeniably empowering with how it sinks so refreshing into every muscle and bone. It’s like stepping slowly into the best hot bath one can imagine. All his senses, too, seem to benefit; sharpening like he’s stepped out from behind a barrier that’s been holding him back, muffling him dull and damp.

Clearly, this is some kind of angel’s tonic or heavenly brew. Something that disagrees in so much burning with his sinner’s anatomy, but still strengthens the entirety of him like the sun washing over one’s face when they’ve been tucked away into glacial shadow for too long. 

Much as he has such disicipline over his body and reactions, the tingling that fills him with the drink’s warmth does provoke a shiver up his spine. A pleasurable shudder that makes it all the way up to the tips of his ears.

A little annoying (he knows Lucifer noticed because he hears him snort from beside him), but he simply ignores it. And decides not to tell them about the kick of it all that still buzzes some kind of dizzy just behind his eyes.

Lucifer’s had enough standing around anyway and speaks with a fresh note of authority in his voice. 

“Let’s get going. I don’t want to waste more time.” He looks to Carmine once more. “Thank you. For helping us. It’s not what I expected.” He smiles and it’s not forced this time. “And for the drink, too.”

“Of course,” Carmine replies, giving a bow with her head before looking to the side at her fellow Overlord. “Rosie?”

Rosie is perky as ever, never one to let much stand in her way when she wants to get things done. 

“All ready to get this show on the road!”

“Good.” Carmine passes another glance to Zestiel, who nods sagely, then she addresses the group again. “Let us know what you find and we’ll offer what assistance we can.”

Lucifer has his chin tipped up to show he’s determined to make use of the help all three are offering just by being here, though his expression softens appreciatively when he gives them a nod of his own.

Alastor starts to turn when he sees Lucifer about to do the same, but pauses to notice Vaggie brushing past to speak to Carmine directly, having also been able to scrounge up some confidence of her own since arriving here.

“Thanks.” And Vaggie means it with how her gaze is stern and unmoving from the harshness of Carmine’s. “This… means a lot.”

The very elegant Overlord nods to her, showing she understands on a level only the two of them seem to share. Must be because they got all buddy-buddy when Vaggie had to ask her for help for their confrontation with Adam. 

That said and done, the trio turn together to depart. No longer are they a trio, though, as Rosie is walking with them out of the room. Once again, Lucifer wills reality aside to open a portal and wastes no time in stepping through. 

It’s clear that the Heaven’s Dew has surged some fresh energy into him, has pushed some zeal into his tired strides, but Alastor thinks it’s also the fact that there are powerful, civil sinners in this literal hellscape that are offering real help, real solutions. It’s almost adorable, really. No wonder Charlie has so many daddy issues when daddy dearest is so very jaded beneath his pierrot’s grin. 

Not at the moment, though. At the moment, he is briskly approaching the building that is, essentially, the only true witness to Charlie’s disappearance.

It’s a perfectly average, unassuming brownstone sort of building with gray brickwork and a red sign swinging above the door that reads: As Above, So Below: Human Comforts & Curios .

Alastor has browsed their wares even before all the drama. It’s a cozy little shop — the kind where the staff learn your name and there’s always some special little treat they’ve set aside just for you. Alastor’s never met the owner, but has enjoyed light small talk with some of the imps who have rung up his purchases at the register. 

A shame it’s been dragged into all this nonsense, even if Alastor is certainly no fool and can smell even the smallest fleck of rot in what seems like perfectly good meat.

Lucifer lets himself in, much to the surprise of the current imp working the till. It balks for a moment, realizing who’s just walked through, then hurries to help escort him to the back. Curious that it’s not the same imp that had been the one present for the actual abduction.

Vaggie notices this too and scowls, meeting Alastor’s gaze with a suspicious one of her own, before she jogs after Lucifer to join him. 

This place is definitely a player all its own in this funny little farce. All the more reason to browse for a moment. And to chat with Rosie, who has hung back to catch up.

“Oh, Alastor. I just can’t stop thinkin’ about poor little Miss Charlie.”

Alastor sighs, admiring the craftsmanship of a ceramic doe he’s plucked off the shelf. 

“I know, Rosie, I know. Such a sordid affair. I’ve thought of little else myself.”

She’s quiet for a moment, watching him bring the figurine closer under his monocle for a moment before he returns it to the shelf and has a gander at some of the (less than ideal or healthy looking) houseplants crammed into a corner. Her voice lowers and there’s the very subtle lilt of curiosity there. 

“And yet, you’re still pullin’ your strings, workin’ your magic. First, you’re taking the princess under your wing and now you’re shmoozing up daddy dearest.” 

He snorts.

“Schmoozing is not the word I’d use. And I will tell you right now, he is a very acquired taste.”

“Oh, you! Don’t make me think flavor profiles, now.” She hums her own soft laugh before letting silence fall between them for a moment. They can hear the shopkeeping imp talking a mile a minute at Lucifer and Vaggie. 

Rosie continues after a minute, though; it’s clear she’s chewing on some thoughts rather than the usual chunk of meat.

“Really, I’m impressed! You’re becoming quite the social butterfly.” She tilts her head, taps her chin. “Gotta say, though, he’s definitely…”

“Shorter in person?”

“Well, yes, that , but there’s something else.” They start to walk closer toward the back of the store. Rosie lowers her voice even softer, nearly a gossiping whisper. “What do you think? You’ve been spending time with him, after all.”

At this, Alastor sighs. He would never roll his eyes in polite company he respects, but he certainly feels the urge to. He doesn’t know why she’s being so persistent about such a silly little man. 

“He’s nothing special, really. Yes, exceptionally powerful in ways I have not yet cataloged completely and a bit of a wildcard, but I’ve always loved a puzzle or two.” He even plucks up a Rubik's cube from the shelf in front of him, turning it lazily in one hand before setting it down again. “I just want to know what makes him tick.”

“Hmmmm.”

Why does Rosie sound so… unconvinced? Skeptical? Amused? He himself can’t see what would pluck at her interests when she's just as difficult to surprise as he is. She’s done it all, seen it all. Which is why it’s certainly a budding strangeness to feel her lean in just slightly closer (not too close — she always respects his rigid boundaries) and press the matter further.

“I gotta say, I’ve never seen you size someone up like this before.”

Alastor barks a laugh, dismissing this with a wave and brushing past her to start heading down a few more rows.

“Oh, don’t be silly! Of course you have.”

“No… No, there’s something different this time. Can’t put my finger on it - or any of the ones in my purse, for that matter.”

Alastor adjusts his monocle and pretends to take interest in an old trumpet crusty with misuse.

He doesn’t like what she’s implying, delightful as she is. Because Alastor considers his interest a very picky catch. Most of Hell is undeniably boring, after all. Sinners don’t surprise and rivals rarely rise to the occasion. Though his own afterlife has been… complicated over the last seven years (complicated enough to leave chain marks pressed burning into his skin in ugly reminders), he still is so easily able to predict what happens around him.

It’s part of why he’s shacked up at the Hotel. It promises entertainment in a realm that’s fallen into too much of some dull, everyman pattern. But to claim that Lucifer is an item of his interest? The focus of his eyes? The teasing claw reaching to unhook his curiosity? He wouldn’t dare give him that honor. Even if Alastor does find himself watching him from across a room and wondering what might make his skin crawl, his wings shiver (his mouth gasp, his eyes widen).

And, much as he is loathe to admit it in any capacity, he is… powerful. More powerful than anything this side – or all sides – of the Pentagram. Because the Pentagram is his creation, his stain in this rotten ravine of a cesspool. 

Is it so strange that he might want to peel him lazily apart, layer by layer, when he’s the most elusive and exclusive creature in Hell? That he might want to see what could influence all that ability now that it’s so very within arm’s reach? It’s an opportunity to make any demon squirm ravenous with the chance.

So he sniffs a little indignantly.

“He is the ruler of Hell, my dear. I think that might be what’s so unique here.”

“Maybe,” she admits, but it’s clearly she’s not in complete agreement with how her voice lilts into another curious laugh. “It’s just interesting, is all. Something to think about.”

“Hey Alastor! What’s the hold up?”

For once, he’s grateful for Vaggie’s shouted intervention. 

In the blink of an eye, his shadow envelops him in a swell of darkness, conjuring him anew between Vaggie and Lucifer where they’re standing in the store’s small storage room with the anxious imp that’s been badgering them.

Lucifer clicks his tongue.

“Where were you? The ice cream social?”

Funny how his voice somehow grates further on Alastor’s nerves the more time he spends with him. Ever graceful, however, Alastor just chuckles politely.

“I do apologise. Rosie? If you would, my dear?”

She’s appeared in the doorway, smiling with her hands clasped together.

“Gladly! I’ll just— Oh . Oh, that’s…”

She’s immediately drawn to one of the walls, palm cupping up the air in a flourish to inhale the scent of it as one would upon approaching a blooming bed of roses.

“That’s…?”

Vaggie clutches her own forearm, stepping in toward the cannibal matriarch with interest.

“That’s all yours, sweetheart,” Rosie explains, smiling down at Vaggie. “Such a pretty perfume, y’know. I’m almost jealous!”

She turns, though, to face one of the shelves pressed up to the back wall. As she does so, Vaggie’s eye narrows and the grip on her own arm tightens visibly. 

“You can tell, can’t you? That’s where the secret passage opens up. The one they dragged her down before I could–”

It’s Lucifer who ends up settling a hand atop Vaggie’s shoulder. The two must be absolutely tangled in guilt – bound and gagged more than most of the S&M crowd taut with leather. Alastor’s curious to see what it makes of them, even if all it’s done this far is either fold them in on themselves or provoke them into gnashing teeth. It’s not a feeling he himself is very familiar with, so this has opened quite a cute little window into the experience.

Vaggie shakes hers off with a sigh, though, and steps forward to pull at the spine of a book tucked into the shelf. It’s titled Mystery Clichés and Tropes . 

The shelf slides aside to open up access to a whole new room. This isn’t a surprise to the group – they’d found this before when they’d first come looking for Charlie. It’s why the imp shopkeep in the door isn’t babbling out excuses for why it’s there and what it means. They’ve already gone down that road and met the same dead-end they already know awaits them in this secret chamber.

It’s empty as can be. Empty besides an altar shoved up against one wall that doesn’t even seem to mean anything. Crazy cults are nothing new in Hell – just another part of the scenery. There’s nothing to suggest the focus of their worship is anything that even makes sense. It’s just a statue of two hands holding up a golden circle, no evidence even of a favored Sin or Overlord. Again, shops, clubs, and bars usually all have weird group meetings they hide behind giant paintings or bookshelves. Whether it’s a yoga group or a fanatic cult that worships Asmodeus’ favorite cock ring, they’re a dime a dozen down here. So the only strangeness of this scene in front of them is the emptiness; the fact that it’s just three brick walls and a hard stone floor.

Like nothing’s happened here for a few decades at the very least – some forgotten relic like the ugly, dust-covered altar none of them even look at.

Rosie, though, gasps as soon as she steps into the room.

“Oh! Okay, now we’re talkin’! Things are starting to smell as promising as the neighborhood potluck back in my neck of the woods.”

Alastor, Lucifer, and Vaggie all straighten up to see her enthusiasm. This is where they can actually find something – this is where what Rosie finds could actually make a crucial difference in their luck today. They could finally have even the smallest clue as to where to look for Charlie.

“Such a shame they cleaned it up,” she fusses, head lifted to keep sniffing at the smells in the air as she walks around the room to pinpoint what she’s looking for. “I mean, nothing cleans blood entirely around here, not even the angelic magic that definitely wiped up the floor, but still!”

“Angelic magic?” Vaggie asks, scowling.

“Or something like it? Hard to say. It’s just real good at getting down into all the cracks and crevices. Reminds me of those nasty exorcists–” She puts a hand to her mouth, then glances to Vaggie apologetically, “No offense, darling. Almost forgot myself!”

“It’s fine. I just… don’t get it. All I saw when I was here with Charlie were people in cloaks. Most of them just looked like your average sinner. Nothing special.”

Lucifer clicks his tongue.

“Tch. 'Average' sinner. So slightly less horrible than usual?” he snarks. 

There’s an edge to his voice, but Alastor can tell it’s nerves. His Majesty is clearly worried about what Rosie might find and what it all might mean. It’s clear he catches this himself because he clears his throat and changes the subject back to what’s important. 

“So it's all the same blood or…?”

“Nope!” Rosie’s standing over by the altar now, gaze fixed to a spot on the floor in front of it. “Definitely two separate samples splashed together over here. Some on the wall next to it, too.”

There’s a moment’s pause as she seems to be juggling options. She tilts her head, hums with thought, then finally seems to bite the bullet and adjusts her skirt so she might kneel to the floor.

“Apologies in advance for the unlady-like behavior. It’s not really what I’d like to show off in such regal company, but…” She sighs. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do if we’re gonna get answers.

She offers them a smile, a lovely, tittering laugh, then flattens her tongue to the stonework in a single, long drag of a lick.

Alastor’s grin hikes up at the edges impossibly wider with glee. Lucifer groans and Vaggie’s trying her best to repress a stiff grimace.

When Rosie rises, however, she’s eerily quiet and her face is somehow paler than usual with her smile completely fallen away. Alastor’s head cocks slowly to one side and he ignores the unfamiliar ice sinking into his gut as he steps in closer.

“Something wrong, Rosie?”

She takes a moment before responding. Lucifer and Vaggie have shed their disgust for concern to also move in closer. Rosie looks to Alastor first, then to the other two, before her hands lift to her chest and she delivers the news of what she’s discovered.

“…There’s Hellborn blood. A lot of it.”

Silence sits with them, heavy and cumbersome. Vaggie eventually breaks it with a determined scoff.

“So? That could’ve been from the imps who work here. Might’ve nicked their hand with a box cutter or something.”

“No, I don’t think so. First of all, it’s fresh. Really fresh. And second of all, no imp’s blood in all the Rings of Hell tastes like that .” 

It’s clear this is actually disheartening for Rosie to have found and she glances to Lucifer with worry wide in her eyes.

“I’m pretty sure it’s Charlie’s.”

Vaggie turns away, shaking her head and muttering to herself.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit .”

Alastor, though, isn’t quite ready to panic. No, such has never been his style. And he believes there’s more to this story than Charlie’s blood spattered on the floor. The girl’s fierce, fiery – a force of nature all her own and quite capable of defending herself. He’s putting money on it being an offensive wound; the kind one gets when attacking rather than being attacked. 

Besides, only an idiot would harm Lucifer’s spawn with the intention of anything fatal. 

Lucifer himself seems to also understand this, as he’s not plummeting down another spiral just yet and is even offering his palm out to Rosie.

“May I? It’ll shed some light on the subject if you take my hand.”

Rosie blinks, then manages a new smile. Perhaps she herself got a little too caught up momentarily in the sad truth that the poor little Princess must’ve suffered a wound or two. This is hardly gloom and doom to sink knee-deep in when it’s more an opportunity – the chance at a lead that should be jumped on with zeal.

She takes his hand, laughing softly.

“Oh! Alastor, you didn’t tell me that the Lucifer Morningstar was such a charmer .”

Alastor’s expression doesn’t change, but he can tell Rosie’s taking the opportunity to tease him just a little more. Luckily, the moment at hand is far more important than silly social games between friends. He himself is actually curious as to what Lucifer had meant by ‘shedding some light on the subject.’ 

It becomes apparent as soon as he tightens his hold on Rosie’s palm. In an impressive  whoosh, Lucifer’s wings open wide behind him with sparkling splendor and a sprawl of air scented like rosewater. Both his and Rosie’s eyes start to burn with an eerie glow and the entire room is soon bathed all the more in light. This light settles into every stone and brick, sinks through every crack and line of grout like a tangible blanket of gold… only to suddenly flash brilliant and painfully white.

So much so that Alastor has to lift up his arm to shield his eyes when they burn with the brightness of it all.

When the light fades, however, it’s left marks on the ground and the wall – marks of where Rosie must’ve been able to smell the scent. 

“There. Should’ve mapped everything Rosie could smell and taste into something we can all see.”

“Quite the party trick,” Alastor drawls cheekily.

But before he can revel in the glare Lucifer throws at him, everyone in the room is staring at one of the marks his magic has left imprinted in the wall. There are words there – words written hastily in blood. And though these are words smeared so clumsily and smudged so messily, it’s definitely in Charlie’s handwriting.

THE ANGELS CA

Lucifer relinquishes his grip on Rosie’s hand to go to the wall, wings starting to fold back into him as his palm lifts to rest just beside the unfinished sentence. 

Vaggie has her brow furrowed as she tries to puzzle out what this means.

“The angels… came? The angels can do… something? The angels can’t …?” She scrunches her hands into her hair, pulling into it with a frustrated groan. “What were you trying to tell us, Charlie?”

Alastor himself is picking apart possibilities in his head rather than sprawling it all out in the open. He’s impressed that Charlie thought to leave them a message at all, as her abduction seemed to happen quickly enough that Vaggie hadn’t been able to interfere. Which is why he thinks there’s more to this.

Rosie steps over to him, though, slightly wilted as she watches Vaggie pace the room and Lucifer study the blood stains with a grim shadow cast in his eyes.

“I just hope it helps,” she tells Alastor.

“Oh, but of course it helps, my dear. We had nothing at all before you offered your very valuable expertise.”

She frowns for a moment.

“Well, there is still the one other thing,” she reminds him. This has Vaggie stopping mid-stride and Lucifer glancing over his shoulder at her. Now that she has their attention, she continues. “Not that I want to take away from this striking revelation, but…there’s still the other blood sample, remember? I said there were two in here. There’s one mixed right here with Charlie’s.”

Lucifer’s gaze narrows and Alastor can’t help but notice that it’s not out of suspicion or malice or any the usual squints he shoots his way. Something’s clicking together in that circus tent of a skull. Something that has Lucifer glancing from Rosie over to the layering of dust that sits like velvet atop the altar. He slowly wipes his finger though it, then samples its texture between index and thumb while Rosie concludes her findings.

“It’s human blood.” 

Again, there’s silence. But this one is more confused than taut with dread. Rosie elaborates.

“Type A, healthy, maybe a little on the nutty side for my tastes, but… yeah. Positively human and none of the sour aftertaste that comes with a sinner.”

This is when Lucifer exhales a long, slow sigh. Not in defeat or frustration, either. It’s more like the weight of a grave realization pressing itself atop his lungs. It’s the sigh of a man who doesn’t like what he’s discovered.

“I know where she is,” he tells them, without turning to face them. 

Alastor himself lifts his eyebrows and ignores the upward flick in his ears. Vaggie’s quiet, but it’s clear she’s confused and steps toward Lucifer like she’s going to ask him a barrage of questions. But he turns and his expression is stone-faced, cold, serious as the graves that Hell’s sinners got dragged down from.

“Earth. They’ve taken her to Earth.”

He stares down at the dust scattered across his fingertips. From this angle, Alastor can now see that it glitters just faintly when he grinds it into his thumb. Lucifer closes his hand into a fist and frowns with determination.

“Which means that’s where I’m going next.”

Before Lucifer can so much as declare an order for them to follow, Alastor steps toward him. His own expression has his teeth hidden even if his smile is still spread wide into his lips. But this gesture alone is enough to keep Lucifer from objecting on the spot when Alastor corrects him.

“‘We,’ you mean, of course. That’s where we are going next.”

There’s no way in Hell (or anywhere else) that he’s letting Lucifer have all the fun.

Chapter Text

Lucifer sits at the desk in the corner of his room, rolling his claws atop the surface. The ring on his finger catches the light and makes him sigh. 

He can’t believe his luck. Well, he can – it’s always been this dreadful. Even fully aflight in Heaven’s graces, he’d felt frustrated with his own nature. With his dreamer’s wandering thoughts and hopeless wonders.

And it always brings him back to Earth.

Wretched, rotten Earth that had once been a paradise of potential… reduced to a ghost of its former self; a hollow shell burning in gas, acid, and war. How alike they both are, then, it seems. It even has Charlie now – at least, that’s what the evidence is pointing to. In some weird, warped way, Lucifer’s hoping that they’re directed to a potential witness rather than to Charlie herself.

It’s wrong, of course. He should be hopeful that this nightmare will be over soon and his sweet baby girl quickly welcomed back to his waiting arms. And he is hopeful – he has to be. This just isn’t how he’d wanted her to see Earth firsthand. This isn’t how he’d dreamt of her walking into real, open sunlight for the first time. 

He’d wanted better for her. Like he’s always wanted.

But what’s done is done and they have a blood trail to follow. There are finally clues to be pursued and angles to be investigated. Lucifer just wishes it was on his own turf.

Again, his gaze lingers on the shine of his ring. He remembers when Lilith had tucked it into his palm and smiled; how even the cool metal pressed into his skin had made his heart quicken to understand the sentiment in that one gesture alone.

She’d been offering her heart as much as that small, silly trinket. 

He sighs softly, sadly, and reaches to slide it from his finger. Not to discard, but to hold carefully up to the light all the more. 

Wherever she’s gone, he hopes she’s happy, safe, and living without regret. He hopes she’s lounging in the sun like she used to in Eden, singing in that way that had drawn him down to her in the first place. He hopes she’s loved, he hopes she’s adored – even if it’s in the simplicity of her own company somewhere private and quiet.

Ugh. He doesn’t need this right now. Doesn’t need to fall stumbling into the fog of old memories and distant dreams. He needs his focus sharp and pointed forward like the tip of an angelic spear if he’s going to find Charlie in all that ugly mess. Though it’ll make his skin crawl and stomach churn with the guilt he’s already swallowing back, he needs to bite the bullet and get shit done. 

Like both Charlie and Lilith have always wanted him to, in their own ways.

Luckily, there’s a certain antlered nuisance that’s also motivating him to push forward, but with much more grating gusto. A fact easily realized as soon as Lucifer hears the curt rapping at his door which could only be that demon’s sharp knuckles so disciplined and precise. At least he can’t simply appear in his chambers as he might in any of the other Hotel suites. Lucifer made sure to buckle down on keeping his private space very private.

Not in the mood to be menaced, he decides not to respond right away after the first set of knocking on his door, as though there’s the chance Alastor will assume he’s crashed for a depression nap and simply walk away. But when the second set of knocking does so in a mocking, sing-song kind of rhythm just slightly more insistent (and to the opening of Maple Leaf Rag like some petty reminder), Lucifer knows there’s no point pretending. 

He groans, lifting his hand in a sharp flick to will the doors open on their own so he doesn’t have to turn and look at the grinning bastard.

“ What? ” he snaps. He hears Alastor invite himself in, humming to himself. It’s enough to make Lucifer regret allowing him past the threshold immediately. “I’m getting ready to leave so make it quick.”

He smells him before he sees him; catches him looming over his shoulder in a gore-smoked cologne that prickles something at the nape of his neck. It almost reminds him of blood-slick pentagrams on altar rocks and offerings splayed out red, red, red in his whispered name.

There’s the hint of something else, though; some subtle, earthy musk like a fine leather shoe or tailored boot that’s been walking thick in pine-strewn woodland. Which isn’t… horrible. Could be worse.

Regardless, he stiffens to practically feel the demon’s leer razing its stare down into the ring he’s still got cupped in his palm. He hurriedly slides it back on his finger and Alastor finally speaks up behind him.

“There you go again, leaving out the most important paaa-aart,” he drawls. Lucifer resists the urge to whirl around and snap his stupid cane in half to chuck out the window. “We will be leaving together , my good sir! You really can’t think that going up there all by yourself would be the best course of action? Especially with all that history .”

Lucifer stands abruptly from his seat. He sees Alastor so languidly take a step aside, arms folded behind his back. For a demon quite at home within Hell’s blaze, he seems especially keen to prowl the surface. Lucifer supposes most do – Earth is the equivalent of a full-spread buffet; chaos and meat and sin to be feasted upon without abandon. It’s why Hell is meant to be a prison, after all. The convicts aren’t supposed to slip between the bars for a quick trip to the corner café. 

But, as Lucifer is learning throughout this ordeal, there’s more to Alastor than the most basic assumptions can provide. He’s got layers – methods to his madness that can’t be denied at this point. A sadistic psychopath most certainly, but there’s finesse behind every action, every suggestion. To play dumb and pretend he doesn’t see it would make Lucifer the fool at this point. 

“I shouldn’t allow it,” he tells him eventually. “The whole point of Hell is to keep you freaks leashed and muzzled.”

Alastor doesn’t seem discouraged, however, and slowly cocks his head to one side with stare intent and unblinking. Which prompts Lucifer to continue with a sigh as he runs a hand up over his face.

“ But –” He narrows his eyes, noticing the smugness gleefully squinting Alastor’s own right back. “But I know plenty slip through the cracks. I’m not an idiot, much as you like to think otherwise. Don’t deny it, I see the way you look at me.”

At this, Alastor quirks a brow just lazily – like he wants him to take note of how slowly deliberate the gesture is. Lucifer hates that it’s difficult to decipher what he’s thinking in this moment, though. He’s truly an infuriating amalgamation of ambiguity that makes his skin itch wrong with caution. He can’t let Alastor unsettle him, however. It’s not like he’s a threat, just an annoying papercut of a man that stings at the worst possible moments. 

So Lucifer rolls his eyes again, turning away to throw on his coat from where he’d hung it over the back of his chair. 

“Demons don’t like laws or walls. Or chains.” He says this pointedly, looking Alastor stern in the eye. It’s curious, though, to see Alastor stiffen just slightly in the lean slope of his shoulders. Like this had brushed a nerve or pressed into a bruise. Regardless, Lucifer can’t gloss over what needs to be made exceptionally clear going forward.

“If I let you come with me – if – then there are rules you’ll have to follow. Well, mostly one rule. Otherwise, no way. Not happening.”

Alastor stares at him for a moment; just stares, almost like an animal on the other side of a fenced enclosure wondering if it can trick its keeper into opening its cage... and if it'll sink its teeth into him once it's free.

Then, he moves in closer with one long, lazy step forward. His shadow cranes its own neck to also look at him, curious and smiling just like its fleshy counterparty.

“And that is…?” Alastor asks.

“What I say, goes.” Lucifer’s dead serious and it’s evident in the sound of his voice; less playful or absent-minded and heavier with the weight of authority as he glares up at the crooked, crimson demon listening at rapt attention. “You’re not calling the shots, I am. And if I give you an order, you follow it without question.”

He tips his head up higher in spite of how heavy the crown of his reign suddenly fits, jaw setting with determination as he continues.

“For instance? We’re going up there completely glamored and you are forbidden from changing around humans. Got it? Forbidden. You can still use your… abilities, since we’ll both need to make use of our powers to get Charlie back, but they are to be used only in secret and never to intentionally harm an innocent.”

That had been snarled for emphasis – a demand harsh and stern through his pointed teeth. Much as he doesn’t give a rat’s ass for the human population on Earth (they’re doing a fine job of damning themselves, after all), the last thing he needs is innocent blood on his hands when Heaven’s already breathing hard and heavy down his neck. 

So he even steps in closer, Alastor unmoving and still towering over him. Lucifer doesn’t know why, but there’s an urge that abruptly twists up in his gut and makes him want to slam the smiley ragtime shitbird into the wall. But he won’t. Of course he won’t. He can’t deny the allure, though; especially the more he stares up into that arrogant face, that know-it-all smile. It’s as though Alastor exists purely to drag under his skin like so many rusted nails.

“This isn’t some fucked up lil’ vacay,” Lucifer reminds him. The gravity is back in his voice, his glare. “We’re going up there to get Charlie, then get out. If you get side-tracked by any of your demonic bullshit, there will be Hell to pay. And I’ll send your ass back here faster than you can turn the dial on a fuckin’ radio.”

To this, Alastor is quiet. Lucifer knows now that his tells lie in and around his eyes rather than anywhere else in his face, so he keeps their gazes locked to glean what signals he can from the slightest twitch, the faintest squint. But he doesn’t give him much to work with besides the subtle lowering of his eyelids halfway. Like he’s bored… or very much the opposite. 

Lucifer feels a strange surge of his own authority – the king tired of being mistaken for the jingle-jangling jester. Because if they are going to be a team, if they are going to make this work, there has to be some level of respect in a solid, mutual understanding.

“So if you really want to come with me, those are my terms. I also have the ability to change those terms, because, oh, I dunno, I’m the boss and someone smart like you better remember that.”

He hates that this feels weirdly good. Lucifer isn’t one to flaunt his power or the show of his wings, even in threats. But maybe that’s not what spikes a small rush of adrenaline in the front of his skull, the back of his neck. Maybe it’s because he’d seen Alastor’s eyes widen just slightly. And the corners of his grin had tightened in a way that probably doesn’t mean anything good… but had still encouraged a twinge of satisfaction to flicker aglow in Lucifer’s gaze.

“I was wondering when you’d start throwing your weight around, your Highness ,” Alastor says eventually, slowly. His amusement lazes itself known into a languid roll of laughter. “It’s about time.”

“This isn’t a joke, you pretentious prick.” Lucifer hisses this, bristling anew. But this bravado starts to slacken its tension and loosen its bite. He doesn’t want to waste time arguing, so he turns away to pick up his hat from the corner of his desk, stare settling into the red of the apple perched prettily within the snake’s coils.

“I’m trusting you. Don’t make me regret that.”

Lucifer senses Alastor shift behind him, but doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t need to rub more coarseness between them right now and it’s difficult not to want to when they lock eyes for too long. He doesn’t know what it is or why it is, but he suspects it must be because Alastor embodies so much wrong with humanity and with Hell. Or the guy just thrives on pushing his buttons and it’s working.

Maybe both.

Regardless, Lucifer shakes it from his mind as his thumb caresses a touch over the points of the crown wedged into his hat. Much as he’d felt the need to lean into the role he’s worn since his Fall, it still leaves him with a bitterness in his mouth. Ugh or maybe it’s just from standing so close to Alastor who smells like a butcher’s warehouse married a speakeasy.

Suddenly, he feels the demon’s breath washing warm near his ear. 

“You have my word. I’ll be on my very best behavior.”

Lucifer turns suddenly to face him, scowling. Alastor’s voice had been so soft, so low where it had crept like spider’s legs up his neck. Hardly the reassuring agreement Lucifer had hoped for, but… he’ll take what he can get.

Alastor just beams and straightens up at the waist where he had bent to talk into his ear like that, cocking his head and adjusting his monocle.

“Whatever brings Charlie back safe and sound, mm?” he assures, clearly pleased to be getting what he’d wanted regardless of rules or hang-ups.

This is where Lucifer thinks the conversation is over. Fine, yes, he’s allowing the very blood-hungry demon to accompany him up to Earth on a reckless rescue mission. He doesn’t care that it’s stupid when it’s his best shot at bringing Charlie home. Alastor might be horrible, but he’s capable . And he’s protected Charlie in the past. It would be foolish not to consider the advantage his presence will bring to the table. Regardless, though, Lucifer would prefer not to dissect it too carefully. What’s done is done and they should really just get to it so he doesn’t have the chance to stop and think too hard.

But Alastor is the one who speaks up again, wandering over to a family portrait on the wall that Lucifer had brought from his personal study back home. 

“...It is funny, though.”

Lucifer blinks, frowning. 

“ What’s funny?”

He watches him stare weirdly over-long at all the faces in that portrait. First at Charlie’s, then Lilith’s, then at his face grinning wide and happy. Alastor’s microphone gets a lazy turn between his claws before he answers.

“It almost feels like yesterday that I was on Earth myself, very much alive and well.” Sharply, his head twists around on his lanky neck like that of a damn Goetia. His smile hides its teeth. 

“I remember thinking about you.”

“Wha…?”

Now there’s just confusion scrunching up Lucifer’s brow. Is this supposed to be flattering? A peace offering? The beginning of a joke he knows will make him want to shove him down some stairs? Knowing Alastor, it could be some mangled mess of all three. Still, he lets him explain himself, prompting him further with a quirk of his brow.

“Well, more the idea of you. We hadn’t met yet, of course.” Alastor says this with a languid gesture of an open palm before he resumes his little leisurely stroll through Lucifer’s suite. “I remember reading books about you, admiring art of what people thought you looked like. And all the while, I kept thinking to myself… what would you think of little ol’ me? How would you look upon my actions and judge who I am?”

Alastor stops in front of another portrait. It’s one where Lucifer is standing only with Lilith, who’s got her hand resting atop his shoulder. They’re staring out to the side together, proud rulers of Hell overlooking their doomed, damned domain. Again, the Radio Demon takes in the view for a stretch of silence. Lucifer can tell he’s staring at the details in their faces – in his face again, which had been painted the epitome of regal that day. Not that he himself likes to dwell too hard on it or he starts thinking too much about Lilith’s laugh and the fall of her pale hair around him when she’d bent down for a kiss.

He can’t imagine why Alastor gives a shit about any of it or why he’s telling him a detail of his life that feels weirdly… personal. So his own expression is not exaggerated with frustration or annoyance, but subdued in curiosity. And to let the demon finish what he has to say, since said demon eventually turns around and places his staff back to the floor so he can lean forward against it in a rocking of his heels.

“Maybe when all of this dreadful drama has reached its conclusion, you can finally give me an answer.”

Though he’s acting lackadaisical, there’s a true question tucked into what he’s saying. There’s… true, honest curiosity lurking beneath his sly, sinner’s smile gleaming all teeth again. Which Lucifer hadn’t expected nor does he know what to do with. Huh.

He does know it isn’t something to brush off, though, and even lets his face rest in a more neutral expression – like he wants to keep him guessing just slightly. And because the questions Alastor wants answered are as old as time itself and what so many mortals expect of him in every black mass, every unholy hymn. 

He can’t deny the budding curiosity just beneath the surface of himself, though. It’s not like he really wants to get to know Alastor, but if he helps him bring Charlie home? Well. If he does that, there might be something worth talking about. Still, it’s a strange thing to bring up… and it’s even stranger that Alastor had this tucked away in the meat of his sadist’s brain; a note written in the hand of his mortal self and folded tidy into a hidden shelf for just the right time to read. 

Does he really care what Lucifer thinks? About him ? 

It could all still be a ruse, of course; just another elaborate punchline he can gush about over the radio waves. But Lucifer still catches himself almost smiling – almost , but not quite.

“I might,” he tells him. 

Alastor seems satisfied with this and grins wider.

For some reason, Lucifer doesn’t know what to do with this or the sensation that flutters like a trapped dove in his stomach. 

“Let’s, uh,” he starts, voice clumsily babbling for a moment before he’s able to train it back into something coherent and jams his hat firmly atop his head. “Well, let’s get going. The faster we get this over with, the better.”

Alastor opens an arm in a teasing half-bow. 

“Lead the way, my good man.”

Lucifer is thankful that he can will a portal quickly into existence and step into it without looking back at Alastor. He’s sick of staring at him and all that red, all those teeth.

Said portal places them back in the lobby where everyone else is waiting. They’ve already been briefed on the situation, so it’s no wonder that they’re a mix of faces painted in uncertainty and hesitant excitement. The Big Boss himself has got this, sure! But Earth isn’t a place many of them remember too fondly when it had chewed them up (gnashed them, mashed them, maimed them broken and unfixable) and spat them out here in so much fire and brimstone.

He himself is battling the dread that’s needling up from inside him, threatening to split through his skin and rear up in full view. But he can’t let that happen when his baby girl’s counting on him. This small found-family of freaks is counting on him too, in a way. They need her just as much as he does, if not more so. 

Lucifer claps his hands together and prepares to give the troops a rallying speech before it’s time to make the jump.

But before he can, Vaggie comes running down the stairs with a duffle slung over one shoulder. Lucifer’s heart suddenly sinks.

Shit. He forgot that she’d wanted to come too. 

Of course she wants to – her girl’s in trouble, in danger , and she feels responsible. And if this was still a path that could be pursued in Hell? Of course Lucifer would want her at his side to lead the charge. But now that Earth’s on the table… It complicates things.

Earth always complicates things.

“Okay, I’m ready! I wasn’t going to bring anything, but I couldn’t stop thinking that maybe it would be smart to have extra weapons or… What?”

She trails off when she notices the look on Lucifer’s face. He hadn’t meant to let it show, but he can’t help it. He really doesn’t want to have to tell her to stay behind when he knows he himself wouldn’t let anything stop him from saving any endangered loved ones. He even feels the ghosts of memories pressing in at the back of his skull again, reminding him of Lilith’s sad frown, her disappointed eyes.

He opens his mouth finally to speak, to tell her his decision, but he’s cut off. By Alastor, of all people, who steps in between them.

“Vaggie, my dear. Don’t you think it might be… unwise for you to accompany us? When the Hotel needs you to keep it safe in our absence? All three of us leaving together is an accident waiting to happen.”

Stunned, Vaggie opens her mouth to object, then closes it and simply glances back and forth between Lucifer and Alastor. Lucifer hates the hurt he senses even from her gaze alone – the betrayal, the confusion. But he’s determined not to budge on this one… and is weirdly grateful that Alastor sees it the same way.

Eventually, though, Vaggie finds her voice again in the slant of her scowl.

“Uh, what are you even talking about? It’ll be fine. I trust these guys - they held down the fort before and they can do it again,” she replies, glaring down Alastor. But then she looks to Lucifer again, as though hoping he’ll back her up, only for him to keep his gaze averted. 

She furrows her brow, shaking her head.

“Wait, don’t tell me you agree with him?” she snaps, caught up in disbelief and scoffing when Lucifer finally gets brave enough to shift his stare apologetically to her face. She’s not having it, though, and sharpens her eye into a glare. “Well, too bad! Because I’m going and that’s that.”

Lucifer sighs, voice soft when he finally finds it.

“Vaggie, listen–”

“No, you listen!” 

He blinks, caught off guard by the harshness in her tone accompanied by the dramatic unfurling of her wings in one large, angry flap that nearly sends his hat flying off his head. 

She proceeds to rip into him. No one’s had the guts to do so for a very, very long time. 

“I know you feel high off this whole overprotective dad shit you’re working through now that Charlie’s actually decided to have a relationship with you, but I’m her partner ! And I’ve been by her side since the day she found me bleeding in a back alley. You don’t get to tell me what to do here, your Majesty ,” she hisses. A strange sense of pride swells up inside him just to hear her ferocity, her determination – a true fallen angel, just like him. And her voice might rage, but there’s fear again starting to tighten the back of her throat. “I love her and I–” 

She swallows, shakes her head, and balls up her fists as tight as she can.

“I have to be there. I have to find her. I–”

Lucifer rests a hand on her shoulder.

“...I know.” His voice is quiet with the weight of understanding. This seems to sap the zeal from Vaggie’s open wings; wilting her shoulders as said wings fall low and her gaze averts to the corner of the room. 

Lucifer keeps speaking, his hold offering a squeeze into her shoulder like it had when they’d spoken up in her room. 

“Believe it or not, I get it. I do. And if the trail was taking us through the deepest depths of Hell, of course I’d want you right there with me every step of the way. But this is different.”

He sighs, his own sadness settling in his words as well as the subtle droop of his own shoulders. 

“This is Earth.”

Saying it out loud still lines his mouth sticky with something sour, something stale. He has to resist the urge to spit venom into more of his elaboration, shaking his head as though to also shake himself free of the ugly itch, the ugly taste.

“It’s not a question of you being able to handle it, it’s… Well, it’s just made this more complicated than I bargained for. Alastor’s coming with me because he’s been there before when he was alive. But you?”

Now his other hand rests on her other shoulder, paternal and fond; an offering of stability for her to take comfort in as she finally forces her gaze back into his. 

“I can’t ask this of you. Not when my daughter needs to come back to you most of all.” This seems to get through to her enough that her good eye almost goes glossy with the surge of emotion he too feels stirring in his chest. He himself needs to swallow it down as he speaks further not just to Vaggie the person, but to her heart beating so hard and fierce between her ribs.

“Please stay here. This Hotel is her baby, her dream. She’d want you to watch over it while she’s gone… and she’d want your face to be the first she sees if she finds her way back here on her own.”

It’s rare that the Hotel’s this quiet – so, so quiet that a feather could fall from Husk’s wings and it would suddenly feel as loud as shattered glass.

And Lucifer just keeps looking into Vaggie’s face, which looks close to blinking back tears in spite of how stern, how strong, she’s staring him down right back.

“Trust me to bring her home like I trust you to wait back to keep this place safe,” he asks her.

Vaggie takes a moment, then scrunches her eye shut with head bowing.

“I… I don’t know,” she admits. Because even if she agrees with the logic he’s offering her, this is still asking a lot of the woman whose heart cries for its other half.

So Lucifer finally offers a small smile and retracts his hands to conjure bright gold light between his palms.

“How about a compromise?”

Vaggie is silent as she watches him press the light in together, cupping it in both hands like he’s squishing it down. Shafts of gold spill between the gaps in his fingers before he closes them tight, crushing the light away before he opens his hands again to reveal a tiny, glistening set of pins. They’re matching – a pair of ducks, one with a dapper little top hat to match his own and another with just one eye and a bow around its neck.

He plucks up the former and pins it into the collar of Vaggie’s shirt.

“I’ll give you this, which is a direct line to me. If I squeeze mine – that’s this little lady here,” he shows off the one-eyed duckling, “– with my magic, I’ll be able to open a portal straight to you. If you squeeze yours here real tight, you can do the same. This is only for emergencies, of course.”

He sticks the pin to the lapel of his coat, adjusting it at a plucky tilt.

“It’s important that you have access to what’s going on. I agree with you there.”

Vaggie’s still quiet as she considers all of this, gently touching the pale duck pinned to her collar. Alastor steps in himself to offer more of his own advice, which Lucifer… actually doesn’t mind right now. 

Just this once. He can have this just this once.

“He’s making sense, you know. This could all be an elaborate ruse to ‘divide and conquer’!  While the pair of us are distracted with the hunt, the Hotel will be a much more vulnerable target for any who might want it reduced to rubble. Again.”

Lucifer would prefer if Alastor didn’t call their rescue mission ‘the hunt’ with such vigor, but there’s no need to nitpick. Beggars can’t be choosers in times of crisis.

Alastor further speaks to bolster Vaggie's courage, using his staff to tap at one of her wings and make it lift from where it had slumped.

“Your spear and your spirit are both very valuable tools not to be squandered. Do your lady love proud, hm? We’ll be back in a jiffy!”

Well. If it gets the job done. Still, Lucifer rolls his eyes and grumbles.

“What he said.”

Vaggie’s clearly conflicted. But as she glances from Alastor to Lucifer, then out around to the rest of the group still quietly watching them, her mind seems to finally settle on a decision. Even if her voice is a weak, tired sound, just at first, when she answers.

“I…” She sighs, closes her eye, then clears her throat before continuing. “Okay. Fine. I can do that.”

Lucifer beams. So does Alastor, but he’s always showing off a glowing smile. It’s comforting to see the group start to step in closer to offer their own reassurance, however; Angel Dust even setting a hand to Vaggie’s shoulder from where he towers high above her.

Good. She’s going to need this weird, motley crew of a family to help support her through all this. Because they very well might need to expect something nasty crawling their way with so much of this mystery still completely casting them in the dark.

Emboldened by her friends, Vaggie speaks up again.

“But, er, Mister– or is it Lord? Lord Morningstar…?”

Lucifer barks a laugh with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Oh come on, Vaggie! Just Lucifer is fiiine.”

“Lucifer, then. Please…”

That’s when it hits him. She’s not crying, but she’s close to it. Even as she bends her brow with her telltale ferocity and frowns through the quiver of emotion, she speaks to him with her whole heart in this moment – with every, sincere piece of herself that’s exhausted and terrified beneath all her grit.

“Please find her? Fuck. Just... Please.”

Lucifer’s own brow furrows with the solidifying of his resolve. 

“I will.” He pauses, then goes so far as to glance to Alastor before he looks back to Vaggie. “ We will.”

Weirdly enough, it’s this addition of the unlikely teamwork between this odd-duck pair that reassures Vaggie enough that she nods. Nods and then actually moves in to hug Lucifer with arms tight around his middle. 

He blinks, stunned, then wraps his own arms around her. An embrace can speak where his words miss the mark, and he thinks this one says volumes. She’s not the type to offer this gesture unless it’s with full trust also being offered. Which is why he offers up his own in how he rubs her back in soothing circles as he would with Charlie – as he used to when she’d been so very little, trembling from a nightmare.

If only Charlie could see them now.

As they part, however, Lucifer notices that Alastor’s stepped aside with a clear need to distance himself from the scene. Not to slyly scheme, but to perhaps keep himself a decent stride separate from all this physical affection. Lucifer doesn’t worry himself over it, especially because he can easily hear what the demon’s discussing with Husk, who he’s beckoned over to him.

“Oh, Husker? Keep an eye on things for me, will you? We’ll only be gone a moment, but I do so dislike having to step away from a project like this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Like I have a choice.”

Alastor laughs. 

“That’s true! You don’t!”

Now that everyone’s on the same page, it’s time to go. Lucifer makes eye contact with Alastor, who nods and moves to join him in the center of the room. 

There’s a tightness in Lucifer’s chest that squeezes like the coils of a python as he stands there, passing a stare over the group that watches on expectantly. Earth is a scar all on its own – an oozing scab that refuses to heal. It represents his mistakes, his naivety, his dreams all crashed and burned. But he knows what Charlie would tell him if she were here. She’d remind him that there’s goodness there too – that maybe he’ll be surprised in ways he doesn’t expect. Maybe he’ll find small glimmers of hope, slivers of so many silver linings. Maybe he’ll remember why he’d had so much faith in Eve’s bright eyes when she’d reached for the apple.

Lucifer sighs and thinks of his daughter’s smiling face. He can do this. He has to.

So he closes his eyes, focusing on Earth – intensifying that focus on a location within the clues Charlie’s left for them – and conjures up a new portal. It shivers at its edges, as though feeding off his doubt, before widening enough for the pair of them to enter. The other side shows only blackness with faint pinpricks of light. 

His eyes open and he stares into that dark, beckoning maw. He can smell it, too; the smog, the gasoline, the asphalt, the dryness of air that hasn’t soaked in rain for months.

Well. No point dragging his feet any further. Especially when he can’t afford to – Charlie’s in that darkness somewhere. This has gone on long enough.

“Like Alastor said,” Lucifer tells the group, doing his best to hold his head high, “We’ll be back in a jiffy. Keep the place clean, huh?”

One more look is cast up into Alastor’s (ravenous, delighted) crimson stare before Lucifer takes the plunge… and walks through the golden ring into Earth’s waiting embrace.

Ugh. He'd forgotten that even the air feels thicker here; heavy enough to slump his posture with a groan. Upon stepping through the portal, they also step into their glamors, which gives Lucifer something to fuss over when he realizes his three-piece suit needs smoothing out. His blazer is white like his trousers, waistcoat, and tie, but his dress shirt is a bold red. His hat’s vanished, so he reaches up to stroke his fingers back through his hair, which is unchanged. 

He snaps his fingers to magic a small mirror into existence. Luckily, he knows where the portal’s put them and it’s far up on a road’s pull-off on the side of a mountain (an old lover’s lane, probably). It’s also the middle of the night or early morning – a dark, empty hour that doesn’t even have any cars passing just yet.

Checking himself in his reflection, not much has changed. His skin’s slightly more flushed, more human and lacking the spots on his face and the sharpness in his teeth. His eyes stare a determined red into the glass and he sets his jaw with a nod before looking up to make sure Alastor hasn’t run off into the dark.

“Here, make sure everything’s where it should be and then I’ll probably have to teleport us a little closer into town. Just wasn’t sure what to expect, so–”

His voice trails off when Alastor steps in closer to take the mirror for himself. 

Oh. Well. He… hadn’t expected this , either, it seems. Hadn’t expected Alastor’s glamor to not look terrible. In fact, it’s far from terrible. 

What the fuck?

Alastor himself isn’t saying anything, just adjusting the glasses that have appeared to take the place of his monocle. And it’s not as though humans are appealing to the eyes in most cases, but there have been… exceptions. Lilith and Eve were both beautiful, after all. 

Not that he’d call this beautiful. Ugh, no! Not even close! That would be ridiculous and also stupid. 

And yet… And yet …

Lucifer finds himself unable to look away as Alastor hums softly to himself, fixing the collar of his black suit jacket. It’s not too different from his own, beside the colors. Where Lucifer’s is white with red accents, Alastor’s is almost completely black apart from the red of his own dress shirt peeking scarlet from behind his waistcoat and tie. But it’s not their matching outfits which has caught Lucifer’s attention… it’s the bastard’s face.

It’s the warmth in the brown of his skin, in the richness of his dark eyes. It’s his hair, which is shorter and strangely perky after he cards his fingers through it, making it bounce into place once he's got it the way he likes. Even his glasses make him seem so much more… approachable? Endearing? Bookish? Gentlemanly? It’s difficult to say, especially for Lucifer who isn’t sure what to make of any of this. 

Or of the way his stomach flutters again. Not twists, not writhes, not churns. Flutters . 

He swallows thickly. And hates that he doesn’t despise the smile settled into Alastor’s soft-looking lips when he returns the mirror to him.

“Quite clever, that magic of yours,” he muses. “It’s as though I never died at all! How whimsical.”

Lucifer clears his throat and vanishes the mirror with a flourish of his fingers. He can feel Alastor’s eyes abruptly dissecting his own glamor, however, and tries not to let his thoughts wonder what he sees, what he thinks . Human skins somehow feel the most difficult to live, walk, and breathe in.

“Yeah, well, anyway ,” he grumbles, trying to push authority back into his voice as he looks out over the vast darkness toward the glittering city that waits for them. “I have a few ideas on where to start looking.”

Alastor follows his gaze out toward the jagged fangs of skyscrapers cutting upwards from a bustling hub of lights and sirens. Lucifer smirks sardonically more to himself than anyone, sighing as the bitterness builds like a tangible salt atop his tongue. This ain’t no garden of Eden, that’s for sure.

“Los Angeles isn’t exactly some small country town, but she’s definitely here somewhere.”

His hand rests atop his heart, which throbs with the weight of Earth’s air and Earth’s sins. But also with a sense of knowing he can’t quite put a word to, like he can literally feel Charlie out there somewhere in the frayed edges of metal and glass and gaudy neon.

“She has to be.”

Chapter Text

Oh, it’s been too long.

Too long since he’s felt open air washing over his face, raking cool through his hair. Too long since he’s inhaled scents other than pungent brimstone, sweet-slick gore. Too long since he’s closed his eyes and listened to cheerful laughter unaccompanied by howls of agony, screams of psychotic glee. 

But Earth isn’t the way he remembers her. No, not at all! 

Whereas his life had been spent down by the bayou in the height of jazz’s hay day, this is a completely separate city in a completely separate time.

This is the wailing of sirens, the booming of unfamiliar music in unfamiliar cars, and smells tingling more with citrus, sunscreen, and gasoline than what he’s used to. It does make a man miss his home, but Alastor’s content to take what he can get. 

Especially because he feels so very alive again.

Obviously, he’s far from it and knows the skin he’s wearing is only a charming glamour, but it fits in all the right places like an expertly-tailored suit. It’s no cheap imitation – it’s as close to his old self as he can get. A testament to Lucifer’s power, he’ll give him that much. Which reminds him…

Lucifer Morningstar is a face painted into canvases aplenty; the muse colorfully bled at the end of many a brushstroke throughout the ages. But now Alastor gets the rare opportunity to see him painted human in his own magic’s artistry, which is a strange little treat he didn’t know he’d get to tuck behind his tongue like a piece of sour candy.

And what a little delicacy indeed. 

It’s not that he looks exceptionally different, but there’s an element of softness to him now. Perhaps because his teeth don’t shine pointed and his fingers aren’t darkened claws. It’s difficult to describe what it is – maybe the endearing whitening of his eyes even in stark contrast to what’s still scarlet or the way his hair seems more playfully tousled in Earth’s open air. 

It’s strange that Alastor can’t pinpoint exactly what it is that’s making him stare. He eventually decides it must be because humans were once his prey as much as his kind. Old habits do die hard, after all.

Regardless, they’re not here to play dress-up. There’s a princess to be found and it’s clear that Lucifer doesn’t want to linger longer than they have to. A shame, of course. Though Earth’s tastes have certainly lowered in quality and standard, it’s still Earth… and it still smells like ripe, red opportunity.

Still, he doesn’t push his luck just yet. Alastor is content to play nice and follow Lucifer when he transports them properly into the city. It gives him a good chance to get his bearings in this new environment and to sample little glimpses into the lives of the humans they pass.

Times may have changed, but it doesn’t look like mankind has. Not in the grand strokes, anyway. Technology might try (as Vox likes to brag so very loudly), but it’s all just surface level glitz and glam. Humans are still just simple meat with simple needs. They party, they drink, they flirt, they shout, they fight, they kiss, they laugh loudly in all their clueless naivety. None of this has changed, that’s for sure. 

Alastor observes this all the more as he and Lucifer wander down a street lined with shops, restaurants and cafés. Lucifer doesn’t even spare a glance aside toward of any of them when his stare is set determinedly forward, only shifting to read street signs. It’s clear this place is itching up under his skin something fierce. Which gives all the more reason to needle his own itch in there too. Just to see what happens, especially as they walk with nothing else to do.

“I take it you come here often? A little on the nose, if you ask me. The City of Angels ,” Alastor observes in a languid drawl of amusement. It still feels odd to hear his voice so raw and unfiltered with none of his frequencies to make it buzz. “In any case, I’d like to think you’ll catch me up to speed. I wouldn’t want to feel left out when I’m here to offer only the best of my services.”

It seems that Lucifer isn’t equally eager to use this time bonding. Well, that’s too bad because if there’s one thing Alastor’s determined to do besides find Charlie, it’s discover what makes Lucifer Morningstar squirm the most. It’s to pull back his skin and carve into the meat of him one lazy slice at a time to see where it hurts. And see where it doesn’t. 

He knows Rosie will be dying to hear about their little field trip and he’s keen to share only the juiciest slabs of gossip.

Lucifer is still walking, only pausing briefly to check directions on his phone before he turns down a street that peels away from the noise.

“I don’t come here often,” he answers flatly. But it’s clear he knows that won’t keep Alastor quiet and he eventually adds more to feed his ever-hungry curiosity. How very generous of him! “I’ve just kept my eyes on things for a few thousand years. I’ve been pretty much everywhere at least once, even if I keep telling myself it’s pointless to give humans even an inch more of my mental real estate.” 

The sidewalk they’re walking takes them into a neighborhood far greener than the barbed-wire fences and graffiti buildings behind them as they stroll away from the main thoroughfare. Now that the sun’s come out, people are starting to crawl out of the shadows of their homes like insects starting their day by skittering into daylight from beneath rotting logs. Lucifer doesn’t seem too thrilled to be so close to them again and keeps his voice low, private. It’s strangely… intimate.

“LA’s loud,” he continues. His voice might also be falling quiet because there’s a sadness weighing down his tone in the pull of his frown. “And busy. And full of people who love me as much as people who hate me.”

He sighs. Alastor can hear the heft there; the tired frustration that pushes this breath out of his lungs. He’s known plenty of the people he’s talking about, of course - on both sides, too. Had smiled at the ‘sinners’ and ‘saints’ alike who would sometimes spill their woes alongside their drinks at the clubs he’d frequented.

Lucifer further elaborates as they keep walking. 

“When I saw the writing Charlie left on the wall, I knew what it meant. It meant here , this city. Los Angeles, California. And if there was anyone ballsy enough to actually step into Hell and take one of ours?” Alastor can hear the unspoken ‘one of mine ’ tightening his question at its tail-end, but the protective tension there fades as soon as it flares up. “It’s the work of a cult.”

Alastor snorts softly, lazing up one eyebrow.

“Oh, is that all? Cults are a dime a dozen! And hardly a threat - just power-hungry degenerates and snake oil salesmen with too much bravado. I can’t see how anything like that could waltz into Hell itself and make away with our dear, sweet Charlie.”

Wait. He blinks. 

Our dear, sweet Charlie. Our. Yes, he’d said ‘ our ,’ not ‘your.’ But had he meant it as a splinter to wedge beneath his skin… or had it slipped out all on its own? That’s not important. Lucifer’s scowl is much more important (and completely worth it). He’ll play it off like it had been smugly intentional all the more, then.

Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“Usually, I’d agree with you. But there are a few out here in the ritzier parts of town like this – tucked away in plain sight – that have a little more to flaunt than the usual bullshit.”

Alastor’s starting to understand what he’s getting at when he glances around their surroundings again - at all the tidy, well-kept lawnwork and the houses either freshly renovated sleek and shiny or maintained luxurious through generations of padded trustfunds.

“Ah.” He nods, coming to the natural conclusion here. “Because they’re full of egocentric rich white people with nothing better to do.”

Lucifer pulls the trigger on a finger-pistol.

“Bingo. And celebrities get dragged into them too. Money and fame can go a long way in these circles. Could even get your hands on an artifact or two that–”

“–thaaaat could get you into Hell for just long enough to grab yourself a prize,” Alastor finishes for him. Lucifer smiles bitterly.

“Or to follow orders,” he adds, then shakes his head. “Ugh, it doesn’t matter why they did it, just that it’s got to be a group like that. It’s not like I tell the public, but we do get the occasional cultist freak or goth college kid making pacts or creating portals by accident. It’s not like it’s easy! It just happens!”

Alastor’s known this for decades, of course. Any Overlord worth his salt knows and even tends to tip-toe the line of Hell’s boundaries in one way or another. And everyone knows the succubi and incubi travel the realms freely along with naughty demons aplenty who push their luck, poke their claws where they don’t belong.

Funny, really, how thin the line between Earth and Hell really, truly is. 

It’s clear Lucifer isn’t too bothered by any of that himself, again with his tone fraying more tired than anything as he keeps talking.

“Listen. I don’t usually care about any of these losers. Not even the ones that meet out in the woods in robes and talk about how cool I am.” Alastor does tend to think those ones are quite obnoxious, really. A bit bold to assume the ruler of Hell will want anything to do with their bathrobes and campfire songs. “But there are a few places I wanna check while we’re here. Got some of these groups on my radar that will either be the one we’re looking for or point us in the right direction. Hopefully.”

That last word is said with less confidence and with Lucifer’s gaze fixing into more of a glare down the gated driveway he’s stopped in front of.

Alastor still thinks he’s reaching with a lot of his assumptions here, but a father in crisis will take whatever leads his mind can conjure. Charlie is here somewhere, that much seems plausible. So Alastor doesn’t argue, just smiles whilst lazily surveying the house that Lucifer’s brought them to.

“But of course,” is all he replies with. And, again, he bows mockingly at the waist, opening out an arm as any gentleman would. “Lead the way, your highness. I’m with you every step of the way.”

Lucifer purses his lips, but doesn’t grumble too loudly this time. Instead, he turns with a huff and a snap of his fingers to force the gate open. It parts as though they’re meant to be here and they make their way easily up the drive toward the large double doors behind a menacing pair of stone lions on either side. How gaudy indeed.

Before knocking, Lucifer turns briefly to Alastor with voice hushed again.

“The group in here? It’s some familial, illuminati-wannabe crap. Old wealth and knee-deep in tacky occult shit. I can’t sense anything relevant, but I still wanna make contact just to be safe. Do try to play along whenever we do this, ‘kay?” 

“I will be the epitome of finesse, dear sir.” Alastor adjusts his glasses and his smile, wearing it as he would’ve all those decades ago whilst charming a mark down to the woods for a stroll.

Lucifer gives him a hard stare as though to scrutinize him further, but he says nothing more on the matter and turns to press a finger into the doorbell. For a good minute, there’s no answer, so Lucifer buzzes them again. That’s when Alastor himself can hear footsteps from within - they come cautiously down a set of stairs before pausing just on the other side of the doors, hesitant. He passes a glance to Lucifer, who also hears this and clears his throat, preparing to speak in the performative boom of his voice.

“Good morning, friend! Now I know you don’t get visitors very often, but let’s just say I’m very familiar with the practices of my fellow Members. So a moment of your time, maybe?” There’s a beat of silence, Lucifer laughs weakly. “Please?”

Finally, there’s the clanking of several locks being undone before the door is nudged open in a small sliver. A young man in his early 20s with a white-dyed bowlcut is sneering through the gap.

“What do you want? This is private property.”

Lucifer continues unbothered, eventually opening up his jacket to show off a fake pin he'd just now discreetly conjured. Alastor doesn’t get a good glimpse himself, but it clearly sparks familiarity in the man’s face because he exhales a great sigh of relief with a hand on his chest. He supposes it makes sense, Lucifer knowing which stupid emblem or symbol to fake when they're usually all drawn in his name.

“Oh, thank Lucifer below!” (Alastor almost snorts a laugh, but doesn’t). “I am so sorry to be suspicious, but you would not believe the kind of people we get sniffing around, trying to film documentaries and what not. Please, come in! One of the Third Eye is always welcome!”

Lucifer waves aside his offer with a good-natured laugh, strangely charming in this voice, this role. Alastor doesn’t know why it’s somewhat enjoyable to watch.

“I’m afraid my associate and I don’t have time, but I was hoping maybe you could just let me know if anything… interesting’s happened lately? Y’know, any big plans coming together, any new… artifacts for the collection, that sorta thing…?”

The guy frowns, stumped. It’s clear Lucifer’s trying not to let his disappointment show too blatant, but Alastor’s good at catching it now.

“Er, not that I know of? We’re mostly just prepping for the big meet-up in San Fran next weekend.”

“Riiight, right. Totally psyched for that, myself. Definitely, absolutely.”

“But, now that you mention it…” Lucifer perks up as the man starts to smile again, clearly remembering something of note that has him wagging a finger in the air. “I did hear that the Society of Hell’s One Temple had some big breakthrough the other night. They’re in the Palisades - I got one of their cards right here.”

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks! I mean, you know how it is. In service of the Pentagram, it’s important we all, uh, keep in the loop!”

The man agrees with a whole-hearted nod. 

“I’m always thinking to myself that maybe all our groups should put our heads together! Combine our efforts! I’m sure even Our Dark Lord himself could appreciate that much on his behalf.”

Lucifer’s smile turns strained at its edges as he exhales another fake laugh.

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Anywho, we really gotta be, uh, on our way. Lots to do!”

“Praise Lucifer and have yourselves a great day.”

“Oh, yup, we sure will–”

“Praise Lucifer indeed, my good sir!” Alastor interjects. He revels in the glower Lucifer gives hm.

But this is where a pattern begins to form and their day turns into a repetitive cycle of disappointment. 

Because, yes, the address does lead them to another group with their head in ‘the know,’ but with nothing actually useful to contribute. They don’t have Charlie and they don’t know who does. Just that another cult-like gathering near Venice Beach knows something. 

So they go there next and are told the same thing. And then they go back downtown, and then they end up in La Brea, and then it’s to some hotel by LAX, then to a townhouse by Beverly Hills, and so on and so forth. 

It’s like one big game of occultist telephone. And though Lucifer is keeping his cool and doing most of the talking, his edges are starting to fray by the time the sun begins its descent down into the sea. Afternoons here are a blaze of golden-orange burning into every square of window on every tall jut of building. 

Eventually, they end up in Santa Monica. It’s a softer part of the city with more of the greenery and lawns and hedgework they’d encountered at the beginning of their search. There’s supposed to be a group called The Keepers of Heaven’s Blood hiding behind the front of a yoga studio, but they haven’t been able to track it down yet. In fact, Lucifer seems to feel like they’ve hit a dead end when they can’t find any trace of what had been described to them.

So Alastor suggests they take a break, get a drink. And there’s a snazzy little bar and restaurant in the lobby of a hotel that looks like it’s straight out of the roaring twenties with the art deco theme-ing and sleepy jazz that had beckoned him over in the first place.

Lucifer allows it, clearly too disheartened to argue much as afternoon starts to bleed into twilight. 

“Well,” Alastor says eventually, setting down his sazerac, “I must say, today has been quite the wild goose chase, wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucifer is hunched over his own glass, not humoring him with so much as a glance.

“I don’t need you rubbing it in, y’know.”

But Alastor isn’t going to let this go. In fact, now that they’re finally sitting down for a moment and talking it out, he’s determined to get some answers.

“I suppose I just feel slightly… left in the dark,” he muses, leaning a sharp elbow to the bar-top. “A mere accessory to your journey rather than your partner in this little detective drama.”

At first, Lucifer starts to bristle with lip curling like he’s got a jab tucked behind his teeth. But then he deflates with a sigh, scowling down at the bourbon he’s been nursing.

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess,” he admits, albeit reluctantly. “It felt like I was on autopilot the whole time, just trying to get from A to B.”

He lifts his tumbler to his lips for a long swallow, needing some of that harsh burn in his throat before he continues. Alastor can’t help but smirk around his own glass.

“So if you’ve got questions, shoot. Or whatever.”

At that, Alastor leans forward slightly. It’s quite amusing, he thinks. A lean like this is almost sensual in its closeness – enough so that it would’ve gotten him dirty looks back in his day, his stomping grounds. But the bartender doesn’t even look up and none of the other patrons bat an eyelash. Lucifer himself tenses up along the shoulders, hands cupping his glass as Alastor speaks.

“What are we looking for exactly?”

“Specifically?” Lucifer needs a minute to think on an answer, then proceeds. “Cults that revere angels, not me. But usually one side tangles up with the other, so to speak.”

“You are technically –”

“Yes, fine, technically I’m an angel, but I’m talking about the others still calling the shots upstairs. Michael, Gabriel, etc.” His eyes narrow in thought and his voice drops down again as he turns theories over in his head. “It’s because of the letter Charlie got.”

“Ah, yes. I picked up on that too,” Alastor assures him, propping his chin casually within his own palm. “The ‘ Secretly Enclosed Redemption Ascensionists ’? Or the S-E-R-A s. As on the nose as that is, I find it hard to believe that most - if any - of the actual seraphim could be involved. Quite the accusation, that.”

Much as he’d love to wax poetic about ripping into the gold, gleaming innards of any seraphim, he’s not taking anything at face value. Either someone wants them to suspect the angels and distract their focus that way with a delicious little red herring, or someone is working on behalf of the angels – at least, in their perspective. Relations with Heaven are too delicate at the moment for anyone to assume anything.

“I agree,” Lucifer sighs, swirling his drink. It’s such a dark amber that it’s more maroon like honey collected from a hive wedged between a man’s rib bones. “It doesn’t seem like something Sera would allow. She’s usually got a tight lid on things.”

Lucifer looks to Alastor’s face for the first time in a while, his expression stern. Alastor keeps thinking about how it doesn’t suit him in the slightest. He looks better grinning and aglow and goofy with bravado. This… seriousness dims all of that down into something all too human, especially in this skin.

He listens as he continues and watches Lucifer absent-mindedly toy with the ring still sitting on his finger.

“But I do think it’s something - someone - sending a message through the acronym. It doesn’t help that the name of their ‘president and founder’ sits wrong with me.”

“Yes, that’s right. Ramsy , wasn’t it?”

“It just sounds… familiar. But I can’t quite put my finger on it. Doesn’t help that the altar back at As Above, So Below reminded me of one I’ve definitely seen before.” He reaches up to massage into one of his temples like there’s an ache groaning just beneath. “I know that if we find the right lead, it’ll hit me.”

Alastor understands what he’s explaining, but still isn’t satisfied and quirks up one brow to show for it.

“So we’re basing all of this on very vague… feelings? Some general sense of ‘familiarity’?”

“It’s more than that!” Lucifer snaps, “I might’ve Fallen, but I’m still me . I still feel things you don’t. Things that are intertwined into all creation and shit.”

He huffs and glares down at his reflection in his alcohol. It stares back up at him, unglamored and unimpressed. His tone dips into a melancholy sigh again and he shakes his head.

“Just trust me when I say that I know Charlie’s here. I know she is. So we do whatever it takes to find her and then we leave. Simple as that.”

Simple as that. Simple as that? 

Alastor isn’t sure that’s good enough. Not that it’s his call to make – Lucifer made it exceptionally clear that he’s the big man with the big say in things while they’re here – but he’s been chewing on the potential that Earth’s opened up. For the both of them.

What would it take to see Lucifer snap? What would it take to see him reduced to his most basic, most adored self in the eyes of Hell’s masses (in the eyes of so many cultists here who drench their hands in blood all for him)? Alastor’s seen the footage of Lucifer’s confrontation with Adam, all while reeling from wounds dealt at Adam’s fumbling hands. He knows Morningstar is so, so much more capable. He knows there’s a part of him that probably hungers to let go, let loose, just as much as that part in himself writhes for it with gnashing teeth.

So, eager to set up the line of dominoes that might tip him over the edge once they fall, Alastor sips from his own glass and crosses his legs with a lazy laugh to tease him with.

“Oh and, what? Give the kidnapping cultists a slap on the wrist? Tell them to take a time-out, think about what they’ve done?” 

Though he’s still smiling (naturally), it’s a slightly more subdued grin than usual. No teeth, no endearing squinting at the edges of his eyes – a more ‘down to business’ grin that adds emphasis to the level tone with which he speaks.

“What’s to stop them from doing this all again?”

Lucifer furrows his brow, frowning at him. But he doesn’t play dumb and Alastor can see a flicker of something akin to recognition in his eyes. Like this is something he’s already thought about where no one can see.

“...You’re asking me if I’ll kill the assholes responsible, once we track them down?”

“Something like that.”

Lucifer scoffs, rocking back in his seat slightly. But restlessness is often a signal that a question’s pressed uncomfortably firm to a nerve of truth. Good. 

“Believe me, I’m… tempted,” Lucifer admits eventually. He says it with both hands gripping the bar. “But it’s not what she’d want. And most of these morons don’t even know what they’re doing. They’re just kids who got daddy’s gun out of the lockbox.”

Alastor hums his amusement, cocking his head slowly to one side and sounding exceptionally unconvinced on purpose.

“Mm. If you say so.”

He sets his drink down, drumming his fingers along the bar-top just lazily as he studies Lucifer’s face for a moment, then he shifts that gaze out to the other patrons in the restaurant behind them with a smirk that leans snide in his lips.

“Humanity’s hedging its bets every decade, if you ask me. If it’s humans who are responsible for kidnapping Lucifer’s daughter… Well, I’d say they’ll keep getting bolder and brasher. Weeds that will grow with infectious rot unless dug out by the roots. Maybe they’ve forgotten the consequences that wait for them under your roof. It’s almost like they don’t even care what happens when they die.”

Alastor watches his words settle atop those shoulders. He sees the way Lucifer’s posture tightens, his fingers gripping tighter into the bar as his eyes stare forward - distant, but in frustration that he can hear needling the edges of his words.

“Trust me, I know. Or did you forget who gifted them Free Will in the first place?” 

He hadn’t, of course. He hopes that, one day, Lucifer will tell him that tale in more personal detail than all the storybooks do. His gaze is unwavering, boring expectant into the side of his head as he waits for him to elaborate on the current situation, though. 

And after a long minute of silence, Lucifer gives him more of an answer – a proper, real answer spoken low, almost under his breath. 

“I’m not looking to make examples, but I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought of all the ways I could make it known that this will not happen again.”

It might not seem like much, but Alastor feels very much like the cat who’s caught the canary; an approving gleam in his dark eyes as he tips his glass to him in agreement before having himself a celebratory sip.

“I can’t say I’d hate it if you did. Charlie might not, either,” he tells him. “Something to think about.”

He knows Charlie would never want that, but it’s an idea worth floating all the same. Just more dominoes to line up in the spiral design of his wicked thoughts.

It’s a subtle surprise, though, when he hears Lucifer speak again. He himself had been content listening to more of the current jazz track play, but he seems to have teased a trail of thought out of him now. How fun .

“...I guess there is something that’s been bothering me about all of this,” Lucifer says, eyes narrowing again into a disappointed glare fixed forward on the bar’s assortment of bottles and booze before he fixes it onto Alastor with the dry exhale of a fresh scoff. “Humans can never be straightforward, can they?”

Maybe it’s the liquor talking, but Alastor doesn’t think so. Lucifer might be on the smaller side, but he’s Lucifer . He’d like to think the all-mighty ruler of Hell isn’t that much of a lightweight, funny as that would be to experience. 

No, it’s clearly the day’s setbacks and frustrations finally gnawing down to the marrow of his patience, forcing him to finally vent. Alastor’s perfectly content to eat it all up.

“They’ve been dicking us around all day!,” Lucifer keeps complaining, “never telling us anything without some kind of catch or wishy-washy bullshit thrown in! Why can’t they just be upfront? Y’know, like, honest ? About literally anything?”

Ah. Well, now Alastor actually has an answer for him. A visceral, meaty answer he’s known even in life. He lets his smile widen into something strangely genuine as he takes one last swallow of his drink, then slowly slides the empty glass to the side.

“I’ve only known them to be truly, sincerely, deeply honest in one moment and one moment alone.”

He looks over his nails as he senses Lucifer actually leaning in slightly closer with intrigue in spite of the reluctance he can hear in the pause before his voice nudges at him in curiosity. 

“Oh?”

Alastor looks him in the eye, his own so lazily hooded with eerie calm.

“Right before death.”

Lucifer doesn’t seem surprised by this answer, but his gaze settles itself within the warm dark of Alastor’s as the demon elaborates. He wants to hear him talk about it – wants to hear him speak from experience to further glean who he is, what he is.

“It’s only when all hope has been taken from him – all means of escape, all chances of survival – that a man will look into your eyes with his own that have gone completely animal in instinct and fear. It’s in those wide, dark pupils that you’ll finally see the truth raw, oozing , open. And it can say everything about him in one flicker of an instant before there is nothing left at all. Everything and then… blissful, empty oblivion. A brave man will be revealed as a coward, a proud man exposed as shameless in his last, begging words.”

And still, Lucifer’s eyes remain fixed inside his own. It doesn’t seem like he approves of what he’s saying, but there’s something else. Like he’s taking strange comfort in the fact that they might actually be in agreement with the sordid truth.

“...Right.” Lucifer lifts an eyebrow and almost seems to grin. Almost. Alastor can still see the strange gleam of curiosity in the Devil’s eyes made so human, so bright. 

“You gonna elaborate or what? Since you’re clearly speaking from experience and it’s obvious you want me to ask about it. Your dark, twisted backstory, right?”

Alastor finally breaks the connection of their eye contact so… strangely maintained through all of this. And when he does, something goes missing that he hadn’t noticed before; a tingle that had been prickling into the nape of his neck, a warmth pooling in his stomach. Now, though, as he barks a laugh and gestures with a dismissive wave, he feels an odd chill left with him like that of a cold sweat. 

“Oh, don't be silly! It’s not really that exciting.”

Lucifer also seems oddly disappointed, turning back to his drink to finish it off with a shrug. His voice lifts more casual, almost friendly.

“Well, I mean. You could still… tell me. If you wanted. Might help me understand your whole shtick a bit better.”

He says this while setting down the emptied glass, fingers still encircled around it. Alastor himself ends up propping his elbow atop the bar, gaze wandering out again into the rest of the eatery beyond the bar stools where patrons chat and dine and laugh. He isn’t aware that his own voice dips a bit lower than usual – more sincere rather than the perky, energetic chatter he loves to needle with.

“Let’s just say I found myself awake around too many who were asleep. Or, as some might indelicately put, a wolf among sheep.” 

There’s a very subtle bitterness leaned there, but he continues without letting it fray itself too obvious between his words. But his stare still wanders over the tops of heads in the restaurant’s gloom. Like it had all those years ago when the itch would find him.

“I think of myself more as a man who was raised well, raised proper , and grew tired of the uncouth masses fumbling so crudely through my city’s streets.” He chuckles here, letting it roll into an amused hum that rumbles into the back of his throat. “I did those streets quite the favor, taking out the trash as I did.”

His talents had never been truly appreciated, not even the savory ones. The place may have been his home with plenty who had looked and talked like him, but the time? The time hadn’t been terribly kind or appreciative of everything he’d tried to offer. Neither had all the crowds he’d bumped shoulders with in his favorite clubs.

But the past is the past and Alastor adores the past (for the most part). Especially with how the more his gaze wanders, the more he notices how many screens burn their sick into so many open eyes. Ugh. He blinks and all the screens in the bar crackle, then go dark.

Lucifer doesn’t seem to care, his stare back to watching Alastor’s unreadable face.

“You’re a man of your time, though, that much is clear. You must miss it.”

“I’ve yet to be impressed by what’s come after, it’s true,” Alastor replies, fingers idly straightening one sleeve of his jacket. “But I don’t necessarily miss being alive or being human. Those had such… limitations.”

It dawns on him that Lucifer wouldn’t know what that’s like: being human, being mortal, being a very basic creature of meat and bone with nothing more to define you. And it’s been said that angels, in all their beauty and might, do crave a clutch of humanity to understand (to be?). Well, Alastor can’t see why he’d want that, but maybe that’s what explains why he’s been offering up so many personal questions. And leaning so close.

“No family you miss, though?” he asks, adding more curious questions to his already curious list. “Mother? Father? Sisters? Brothers?” A beat. Lucifer slants his tone into a languid, teasing drawl. “Lover? ”

Alastor’s stare lazes down into Lucifer’s and he very slowly lifts an eyebrow. It’s clear he’s just poking fun, but there’s something about the way he says it that’s funny, that tickles Alastor like the powdered sugar atop a beignet dusting his nose. Why, though? Maybe because it’s Lucifer Morningstar, the Devil himself, casually asking about old flames like they’re two wanderers in the night, meeting by chance at a bar with… curiosities behind their half-lidded eyes. 

It’s funny, is all. Enough so that Alastor barks a soft laugh.

“Hah! I’ll give you one, hm? My mother raised me on her own in dear ol’ Louisiana in the early 1900s. Made the best gumbo that side of the Mississippi.” He sighs, draping a palm atop his heart (or the void where one used to live). “I owe everything I am to her, rest her soul.”

“Huh.”

He watches Lucifer blink, then lean back slightly in his seat with a wry half-smile in his lips. Like he hadn’t known what to expect. Which is silly, of course. Every demon is a sinner with a story behind them. Maybe all that time sulking away has put him more out of touch with his subjects than he’s realizing.

Lucky for him, it’s Alastor’s chance to so casually turn the tables and ask him a question or two.

“So does Charlie take more after you or Miss Lilith? I’ve always wondered.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes.

“Subtle segway, there. Can really tell you’re a top-notch radio personality.”

Alastor doesn’t humor his attempts to deflect, just smiling his smile as he waits for his answer. Lucifer takes the hint and sighs, running his hands slowly down his own thighs to rest on his knees.

“Well… I’ve always thought she’s the very image of her mother.”

“I expected you’d say that,” Alastor chuckles. 

Lucifer just shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Well, am I wrong?” 

It’s clear this is more a rhetorical question so Alastor refrains from further prodding (for the moment). Meanwhile, Lucifer goes quiet with return of their focus back on Charlie. She’s the reason for all of this, for everything. But rather than withdraw into a surly mood that sends him spiraling, he seems to be forging strength in their conversation and even starts smiling faintly to himself as he keeps speaking.

“She was always so curious about the ‘paradise’ her mother came from. Used to ask me all the time about humans - human books, human songs, human languages. I was so reluctant to teach her anything about them, at first.”

Alastor’s quiet and content to remain so for the time being. It’s a valuable asset, knowledge like this straight from Morningstar himself. But it’s more than that. It’s… interesting. So he listens politely, hands folded atop his knee.

“I caved, though. I mean, it wouldn’t make me any better than Heaven, would it? To deny her the free will to choose what she wants to learn about. And she soaked up all the knowledge she could like a sponge.” Lucifer laughs softly, fondly, and shakes his head. “It’s why I knew what she meant by the writing on the wall. The Angels… Los Angeles. California… CA. She used to make up these little songs about every city, state, province, country, and continent. Even the oceans, at one point.”

His smile starts to fade at its edges, his shoulders beginning to slump.

“I… wanted her to hate it, at first. Hate them. I thought by teaching her about humanity, she’d lose any rose-tinted lenses she'd been clutching to. But, instead, it just made her all the more determined to ‘do right by them,’ or something.” Another sigh falls through him. “Maybe a part of me is regretting it even when I know I shouldn’t. Maybe if she’d grown up not knowing, she would’ve been more apathetic to what happens to all those poor souls when they die. When they end up at my damn doorstep.”

Alastor doesn’t need to voice it aloud when he can already tell that Lucifer doesn’t believe that.

“I think it’s just being ‘up here’ again. It does things to me, makes me itch in all the wrong places.” He looks to his glass, briefly glancing sideways to the distracted bartender, then refills said glass with one more swallow’s worth of bourbon in just the magic of his gaze before lifting it to his lips. Even the Lucifer needs a pick-me-up sometimes. 

“Lilith’s own opinion on Earth, on sinners… It’s still kind of a mystery to me. I think she felt responsible for them, back in the day. Like Charlie does now. But with her being gone for the past seven years…” He shrugs. “I don’t know. What I do know, is that she’d already have Charlie back home by now.”

Oof. Has Alastor discovered a sore spot? Certainly a bruise of self-loathing, but those aren’t difficult to glimpse off Hell’s King even in all his shining radiance. Besides, the interest he feels in hearing him talk about all of this doesn’t feel like it usually does. He feels no great lurch of mischief or white-hot glee that comes with all the right cards folded into his hand. Instead, it’s more of the same curiosity he’s been chewing on all night, since they got to talking like this; a much more relaxed, casual, companion’s curiosity that wants to understand rather than manipulate. 

Well, that hardly makes sense, but he supposes it’s because Lucifer is still too much of a powerful enigma for him to properly plot out where to lean his favor just yet. Something like that, anyway.

Which is why he’ll tell himself later that this is the reason he speaks up again - to align himself more so into his good graces until he knows better how to place him in his head. Even if that's a bold-faced lie when the words slip out entirely of their own accord. 

“For the record, I think she’s more like you.”

Lucifer blinks. So does he.

“...What?”

Fuck. Alastor hadn’t meant to say that. Or had he? He must have. Everything he says is meant and managed and marked toward some kind of end goal. Still, he feels uncharacteristically awkward in this moment and really dislikes how it prickles up his skin. So he rises from his stool, face turned away as he gives a casual gesture of one hand.

“A dreamer with an optimist’s charming ideals, always seeing the good in people even when they’re hardly deserving? Sounds familiar, is all I’m saying.”

Unable to help himself, he glances over his shoulder at him. Lucifer’s got his eyes up on his face and they’re weirdly wide with… shock? Confusion? Appreciation? Whatever it is, it’s got Alastor’s stomach twisting. To combat this, he uses the only weapon he’ll ever need – a wide, unbothered smile. 

“I’m buying us a room. It’s obvious to me that we won’t get anything else done tonight, so we’ll start fresh in the morning.” He adjusts his glasses, nudging them back up the bridge of his nose where they had begun to slip. “I do hope I’m not over-stepping when you’re the one calling the shots, of course.”

“Oh. Right, uh.” Lucifer shakes his head, clears his throat. “Good plan.”

Alastor strolls toward reception without further confirmation. To step away from his closeness is like walking out into fresh air after sitting in a club packed with drunk smokers. Well, perhaps not exactly like that – such would be giving Lucifer’s influence far too much credit. But Alastor can’t deny the strange effect their chat had started to sink in on him. Like he’d wanted to keep gabbing away into the early hours of the morning, asking him about stories from Heaven, tales from Early Creation, gossip from the immortals in the clouds. Like maybe he’d wanted to tell him more about who he’d been in life and who he’d become when so warmly welcomed in Hell. 

If he’d been clinking glasses with Rosie, it would make sense. But with this fool? This confusing jumble of an angel turned Devil? No, he shouldn’t want any of that. Nor should he be considering that disappointed weight of cold again, sitting like a stone in the pit of his gut since he'd stepped away.

Must be Earth’s nasty little grip playing tricks on him, perhaps. 

Whatever the case, he shakes it from his mind and buys them a suite on the top floor. With two beds, of course. He’s been forced to endure the terrible plots of too many of Angel Dust’s movies playing in the background of the lounge to know that’s a cliché he’s all to happy to side-step.

“Room 202,” he informs Lucifer, flicking him the second key card. “I’m heading up now. Try not to take too long, mm? Busy day tomorrow!”

Lucifer snatches up the card, clicking his tongue.

“Yeah, yeah.” A pause as he turns his face away. “I’ll be up in sec.”

And with that, Alastor leaves him to his thoughts and is grateful for his own to have a moment’s privacy as he takes to the nearest elevator. It’s the first time his shadow can finally split from what’s cast on the floor, smirking wickedly up at him before it sways back into place.

They’ll have fresh daylight tomorrow and fresh eyes to look with. He has a good feeling about their luck changing for the better. As strange as their conversation had felt with so many ups and downs, there’s the distinct sensation of… progress. If there’s progress, Alastor won’t have to think too hard on the warmth prickling his neck or the pawing claws of his curiosity wanting to learn more, know more, feel more?

At least he can sigh some relief as soon as he steps into their room and sheds his glamour. A human suit really is too tight, too suffocating, too real, no matter how good the tailor. He’d almost forgotten.

Chapter Text

He closes his eyes and revels in the warmth of the sun.

The day is a perfect one. Not a cloud in the sky, not a frown on any face; just the sway of good music in the air to accompany the sweetness of treats being passed around amongst cheerful vendors. 

Lucifer sighs, completely content and relaxed. Lilith rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing in that way where her thumb rubs little circles into the slope of it. Charlie’s got icing and crumbs all over her face as she giggles, pleased with herself for stuffing so much cinnamon roll into her mouth. She’s so small, so care-free. And Lilith hums a soft, melodic laugh before leaning over to gently wipe her face clean.

He loves these outings of theirs; these charming picnics on lazy mornings. The ones where he and Lilith can talk for hours before dozing off in each other’s arms with baby Charlie tucked in-between. 

It’s paradise. More so than Eden, more so than Heaven. This is the utopia he loves with all his heart – his family completely content cradled within the fold of his dove-soft wings. 

He laughs, letting his head flop atop Lilith’s shoulder.

“Gosh. She looks like you more and more each day.”

Lilith rests her hand atop his, letting their fingers lazily lace together.

“I don’t know. I still think she takes after you. Look at that smile.”

He muffles his laugh by nuzzling into the lean slope of that shoulder. Charlie is beaming, having plucked up one of her stuffed toys to play with. It’s the duckling he himself stitched for her when she’d been born and she’s carried it around ever since.

“Hey Lils?” Lucifer asks after a moment. Lilith hums a little “mm?” in response. “I was thinking.”

“Uh-oh. Should I be worried?”

She pinches him playfully. He snorts.

“I just… Do you think Charlie will always be happy here?”

“What? In Hell?” Lilith chuckles quietly, gaze shifting out into the sprawling lawn beyond their little picnic patch. “It’s her home – our home. It’s not like she’ll know anything else.”

“Buuuut…? C’mon, I can hear the ‘but’ hanging on under your breath, there.”

“ But …” Lilith relents in a sigh, “it’s impossible to predict something like that.” Her smile still lingers in her lips, but it’s got the same shift of sadness in it that her voice does. “It’s not like you’re happy here.”

Lucifer shakes his head, squeezing her hand and speaking only with love and devotion to further reassure her.

“I am in moments like these.”

But Lilith isn’t convinced. In fact, as silence falls over them, so does the cloud cover that hadn’t existed before. And when she next speaks, it’s in a flattened, apathetic tone that prickles unsettling at the back of his neck.

“Are you sure about that?” she asks. “I think you’ll always resent this place. I think you’ll always resent me.”

Lucifer frowns, sitting up straighter now and looking up at her in hurt shock.

“What? Hey, Lilith, no, that’s not true at all! Where are you getting this from all of a sudden…?”

She retracts her hand and rises to her feet. Her movements are almost akin to a ragdoll at the end of a child’s fist. Her eyes stare forward into nothing and her voice is a hollow, empty ghost of its usual strength and music.

“Admit it, Lucifer. You miss Eden. You miss Heaven. You miss what we had before.”

He scrambles to his feet, collecting Charlie almost protectively into his arms as he furrows his brow in so much confusion.

“Lilith, what the Hell are you–?”

“Eve may have spoiled the gift you gave her, but you’re the reason we’re here. You’re the reason all of humanity is doomed. Forever.”

Sharply, suddenly, her head turns atop her neck and she stares at him with eyes glazed over in featureless, milky-white.

“You’re the reason Charlie will never be happy in her kingdom of fucking disgusting sinners.”

Thunder rolls from overhead in the dark, blackened clouds that have conquered their sweet, sunny skies. Wind howls and Lucifer clutches Charlie tighter in his arms, but she doesn’t whimper or whine or even squirm with upset. Lucifer blinks, then looks down to check on her. But she’s gone – vanished and leaving his arms pointlessly cradling empty air. 

Fear claws into him, drags down into his chest and stomach with a sickening, glacial cold. He searches the picnic blanket with wide eyes for any sign of her. The wind wails wretched and wild, tearing the blanket away into the storm. Lilith remains standing there, watching him in that pale, far-away stare that sees all the way through him, but also sees nothing at all. Her hair swirls around her and the lightning that pierces the sky in its white-light lances don’t even make her blink.

With the lightning, though, Lucifer catches the silhouette of a shadow – the lanky profile of someone standing behind him. He whirls around to see that he’s found Charlie… but she’s no longer the giggling child with crumbs on her cheeks. She’s grown up; the young woman he knows she grows into, but her own eyes are the same blank paleness as her mother’s. And she speaks in an eerie indifference that he’s never heard her speak with. Ever.

“They need me, Dad. I have to go.”

It’s like she stares right through him, it’s like he’s not there at all. Even when he comes in closer, hands reaching for hers, her stare is as dead-eyed as a corpse. It makes his insides churn all the more icy as he shakes his head and begs her to stay.

“Who? N-no, no, sweetie, you– you stay right here. Right here with Dad, okay? It’s gonna be–”

But her hands slide out of his like smoke through his fingers and she turns to walk away. 

“Wait! Wait, Charlie?! No, no, no, no, no– Don’t!”

He makes to run after her, but the wind picks up into gales that skid him back onto his knees in the grass. Lilith has suddenly appeared beside Charlie and, together, they continue to walk away toward the dark, twisted treeline of a forest he hadn’t noticed before.

“Please! Please, both of you! Please just– just come back!” Lucifer pleads, his voice straining to make sense over the howling wind. 

Each time he tries to rise to his feet and sprint after them, he just keeps getting battered back down by the weather. Over and over and over it pushes him back just as soon as he’s able to get just a little bit closer to them, like it’s playing a fucked up game of keep-away. But it’s when he sees Charlie glance over her shoulder at him with the faintest glimmer of color back in her eyes that he finally snaps with frustration – wings sprouting out behind him as he snarls through the storm; tail lashing out angry, horns curved high, eyes flashing red.

In one, powerful push of those wings, he’s able to swoop through the punishing gales with embers dusting his path in hellfire. But as soon as he breaks through into the black, jagged lines of trees that thicken into woodland beyond, it’s as though he’s robbed of the wind in his wings and he tumbles disheveled into the dirt. 

Fuck, it’s cold. Unlike Earth’s warm, comforting soil, it chills him down to the bone just to have in his hair, under his tousled collar, strewn amongst his feathers. And this forest isn’t like those above that he’s visited in the shape of deer, of hares, of snakes. It’s… quiet. Completely quiet. No birdsong or gnats buzzing or the creaking of old trees. Just silence that tightens a vice-like grip around his heart beating quick as a rabbit’s.

He gets to his feet, ignoring everything needling into him like so many teeth poised to cut the skin. It doesn’t matter how he feels when he needs to find his family. The way Charlie had looked over at him… He can’t let her down (again). 

“Charlie? Charlie, tell me where you are! Charlie?!”

He cups his hands around his mouth to throw his voice louder through the gloom, but there’s still nothing. Just dead, dark trees and fog starting to thicken between them. Determined, Lucifer does the only thing he can – pick a direction and charge through it, calling out for any chance that he might be heard.

“Lilith? Lilith, can you hear me? I’m here! I’m right here!”

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, and more nothing. 

He hates that it’s starting to get to him, but it is. Panic is rising in his throat, tightening it so every anxious so every swallow squeezes thick. And he’s starting to feel desperate, urgent; his widened eyes looking everywhere for even the smallest sign of one of them around a tree or atop a hill or behind a log. He even trips over the slip of a root and feels his nerves fray further just to be back in the dirt, back on his knees.

He needs to breathe, he needs to keep his wits about him. So he forces himself to gulp down a deep inhale, hold it in his lungs for a few seconds, then exhale it back out with claws squeezing into the ground. Okay. Okay, he can do this. They’ve got to be here somewhere.

That’s when he hears it. The snapping of a twig that cracks loud through the deafening silence and throws his head up to see where it came from.

It’s a deer; a long, lanky stag standing alone in a clearing.

Lucifer blinks and the deer is suddenly looking right at him with watchful eyes (familiar eyes – red, red, red in the dark and hungry like those of a carnivore). But it’s still something – anything – so he lifts to his feet and approaches the animal. It remains completely stock-still.

“Uh, so…” Lucifer is having trouble wrapping his tongue around the words and scowls at himself. This is stupid, asking the first creature he comes across for help. He’s the Lucifer Morningstar, after all. But that’s his famous pride getting the way (like it always does). He can’t succumb to his sin of sins when he knows his family is lost somewhere in these woods. He can’t let this deer’s unwavering stare catch him off-guard. He can’t look too long at the velvet shreds hanging off its antlers so raw and red like its eyes. Makes it look like the beast has been goring rather than grazing.

It’s off-putting, especially when accompanied with the dark burgundy and black of its fur.

Lucifer tries again, fixing it with a stern look of furrowed brow and scowling face.

“Did you see two others pass through here? Two women? I need to find them!”

The deer does nothing; doesn’t even twitch an ear or its tail.

“Fuck, okay, uhhh… Would it help if I looked more like you? I can do that – see?”

He transforms mid-sentence, a pale hart with gold antlers and desperation still wild in his eyes as he dares to step in closer. This does seem to catch the attention of the strange deer, which leans its face down as though to sniff a scent more familiar, more comforting. 

Instead, it peels back its lips to reveal a set of sharp, bloodied teeth gleaming from inky-black gums. And when it speaks, its breath reeks of viscera. 

“I know something you don’t know.”

He knows that voice, of course. It’s Alastor’s, lilting so sing-song and smug. 

This just makes Lucifer rear back up on his hind legs, his front hooves lashing out in front of him as he tosses his antlered head with a shout.

“Stop playing your fucking games with me!” 

When gravity carries his weight back down, he uses his momentum to thrust himself forward toward this snickering deer-Alastor, as though to clash antlers with him as a proper stag might. And he does so with a heavy clack of bone that resonates all the way through him. Alastor does nothing yet, just grappling with him almost lazily, unbothered, as his hooves keep him rooted unmovable in the dirt. It’s him who decides to end it, using his neck to swing Lucifer to the side with enough strength to unclasp their antlers. He gives him one last, amused look, then bounds into the trees.

Lucifer shakes his head, gathers himself, then charges after him. Still a stag, still urgent with how he calls out into the thick walls of fog that are only gathering closer, tighter.

“No, fuck, please! I– I need your help! I’m sorry! Just tell me where they are! Please tell me!”

He sees him – the dark deer bounding ahead of him, leaping with eerie elegance over logs and stones. So Lucifer follows, determined. Right, left, forward, left, left, right again. He’s gaining on him, can hear him laughing the closer he gets. Finally, he thinks he’s close enough where he can try to push him to the ground or transform into something else that can stop him in his tracks, until–

Nothing. The deer disappears, the trees disappear – all of it engulfed instead in white, blinding light that even makes Lucifer yell with how it blazes a searing burn into his retinas. 

He sees only light, hears only the opening of wings and, eventually, a voice warped and fragmented that simply says: “ Be not afraid. ” And then it laughs.

Sharply, suddenly, Lucifer wakes up in his hotel room.

The nightmare has him jolt upright with a gasp and he takes in the suite around him with wide, panicked eyes. Fear is still a hard, sharp stone lodged up high in his chest and there’s sweat beaded across his face and throat. He’s panting like he’d been running in those woods, chasing that deer just seconds ago and the harsh honk off a car’s horn from outside makes him jump.

Shit. He hasn’t a dream like that… in a long time. Hasn’t had to exhale a sigh of relief to realize reality again and then try to shake off the uncomfortable chill of the sweat on his brow or the tightness still clutching into his ribcage. 

He shivers, running his palms up over his face. 

Ugh. Fuck. Shit. 

Can’t let a bad dream rattle him like he’s a child – a freshly formed angel clinging to the comfort of the clouds. Shit happens, you shake it off, you move forward.

Okay.

Lucifer swings his legs over the side of his bed and stands, moving for the ensuite bathroom. All the while, he re-orients himself with the here and now; takes strange comfort in the carpet beneath his cloven hooves and the sounds of a large, excited family of tourists down on the street. When he flicks the light on in the bathroom, he stares tired into his equally exhausted reflection and groans to notice that his horns have sprouted in his sleep as well as his tail, which flicks irritated behind him. And his wings, of course, are opened with feathers tousled from his restless sleep. 

Well. At least he hadn’t set the sheets on fire or anything embarrassing like that. And it doesn’t look like Alastor’s here to pick apart this moment of weakness so openly exposed. 

Wait. Alastor’s not here… which is a double-edged sword. Because if he’s not here, he has to be somewhere else. And somewhere else is somewhere beyond Lucifer’s watchful gaze and strict rules. He’ll have to hunt him down, then. The last thing Lucifer needs is a psychotic demon on the loose, digging his claws into a city that’s already got sins aplenty to devour it whole.

Lucifer sighs long and slow, then turns the tap on so he can pool some of the water into his palms, then splash it up over his face. As he does so, he hisses with how terrible it tastes even to accidentally fleck into his mouth and shudders with a loud noise of disgust as his wings, horns, and tail all shift themselves back into him. When he looks back up at his reflection, he’s newly refreshed within his human glamour. 

Cool, okay, he’s got this. Time to hit up the lobby and see if Alastor’s bothering the bellhops or something. If not, he’ll figure it out from there.

His journey downstairs has him brushing shoulders with humans aplenty; eager couples and families and a few lone businessmen all eager for some escape this morning. Is it the weekend? It feels like the weekend, which crowds the elevator more than Lucifer would like right now. Even if it does make his heart lift from where it’s riled up tense in his chest when he makes a crying baby laugh with the quick pull of a silly face. Charlie always loved that one, too. A classic.

Lucifer can’t help but scowl, though, when he steps out into the hotel lobby. The crowd’s grown thicker here, gathered closer to the lounge where he can hear music playing. 

Piano music. Familiar music. His music.

Well, at least he won’t have to go hunting for the wayward demon out on the streets and boardwalks. So he nudges through the throng of people clustered up near the lounge’s fancy, sleek piano, snorting slightly to hear how some of them comment on the pianist’s handsome face and skilled fingers. 

And there he is, Alastor himself dancing said fingers over the ivories with the professional precision and grace that’s come to be expected (unfortunately). He doesn’t look up from the keys, even closing his eyes completely as his body sways with the jazzed-up drawl of the song. Lucifer rolls his eyes, stepping aside to wait by the doors instead. And though he folds his arms with a look entirely unimpressed, he can’t deny that there’s style in how the guy presents himself. Especially here, amongst the mortals so captivated by anything that glimmers some kind of nostalgic. 

The song ends eventually and the crowd applauds. He can hear Alastor politely addressing a few of his new admirers before strolling over to meet him.

“Allergic to low profiles?” Lucifer huffs. Alastor just smiles gently and with a subtle, knowing glint in his eyes.

“I thought you might need some time to yourself this morning.” A beat as he leans in just slowly, lazily. “Quite the rough night, after all. You poor thing.”

Lucifer’s lips peel into a sneer and his eyes narrow. 

“Has anyone ever told you how insufferable you actually are?”

Alastor laughs, giving a flattered wave of his hand like he’s been dealt quite the compliment.

“All the time!”

Lucifer already wants to return to bed. But that’s not helping anyone, especially not himself. So with one more sulking scowl to get his unimpressed perspective very bluntly known, he shoves off the wall he’d been leaning against and heads for the doors with clear expectation that Alastor follow.

Sunlight hits his face warm and welcoming as soon as they step outside. He finds himself closing his eyes, basking in the comfort of it washing through his skin and seeping down, down into the tensed-up meat of him. It’s almost like the Heaven’s Dew all over again and reminds him of days so many eons ago where he and the other angels would open their wings to nap, peaceful, in perfect patches of sunbeams.

Alastor speaks up, which sends cracks spider-webbing across the glow of memory lane.

“I do have information, by the way. All it takes is a smile and a song to have the people telling you anything you’d like to know.” He sighs. “Some things never change.”

“And?” Lucifer prompts, disgruntled and impatient. 

Alastor raises an eyebrow, clearly amused to see Lucifer in a mood that’s got more teeth than usual. 

“Hope Incarnate. It’s the studio we’re meant to find and it’s only a few blocks down this road here. Supposedly, there’s a class being hosted as we speak. A perfect chance to observe, I’d say.” 

He’s heading down the sidewalk in the direction he’d nodded toward, though pauses to fix Lucifer with those ever-grinning eyes of his.

For a moment, it takes Lucifer back to the woods with the stag poised across from him, its gaze unyielding in its zealous (deep, ravenous, searching, penetrating) intensity.

He shakes his head, shoving aside everything that’s been bothering him this morning to keep his focus where it matters in the here and now. He truly hates how much of a habit this has become over the last few days.

“Right, yeah, okay. Good,” he agrees, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving to join him as they begin their stroll together. “Let’s get going.”

Their walk, strangely enough, is mostly a quiet one. Alastor seems to have gotten his fill of conversation from the crowd earlier and is content to walk at Lucifer’s side with his gaze out surveying the neighborhood. There’s an itch in Lucifer that prickles at the back of his skull, wanting him to be suspicious of this behavior, but he actually stamps this down for the moment. His dream may have made its mess of his nerves and left him bristled in a bad mood, but Alastor’s offering him movement forward in the progress of their rescue. For that, he truly can’t fault him. For that, he can swallow down the splintered shards of his grudge and stare fresh eyes forward rather than back. 

It helps that he’s got the song in his head that Alastor had been playing on the piano. It’s… not terrible. He kind of likes it.

Eventually, they make it to the yoga studio they’ve been trying to track down. It’s a two-story townhouse set-up next to a café and a pet clothes boutique. And on the front window is the name ‘ Hope Incarnate ’ with the graphic design of two hands holding up a golden hoop that encircles these words. 

Exactly like the altar they’d seen in the shop back in Hell.

Lucifer’s eyes light up and he looks to Alastor with posture straightening in pleasant surprise to make the connection. Alastor’s own eyes flash and his grin widens. 

Shit. This could actually be something.

From outside, they can glimpse the class currently in session – a fairly impressive group of people all folding, bending, and stretching into the designated yoga positions that their instructor calls out to them. 

Said instructor is a serene, smiling woman with her brunette hair tied back in a messy bun and her hands calmly gesturing to emphasize her points as she speaks in a soft, soothing voice. She’s the one Lucifer plans to talk to, once her class has finished. He’d like to think it’ll be easy, getting her to spill the information they need to finally find Charlie. His luck has been shit up to this point, but he thinks this is finally the turning point. And maybe, as far as cults go, this one’s one of the more… relaxed ones? And this has all been one silly ‘oopsie’ they can all laugh about later?

A guy can only hope.

Luckily, they don’t have to wait too long to get answers. The class wraps up after two or three more minutes and the pair of them wander into the studio as people chat amongst themselves, rolling up their mats and gathering their belongings. The instructor seems to have already clocked Lucifer and Alastor, approaching them casually once she’s spoken to some of the class who had stepped over to thank her for her work.

“‘Morning, guys. What can I help you with?” She smiles. “Couldn’t help but notice that we caught your attention out there. My next class is later this afternoon, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, no, yoga’s never really, uh, agreed with me,” Lucifer laughs. “It’s actually more that we were admiring your logo! And were curious about… other teachings.”

He lowers his voice to emphasize that last bit, hoping she catches his drift. She seems to, because her expression shifts from professionalism more into genuine interest now, her smile widening.

“Then you’ve come to the right place.”

She turns away, though not to dismiss them; instead, it’s more to suggest they follow her with the look she throws over her shoulder before moving for the stairs that lead to what Lucifer assumes is the studio’s office space. He follows with Alastor close behind him.

“I admit, I had a feeling about you,” the woman continues in the same, soft tone. “One could even call it the grace of fate that brought you here – a divine connection that twines us together.”

Oh, geez, here we go. Lucifer is no stranger to the way these kinds of people talk. In fact, it’s not even that different from some of the angels he’d been created alongside. Such false bravado, such meaningless gravity in every little thing. It almost makes him want to roll his eyes, but he resists. Even if it startles him with a small jolt when the woman turns once they reach the next floor, her hands reaching for his. 

“You’re touched. You’re special. I can tell.”

Lucifer stares wide-eyed at her, slightly puzzled now by the half-lidded gaze she’s watching him with and the way her hands squeeze his with an inappropriate guise of familiarity. He tries not to let his confusion show and chuckles weakly.

“Aw, that’s– Well, aren’t you sweet? Hah…”

That’s when she leans in closer, voice low.

“You must come to brunch with us tomorrow morning. I insist . It’s the perfect opportunity for you to meet the core of our family, the heart and soul of our movement.”

Lucifer can sense Alastor still somewhere behind him. He thinks he even hears him snort softly, though the woman doesn’t seem to notice him at all. Rude. But this is the biggest break they’ve caught since they got here. He can cope with the weird behavior for as long as it takes to bring him to his baby girl.

“Cooooool, cool, cool, yeah,” Lucifer laughs, removing his hands from hers so he can clasp them together. “I’d – We’d – love that! But, um, could you maybe tell us more about it? Y’know, the movement? Obviously, we’d heard it truly transcends one’s self and… stuff, but I wouldn’t mind hearing it from you yourself. Since you’re clearly deep in ‘the know’ around here, am I right?”

At that, she herself laughs — a little too suddenly, a little too loudly. Enough so that when Lucifer manages to meet Alastor’s gaze for a second, he can tell that he too is just as perplexed (or all too amused) with this. 

Especially when she grabs Lucifer’s arm as she rocks closer with the sway of her laugh, as one would with a friend who’s just told an incredibly funny joke. 

“Oh, I like you! I could just eat you up! Mm!” She grins at him and they’re close enough that he can see the bright hazel of her eyes, the not-so-subtle flutter of thick lashes after she flicks him a playful wink before turning away toward some leaflets on a coffee table.

When she does so, Lucifer frowns over at Alastor, who has a hand cupped up over his mouth like he’s holding back some snide remark. Or gleeful cackling. Or both.

“Here, this’ll have all the answers to any basic questions. But I assure you - come tomorrow morning, 11 AM at this darling little beach club we own, and you’ll get way more than answers,” she informs him happily, handing over a brochure with the name of their group proudly printed atop a backdrop of clouds flushed bright in sunrise. The Keepers of Heaven’s Blood with Hope Incarnate in smaller print beneath it - both accompanied down at the bottom by the symbol, again, of hands gripping a golden circle. 

The more he sees it, the more it makes an uneasy cold needle down between his shoulder blades.

Still, he’s all smiles as he takes the brochure from her. Alastor slides it free of his fingers to have it for himself, but the woman still doesn’t seem to care much when she’s got eyes only for Lucifer. 

“If you’ve come to ascend into a truly better, higher level of being? Then we’ll definitely have what you seek.” She says this with something more serious woven into the softness of her voice and tucked into the subtle curl at the edges of her smile. “Something… miraculous has happened, after all. This is why I know it’s Fate that brought you here. It has to be. The timing is too perfect.”

To this, Lucifer’s own expression turns more sincere in his interest, his curiosity. Maybe this ‘miraculous happening’ has to do with Charlie. Maybe all it takes is a little more small talk, then he can find out where the real ‘work’ goes down, can find out where they’re keeping her. So he nods, not really needing to fake his intrigue. This just seems to delight the woman further.

“I’m Krystal, by the way.” She holds out her hand.

Lucifer stares down at her offered palm for maybe a beat too long because he hears Alastor clear his throat to prompt him into responding. Maybe he’d just been momentarily thrown off by remembering that his name isn’t one… well-received up here. Even amongst those who worship it, sing its praises high into the ceilings of their unholy chapels. 

“O-oh, uh, I’m… Lucian.” Unoriginal, off-the-cuff, but oh well! He takes her hand and shakes it.

But when he does so, her hold squeezes in a way that has her rubbing an overly-familiar circle with her thumb over his own and she leans in. 

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

Lucifer fights off the instinct to laugh awkwardly and simply forces his smile broader along his face, starting to retract his hand only to find that her fingers hold his a little too tight to do so without making it abundantly clear that he’s trying to shake her aside. Luckily, Alastor finally chimes in.

“And I’m Alastor! Hate to break up the moment, but my colleague and I are needed elsewhere. You know how it is these days – busy, busy, busy!”

Krystal’s eyelids flicker for a moment to betray the subtle wash of irritation that must’ve passed through her before she adjusts her expression easily back into polite calm. She also seems to finally regard Alastor at all, gaze shifting up to his with fake delight.

“Oh, of course! I really need to tidy up the studio before the next class, anyway. I guess I just got a little excited! The distinct movements of the divine do that to a girl, after all!”

Lucifer steps backward closer to Alastor (of all people), feeling a peculiar settlement of… comfort in his closeness? That doesn’t make sense. But whatever it is, it’s better than the blatant flight-or-fight discontent that’s been tying up a knot inside his stomach this entire conversation. 

Still, he keeps his expression perfectly pleasant with a warm smile of his own.

“So tomorrow, right? 11 at this beach club place?”

“The address is in the brochure.”

“Right! Great! We’ll definitely be there.”

Alastor opens his arm, allowing Lucifer to pass by him to descend first down the stairs. The Radio Demon, of course, has to be the last to speak.

“Yes. The both of us are excited to be a part of something so much… bigger.”

And he follows after Lucifer.

Once they’re outside, though, Lucifer finds himself grabbing for the brochure that Alastor still has clutched in one hand so he can read it while they walk back toward the hotel. But he also can’t help his venting in lowered mumbles as Alastor strolls at his side, hands behind his back like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

“Okay, that was weird, right? Like, weirder than usual. Ugh. So weird,” Lucifer hisses, wrinkling his nose to himself as he reads. The brochure is mostly generic church crap about letting faith guide you, trusting a higher power, living life in service of a greater cause, yadda-yadda.

Alastor hums a sound of amusement.

“You’re not flattered? You’ve found quite the admirer and you’re not even cloaked in the hellfire they talk about so much! I think she’s very taken with you.”

“And I think it’s just part of the act. Y’know, cozy up to at least one member of an interested party, love-bomb them so they feel an instant connection and already welcomed into the fold, make them feel special so they keep coming back for another hit of validation and acceptance... Yeah, classic cult shit. Hardly original.”

Lucifer keeps scanning the brochure. Something that does catch his eye is heavy emphasis on angels and some allusion to a heavenly hierarchy that’s supposed to be the basis of a lot of their teachings in the group. There’s a lot of reference to a conduit – a Messenger – that speaks for these angels and directs the paths the group must take toward “spreading hope” throughout humanity. 

Well, to those who ‘deserve’ it, anyway.

It’s all making Lucifer feel slightly nauseous so he stuffs the pamphlet into a pocket of his jacket and lifts his gaze out toward the scenery around him instead.

Alastor sighs, still more reserved than usual, but altogether seeming to enjoy the daylight on his skin just as Lucifer does.

“I do think we’ve found ourselves a promising lead, however. I take it you agree that what we need to do now is schmooze enough to get us a proper location? Get them to trust us enough to take us there or drop an address? Though, I do know other methods that would get us the information we need.”

Lucifer doesn’t even need to look at his face to know there’s a smirk slinking there, slanting sly into his voice like it so often does. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You love torture or whatever,” Lucifer groans, but there’s the subtle lilt of a laugh anyway. “We’ll see, okay? Look, I’m not even saying ‘no,’ I just think we need to learn a little more about what we’re dealing with before we go for the throat. Just in case this is some weird, freaky coincidence.”

Alastor seems satisfied with this response, making a lazy ‘ mm ’ of approval whilst they continue their stroll. 

Said stroll takes them outside a local-run little coffee shop with a cutesy name. Lucifer pauses in front of it, isn’t even sure why, then abruptly calls out to Alastor when the itch of an idea overtakes whatever logic tries to keep itself present in Lucifer’s head.

“Hey, you want a quick bite before we head back and plan our next step?”

Alastor blinks, lifting an eyebrow as he always does when entertained by something interesting (or something stupid). Eventually, he laughs.

“I don’t really think they have anything to my very particular tastes.”

Lucifer snorts before he can help himself, starting to smirk.

“What? Not a fan of angel food cake? Says here on the chalkboard that it’s 20% off with an order of coffee or tea.”

There’s a flicker of something in Alastor’s eyes – in dark, human eyes that don’t entirely mask the demon beneath. But whatever it is, Lucifer can’t quite glean before Alastor walks in closer to answer him.

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” he drawls in the laze of a new chuckle. “I’ll still have to pass. It sounds far too disgustingly sweet.”

Lucifer laughs properly this time, a hand propping atop the jut of his own hip. 

“Yeah, I’m not a fan, either. How ‘bout a coffee, then? I’m sure they’ve got something as black and bitter as your damned soul in there.”

“Oh-ho! They wish , my good sir. Their sales would do numbers. But let's see, shall we?”

It’s a weird progression to a weird day, but Lucifer isn’t actually complaining. Maybe he’d needed this to balance out all the unsettling tension he’s been carrying on his shoulders and twisted, tight, in his gut. 

It’s an unexpected moment of peace – of normality? – to keep his head on straight after so much panicking and rushing and wondering and worrying, but he actually finds himself laughing and grinning as he chats over coffee (and a sweet crêpe he’d had to get for himself) with Alastor the Radio Demon. 

In fact, he actually finds himself wondering, vaguely, if it would be possible to do this again once all is said and done. It’s a stupid tickle of an idea, but an idea all the same. Alastor even seems to be enjoying the coffee he’d ordered and sips it with a smile Lucifer knows is more genuine. It’s a far step away from the creature that had haunted his dreams that night. Enough so that he decides to discard the dream from his mind entirely. The here and now apparently has much more to offer (and much more to give in the barest brushing of fingertips and the warmth in lingered looks). 

Tomorrow, they’ll get down to business. Today, they can savor's a moment's peace to celebrate even the smallest victory, the smallest step forward.

Chapter Text

He can’t help the way his gaze wanders or how his mind remembers.

Earth opens up old habits, old patterns. Like how he can close his eyes and listen, pick out prey through the noise like a wolf waiting in the dark for the footfalls of cloven hooves in the dirt.

Humans have always sounded so much like sheep. They keep to their flocks and bleat ugly animal noises as they graze. Of course, there are exceptions – those who sing and paint and play in realms of culture and those who don’t succumb to the base, beast’s nature that can so easily drag them down on all fours.

Alastor remembers walking his city, his streets, and knowing exactly the types who deserved his visits in the dark. 

Here he can see them too. He sees them in the posing influencer and the snobbish businessman. He sees them in the jealous boyfriend and the sleazy cab driver. Everywhere, humanity rots within the confines of its own flesh; feeding off the festering sick of themselves rather than cutting it out. It’s why Hell is where so many of these freaks fully thrive, shameless and proud. He knows he’d sent plenty there himself before following them down, down into the fire and brimstone with teeth all the more agleam in his sinner’s smile.

He still wonders what Lucifer thinks about that – about who he’d been, what he’d done. It’s as though he’d thought, in life, that he’d at least earned himself a private chat with the Devil for his deeds. 

No, it seems Lucifer, Lord of Hell, had been more elusive (more cynical, lost, aloof) than he’d thought to give him credit for. And even the Sins themselves don’t brush shoulders with the boss man unless there’s good reason. 

Which is why Alastor is feeling strangely grateful for the opportunities that have opened with all this special one-on-one time. His moments with Lucifer have already yielded amusing results and offered tantalizing tidbits of information he’ll keep tidily tucked to the back of his mind. He feels like this whole experience will put him in a very interesting position by the time they’ve brought sweet Charlie home. A position that might help unshackle his throat from the pact that still tightens its hold ironclad into his windpipe.

He thinks this whilst sitting outside on the balcony of their hotel suite, a cigarette poised between his fingers with smoke blooming up lazily from the glow of its embers in the evening gloom. Lucifer is still inside updating Vaggie over a video call that Alastor listens to between slow drags.

“So you think this group is, what, holding Charlie captive somewhere?” she asks over the speaker. Lucifer is walking around the room as he chats, unable to sit still. Alastor almost rolls his eyes, but refrains. Vox used to do the same thing; so restless, so fidgety, so excitable.

Lucifer’s probably riled up with the combination of excitement and anxiety – more like Charlie than Vox, when he really thinks about it.  

“Something like that,” Lucifer replies. “I mean, there’s too many coincidences we keep noticing for it to be an accident. And I feel her, Vaggie. I know she’s here.”

“You’ll tell me as soon as you know for sure, right?”

“Of course,” he assures her. Alastor can hear the change in tone now; less the determined protector and more the gentle guardian. It’s amusing how crisis has brought these two so close in such a short amount of time. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine, I guess. Nothing too weird going on over here and everyone’s been helping out more than usual. I mean, Niffty’s clearly going a little more loca without Alastor around to–”

“No, Vaggie, I meant how are you holding up? You, personally.”

There’s a long pause before Alastor hears her answer. He even slowly shifts his gaze from the pale wisps of smoke trailing up into the sky to fix on Lucifer who’s come to lean along the threshold out to the balcony. 

“I…” She sighs, then tries again. “Not great.”

Defeat sits heavy in her answer; quiet with how it’s sunken low in the back of her throat. It reminds Alastor of so many dancers who would set their drinks atop the piano he’d play with at some of the clubs. How, like Mimzy, they’d been drawn to his nature, his unthreatening calm, to vent their woes in a time where women usually only had themselves to flock to with their worries.

Here, he supposes Vaggie feels more understood by one of her own kind. They are unique, after all. Angels don’t usually plummet to Hell and come out of it with their heads ringing clear, their halos shattered. 

It offers someone like himself a very specific perspective – and a rare one, too. He can still feel the scars burned into his body from Adam’s smiting blows. Angels are not creatures to be underestimated, so their behavior is worth studying.

Lucifer steps out onto the balcony, free hand propping out to lean his weight against the railing that overlooks the street below. 

“Yeah.” He sighs, looking out into the city lights before his gaze returns to his phone screen. “That’s why I’m gonna fix this. I bet it’s… well, it’s Hell having to wait it out.” 

He walks alongside the railing, still unable to stand still for too long. Alastor can hear his palm sliding over the metal and then the eventual tapping of his blunt, human nails when he stops beside where he sits. Maybe he needs to find the right words in these few steps. Maybe he hasn’t taken the time to sit with these thoughts, these feelings, long enough to sort through them since they’d arrived here. Explains the nightmares, anyway. 

Still, Lucifer's voice is level, calm, and reassuring as he speaks to her. And there’s the lilt of a hopeful smile in his words. He’s started doing that more often these days. It’s a vexing combination of annoying and… endearing? Something like that.

“But it sounds like you’re keeping everyone from going a little bit crazy down there,” Lucifer tells her. “Like she’d want.”

“It’s funny, actually,” Vaggie laughs weakly after a moment. “It… feels like they’re doing the same for me. Even if they don’t say it out loud. Angel even remembered how I order my coffee. Brought me some when he came back from work earlier.”

Aw, isn’t that sweet? Their fantastically freakish found family is flocking together in this time of need, showing their best colors rather than deteriorating back into the rancid rot of their sins. They say that trauma and crisis brings people together, don’t they? At least it’s nice to see that Charlie’s hopes and dreams haven’t completely fallen flat to die alongside Adam in the old hotel’s wreckage. 

Alastor’s yet to decide if this is a good thing or a bad thing. Or if it matters at all when lined up parallel to the plans he wants to set into motion once he’s free of the deal that bows his head so sickeningly obedient to the whims of another.

Right now, he decides it’s… entertaining; a fun twist to the tale like any decent radio drama. Which is why he can’t help but lift an eyebrow in curiosity to hear Vaggie’s voice lower a moment later, furtive with suspicion. 

“But I just keep thinking that something’s wrong.”

Lucifer turns to lean the small of his back to the railing, frowning into his phone screen.

“What do you mean?”

“It just feels like someone’s watching us. Like, all the time.” Vaggie groans and Alastor can hear her pulling a curtain closed. “Maybe I’m just feeling paranoid after everything that’s happened to us, but… I dunno. I’m having a hard time shaking it.

“Have the others mentioned anything?”

“Husk did. He tried to dismiss it right after, but…” She sighs again, long and labored with the bristles of anxiety they all have needled into their lungs these days. He can hear her running her fingers back through her hair in restlessness, too. “I’m just worried something bad’s about to happen.”

Lucifer straightens up.

“Then the Hotel’s in the best hands right now.” There’s no doubt or uncertainty to hang his head or slump his shoulders. Even in his human disguise, he’s practically glowing with determination that shines in the scarlet of his eyes. “You got this, Vaggie. Just keep your spear nice and sharp, okay? We won’t take much longer.”

“Okay.” There’s a pause. Alastor can hear her taking comfort in his go-get-’em attitude with how her voice fills confident with that all too familiar angelic sternness once she strings it together again. “I’m holding you to that, sir.”

Lucifer’s tone has returned soft, though; like it’s more akin to the gesture of resting his hand on her shoulder and squeezing tight.

“As you should, Vaggie. Don’t let me slip up.”

Alastor’s stomach churns with the syrupy sweetness dripping off this darling moment between makeshift father and makeshift daughter. Vaguely, he wonders if angels even have those – parents, children, families. Maybe that’s why they gravitate toward the imitation of these dynamics in their eternal struggle to feel the humanity they’ve been denied in all their wings and eyes and mouths.

It’s as though Vaggie can hear his thoughts because she suddenly sharpens her tone into the harshness he’s more accustomed to as she addresses the very innocent demon in the room.

“Oh, and tell Alastor I’ll kick his ass if he betrays us all or tries pulling some weird, creepy shit at the last second that fucks us over.”

“Ha-ha! Always the kidder, you. I’ve missed that biting wit!”

Lucifer turns his phone around so that Alastor can address her directly. Vaggie just lifts an eyebrow and tilts her head, looking completely unimpressed.

“...This glamour thing is so weird. You look like a librarian.”

Alastor clicks his tongue, flicking some ash off his cigarette.

“And you look like you haven’t slept a wink! What would dear, sweet Charlie say, to see you in such a sorry state, my dear? Really, now.”

There’s only the low, lazy leaning of a growl lingering beneath the layers of his voice to suggest his playful teasing bites more with mockery. And she catches this, starting to snarl with her gaze sharpening into more of a glare. Oh, he does think wrath suits her quite nicely. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see more of it? 

Regardless, she huffs out her frustration and settles merely with rolling her eye before standing from the seat she’d been calling from. Alastor can glimpse Husk in the background shooing Niffty away from some of the bottles he’s sorting at the bar.

“Anyway, I’ll head off, let you two prepare or whatever.” Lucifer’s moved to stand behind Alastor so they can both be in frame for the end of the call. Vaggie looks to both of them, a hand lifting to fiddle with the collar of her shirt where Lucifer’s pin still sits. “Like I said, just… keep me posted. Let me know as soon as you’ve got something substantial.”

Lucifer nods and Alastor just keeps smiling.

“Will do. Look after yourself, okay? Please.”

“I’ll try.”

Lucifer gives Vaggie a little wave before tapping off the call. He groans, though, as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket, fixing Alastor with a scowl.

“Do you have to antagonize everyone all the time?”

“And miss out on the fun of an angry face? A twitching nerve? Perish the thought!”

“It wouldn’t kill you to play nice once or twice.”

“It might. And then my death would be all your fault. Charlie would be devastated.”

“She’d get over it, so watch it. Asshole.”

Lucifer doesn’t head back inside their room just yet. Instead, he moves to sit in the seat opposite him; slumping into the chair with a tired huff as he gazes out into the sea of lights that blink out beyond.

Alastor leans forward so that his elbows are propped atop the table between them, head languidly cocking to one side. 

“You know, you’re quite the… Hmm, how do I put this? Stick in the mud? Wet blanket? Buzzkill?”

“Yup, cool, got the picture,” Lucifer grumbles.

“You dress the role of ringmaster, but you’ll have them leaving the seats before the first act with an attitude like that!”

“Well, excuse me for not wanting to torment people literally constantly.”

“Pardon me and every other sinner in your circus for expecting that to be your actual job, then.”

“Right.” At this, Lucifer sighs and lets his tone flatten into something less sharp and snappy. “Sometimes I forget that’s what people think. So annoying.”

There’s a moment’s stillness before he snaps his fingers, conjuring a cigarette of his own from thin air. He lights it with another snap that ignites the tip of his index finger, which he offers up to the cigarette in a flicker of gold fire that smolders a lazy glow up into the details of his disguised face for a moment. 

Alastor stares. Lucifer inhales. His voice starts back up with the resulting exhale of smoke.

“Pretty sure Hell does all the work for me. It eats itself – a self-cannibalizing beast and I’m just the one holding the leash. And neglecting to pet it, I guess.”

“Oooh. Deep.”

“Listen, I can be fun. I am fun! It’s just… Well, it’s been a while, okay? Haven’t really had good reason to let loose when there’s always… something.”

All these big, bulky ‘somethings’ lean atop the silence that draws out between them for a moment. They prompt the cigarette back to Lucifer’s lips and his eyes to watch the smoke twist and twine like the coils of pale serpents. He taps some ash onto the tray atop their table, then continues.

“Besides, it’s not like you seem like the life of the party. Not since the 1930s, anyway.”

“What I offer is timeless , my good man.”

“Oh really?”

Alastor laughs, but it’s more a throaty chuckle than any bold, barking cackle. 

“Radio is timeless – stories are timeless. Certain mediums either accentuate what’s classic or dampen it down into dull, dank drivel. Music? Dance? Classic. Television? Moving picture shows? Drivel. But in the end, it’s the stories that we all thrive on. Either in our lust to have our own etched in stone or in our yearning to experience grandeur through the lives of those that inspire us, we are creatures that need stories to live. To truly live.”

He sighs, but it’s more wistful than anything. Like the rose-tinted lenses of nostalgia have slid into his frames to cast him back to the nights he’d spent dancing and the bands he’d played with on a whim when everyone had their gin, their rye, their beers too many. And he thinks of the paintings he’d seen, the food so beautifully served especially in the yard parties where the gumbo never seemed to run out.

So many stories even in those memories flicking rapidfire in his mind. Even he’s not immune to their pull in the dark, their comfort in these foreign spaces. Which is why when he keeps speaking, there’s sincerity there and a genuine, pleased smile folded into every word.

“I simply enjoy helping them into this world. And immortalizing others into the radio-waves like the gods of old carved into marble. Though my subjects don’t always… appreciate it quite as much. Maybe they don’t always deserve to! That’s up to my audience to decide.”

Lucifer tilts one brow and scoffs. 

“You really think what you did, even in Hell with all those Overlords, is… art? Is some kind of… good thing? Cultured ?”

Alastor’s eyes light up and he leans forward slightly. 

“Oh, so you do know about all of that?”

“I skimmed your file. Briefly.”

“Well, well, well, color me flattered , your highness!”

“You’re misdirecting.”

Alastor lets his smile sharpen into more of a smirk and he drags off his smoke before answering.

“Your questions lack nuance. Let’s just say that I’ve always acted with a kind of… code to consider. It’s never been random or even senseless.”

He snorts, gaze dropping down to his human-glamored fingers as they toy lazily with his cigarette perched between them. They’re still long, slender, nimble; still gloved, too.

“For now, let’s lean more toward ‘ yes ,’ hm? For now.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, but said eyes don’t shift their gaze far off like they tend to in an effort to feign lack of interest. No, they keep studying Alastor’s face. Like they had in the café earlier. Like they had when they’d first arrived on Earth, freshly glamoured.

“Fine. It’s not like it’s been on my mind or anything,” he insists, but Alastor isn’t entirely convinced. He doesn’t even care if it’s his ego assuming this and waits for Lucifer to find more words to fumble with. Which he does, right on cue. 

“Guess I’m just trying to…” He shakes his head, leaning back into his seat and brushing aside his train of thought with a dismissive wave. “Yeah, never mind.”

“No, no, that’s not fair. Now you’ve got my attention.” He leans forward as though to challenge Lucifer’s adjustment backwards into his seat; interest flickering awake in his dark (hungry) eyes. “And that’s a very elusive beast indeed.”

At first, Lucifer simply stares back with nothing much to offer in the neutral of his gaze. But, after consideration apparent in the very subtle shift of his glance to the left for a few seconds, he decides to meet that challenge and leans in with his own elbows propping atop the table.

“Guess I’m just trying to understand this.” He cocks his head slowly. “ You .” 

Him. 

Alastor feels a small jump of anticipation in his chest that makes his eyelids lower halfway as his smile widens. Possibly because this is a curious position to be in – the center of Lucifer Morningstar’s interest, the sinner in the glare of his ringleader’s spotlight. It’s a role he’d been musing over falling into when he’d been at the height of his killings in Louisiana. Not like this, of course, but it’s still the sensation of being pinned under the Devil’s strange, careful attention.

So he chuckles and leans back, away into the coolness of his chair again as though the taste of that rare focus is enough to burn if he lingers too close for too long. 

“Oh? And here I was, thinking you were quite keen to be rid of me,” he says with another laugh and his chin jutting lazily upwards.

“Maybe not just yet,” Lucifer replies in his own amused hum. “You have your uses.”

“I do, don’t I? One could say I’m a jack of all trades! I was always told that the Devil would put good use to them all, too, if I wasn’t careful.”

Now this makes Lucifer laugh outright. Such a loud, full sound; hardly the shrill, hyena’s glee that Overlords like Vox or Valentino cackle with into their shameless, tasteless scheming. No, it’s something much more… melodic. Pretty , even, if Alastor had to pick a simple word to label it with. 

“Well, he’ll try,” Lucifer admits, even letting a smile flit sincere into his lips. “He’s a lot less resourceful than people give him credit for up here.”

He says this in a tired laugh that falls more into a groan that signals his interest shifting more toward resting up for the next day as he leans over to stamp out his cigarette into the ashtray. Alastor himself lingers, taking one more long drag off his own as his stare again wanders out into the night, into that buffet of sounds, smells, and sights of human revelry. 

But when he grinds his cigarette into the tray, he hears Lucifer speak up again from inside their suite.

“It’s weird seeing you without this thing.”

Alastor blinks, stands from his seat to wander inside to see what he’s talking about. And what he sees makes discomfort bristle up the back of his neck to lean its needling pinpricks into the base of his skull. 

Lucifer is sitting at the foot of his bed with Alastor’s staff across his lap. 

He’s examining it closely, lifting it up in his hands to better analyze the break that Alastor had done his best to patch with his own magic. When he slowly turns it between his fingers and brings it up closer to his face, a crackle of lime-green light fizzles across the mended fracture-line, disappearing into black smoke that seeps into the wound again. 

This causes Alastor’s own innards to squirm and his hands to ball slowly into fists to try and hide the unpleasant cold leaning into his diaphragm. His shadow hisses and narrows its eyes into a disapproving leer from the wall where it arches long and slanted.

It’s bizarre, this feeling. And too reminiscent of the ice-cold shock that had struck wall the way through him almost electric when Adam had snapped the cane to begin with. Is it… fear? 

It’s something , whatever it is. And he hates it. Hates that it has him standing rigid, stiff, tense as anxiety writhes between his bones and settles a pathetic weakness of fight or flight into the backs of his knees. 

Lucifer, sensing something amiss, lets his glamour melt away in a flutter that dances down across his skin before he looks up at him curiously.

For some reason, this… is a comfort. It stills the twisting and turning of his guts and lessens the severity of the glare that had squinted his eyes so unambiguously annoyed. Though Alastor isn’t sure this is much better, watching Lucifer survey him almost softly for a moment. Like he seeks to soothe rather than salt his wounds. 

Like how Charlie looks at all her beloved sinners, even the rats she frees from Niffty’s traps. 

Ugh. 

But Alastor isn’t complaining or moving; he’s still just a careful set of eyes watching Lucifer’s dark hands maneuver the staff with surprisingly mindful ease; his thumb and index finger very gently moving to caress along the break line. 

The staff itself seems to shiver with the soreness – an animal flinching with the attention to an injury that hasn’t healed properly. So Lucifer lightens his touch, removes it entirely from the break and simply keeps it close to his face so he can dissect it carefully with his stare instead. And when he speaks, it’s in a tone as careful as his hands.

“Adam’s work, right? What a shithead.” 

Alastor flexes his fingers restlessly before folding them back into his fists. Lucifer briefly takes note of this before lowering the staff back down atop his lap as though to try and show he means no ill-will.

“I was thinking that I could fix it… if you want?” A beat, he offers a weak smile as more of an awkward olive branch. “Not to brag, but I do know my way around a workbench. Not that I’d even need that to patch this up. It’ll only take a few seconds.”

Alastor looks from Lucifer’s face down to his microphone leaned across his legs, then back up again. He doesn’t know why it’s so difficult to reply verbally when he’s the voice of voices; the most clever, charismatic speaker in every ring of Hell and every town nestled up along the bayou. Perhaps it’s because no one is meant to touch his things. No one ever has.

Still, he forces out a wry snort of a laugh and swallows down the strangeness of all this doubt, this worry. Oh, how it tastes a sickening sour. Even for him.

“I tried, as you can see. The bumbling idiot certainly made a mess of it, but it works just fine! A few crackles give it some character!”

Lucifer’s expression doesn’t change besides the slight lift of one brow, but he lowers it again before pressing just a bit more.

“You sure? Because it won’t work properly with this kind of damage. Angelic magic’s still pooled here in the break like an infection. There’s a chance it could even rupture through the entire staff if you keep using it, like a ticking time-bomb.” Lucifer cocks his head. “So if you really wanna risk that in favor of ‘character,’ be my guest.”

Which is when his expression shifts and he offers out another smile – another subtle, sincere smile in his lips that doesn’t peel back to sneer or smirk.

“But I can fix it, good as new. Only if you want me to.”

Part of him – the spiteful, delightful, oh so frightful part of him – wants to grin all the wider and reject his offer. Like the lost souls foolish enough to deny his own deals to scrounge together whatever scraps of pride they have left. But he knows that would be stupid, especially when Adam’s scars don’t end with the unstable fracture of his staff. They prickle in his own body, ugly with how they throb day in and day out and remind him only of a booming voice tangled terrible with guitar riffs that rub on his thoughts like nails on a chalkboard.

Vaguely, he wonders if Lucifer could heal those too. 

But that’s not what he’s asking and not what Alastor’s offering, either. For now, he can swallow his own pride and finally reply weirdly wordless with a nod to let him continue. He turns away, though, to hide the way one hand clutches into his side where his scars itch now that he’s thinking about them again.

“Okay! Yes!” Lucifer exclaims a little too loudly. He clears his throat, speaks again. “Um, I think this might sting? Hard to tell with you, but, uh. Head’s up, okay? It’ll be like ripping off a band-aid.”

Alastor keeps his back to him, not wanting him to glimpse him reacting if it does hurt, not that he thinks it will. His pain tolerance is legendary, after all. He’s not worried. 

And yet– 

Crack!

It sounds like Lucifer has snapped the staff in half again in one clean, sharp motion. And, like he’d warned, it cuts hard into him; like a knife carving itself heavy into the meat with a determined, twisting dig. 

Unfortunately, he can’t help the grunt of pain or the way he lurches forward in a stumble as his palm clutches into his chest with the throbbing that comes after the harsh, striking stab of agony. He also can’t help throwing a wide-eyed look over his shoulder as his glamour shivers, then falls away to show his ears flattened and a red, glowing ‘X’ burning bright in his forehead like a brand.

Lucifer isn’t looking at him, though. Alastor can’t tell if it’s for courtesy or if he’s too caught up in concentrating, as his focus is on the cane that he holds aloft with a piece in each hand. Alastor’s grateful he can catch his breath without eyes razing into him and watches Lucifer work whilst slowly, steadily, straightening himself back up again as the pain subsides. Meanwhile, Lucifer furrows his brow, fixated on the effort it takes to purge the staff’s pieces of the substance stuck like a toxin inside. They quiver in his grip, then return to abrupt stillness as glowing gold liquid seeps from the jagged edges where they’ve been broken; spattering wet onto the floor where it instantly turns to hissing wisps of vapor that dissipates into thin air.

It’s only a little bit – residue from the blast that had struck Alastor in the fight – and Lucifer seems to have willed the last of it from the staff in a matter of seconds. So now with the problem disposed of, he can carefully guide the two halves back together exactly how they’re meant to fit. And as soon as they meet, there’s a flash of blinding light that Alastor has to shield his eyes from with the lift of one arm, only to glance back up to see that the staff hovers whole above Lucifer’s lap. There isn’t even a seam where it’s been mended or any trace at all of the damage. It’s as though Adam never cleaved it apart.

Lucifer gingerly takes the cane in his hands, turning it to examine his work carefully as any craftsman might. Once satisfied, he twirls the microphone up toward his face to speak into it with a growing smile.

“Testing, 1, 2, 3. Testing!” He laughs, giving it a grin of approval that’s strangely fond, before he offers it back to Alastor. “So? How's that, huh?”

It’s as though the microphone’s eye looks right at him, just as hopeful and expectant as Lucifer’s own stare he can feel watching, waiting. He lifts an eyebrow, keeping skeptical, and takes it for himself while wondering how much snark he should reply with when he finds a mistake or a problem.

But he can’t, of course. It’s as though his staff is back to its old self, even seeming to offer crisper sound and enhanced range, which is… nice. Huh. 

It’s not as though he’d been having too many issues with it since he’d patched it together in his new radio tower, but there had been something ‘off’ about it he hadn’t been able to name. He’s only annoyed he hadn’t been able to figure it out himself because now comes the awful itch of feeling like he owes Lucifer Morningstar a fucking favor. Not that he should, not when Lucifer fondled his cane without asking; claws clacking and clinking all over it, his eyes ogling into its red crevices and careful wiring. 

Still. This is… a surprising gesture that Alastor hadn’t expected. It wouldn’t be a class act to leave the guy hanging, either.

“Good as new. But you didn’t need me to stroke your ego, did you?”

Lucifer laughs, seeming quite pleased with watching him test the staff’s weight and balance.

“Didn’t need you to, but did I want you to? That’s the question, isn’t it?” He sets his hands atop his knees, beaming. “Just happy to help.”

Alastor’s eyebrow quirks like it always does when he’s weighing his options. Does he call him out on this obvious contradiction? (He doesn’t want to help him - why would he?) Or does he tuck this little treasure away for a rainy day and examine it closer later? (If he’s happy to help, does he hope to further solidify their… alliance?) 

Lucifer seems to pick up on how strange this sounds, especially out loud, and clears his throat like he had before; lifting up to his feet with a weak chuckle as his hand reaches up to comb claws back through his hair. 

“R-right, well, anyway! It’s getting late. I don’t want to miss this stupid brunch thing tomorrow morning, so I’m gonna turn in. You should too, when you get the chance.”

Alastor watches him slightly over-long, grin starting to broaden slowly within the curve of his all too familiar, sharp-toothed grin to combat the twist of approval he can’t deny that sits in his stomach. To fight back the disgusting swell of gratitude pressed up beneath his breastbone to feel the solid, healthy weight of his staff so very intact in his palm again. To tell himself he still thrives on encouraging only the worst traits Lucifer has to offer rather than… whatever the Hell this is. 

Or maybe he’s actually, really smiling in this moment and he doesn’t know how to even begin unpacking that as an option. 

“Don’t worry about little ol’ me, now. I’ll tuck myself in and everything.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, dismissing this all with a shove of his palm before turning away in a shimmer of gold-dust to slink under the covers of his bed in apple-patterned PJs. 

Alastor, however, isn’t quite ready to rest his head. It’s much too jumbled, much too loud with noise he can’t siphon away into a keyboard or trumpet. So he does what he used to do back in the old days. He sits at the couch in their shared living space, giving a flourish of his hand to summon his shadow up through the coffee table. In its own hands is a radio, of course, which is places atop said table. Alastor gives it a nod, which it returns before slithering back into the floor. 

In this moment, it feels good not to be cast in his glamour. It feels good to throw his jacket over the back of the couch and lean into the cushions with a sigh, eyes closed, as he wills the radio’s dials to spin without even touching them. 

Those dials, naturally, pick the perfect frequency and dance some jazz into their suite. 

It’s easy for Alastor to tune out the static rubbing coarse on his thoughts when he’s got piano, trumpets, and the strumming of a double bass to soothe his senses. 

Here, he can forget the tingle buzzing through him to take back his mended staff as Lucifer had grinned genuine up at him so glittering in his angel’s glow. He can forget the roller coaster of emotions that had swerved and rolled and spun through him as he’d gone from anxious, to agony, to appreciation all in only a few moments.  He doesn’t usually feel things like that , after all. He feels – of course he feels – but it’s usually so… different from what the masses feel. All of him is different and he’s known that all his life. 

Today, he thinks, has been quite the intriguing sprawl of events and potentials. There’s no point dissecting it like a delicious corpse when there will be more answers tomorrow. And more insight, perhaps, into whatever game Lucifer’s begun to play with him. 

Because if it’s a game Lucifer wants, it’s a game Alastor intends to win.

Whatever the case, however, he’s content to currently let the radio settle him relaxed into the couch before he himself prowls to bed. The jazz keeps playing all night, slowing into songs perfect for lulling the pair of them to sleep while Alastor’s shadow looms through the room like a cat chasing moths in the dark.

It’s a pink-flushed dawn when Alastor wakes in a languid stretch that tingles all the way through to his tail. Been a while since he’s felt this rested, not that he’ll be admitting that into open air anytime soon. 

As usual, he rises before Lucifer and helps himself to coffee on the balcony while he waits for the sun to rise higher in the sky. He’s got the radio beside him, talking in his own voice as it chats about the weather and local crime upsets that would probably be very fun to observe firsthand. Alas , he’s not here on holiday.

Eventually, Lucifer disentangles himself from his own bed in a tousled sprawl of blond hair and tired grumblings about a shower before disappearing into the ensuite. So Alastor politely waits for him to reappear, glamouring himself in the meantime and humming a jaunty tune his mother used to hum whilst combing his hair for church. 

“Okay! It’s 10 AM and I am ready to get this show on the road!” Lucifer announces, much perkier now that he’s bathed. 

Alastor looks up over his coffee at him, doing nothing to hide his amusement at the new outfit Lucifer’s decided to dress his glamor with this morning. Lucifer himself huffs, tipping his chin up proudly.

“What? It’s at a beach club, so I’m going in full white-guy-with-a-yacht. They’ll be begging us to join their freak fest.”

Alastor takes in the sight of him. He’s got an easy, breezy kind of dress shirt on – something out of a rich guy’s clothing catalog with how it’s short-sleeved and collared; tucked into his khaki shorts, of course, that show off the slim slips of his calves and his fancy set of sailboating loafers. It all comes together with the addition of the pink sweater he’s got tied around his neck and the rolex around his wrist. 

Still, there’s something that could be changed and Alastor knows just what it is. 

Lucifer himself has his arms open and is turning in place, trying to gauge him for a reaction as he approaches.

“So? I look like such an asshole, right?”

“Hmmmm.”

“Is that really all you can say? 'Hmmm'?”

“Let me just…”

Alastor leans over and, without warning, plucks open the first few buttons of his shirt. He doesn’t even blink before standing back to admire his handiwork, nodding with approval after canting his head to one side like an artist at his easel. 

“ There we go.” He smirks crooked all the more to see a flush rise in Lucifer’s human cheeks. “Now Krystal won’t be able to deny you anything .”

Lucifer looks up at him, doe-eyed with delicious confusion. Alastor even notices the bob in his throat – a thick swallow of one’s pride, perhaps? He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed, though. He looks surprisingly dapper.

“Fine, fuck, whatever ,” Lucifer eventually grumbles, reaching up to fuss with his shirt. He doesn’t button it back up, however. “I guess it is the beach. Gotta look all relaxed, all chill . Like I just wanna throw all my unethically-earned cash at the first cult that dazzles me silly.”

“I really don’t think it’ll be an issue,” Alastor drawls, still smirking ear-to-ear. His own “beach” look is just a black dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the same dark slacks he’s been wearing in his disguise. Not very inventive, but this Californian bleached-blonde scene isn’t really his area of expertise. And he’s not going to make too much of an effort for these buffoons if he can help it.

He does tap his glasses, though, to make them a fetching pair of red-lensed sun glasses instead. This at least seems to appease Lucifer, who conjures them up a portal after fluffing up his hair a few more times.

The portal places them within some very fancy gentlemen’s locker rooms; which feel more like a ritzy smoker’s lounge than any kind of “locker” anything. Still, it gives them the perfect opportunity to preen a bit more in the mirrors before they step out into the club’s reception area where a lady greets them with an excited wave.

“Oh! It’s you! Lucian, yes? And is this your…?” 

She glances to Alastor with confusion, like she hadn’t been told to expect two of them. He could’ve predicted that, of course. Krystal’s infatuation with Lucifer is simply adorable . And exploitable. 

Smiling politely, Alastor leans in to help her out.

“Alastor. His plus one.”

“Right, of course! I thought so. Please, go right through. Krystal’s booked out the dining suite overlooking the beach so it’s just to your right and up the stairs. You can’t miss it.”

She gestures them through into the lobby. Lucifer throws a look over to him as they make to locate the stairs she’d mentioned, eyebrow perked. 

“Plus one?”

“Whatever gets us both through the door.” 

Alastor’s more interested in taking in the extravagant décor with eyes narrowing behind tinted lenses. It’s very luxurious, even for a richman’s beach club by the sea. Or is it more a yacht club? A sailing club? It feels like all three branded into one ritzy playpen for the opulent elite. And there are more statues of golden mermaids and dolphins than he can count on one hand.

Disgusting, really. 

He walks with Lucifer, following the receptionist’s directions which put them upstairs outside a dining room with a bountiful buffet that smells of sweetness and cinnamon. Lucifer even seems to cast it a look of brief longing before he shakes his head, glances up to Alastor with fortified resolve, then turns to enter with one clear mission very much in mind: learn about the cult's big news and find any concrete links to Charlie. Alastor can practically taste the anticipation pungent in the air alongside the french toast.

“Lucian! You made it!” 

As expected, Krystal zeroes in on him as soon as he passes the threshold. She floats over, looking very ‘Hollywood Zen’ in a flowing blue dress that probably cost a few grand. Lucifer smiles and laughs, greeting her with open arms.

“‘Course I made it! How could I miss out on ‘ascending into a better, higher level of being,’ right?”  

They laugh together, though Alastor can already hear the awkward hike pitched up in Lucifer’s voice. Luckily, he knows no one else will notice. One glance around this crowd (and it’s a fairly big one for a leisurely brunch like this) and he can tell they’re all too obsessed with themselves and their delusions for grandeur to nitpick with the newcomers. More members means more money in the pot, more power to stir with.

And Alastor has to hand it to him – Lucifer looks the very image of what they flock to. No wonder Krystal’s smitten, even twirling some of her dark hair around one finger as she makes small-talk with Lucifer about the humidity or something else equally vapid. 

A lot of the other members are watching them, too. They nod greetings to Alastor when he glances their way or tip their mimosas to him with playful winks. It’s the kind of over-familiarity that makes his stomach churn nauseous when it’s a crowd like this. But, naturally, he smiles his winning smile. Like always. 

He makes sure to keep close to Lucifer’s side, however. Because Krystal’s got the information they need even if the lesser members of the flock are probably more likely to ‘spill the tea’ as easily as some of them are spilling flecks of omelet on their designer clothes.

But also because… he doesn’t like how much she touches Lucifer. 

He doesn’t know why, when he’s the one who even provided the playful peek of chest he has caught Krystal passing glances at, but it’s been sinking in more and more since they’d arrived. It doesn’t help that she hasn’t been subtle about it. In fact, she’s already linked arms with him and is guiding him over toward the sliding glass doors that lead out onto the balcony that overlooks the ocean. Alastor follows closely, taking note of every little touch, caress, and squeeze. And of every word, of course. Yes, that’s what’s important here, after all.

“You know, a part of me was worried you wouldn’t come,” Krystal says in that soft coo of hers. “I…can come across a little aggressive. It can be a bit much, I know.”

Lucifer laughs again, good-natured even if he’s clearly not comfortable with her closeness. 

“You kidding? Nothing I respect more than a woman who’s passionate about what she loves!” There’s truth there. Alastor can hear it — a sad echo of words Lucifer might’ve once said before to a very different woman in a very different place. Still, he continues with sincere interest making him sound all the more convincing. “And I read your pamphlet. Everything about angels and messengers… I can’t get it out of my mind.”

Krystal stills their idle stroll, smiling kindly even as her hands take his in the cups of her palms, rubbing reassuringly. Alastor feels tightness claw into his sternum and an ugly twist churn in his gut. Especially when he sees her fingertips starting to play coy across the golden band on Lucifer’s finger. 

“Compelling, isn’t it? The notion that maybe we can speak to the divine. Humbling, too, that They’ve chosen one of us to use Their voice, spread Their word.” She pauses, glancing down at the ring she’s been fondling for a good minute now. Her warm, honey-hazel gaze flicks back to Lucifer’s face with a slight pout. “...You’re married?”

Alastor notices the bob of Lucifer’s throat like he had last night as he swallows thickly, then brushes it off with a sheepish laugh.

“Widowed, actually! She was sick – cancer. It’s, uh… Well, it’s just habit at this point, keeping it on. Pretty pathetic, I guess.”

Krystal’s face shifts to an expression of tender concern and she even has the gall to reach a hand to his cheek as she hushes him quiet.

Something in Alastor gnashes its teeth and snarls its disapproval. Not outward, never outward, but he’s almost frozen with how much he dislikes what he’s seeing. Like he’s seized up in disproportionate disgust to watch her palm press into the softness of his cheek or to notice the soothing stroke of her thumb over his cheekbone. All he does on the outside is tighten one hand into a fist and clench the line of his jaw to wait it out as her voice frays every edge of every nerve without even trying.

“Shh. No, no. Not at all,” she assures Lucifer, who just stares at her wide-eyed. “I think it’s beautiful, that you keep this part of her with you still.” She offers a smile so sweet that Alastor feels the urge to be sick over the balcony. Instead, he just swallows back the bite of acid in his throat and narrows his glare into a skeptical squint. 

Lucifer guides her hand away from his face, giving it a friendly pat instead.

“Y-yeah, well, maybe that’s what, uh, drew me to you in the first place. Maybe I knew I was needed for a ‘higher calling’ after all the heartache.”

“The Angels know. And They know you , don’t They? You’re touched, like I told you.”

“You… think so?”

With Krystal’s hands no longer pawing over Lucifer, Alastor doesn’t see as much seething scarlet. He only sees the red that his glasses show him, can think clearly and pick out that Lucifer’s voice might sound drenched in awe when it’s really more that he speaks in truths none of these people would be able to wrap their hollow heads around.

Oh how they would fall to their knees if Lucifer spread his many wings here and now. 

But it’d be better not to give Krystal any goddamn excuse as she clasps her hands together, sighing wistfully.

“I know so, Lucian. As soon as I set eyes on you, I knew everything would be clear to me. To you. To us all.”

She says this while gesturing to the crowd still idly chatting amongst themselves. But this is when Alastor finally can’t help it and steps in even closer to Lucifer, a hand resting atop his shoulder and squeezing. 

Lucifer actually jolts slightly beneath his grip, not expecting him to initiate contact. Or for it to sink in so secure and solid.

“If he’s so instrumental to what you’ve got going on here, why should the rest of us even be here?” Alastor challenges in a lazy drawl. “I was hoping to come here and feel enlightened , you know.”

Krystal’s demeanor changes in an instant and her warm, welcoming gaze ices over into something harsh, stern, and piercing when she fixes it up on Alastor instead. 

Yes, yes. That’s better. That’s the real Krystal. Though they only make eye contact for a few seconds, he can peel past the mask of her to glimpse something ugly and cruel and cold. Just as he’s certain she can see his own unimpressed disgust that remains unconvinced in the depths of his dark eyes. He wants her to know he dislikes her, dislikes this. He wants her to know he’s watching, waiting. It doesn’t put their plans in jeopardy if it makes her trust Lucifer all the more, after all. 

And maybe he’s just restless, tired of playing nice and keeping himself completely muzzled.

But those seconds pass and Krystal’s face is all warmth and light again with the shimmer of a fresh smile. 

“Well, now! Someone’s impatient!” The crowd close to them laugh along with her. “Don’t you worry – They’ve got plans for everyone who’s willing to open their mind and listen. Especially now that we’re beginning to see Their machinations set in motion.”

That said, she daintily reaches for her own mimosa and clinks the side of it with a delicate pastry fork to get the crowd’s attention. 

They all fall silent and she glides into the center of the room as they gaze to her like she’s the sun in their oversaturated sky.

“Oh, my friends! It’s so good to see everyone happy and well. Because joy is splendid. It is beautiful and it is real for those of us who have earned it. And haven’t we?” 

The crowd murmurs in agreement. Lucifer, who has been weirdly quiet, keeps himself oddly close to Alastor even now that Krystal has put more distance between them. But he’s listening with rapt attention, hopeful that this nonsensical rambling will reveal what they need. Krystal continues, looking into so many of the eager faces surrounding her.

“We are blessed that the Angels have decided to speak through us – through me . In my dreams, there is one in particular who visits and we all know Him well by now, don’t we?”

Most in the group nod with more voiced approval. Alastor feels a budding frustration with the further vagueness of her statements, but that’s as cult as cults get. Vague words, fake promises. Lots of purple prose and hot air speeches just like this one.

“He who is Hope, who is our shepherd into the light – He chose me to speak through! To show me the truth and the future and the path we must all walk if we wish to live in absolute harmony. Though we cannot rebuild Eden while sin exists in this world–”

Lucifer can’t help the slightest flinch. Alastor feels it in the hand he still has firmly clasped atop his shoulder. Without thinking, he squeezes. And the tension in that shoulder subsides.

“ –We can do what our Angel says to make it that much more possible. To make Hope in this world that’s almost forgotten it. And when we do? Oh, the rewards He has promised us… The Eden He has promised us… I know it’s near, my friends. I know it. Because everything He has told me? It’s come true! We’ve seen it!” 

Suddenly, she points over to Lucifer and himself.

“Our two honored guests are more proof of His word! Didn’t I say only a week ago? Two gentlemen – one gold, one shadowed – will grace our flock and help reveal the path?”

The group all nod, making louder sounds of approval and delight. A few even clap. 

“The Angel told me this. Just as He told me to find the Guide to Eden’s rebirth and to Hope in its purest form. He told me all of this and here we are! On the precipice of true change! On the threshold of everything we’ve worked for!”

The crowd starts to cheer with more of them applauding now. Alastor thinks it’s all rather gauche. He’d forgotten how humans so easily delude themselves into thinking there’s so much more for them than this life, this Earth. Arrogance at its finest. Might as well keep seeing this through, though, because there’s finally mention of something that clearly sounds like Charlie. Enough so that Lucifer had even leaned forward slightly – a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by Krystal, who smiles all the brighter just at him. 

“You know what I speak of, don’t you? I knew you would, Lucian. You really are as glorious as the Angel said you’d be.”

The more she talks about this angel in her head, the more uneasy Alastor feels. There’s more to this, obviously; a strange scheme of some kind that will need to be dismantled, dismembered, destroyed. He himself is all too keen to hold the knife.

Lucifer won’t waste this chance to ask for more information and he steps forward. Alastor’s grip leaves his shoulder.

“I… want to walk this Path,” Morningstar says. All eyes are on him. “You’re right. I was told to come here by a power I cannot explain. So I will do whatever you ask, give whatever you ask, if you show me the way.”

Krystal meets him, taking his hands up in hers at the first opportunity. 

“Yes! Yes, absolutely!” she giggles. “We will show you – I will show you. Just one more step and all will be revealed by the hands of the Angels Themselves.” 

And there’s the catch. Just one more step, one more trick, one more scam. Though Alastor does believe at this point that they are the ones who have Charlie somewhere, religious groups of any kind don’t just offer up everything right at the gate. There’s always a little more that needs to be given - taken - before they will slide aside the curtain.

But Alastor thinks they’re close. All their stupid hoops don’t need to be jumped through when all they need is the right hoop. The one that has Charlie on the other side.

So he himself actually strides forward, not keen on being overshadowed when he’d been mentioned in this dream just as much as Lucifer. Again, rude .

“Anything, my dear. We’re here to serve.” He even bows slightly at the waist, which earns him some approving murmurs through the crowd even if he can practically feel the tangible burn of Krystal’s leer boring into the top of his head. “Might there be a more private venue for the most loyal of us here? A place untouched by society’s sins? I was guided here too, after all, under the impression that a sanctuary awaited us where we might prepare for this Eden to-be.”

Krystal regards him with her smile still intact, but it's a mere mockery of the gleeful grin she keeps flashing at Lucifer. 

“You were told right, of course. I was just about to extend the invitation to our most coveted place of refuge – a ranch that’s been in my family for generations out in the desert. I turned it into a wellness center of sorts, so there’s already quite a few of us out there in the fresh air. And it will be where Eden is grown anew with our Guide to show us the way.”

From her purse, she procures a business card and hands it to Lucifer, who takes it. Alastor can glimpse an address there, inked in gold (of course).

“Memorize that, if you please. And then burn it, to keep our secret,” she instructs. 

Lucifer doesn’t even hesitate. In the blink of an eye, he sets the card ablaze right there and then, which has the crowd gasping excitedly. It’s a risk, sure, but Alastor considers it actually quite cunning of him. Now that they know what this group values and desires, they can manipulate it to their advantage. It’s not as though he’s revealing himself entirely, after all; just a parlor trick to make them wonder, make them think twice about any reservations. 

“And safe it shall be,” Lucifer says in the spread of a new smile.

Krystal is among those who are applauding the trick.

“Oh, you! You’re a treasure, you know that? And so full of surprises!” She’s back to twirling her hair, captivated. “Which is why you must come to the ranch tomorrow night! I was going to suggest next week, but you … Oh, you have to be sworn in as soon as possible.” 

Her gaze shifts up to Alastor and her tone softens strangely.

“You too, Alastor.” She maintains eye contact with him as she inappropriately tucks some of Lucifer's hair behind his ear for him. “You must be sworn in and made a part of our journey.”

He leans in, his own voice dropping lower – a dangerous sound he wants her to recognize as a threat.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my dear.” His smile widens. “Not when it sounds like so much fun.”

Her own smile is unwavering, unmoving.

“Don’t worry. It will be.”

And, for the first time, Alastor agrees with her.

Chapter Text

Lucifer walks away from brunch with a definite spring in his step. 

Though his back itches and his blood burns too hot with a cacophony of emotions rubbing too coarse, too jagged, he’s got determination drumming his heartbeat fierce in his ribs. Disgust throbs hard like a nail hammered into the front of his skull, but excitement flushes it aside in a rush that’s almost dizzying with adrenaline. 

Because Charlie is so close that he can feel it – feel her like a rope tugging at his sternum, pulling him forward. If she’s at this “wellness center,” they can finally flip Earth the finger and go home. 

Home. Funnily enough, Hell feels more like home now than it has in years; like a sanctuary of familiarity and comfort when compared to the sickening rot still sunk deep within Earth’s crags and crevices. These humans – Krystal and her cult floozies specifically – have shown him so in every dirty word and plastic smile. And if they’re the ones who tore Charlie away from them? Had the fucking balls to play to her kindness and trick her into their net? 

That’s where the disgust comes in. That’s where it comes in hot like fire and acid and all the things that burn up feverish, furious inside him. 

So much so that a few of his extra eyes must’ve glowered into view through his glamour, because Alastor clicks his tongue and taps his shoulder with one slim, gloved finger.

“Ah-ah. Careful now,” he warns, gleefully sing-song nonetheless. 

Lucifer stops in his tracks, exhaling a sigh that soothes the shimmer of eyes back down into his magick’d skin. His hands are still tight fists, though his ring seems to add its own soothing gesture in its coolness pressing into the fold of his hand. 

“God, it’s just– Can you believe those freaks?”

He vents this in something of a half-laughed scoff. As composed as he’d tried to hold himself back in that gaudy beach club, it’s all starting to stack up and push through now that there aren’t so many eyes prying into his every seam. Krystal’s manicured nails are still an irritating itch ghosting the shell of his ear. 

Alastor doesn’t say anything just yet, instead moving to sit at the bench parked a few steps away from the sidewalk they’ve been walking along. It’s clearly positioned for the view it offers just beyond the short concrete wall that separates the greenery of this promenade from the sandy beach that sprawls out yonder. The ocean is a calm, sparkling spread of blue in this light. It’s almost easy to forget the bobbing tangles of seaweed thickened ugly with pieces of plastic and other chunks of garbage that the seagulls peck at from where they wade along the surface.

But Alastor doesn’t seem too impressed with the sight anyway, just casually crossing one leg over the other and looking to Lucifer with yet another lazy quirk of an eyebrow.

“And what did you expect? A flock of well-meaning idiots? Flower children looking for a safe place to braid daisies into their hair and sing Kumbaya? Oh, how boring that would’ve been!”

Lucifer takes a moment, feels the usual frustration that comes with chatting up Alastor for more than thirty seconds, but shoves it aside to sit beside him. 

“No,” he says flatly. “I didn’t expect anything from any of them.”

He doesn’t know why he’s so furiously repulsed, so angry at humanity all over again. Maybe it’s just because there had been the smallest sliver of himself trying dearly to will Charlie’s own goodness into his own damned soul. No such luck, it seems. 

Still, he shakes his head. There’s no point simmering here in so much disappointment when he should be leaning more into the excitement of progress, the thrill of knowing exactly what to do next. He sits up straighter, frown fixing more into a determined grin.

“None of that matters, though, because we got what we needed.”

“Indeed we did,” Alastor agrees, voice sounding only slightly devious. Like he’s just as eager to get this show on the road. “So what do you say to skipping the pleasantries and having ourselves a little looksie, hm?”

Lucifer laughs, even passing him an approving side-glance.

“My thoughts exactly.” He stands, brushing his hands off as though wiping aside the past few hours like so much dirt. “Let’s check the place out. If we’re lucky, we’ll find Charlie in an hour and be Hell-bound before the shitheads even notice.”

He checks around them for a good spot to discreetly pop a portal, waving Alastor over once he’s scoped out a public restroom that looks slightly less crowded (and disgusting) than usual. 

Good, yes, keep his focus on what matters. He’s actually feeling reassured to see that Alastor is on the same page; just as keen to skip the wait until tomorrow night and their “initiation” when they have the power to dig into the source as soon as possible. It’s why he’d been perfectly content to burn that address card in the blink of an eye. He knows where to go now – why wait? Why wonder? Why leave Charlie to endure their bullshit (their chains?) for more time than she has to? 

He ignores the inkling of an itch at the base of his skull that scritch-scratches its nails there in the form of an irksome little thought; the kind that wonders, just softly, if he’d also wanted Krystal and her cult to maybe feel even the smallest flicker of fear. Well, he’s no saint – he’s the sinner of sinners. He decides he’s allowed to have these thoughts, especially when they’re directed toward the scum that kidnapped his daughter.

Alastor strolls on over to him by the time his mind fixes itself back into focus, looking to him expectantly now that they’re tucked away out of sight.

Lucifer pauses, though. Not that he means to – he’s oddly caught up in the closeness here between them, Alastor’s long, tall form looming over him where they stand by the row of sinks. He’s smiling (as always), but with dark eyes watching strangely closely behind his red-tinted lenses. 

It’s not strange because he’s intent and amused, but it feels… different than it had before. Less like a predator sizing up its prey and the sultry curve of its jugular and more like a man simply observing his fellow man. Like from across a dim-lit bar or over the heads of a faceless crowd. Like one would with interest that doesn’t dissect as much as it… admires?

But that would be stupid, especially here and now. Even if Lucifer’s mind starts to drift back to the weight of his hand clutching into his shoulder, fingers strong and tight with their grounding hold. 

Alastor blinks, cants his head to one side. 

“Performance issues, your majesty?”

“W-what? I– Oh, fuck off,” Lucifer balks for just a second, before scowling. He ignores the heat climbing up his neck. “Just making sure I pick the perfect placement so we don’t just appear in the middle of a fucking crowd. So impatient!”

He also does his best to ignore the very slow arch of his brow. 

Setting his jaw and distracting himself with the task at hand, he wills open a new portal beside them. It shines and sparkles, ripe with so much potential for secrets to finally be revealed. Lucifer doesn’t wait and steps through without a second thought or word. He feels Alastor brush up beside him, shoes crunching into sand and gravel alongside his own.

It’s definitely what Krystal said it would be – practically a compound nestled safely in the middle of nowhere. They themselves are standing beside what looks to be a shed that sits up close to the high wall built around the property, which sprawls out in enough acreage that Lucifer can’t discern how far it sprawls from sight alone. It’s clearly a lot of land that includes the mountain that the center sits at the base of and he can see that there’s a decent garden set-up as well as the suggestion of livestock somewhere. 

The center itself seems to be an assortment of buildings clustered together like a small village with one larger, authoritative structure at the very back against the mountain’s rocky base. And, from the looks of it, there’s certainly some resemblance to a chapel with how a tower stands high like a steeple atop the roof. There’s even the glitter of stained glass, but Lucifer’s not close enough to glean any detail beyond that. What he does know is that if he wants answers, that’ll be the place to check first. 

Glancing to Alastor to make sure he’s paying attention (of course he is – those eyes follow him like a hawk’s), he shoves open the shed’s door and moves inside. Alastor follows, shutting the door behind him. 

“Quite the set-up they’ve got,” he muses, “Do you think they sacrifice virgins to a large wicker-man and chant in tongues before or after the potluck?” 

Lucifer rolls his eyes, but can’t help a snort of laughter. 

“My bet’s on before. Gotta make sure the meal’s blessed up, obviously .”

This makes Alastor hum a low chuckle, chancing a glance out of one of the very small windows that are mostly cluttered over with gardening tools. 

“So. I’m assuming Charlie’s in that very not-so-subtle chapel over there. Shall we get a closer look?”

To this, Lucifer is puzzled by the low swoop of guilt plunged down into his gut. What’s that doing there? Because it certainly doesn’t belong – he shouldn’t feel guilty at all for wanting to check the place by himself, even though Alastor has been a strangely helpful partner with good ideas and… decent conversation. But he does. Which is weird. 

Alastor seems to pick up on this (he can probably smell it, the creep), because his head swivels around to fix a less-than-impressed look on him that feels all the more bizarre coming from his human-glamoured face. Lucifer sighs.

“Listen. I have a plan, okay? We can’t take huge risks right now just in case we’re off the mark. And it’s not anything crazy – I just know how I can get in and out as efficiently as possible, even if there are people in there. Which there most definitely will be.” Alastor’s eyes narrow slightly, but he seems to be considering his logic without objection. Lucifer continues. “You stay here. I’ll even give you my phone so you can update Vaggie, but..,” His brow furrows with his strengthened resolve. “I just think it would be best if I scout out the place on my own.”

There’s a pause as Alastor seems to be mulling over his suggestion. Or maybe he’s just as stumped by Lucifer’s apologetic tone as Lucifer himself certainly is. They both know he calls the shots; that he’s the man with the plan, the big boss guy in charge. Hell, he hasn’t even tossed his weight around all that much since they’ve arrived. 

Fuck, maybe he’s slipping. Maybe Alastor’s starting to see him as weak, soft, and even more of a bleeding heart than his bright-eyed baby girl. 

Or maybe Alastor finds it… weirdly endearing? Because the smile he wears is hardly a sharp, crooked thing. There’s clearly frustration in the corners of his eyes with the pinch of his squinted glare, but it slackens away when he extends his hand out, palm-up in the wordless offer to take his phone. Lucifer blinks.

“Oh, er…” He hesitates, then fishes around in his pocket for a second before handing it over. “Thanks.” A beat. This… This is weird, still, right? This is weird. His gaze averts, then shifts back up into those watching eyes. “It’s not like I’m trying to keep you outta the action here, it’s seriously just to get this done quick and clean, so–”

“–So what are you waiting for? That darling little guilt complex of yours is showing again,” he teases in a lazy lilt. 

Lucifer huffs.

See? This is what he gets for giving the bastard an inch. He takes way more than a fucking mile. 

“You’re asking to get hit by a rake.”

“If you think you can even reach me from down there.”

Lucifer gets so flustered with a flare-up of frustration that his glamour actually sheds aside and he marches up closer to Alastor with scowl all the more prominent with his red-spotted cheeks tugging at the edges. Unfortunately, Alastor just looks pleased as punch – his grin wide and smug and triumphant as can be to further bury himself beneath his skin.

“You! Ohhhh, you are so lucky that Charlie likes you!” ( And maybe I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you? Fuck, what if I don’t hate you? ) “Just– Just stay put and stay out of sight.”

Lucifer whirls around to face the door, smoothing out his clothes for a second as he adjusts his focus back into place. He turns his face to look at him grumpily from over one shoulder, hissing his next few words. “And if you do update Vaggie, make sure you keep it quiet and brief? And do not text any of my contacts, got it? Because if I come back and see you’ve messaged Satan or–”

“Shhh. Making quite the racket, your highness.” Alastor walks backwards to lean against some shelving there. “I’ll be a good boy. Now run along. There’s always the chance they’re preparing Charlie for some dark ritual as we speak.”

Lucifer hates that he lingers over-long just a few moments more. He hates that he stands there, watching the demon lazily lean his lithesome, lanky body against the shelves that clink behind him. He hates that he feels a jolt in his stomach – an abrupt, visceral impulse to close the distance between them, to push him into those shelves in a way that startles those eyes wide. 

Because he’s so annoying, of course. Because he always has to run his damn mouth and make Lucifer want to bristle up violent if it’ll shut him up. Because he’s infuriating, terrible, obnoxious, and too fucking smug.

Right?

… Right?

Lucifer swallows thickly and turns away. He’s letting a playful jab dig far too deep. It must be the stuffy air in the cramped shed and the anger still pooled in his stomach from earlier, from wanting to raze this cult dead into the ground. Now that they’re at the precipice of a breakthrough with Charlie’s rescue, he can’t fumble. 

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t make me regret leaving you on your own.”

“Me? I would never !”

“You don’t have to say it in the most suspicious way possible! You know that, right?” he throws over his shoulder with a sneer. Alastor just keeps up a pleasant smile.

Rolling his eyes, Lucifer returns his focus forward. Charlie needs him – he can feel her here like the buzzing line of bass in a song that thuds its whole heart through him. He remembers feeling it when he’d seen Adam ready to strike her down or even whenever they’d chatted over the phone for a mere five minutes.

She’s here and he will find her.

So in the exhale of a long, slow, sigh, he transforms. Gold shimmers and red flares up hellfire as his shape shifts into that of a pale hare. He hates that he hears Alastor chuckle behind him. But rather than engage in another back-and-forth, no matter how tempting, he simply thumps one long foot over the ground as though to chide him before he nudges the door open and bounds outside. 

Lucifer’s always felt strangely… free when he changes shape, as though staying settled in his own skin for too long starts to itch wrong. It had been an admired talent of his in his days as one of Heaven’s favorites. The other angels had never been so fluid in their transformations, even seeming clunky and uncomfortable whilst shifting from spinning wheels with burning eyes into anything more human or animal. But he’d thrived in this area – had made it look easy, seamless, smooth with each transition. 

It had captivated both Lilith and Eve. It had made them laugh, made them lean in close, made their eyes light up intrigued. Adam had been less amused, of course. Lucifer can always recall the curl of his lip and the gleam of jealousy in his eyes. 

These days, he rarely gets to enjoy the full extent of his abilities. So this might be a tool at his disposal to use in his urgent mission bringing Charlie home, but it’s also a rare opportunity he can’t help but savor slightly as he dashes through the brush with powerful, springing limbs. The desert itself feels all the more alive like this – a cornucopia of sights, sounds, and smells that open up fresh in his animal senses. Sometimes, the earth even smells like it had all those thousands of years ago in pristine Eden. But only sometimes, in very forgotten corners of the world.

Upon sprinting in closer to the gathering of buildings, Lucifer leaps and shifts from hare to small, white-feathered sparrow to flit and flutter faster past the people who are socializing throughout the area. There’s some yoga over in the imported patch of grass, there’s a group therapy session sitting in a circle around a fire pit, and plenty of other cultists strolling through to attend to chores or whatever else they do here to pass the time. None of them bat an eye at the little bird flying on past, of course. 

He easily makes it to the main attraction – the imposing, chapel-like structure where a few people are cleaning and chatting. Lucifer feels justified in his decision to come discreet and alone, since it seems like plenty of them keep walking in and out of the building regularly. Makes sense, as he’d thought; it’s the hub of everything they do. Why wouldn’t it be busy with activity, even if Krystal isn’t here to command some mind-shattering sermon? So he’ll need to keep playing things carefully. 

Luckily, it looks like a few windows toward the back of the building have been wedged open to air out the space inside. Lucifer wastes no time in swooping through to fly easily up into the rafters he spies once inside. 

Well, he’d been right to compare this place to a chapel or church – its interior is dolled up exactly like one. There are differences of course, like the altar displaying the symbol of ring held aloft by the pair of hands, but it’s certainly what they were going for with lines of pews and all that stained glass. It’s fairly empty at the moment, too, which is good; there are just a few folks cleaning up some of the candelabras and chatting amongst themselves while they sort supplies between some of the other rooms. 

Lucifer feels fairly confident on where to start his search, too. He hops and flutters over the rafters until he’s closer to the altar. Because, if his hunch is correct, there'll be a door here in the back that’ll lead to (possibly) the head office. It’ll probably be locked, but he’s not worried about that. Since when do locks keep the Devil out?

Checking that no one’s watching, he dives down to the floor to hop over to the door that’s exactly where he’d thought it would be. And without even checking the handle, he simply teleports himself to the other side in a whirl of crimson. 

He reappears in his natural form in front of an old desk, hands on his hips. Yup, it’s an office all right. There are a few filing cabinets, a safe wedged in the very back, and some chairs for people to sit and chat with the head priest - Krystal, he figures. But he also doesn’t care about the hierarchy here in Freaksville. What he does care about is following this feeling inside him that’s throbbing stronger, louder in his chest. Because this cluttered little office can’t just be a little office. There’s something he’s not seeing – a secret passage like back in As Above, So Below or at least a key in one of the drawers that might fit a suspicious door in one of the wine cellars he’d spotted on his way here. 

Lucifer walks behind the desk, already rummaging through all the papers and files he can find. But he doesn’t need to search for too long, because all it takes is him glancing down at the floor to find… a trap door? Really? Well, whatever works.

Face lighting up with determination, he kicks the desk chair out of the way and snaps his fingers, which breaks the lock and throws open the door. All that greets him is darkness – thick, deep darkness – but he can tell he’s on the right track. 

Funnily enough, he almost misses Alastor’s stupidly witty remarks and cheeky commentary. Almost.

He sets his jaw and descends the ladder down, down into that inky dark. When his boots hit the stone floor, he makes a flourish of his fingers to conjure light into all of the… torches? Yes, he can see them now – literal torches like those in the dungeons of centuries ago, now burning alight and showing him the way down a long corridor.

He’ll give the cultists this much: they sure do like their spooky ancient aesthetics. 

At least the way forward is clear and without much deviation. He does notice a few rooms here and there (obviously he gives them all a quick peek to rule them out of his search), but none of them seem to offer up any answers. Some seem like meeting rooms, some like storage closets (with plenty of robes, of course), and some do reek with the unnerving smell of a recent bleach wash, but still no Charlie. 

But then the corridor leads him to a long, spiraling flight of stairs. And as soon as he steps onto it, that buzz inside him strums its note hard between his ribs. So hard that it resonates through him reminiscent of Lilith’s voice singing her love brazen and bold through Hell’s flames.

She has to be down here.

So Lucifer doesn’t waste time. His wings open vast behind him to fly him down much faster than any set of legs would carry him. The closer he gets to the bottom, the swifter his heart drums in his chest and the more his adrenaline surges electric through him. She’s here. She’s here, she’s here, she has to be here!

And then he gets to the end of the stairs and swoops into one last room. His eyes go wide as his wings fly him right up to the only thing in the chamber that matters – a huge, golden door that looks completely out of place in the stone wall it’s been installed into. 

It’s elaborate and clearly very ancient, intricately adorned in swirling designs and patterns. Several sets of wings are unfurled on either side of said door and there’s one, large indentation that looks like a horizontal crescent moon. Several smaller versions of this are sprawled around the massive, centered one. And, most notably of all, there isn’t a handle or any indication of a lock, key-hole, or padlock. 

Lucifer hasn’t seen a door like this in millennia. Which is why he feels his heart drop, his insides go cold. Because this is a door he’s only seen… in Heaven. This is a door made by angels for angels. This shouldn’t be here. 

He walks up to it, reaching a hand up as though to touch that sleek, shining surface, but he hesitates. The closer his palm hovers there, the more warmth it feels pulsing off the door as though it’s alive. Alive and breathing. 

This makes his wings shiver, then lower slightly from where they’re sprawled out behind him. And he can feel it all the way through their joints in his skin, sinking through into the scars of his original set that had been torn apart in his Fall. He swallows, frowning with the thickened dread sinking into him. It reminds him of how his halo used to make him feel – restrained, tethered, suffocated enough to be stalled where he stands, stiff and rigid.

But then, he thinks he hears something from the other side of the door. 

“When I was young, I didn’t really know you at all. I always felt so small. But I heard your stories and I was enthralled.”

It’s a voice – it’s her voice singing their song. Soft, muted, muffled, distant, but there’s no mistaking it. Just as there’s no mistaking the sense of exhaustion and the sadness that weighs down every note. 

Lucifer is transfixed, frozen in place as the singing faintly continues.

“The tales about your lofty dreams, I listened breathlessly imagining it could be me. So in the end, it’s the view I had of you that showed me dreams can be worth fighting for.”

Emotion tightens Lucifer’s chest and pricks tears into the corners of his eyes. Even here, even now, she’s singing. She’s singing and she’s alive and she’s thinking of him right now. Maybe she can sense him just as he can sense her. Maybe this is her way of calling for help, of reaching out for him no matter what chains they might have bound her in.

“More than anything, more than anything, I need to save my people more than anything,” she sings. But her voice starts to break in the last few words, dipping low in a bleak wilting of despair that instantly snaps Lucifer out of his stunned trance. 

His own voice cracks through the silence, singing clumsily out at the unmoving door that must separate them. It’s not pretty, but it’s loud and loving all the same.

“I’ve been dyin’ to find out who you are!”

There’s silence that meets this at first, which makes Lucifer’s hopeful expression start to fall. But then, almost cautiously, she responds.

“I’ve been waiting, wanting the same thing...?”

He laughs with disbelief, continuing as the tears break free and spill down his face.

“Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far.”

“Took you a while!”

“I’ve missed that smile!”

At that, he hears a clumsy laugh of hers half-hiccupped out like she too might be crying through her responses. And, for a moment, it actually sounds like her voice is getting clearer, crisper. Like she’s moved from the far end of whatever room she’s in to stand right across from him at the other side of the door blocking them

And their voices rise up together, like they had when they’d first sung this song in the hotel lobby. Tears had been in his eyes back then, too. 

“All that I’m hopin’, now that my eyes are open, is that we can start again – not be pulled apart again!”

But before their singing can continue to build up together, empowered in harmony, Lucifer makes the mistake of finally pressing his palm flat to the surface of the door in his determination to get to her. He’d been spurred on by her voice and the collision of so many feelings at once, only to feel a powerful jolt like a hard, burning shock that sends him skidding backwards away from the door. It’s accompanied with a loud, disoriented ringing in his ears that doesn’t stop.

And when he manages to glance up, he notices that the door suddenly has eyes. 

Those horizontal crescent moons hadn’t been symbols, but its eyes folded closed as though in slumber. But now they’re all open and wide and staring their piercing, knowing looks into Lucifer that he knows can be seen by something else – something more than just the door that watches him. There’s someone on the receiving end, looking right at him.

Fuck. He has to go, but he can’t leave Charlie. No, not now when he’s finally found her and there’s only one flimsy, pathetic obstacle standing between himself and the only thing that matters. 

So rather than bolt back up the stairs, his own other eyes start to open and his horns sprout in a flash of hellfire. With tail thrashing, teeth gnashing, he prepares to grab into the door and drag it aside with every piece of strength he has. He knows its angelic origins won’t let him pass through it to the other side with his usual ability to appear where he pleases, so he’ll just have to wreck the damn thing with his own two hands until his daughter walks free. Free and singing out under the sun before they have to go home again.

But as he rushes forward, about to plunge his claws into all that glistening metal, he hears her again – that soft, muffled voice from the other side. 

“Don’t.” Lucifer stops, blinking stunned. The voice keeps speaking. “Get out while you can. Please.”

He hovers mid-air, wings holding him aloft as he shakes his head. 

“N-no, no, I’m not leaving you! I won’t leave you! I just need a–”

“ Please .”

There it is again, the biting of tears at the corners of his eyes. He doesn’t understand. Why is she asking him to leave? Why would Charlie want that, when she’s clearly their prisoner? All the while, the door’s eyes glow brighter. Lucifer slowly lowers back to the floor, devilish features starting to mellow back out of view. 

“I…”

This goes against everything he knows, everything he’s made of. He’s already felt like he’s failed her time and time again – abandoned her, distanced himself from her, turned his back on her reaching hands in too many moments that matter. It’s like their song itself splays out in the lyrics he can feel even now, curled beneath his tongue. 

All that I’m hoping, now that my eyes are open, is that we can start again. 

Not be pulled apart again.

Lucifer’s jaw tightens hard and the last tear that rolls down his cheek burns like acid rain. Maybe this isn’t even Charlie – just a trick, just mimicry meant to keep intruders from taking the final step to free her. But he knows it isn’t; knows it in his heart of hearts, in that warm, buzzing feeling pooled hot in the cradle of his ribcage. So much so that he clutches into his own chest and takes one more step forward closer to the door and to the voice on the other side.

“I’ll come back for you.” He swallows. Regret cuts all the way down his throat like broken glass. “I promise.”

He says this not in shouted urgency and emotional desperation, but in a determined calm that presses itself firm into every word and syllable. He’s never felt so sure about anything in his entire life and he wants her to hear that. 

There’s no response, however, and he knows he can’t wait for one. Not when his head is starting to spin with the pain of the sharp ringing still pounding into his skull. So his wide-eyed, despairing look at the massive eye and all its smaller fellows staring down into him shifts into one of cold, hard fury before he disappears in a fresh swirl of magic that teleports him outside.

And as soon as he’s there, the ringing is gone. 

The air is cold and quiet and open and much darker than how he’d left it. Evening has started to settle itself over the desert in a hazy twilight and the compound is much less bustling now that most of the occupants have gone to gather in the dining hall. It’s all just the chirp of crickets and the sigh of a small breeze.

Lucifer falls to his knees where he’s appeared behind the chapel, overwhelmed by the roller coaster of emotions that have now left him hollow and drained. 

Charlie… She really is here. But she’s just out of reach. It’s a classic conundrum, he knows – so close and yet so far? It doesn’t help that the words pressed through the door and begging him to flee had left him reeling with more confusion and doubt to juggle. As damn good as his juggling is, these aren’t exactly bowling pins or rubber ducks. 

He thinks it’s because she’d known that someone was watching – someone who could actually bring down consequences for his actions… or hers. Doors like that had always been for protecting forbidden knowledge and weapons back in Heaven, after all. They’d been guards; holy sentinels meant to keep things out of prying angel’s hands. It’s why his touch must’ve activated it and alerted whoever it is that installed it in the first place. 

Ugh, it just makes his head hurt with how fast and full his thoughts swim inside it. Has him reaching up with both palms to clutch either side of his throbbing skull as he slows his breathing and grounds himself back into enough calm that he can re-group with Alastor to plan their next steps. Because he will be back for her, especially now that he knows exactly where she is. He’d promised, after all. 

After a few more minutes of collecting his composure, he finally stands again to transform. This time, it’s into one of his favorites – the snake, pale and slithering through the gloom. Maybe not the swiftest return to his partner in crime, but there’s comfort in this shape. Maybe it gives him time to think as he’s soothed by the ground against his scales and the way everything runs away from his winding path. 

His trip back to the shed is quiet and full of self reflection. And as he slithers under plants and around rocks, he wonders if talking with Alastor will actually be a welcome distraction from all the ugly doubt and confusion. He can’t deny that it’s already helped play that role since they started their search here, so maybe he’s not so crazy to think it might offer something solid to lean against yet again. In fact, he finds himself looking forward to hearing what Alastor might have to say about what he’d found down there. And maybe a demon’s touch can reach where a fallen angel’s can’t. 

Okay, that actually might be something they can use here. At least it’s something to discuss once they get back to their hotel room and Lucifer can scrounge up focus enough in a place that doesn’t have him wondering if someone’s always watching. Or maybe that’s just what comes from being a snake in the desert where owls and hawks like to dine. 

Or maybe it’s because there’s a startled yelp from up ahead that makes Lucifer stop mid-slither, his tongue flicking out to taste the air and discern where it came from. 

That’s when he sees the shed is just ahead… and a slim, tall shape stumbles out of it, clutching into its side like it’s been wounded. It’s Alastor, hissing a sound of hurt through his teeth as he glares back toward the shed at some hidden assailant. 

What the fuck is going on now ?

Lucifer transforms back into himself, sprinting toward him and the shed. 

“Alastor? Alastor, what the hell’s going on?” he asks, hushed and urgent. 

Alastor says nothing, seething with hate and anger to have been ambushed and still clutching tight into the wound that Lucifer can now see dripping with wet, sloppy scarlet between the demon’s glamoured fingers. That’s when there’s the crash of shattering glass and a dark shape darting off into the night from one of the shed’s windows. Lucifer’s tempted to chase after it, even jogging a few paces before he realizes that the trail's already lost. 

Shit. This day – this night? – just keeps getting better and better. 

Looks like there’s only one option for now and that’s to return to their hotel, patch Alastor up, and plan for tomorrow. They can’t stand out here like idiots anymore, that much is clear.

So Lucifer strides back toward Alastor, who’s trying to hide the injury from him as best he can by turning away. His voice also can’t completely hide the way it wavers slightly in trying to stifle back the pain. 

“Can’t believe this place! I’m minding my own business and someone has the gall to intrude out of nowhere! Didn’t even think to look me in the eye, either. Pathetic!” He laughs, but still refuses to face him entirely; head tilting to instead throw him a side-glance over his shoulder. “I take it you didn’t find anything?”

Lucifer opens his mouth, then closes it. Fuck. He doesn’t know how to even begin explaining what had happened down below. 

Alastor’s eyes widen slightly. 

“...You did find something?”

Lucifer sighs and walks forward, willing a portal open for Alastor to step into. And when he doesn’t do so right away, Lucifer very gently nudges him forward with a careful hand at the small of his back.

“C’mon. Gotta patch you up. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

To this, Alastor narrows his eyes, but doesn’t object. He just steps through and Lucifer follows after him. The portal closes behind them only after he’s glanced back out toward the church’s steeple tall, dark, and imposing against the dimming sky and he thinks a few last words as though hopeful Charlie will hear them, sense them, feel them somehow.

I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring you home.

The portal shuts completely and the desert sits innocent with the chirping of crickets. 

Chapter Text

It’s strange, this feeling: the weakness in his knees, the sharpness digging in just behind his eyes. Been a while since it’s dragged so deep that nausea churns his insides and makes him slump into Lucifer’s arms before he can stop himself. Though the smug, petty part of him wonders if his short highness will even be able to keep him supported when he’s so very low to the ground. 

But of course he does. And Alastor tries not to take much notice of how solid he actually feels; how sturdy and strong he is in holding up his weight and guiding him to the couch. In fact, it’s eerie how flimsy his own limbs hang and his head flops weak atop Lucifer’s. His jaw tightens as a groan burrows into the bone of it as he tries his best not to further embarrass himself. 

Lucifer doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to his composure, though. He’s just guiding him down onto the sofa and dropping down beside him to better check his wound. 

“Damn. Something really got its teeth in you. Or claws. Or hooks? Hard to tell. Lemme just–”

He reaches out his hands as though to peel back his shirt to get a better look at the problem. But Alastor slaps said hands away, sneering.

“Nothing for you to worry about, your highness!” He returns the press of his own palm over the wound, lip curling with discomfort even as he forces his voice out persistently perky. “A mere flesh wound!”

Lucifer scowls, lifting an eyebrow.

“Stop being stubborn. You’re bleeding all over the couch and the carpet.”

“Yes, well, the upholstery will survive. Besides, I always find that a few blood stains give furniture so much personality!”

“But it’s clearly not just some regular wound!”

“And it’s nothing I can’t handle! I’m much more interested in hearing about what you found!”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m not telling you shit unless you let me fix this.”

“What’s this? The great Lucifer Morningstar? Clucking like a mother hen? Oh, who knew ?”

“I am not –! Ugh! Fine!”

Lucifer shouts his frustration, standing with his arms lifted over his head as he stomps a few paces forward just to put some distance between them. Alastor just smirks. Nothing folds itself into a salve quite like needling under someone else’s skin. 

And the last thing Alastor wants is Lucifer getting too familiar, glimpsing even a sliver of weakness in the torn threads of ripped flesh. Wounds are best dressed in solitude and silence, no prying eyes or grotesque sympathy. He’d mended Adam’s scars in his skin just fine on his own, after all. For the most part.

But even those he feels now, throbbing in vicious tandem with the new gash bleeding through the tightening clutch of his palm. Alastor knows Lucifer is right (the bastard) and knows that a few stitches and some shots of rye won’t fix him all the way through. Logic knows he can’t deny his expertise, even if stubborn pride wants only to keep true to so many lines drawn in so much sand. 

Fuck.

There’s a rare stretch of silence extending out between them now. Eventually, a noise parts the folds of it – the low, static’d buzz like that off warbling radio waves as Alastor’s glamour shivers like it’s straining beneath his discomfort to remain stable… only to glitch away entirely. It leaves the demon all the more exposed, his ears flattened and his blood all the darker in his own claws. 

He huffs a long sigh. His voice is bowed strangely low when he next speaks.

“Go on, then. Or you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

His gaze is kept determinedly averted to a corner of the room so he doesn’t have to take in the triumph he’s sure shines in those once-dreamer's eyes. Doesn’t have to pick apart whatever else he might see in the smallest details of his expression – the softened side of a smile, the tender tilt of palms to mind the wound. 

Even the imagined likeness of it makes his nausea thicken its dizzying lurch in his stomach. 

He hears no words from Lucifer, though. Nothing but the rustling of fabric as he returns beside him on the couch. He tries not to twitch or flinch or tense up too much to feel foreign fingers unbuttoning his shirt and parting it open. It helps, he thinks, that he can tell Lucifer’s shifted free of his own glamour with the tips of talons he can feel grazing feather-light across flesh. 

Still, he’s reluctant to move his own palm from the bleeding. And though he’s doing what he can to seem nonchalant, he’s failing enough that Lucifer’s voice is not the harsh snapping it had been biting with before. 

“Here, c’mon. It’ll be over in a second. Then we can pretend this never happened, right?”

For some reason, the softness pressed into the turn of his voice makes Alastor bristle before he can stop himself and he finally snaps his head around so he can glare into that jester’s face of his. 

Which feels like a mistake as soon as he makes eye contact. 

Lucifer’s expression isn’t sweetened tender to the extreme - he’s not Charlie, after all, and frustration is stern in his eyes. But there’s something else in that bend of his brow and the fold of his frown. It’s something determined, something hurting – something that cares . Or, at least, it’s something that doesn’t want to revel in his pain. 

Whatever it is makes Alastor search his face with eyes slightly widened like a stag caught stunned in the blaze of a car’s highbeams. Lucifer’s own gaze doesn’t waver or wander, keeping true to its mark in his own as though to say ‘it’ll be okay’ without coddling over-soft or pitying. 

So Alastor’s gaze averts again and he holds his tongue (for once). Which Lucifer seems to take as further permission to attend to the wound that suddenly feels like the very least of the strange sensations gnawing into his sinner’s flesh.

And there it is – that humbling heat cupped in Lucifer’s palm that sinks all the way through him; plunging down into the bleeding and tangibly razing away pain, infection, bruising as it mends what’s been torn. It feels like it had when he’d fixed his staff, but hiked up to eleven. Morningstar’s palm keeps pressed there and there’s no denying the smell that burns off it, even if it’s nothing like the mouth-watering sizzle from a backyard barbeque. 

No, it’s more like the smell of a lightning strike. More like when the sky opens under the lancing of a storm and leaves nothing but air razed clean – the perfume of holy judgment piercing a dry, open path through earth’s sickness (his own sickness). As the pain of it all is purged, Alastor can feel his diaphragm release its tightened tension and he exhales long, slow, unburdened.

Like Lucifer had said, it’s over in a second. Alastor blinks and the heat from his palm is starting to ebb away. He feels Lucifer's hold start to slacken, his touch begin to shift aside, but–

Shit.

Before he can stop himself, he grabs for Lucifer’s wrist to stop him from moving away. It’s impulsive, careless – not at all his modus operandi. In fact, it’s often what he finds so pathetic in the huddled masses, ever since he was alive and walking amongst them. But what’s done is done and he can’t pretend it away with a flourish and a smile. Especially when he’d heard the very soft “ oh ” in Lucifer’s gasp when he’d been grabbed. 

The silence in this moment is somehow tightened all the more tense between them now and spreads thickened, heavy, constricting like snake’s coils. 

Finally, though, Alastor forces words through his teeth. 

“...The scars from that day, from Adam.” He hates how low, how sincere he sounds in this moment. Loathes it down to his sinner’s bones. “While you’re here, might as well have a look, hm? If you want me at my fighting best. Which seems quite likely, since you’re also going to tell me what it is you found back there.”

Reluctantly, but trying not to let it show too clearly, he looks his way again to at least gauge his reaction and plan how to best save face. If Lucifer’s anything like his sweetling spawn, he’ll be all moon-eyed with unfiltered eagerness to fold himself useful into all his sick, rot, and ruin. He’ll want to ‘ fix ’ him and won’t care that he can’t – won’t dwell on the smallest cracks in Alastor’s composure or the impulsive grab of an arm that has no business pressing in close in the first place. He may be Lord of all Hell - the first sinner, the fallen favorite of Heaven - but he’s still a Morningstar with something twinkling in his eyes.

But what he sees isn’t giddiness or pride. Nor is it smugness or haughty triumph in being granted an inch to take a mile. No, it’s something far more… subtle than that? Not that he thought the man capable.

His expression is actually quite reserved, quite thoughtful. His eyes are searching his with clear curiosity (why is he letting him do this? where is this coming from, so unprompted? so spontaneous?), but it’s lacking the sharp edge of suspicion that usually aims to cut through his guard into the meat of the matter. His stare isn’t daggers, but more like hands slowly parting aside the drapery of so many curtains to find the actor behind the stage. Not necessarily a better feeling, just… different. 

Eventually, though, Lucifer just reaches to very slowly move his hands to the collar of his opened shirt to wordlessly ask permission to slide it down and away entirely. Alastor doesn’t balk, just allows it simply with starting to remove himself from it by sliding his arms free. He ignores the ugly itch that climbs up both his spine and windpipe like centipede’s legs to offer such open exposure of his half-healed wounds to prying eyes. Hell, he’d happily allow an actual centipede to crawl into his chest cavity over gentle hands, tender words. And yet…

He himself doesn’t feel much like looking at the scarred tissue puckered into his flesh. He’s already done enough glowering at it when he’d tried to burn it away time and time again. So instead he turns his gaze forward to the radio he still has sitting on the coffee table. It comes alive, dials flicking to their appropriate positions to start pouring some slow, lazy jazz number into the room. 

It’ll help take his mind off the hands that are starting to smooth into place atop the deepest settlement of his scar, already cupping a pool of warmth there that sinks down, down into such maliciously marred meat.

Luckily, Lucifer starts to finally explain himself and this hides the exhale of a strangely approving sigh released from the tension gathered new in Alastor’s ribcage.

“I found where they’re keeping Charlie.”

Alastor’s head swivels like an owl’s, turning sharply to fix Lucifer with a prompting look. He knows there’s a “but” coming, though. Because Charlie isn’t here. And Lucifer breathes out a sigh of his own, shoulders wilting along with the corners of his mouth as he keeps his stare lowered into the scars he’s steadily mending. He continues.

“But I underestimated these people. They’ve got her locked up tight behind a door I’ve got no chance breaking through. Something all the way from Heaven.”

Alastor’s eyes light up. Well, well, well! There truly are some interesting powers at play here! Frustrating as it is, he himself prefers a challenge to an easy stroll. It’s part of why he’d wanted to come along, be a part of this – because all work and no play makes a dull demon indeed. And this? This is play . This is fun . Just as he’d hoped, the Morningstars do certainly deliver and keep things very, very interesting where so much of Hell has fallen flat.

Lucifer keeps explaining, his voice low as he starts to glide one hand up over where the scar has split from the impact wound to make up more of the “splash zone” around it. 

“We used them to hide weapons and secrets from other angels. You only get through with the right approval from the right archangel. And if you try to brute force it, you alert everyone and everything that put it there.” He narrows his eyes and his voice starts to clip a little with frustration. “I thought about doing it anyway. Heaven be damned, right? Hah! But…” 

Sadness presses down over him again and he even drops his hands from Alastor’s scars. 

“But she told me not to.”

And here he thought it couldn’t pluck his curiosity with a sharper beak. Alastor quirks up an eyebrow, head cocking. Lucifer seems hesitant to elaborate, but he does eventually in that same low tone of a man nursing unquestionable heartache.

“She… told me to stop. Told me to leave.” He sits with that for a minute, like the words are a bitter burn in his mouth that he needs to swallow down slowly. He does with eyes scrunching briefly closed, then lifts his hands back to Alastor’s scars. “I just promised her I’d come back for her.”

Alastor also takes a moment to let this information percolate in his head. It helps distract from the undeniable pleasantness that those palms press into flesh he can feel fixing itself (the wash of warmth… the sinking of it deep, deep in all the way down through bones that he didn’t even realize needed that tenderness weaving through them, urging his very framework all the more awake like it had been some kind of drowsy all this time). 

It seems like Miss Charlie knows more than they think she does. It seems like Miss Charlie has either lost all hope entirely or has some kind of agreement with her captor. Obviously, the former makes no sense – she embodies hope in all its blinding brightness – so what is she doing, accepting her fate so easily when that has never been her way of thinking? Even against impossible odds, she fights, so Alastor doubts a big door, no matter how fancy, would be enough to crush her spirits. 

There’s more at play here. There’s a force behind this that has probably spoken with her, decided something with her, and made her feel like she holds some kind of obligation to see it through. It’s something he himself has seen with her first-hand, after all. Even now, he recalls the heat of her palm clasped into his when their deal had been struck.

With this new information, Alastor’s feeling energy shifting renewed inside him to devise a plan of action. Or perhaps it’s the life-force being pressed into him at Lucifer’s will – the gold angelic glow burning up from the scars he finally glances down to acknowledge… only to find them practically erased from where they had once stretched twisted in his skin. There’s only evidence of the initial impact wound now, like a gunshot injury properly healed over many months. 

This he doesn’t mind. This is more like a trophy, a mark to show that he’s faced an angel and lived to sin again. The anchoring ache that had been twinging in him, holding him back, is gone and replaced with vigor anew; vigor he can feel as Lucifer’s hands finally pull away and he can sit up straight to feel no nagging pull in his muscles that remind of weakness, of frailty. 

“Well.” Alastor says this with a puzzler’s hum in his voice as he gathers his thoughts as well as his shirt, pulling his arms back through it. “It’s clear now that some of your holier than thou bosom buddies upstairs are getting quite involved in mortal affairs all of a sudden. And we will have to figure out why, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucifer runs fingers back through his hair. Alastor watches his cowlick spring back into place in the aftermath.

“I just don’t get it. Why actually meddle with one of these stupid cults? And why drag Charlie into all of it? And why–” Lucifer drops quiet again, voice flattening from frustration to concern. “Why make her sound like that? So… sad? Defeated?”

Alastor can’t help but wonder if it had been reminiscent of Lucifer’s dreams being crushed beneath the holy heels of his peers – if this had reminded him too deep of old despair, old drops down in a descent that built a home out of his ruination with the worst humanity had to offer. He seems to be feeling his scars too; more and more these days.

Regardless, Alastor hums another sound of vague amusement as he buttons up his shirt. 

“Think of it this way – at least she seems to be ‘of use’ to them. Which means they probably won't try killing her anytime soon. Probably.” 

He can’t help the wideness of his cheeky smile when Lucifer points a harsh glare his way. He gesticulates vaguely with a turn of his hand to show he has more on his mind.

“Which also means we just need a way to get to her. Once we do that, we can get to the bottom of all these plots and schemes! Who knows? Perhaps this is all one very big, silly misunderstanding!” At this, though, Alastor taps his own chin with his claw as his head cants to one side.  “Though most likely not, as I certainly encountered a very threatening someone out in that shed you left me in.”

Lucifer sits up straight with new interest.

“Yeah, tell me about that. Especially since I fixed you up good as new. Uh, you’re welcome , by the way,” he huffs.

Alastor rolls his eyes, annoyance barbing his voice ever-slightly.

“Ugh, what’s to tell? I was just standing around, minding my own business, when someone barged in and stabbed me! Stabbed , of all things! Ha! Only cowards stab from behind like that. Such a disappointment!” 

Lucifer stands from the sofa, pacing to the other side of the room with arms folded when he speaks.

“And you weren’t able to get a good look at them?”

“But of course I did! When they sat down for tea and conversation right after stabbing me, I drew a sketch of their likeness and even asked for their home address while we gabbed about the atrocious weather we’ve been having!”

Lucifer whirls around to scowl at him. Alastor lifts an eyebrow, pleased with himself. But a flicker of a shadow flits across his eyes and his smile curls wider at its edges with the delivery of a proper answer.

“If I had been able to see them for even an instant, they would simply not exist. Not in this world, anyway. Perhaps not in any at all.”

But Lucifer doesn’t seem too impressed. This is something that’s both annoyed and amused Alastor. Fear is what he’s most accustomed to – and rightfully so – but there’s a kind of indifference Lucifer shows toward threatening words and displays that almost ignites a thirst within himself. To prove himself, to show him he’s wrong, to wipe that unimpressed, flat frown off his face. 

Such is his ego talking, he thinks. He’s self aware enough to know his pride is what twinges deep down, bruised but hardly battered. Perhaps that’s why he finds himself drawn to Lucifer’s facial expressions; a petty need to see that he affects it. Nothing more than that, surely. 

For now, though, he watches him as he walks back over to the couch to lean to its armrest as he gets more of his thoughts out into the open for him.

“Well. We know they have angelic weapons, like the exorcists. Which, when accompanied with access also to other heavenly resources like the door trapping Charlie, must mean they definitely have ties to someone up there. Probably someone I know – well, knew. One of the archangels.” 

He sighs, hands rubbing up and down his forearms as he stares ahead with sternness in his face and his voice. Alastor adjusts his monocle. 

“While I know you’ve certainly got friction with the old guard, why would they act now? What’s changed when you’ve had a certain… understanding all this time?”

“Tch. Understanding? That’s what you think it was?” Lucifer grumbles, but continues. “I don’t know. It doesn’t make sense. I know tensions are high right now after the mess with Adam, but…” He shakes his head. “It’s not enough to kidnap Charlie and risk some kind of… big time conflict. Or get the humans so involved. I mean, the angels laugh at cults just as much as we do.”

Alastor studies Lucifer’s pensive expression for a moment before he hears the tune on the radio shift to one with more saxophone and piano. Intimate, come-hither, practically velvet in the texture of it against his consciousness. Not exactly suitable to the conversation, but it’s enough to have him standing languid from the sofa as he scoops up his pitch-black cigarette box from the coffee table. But he remains where he is, stroking his thumb over the top of the box.

“It might not be about you at all. There must be something about Charlie specifically - something they either want for themselves or want gone completely. My money’s on the first one.”

Or they can’t kill her and are trying to figure out how , nags the inkling of a thought against his brain. But he keeps that behind his smile for now. What use is Lucifer if he loses himself in a pit of despair? Though he might also ignite within rage so primordial and rampant that Alastor would get a front row seat to something truly… apocalyptic . 

Tempting. And perhaps worth considering if shit hits the fan. But, for now, Alastor thinks it best to lean into a positive jive. He owes him that much, he supposes, especially to truly feel the difference his healing hands have made. 

The itch, the prickle, the throb of all those scars (not to mention the excruciating, acidic burn of the fresh wound he’d just been given) has been replaced with that satisfying tingling one gets after a particularly pleasant stretch in the morning. He feels warm and flexible and strong again. And perhaps also mildly surprised that the feeling of hands pressed against his bare flesh (solid, strong, sure hands that hadn’t wavered from their paths against his scars) hadn’t left him with a disgusted quiver or sour warble in his radio waves. 

They had felt… good. Reliable. Not terrible. Worthy?

Worthy to touch, he supposes. Worthy for now. 

Luckily, he can’t dwell too much on what Lucifer’s healing has left him with to chew on and he looks to him with anticipation agleam in red, red eyes. 

“I say we keep playing along – you especially. Get closer with their leader, get her to gush and gossip! That’s what they warn mortals about most, don't you know? The Devil’s a charmer with a silver tongue!”

Lucifer snorts, but he’s looking more determined than downtrodden with the start of a slight grin up one side of his mouth. 

“Oh, you ain’t seen nothing yet, pal. ‘Cause I was thinkin’ the same thing. I mean, she seems to like me? I think?”

“ More than like you, your highness.”

“Yeah, well, whatever the case, I’m sure I can get her to take me down there. Maybe even open the door wide open for me. And then all we have to do is grab Charlie, get home, then figure out all the details together from there.”

“And I will play my own part. The conniving skeptic! To further push her toward you and really get to know what this cult is all about. Conversion is always their bread and butter, after all!”

“Okay… Yeah,” Lucifer agrees, nodding. “Yeah, we got this. And then Charlie will fill in all the blanks so we can get back to what really matters: the Hotel.”

At least the “big” boss seems somewhat reassured now that their plan is in place. Not that it’s much different from what they had going before, but there’s a physical, real goal to work toward now: Charlie tucked away beneath the church, waiting to be rescued!

Well, that’s what Lucifer seems to be telling himself. Alastor still isn’t sure that’s what’s going on here and is eager to creep his claws in, open everything up like the ribcage of a carcass sprawled out to tease his appetite with. 

There’s a beat, though; a pause now of silence yet again that stretches out like it has so many times before. But it’s neither awkward nor menacing – it just… is. And Alastor is learning to be at peace with it rather than try to dissect it. There are plenty of other opportunities for that, but he thinks they’ve both been through enough. For one day, at least. 

He feels it again, though. He feels that pull, that impulse that moves his legs before he thinks to do so himself. The same that had grabbed for Lucifer’s arm to keep him close is now moving him over toward him where he’s still leaning and thinking. At least by the time he reaches him, he’s caught up with himself, though this doesn’t stop him from extending out his arm to offer him a cigarette from his pack. 

Lucifer blinks out of his thoughts, looking up at him. 

Funny. He supposes neither of them would’ve seen themselves in this scenario not very long ago. And though he considers himself a gentleman, sharing anything with this obnoxious pipsqueak would’ve only been used as an angle to serve a purpose, to gain some kind of footing to lord over him. But right now, Alastor just wants to sit with him on the balcony and smoke. Nothing more, nothing less: another olive branch, another moment of peace like the one they'd shared back at the café. 

He supposes this is his way of saying ‘thank you’ where the words aren’t coming anytime soon. And maybe when Lucifer reaches to take his offer, to stand with him and walk with him to their balcony, it’s his way of saying something too. ‘You’re welcome’ or a ‘thank you’ of his own for helping him plan ahead. 

Whatever the case, the radio keeps playing sultry jazz as they sit outside. More than once, Alastor catches himself smiling wider as he traces the determination furrowing fresh in Lucifer’s brow and the rising slant of his grin. And he thinks he’d like him to play his violin again once all this drama is over. Yes, just maybe. He might like to try another duet with him if he keeps proving himself entirely somewhat tolerable. 

Chapter Text

In the right light, Los Angeles doesn’t look horrible.

From the pink flush of color rising in a bashful bloom with the kiss of dawn, the skyscrapers look less like harsh spikes of steel and glass and more like artwork; like abstract trees grown from concrete, barbed wire, and noise. 

Lucifer catches himself admiring it, even if there’s a bittersweetness settled like an itch at the back of his tongue that he can practically taste in a sour swallow. Because it all comes back to Eden – the haunting of what almost was and what can never be. 

He remembers it even now. He remembers all that green rustling just lazy with an afternoon breeze. He remembers the sway of birdsong and the rumble of waterfalls pouring into rivers so crystal clear that they would sparkle with the pretty stones nestled at the bottom. He remembers flowers of every color, every size, and the smell of ripe fruit sitting with the spritz of rose or hibiscus. 

He remembers watching Eden for hours upon hours. And he remembers the excitement plucked up inside him whenever those first humans would step into view, petals in their hair or honey on their lips. 

Lilith had been different, even then. As content as she’d been to lounge beneath the shade or dance beneath the warm wash of the sun, she’d always had these little moments where she’d cast her eyes upwards with wonder alive and shining in that wayward gaze. Even in infinite happiness, everything provided for her and Adam in their paradise, she had shown the first glimmer of curiosity. 

The very same that had coaxed Lucifer in closer, had opened his wings and flown him down to her with his own eyes so very wide, open, wondering. 

There had been days he’d spent there without returning to the flock of his fellows. He’d talk with Lilith for hours and sing with her in cozy woodland clearings. She’d smile and laugh and ask him questions no one had ever thought to before – it’s not as though angels had ever had much reason to ask or inquire or puzzle out anything on their own, after all. And she’d sit with him and count out the stars, map them across his hand and muse about what they must mean, why they hang in the sky night after night. 

Even now, Lucifer knows she’d been right to question things – to ask the hows and the whys. He doesn’t regret pressing the apple into her palm nor the smile on her face that came after the first bite. Her sense of wonder is what he’d noticed far beyond even her beauty, her singing voice, her hair sprawled out golden in the afternoon sun. And all she’d wanted to do… is share it. 

In the present day, Lucifer smiles sadly to himself and lets the harsh honking of a car’s horn shatter his nostalgia into shrapnel. And shrapnel embeds itself deep, hooked, stuck in the flesh… which is exactly where it stays, itching like it always has under Lucifer’s unholy meat and bone, impossible to pick out. 

He sighs from where he stands on their hotel balcony, palms pressed into the railing where he leans most of his weight forward. Down below is less the vast, thriving foliage of Eden and more the line of cars backed up bumper-to-bumper and crowds of people pushing past one another on the sidewalks. He wonders if humanity would even find solace in a place like Eden anymore. They’re far too impatient, far too greedy for more, for bigger, for faster, to want anything to do with the utopias of old. 

But in all of Lucifer’s cynicism, he does still pick out a lone glimmer in the dulled-out crowd: this time a little girl with a messy ponytail as she shuffles over to a homeless man slouched up against a wall. She offers out the muffin her mother had handed her from the nearby coffee shop, expression very serious with its pure concern. The man blinks, as though unsure, then cautiously, carefully, reaches to take it. 

And the mother doesn’t rush over to hurry her daughter away. Instead, she’s smiling and waiting patiently for the child to return to take her hand. It’s all very brief and very simple – one could even call it the bare minimum of human decency. But it’s still the smallest sliver of a kind, selfless gesture in a sea of selfish gray that continues to brush past the man without acknowledging him. It’s still something, which isn’t nothing. 

Lucifer’s sad smile stays mirthless in its crease, but there’s a softness in his eyes now as he straightens up. Maybe because it’s the little things that Charlie always seemed to notice in people, too. As long as someone showed even the chance at goodness, then they were capable of so much more. 

He misses her so much and he’s feeling it especially heavy this morning. So much so that he finds himself pathetically reminiscing about how he used to hold her tiny hand the same way the mother does now with the child down below on the sidewalk. 

God, her hand used to be so little, but so strong. She’d had such a tight grip, even back then. Must come from her stubborn spirit, her determined clutch digging in to whatever cause her heart has led her to. 

He’s starting to wonder if all this cult bullshit has become a “cause” of some kind – if there’s something about it that she feels personally obligated to fix or protect. Though he can’t see it from where he’s standing, he’s been blind to plenty for the past few millennia. Lately, he’s felt especially clueless, useless, helpless. 

But nothing good ever came from sulking around, feeling sorry for himself. Still, he can’t deny the bogland of conflicting emotions he’s currently dragging himself through. As conflicted as he feels about Charlie, at least he knows where he stands: he needs to talk to her, see what’s going on, then hopefully bring her home. No, there are other elements of this entire situation – new, unpredictable elements – that have left him scowling to himself in the quiet moments like these. 

Like what the hell is Alastor anyway? Friend? Foe? Some weird mix of both? Or neither?

It sounds so goddamn immature to think about right now, but he doesn’t know how better to phrase it in his head. Especially after last night, which had left a bizarre impression on him after they’d stamped out their cigarettes to turn in. 

Their conversation had been about music. Alastor had waxed poetic about the jazz bands back in Louisiana and he’d caught himself smiling too many times in the process. The radio demon is as unapologetically sadistic as they come – a shameless sinner content to thrive in hell’s debauchery – but there’s something about a man with passion. Even the way he speaks about stories, about what he’s always liked about radio, is enough to lean Lucifer forward in his seat during those discussions. 

It’s not like he’s starting to see “the good” in Alastor after spending so much time with him, but more that he can… appreciate that there’s more to him than sharp-toothed smiles and wicked schemes. Not much more, but more nonetheless. At least from one music lover to another, he supposes. 

Even now, though, he turns to look over his shoulder and sees him sitting on the couch in their suite. He’s got one long leg crossed over the knee of the other as he hums to himself and turns the page of a magazine, head swaying to the rhythm of the song that’s playing from his radio. 

That’s when Lucifer feels it again: that fluttering in his stomach that encourages his gaze to linger, his lips to lean slightly upwards. 

This time, though, he blinks to catch himself and determinedly looks away with a hard scowl. Because… why? It’s not as though Alastor’s done anything special since they’ve started all this. He’s provided valuable insight and support, in a way, but he’s hardly shown he’s capable of anything besides bloodthirst and grandstanding. He’s been wounded, but only caught completely unaware and his “true” motivations are still a mystery to Lucifer.

In short, there’s no reason why he should be feeling this… attraction? This pull? This curious interest? He hesitates to name it when that’ll just solidify its presence here. 

But he supposes “reasons” don’t often make sense where this kind of thing is concerned. Or it could be the confusing mix of too many feelings all at once clashing too with old memories, old flames. He stares down at the shine of his ring and sighs, frowning. 

Lilith used to inspire so many butterflies in his stomach, his chest. Hearing her voice or seeing her silhouette had often been all it took to make him swoon and sigh in a way his angelic upbringing hadn’t prepared him for. Now that he thinks about it, he hadn’t expected to feel anything for a human back then. Even her. 

Her . He’s been thinking of her more than usual with being back on Earth, having nightmares of picnics, wondering why he keeps failing the daughter he once swore to protect. So maybe a budding “potential fondness” for Alastor could all just be a misunderstanding – a disoriented shift of certain feelings to cope with Earth’s… everything. 

Except he doesn’t think he can handwave it aside so easily, so simply. He doesn’t think there’s anything to blame but himself (like always). At the end of the day, he’s probably just lonely and things get warped when the only company you keep is a tacky sinner in red. 

Now isn’t the time to sift through all this, though. And the best way to combat the plunge down through confusing feelings is to set his sights forward on the task at hand. That’s more important, anyway. 

Luckily, it’s Alastor himself who shoos aside his haphazard thoughts by wandering over to him and tapping the balcony railing playfully with his staff. 

“Bracing yourself for the bullshit to come? Because I believe it’s that time, your highness!”

“Bullshit… Yeah, something like that,” Lucifer mutters, squeezing the railing before straightening up with a sigh. “Remember the game plan?”

“I always do!” Alastor beams, flicking him a wink. His stomach does somersaults. Annoyed or flustered? He can’t decide. “Here’s hoping you’re ready to knock ‘em dead with that devilish charm. Almost literally!”

Before he can stop himself, Lucifer feels his lips curling more into a sly smirk rather than a disapproving scowl and he steps in closer. His eyelids hood his gaze a little and an amused scoff catches in the crooked-up corner of his grin.

“Wasn’t it you who brought up the infamy of the Devil’s silver tongue?” Said tongue flicks out in a flash of pink, forked and fleeting. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

For once, Alastor doesn’t seem to know how to respond and only slowly lifts an eyebrow, which Lucifer collects as a win. Mostly to hide the fact that his heart suddenly feels painfully cramped inside his ribcage and his stomach ties itself a new knot when he notices the flicker of something in the demon’s eyes. Amusement? Disgust? Interest…? 

Fuck, this isn’t the time for this. But, at the same time, there has been a nagging itch at the back of Lucifer’s head that he can’t keep ignoring. He’d felt it when he’d had his palm smoothing over Alastor’s skin, urging magic into his wounds young and old. It’s a question that he’s been chewing against his cheek and rolling beneath his tongue where it so often sits. 

So Lucifer sighs slowly, lets his smirk fall away and his arms fold over his chest as he finally asks it. His voice is serious to match the stare that slowly searches the sinner’s face.

“Why are you doing this?”

Alastor blinks and tilts his head. He doesn’t answer, waiting to see if Lucifer will elaborate… which he does. 

“Do you actually care? About any of this? Or is it all just some game to you?” He knows this is coming across quite accusatory out of nowhere, which isn’t actually his intention. But the deeper they dive into this mystery, the higher the stakes feel. This isn’t just some pissing contest anymore and Lucifer wants to make sure Alastor’s on the same page. Or, at least, the same book. “I’m not looking to argue, I… just want to know.”

And, to this, the radio demon is silent. Usually this is a rare treat to be savored, but Lucifer feels the knot tighten in his stomach. Especially as Alastor looks away to the side, like he’s actually considering his answer carefully rather than chirping some rehearsed one-liner from his stockpile of puns, sayings, and exclamations. It’s nice to see that he’s earned at least that much from their time together. 

There’s the slow, thoughtful tapping of his claws over his cane in one languid ripple before he finally offers his answer. And it’s spoken clear, concise, and with his gaze returned to Lucifer’s.

“I would not be wasting my time if I didn’t think this was worth it.”

Which could mean a million things. It’s intentionally, frustratingly vague, but… Lucifer doesn’t feel as dissatisfied with this answer as he’d thought he might. Perhaps because it’s packaged together with his body language, his stare; neither of which tilt tauntingly with hidden agendas galore. It’s a reply that’s meant for Lucifer to understand beyond the words alone. And the words themselves, which are the demon’s bread and butter, do say plenty on their own. 

Alastor is a creature of ego, pride, and selfish motivations. He does not do anything without reason or investment. He easily could’ve been sabotaging everything or wandering freely to slake his unholy hungers. But he’s still right here, still at his side and still offering help where his help isn’t something meant to come free. Or cheap. 

Lucifer eventually nods, showing it’s an answer he accepts for the moment. 

“Yeah. I didn’t think so,” he says, the start of a faint smile returning just up one side of his mouth. “Just know that if you did have some stupid trick up your sleeve or some secret agenda going on here, I’d rather it come out now than later.”

Alastor makes an amused sound in his throat, flicking some dust off his lapel.

“Mm. And what good would that do me?”

“Fair enough,” Lucifer concedes in the fall of a light laugh. “When it comes to Charlie, I… Well, I’m not messing around.” He scratches the back of his neck, shoulders lifting in some kind of shrug. “Maybe I’m saying it’d be a shame to hunt you down and eviscerate your entire existence after sharing a hotel room with you and not hating it.”

At that, the demon laughs. He’s all smiling teeth with his own eyelids falling lazily halfway.

“Oh, don’t be silly! We both know you’d love the thrill of the chase. And I think what you’d find at the end would be much more fun than you think.”

“Fun, huh?” Lucifer ends up smirking again, an eyebrow lifting as he rises to the challenge rather than falling back on a safe, disgruntled scowl. Like he wants to remind him that he’s not entirely the wet blanket killjoy this sinister sinner often seems to make him out to be. “That a promise or are you just being a tease?” 

Alastor also, however, isn’t backing down. He slowly leans in closer, face hovering down dangerously close to his. Lucifer keeps his gaze level (but curious?) in his along with the slant of his smirk unwavering. And this close, Alastor’s scent always settles in thicker like humidity; the metallic iron of meat, the smoky pine of an old forest, and the lazy hint of whiskey that he’s come to know well enough by now. It makes Lucifer’s throat bob with a thick swallow, particularly to notice that Alastor is… smelling him too? Just faintly, just subtle, but he’s got his head tilted as he samples the air and grins all the more with some kind of approval. Or hunger.

Now Lucifer has to turn away, groaning and shaking his head with a forced-out laugh to hide the hot huff in his breath that might suggest some kind of tension tightening its strings. At least it’s easy to fall back on the “comforting” routine of their eternal tête-à-tête.

“Ugh. Even when I don’t hate your guts, I start hating your guts.”

Again, Alastor laughs while straightening his slinky spine back up tall and spindly.

“It’s a talent!”

Lucifer huffs again, fiddling with the ring on his finger and grumbling anew. 

“Well, let’s just get this shit over with before I remember how annoying you are.”

Ever the dramatic prick, Alastor bows at the waist with a smugness in his forever-smile that reaches all the way up into his red, red eyes.

“The floor is yours, your highness.”

Lucifer rolls his own eyes, a flash of light washing his human glamour back into place as he reaches for his phone.

“Lemme check in with Vaggie first. I meant to last night, but uh. Got late.”

And he’d gotten distracted, smiling through the smoke of their cigarettes and thinking about jazz and dancing. Which he won’t be telling her, of course, as he taps the call button and waits for her to pick up. 

But all he gets is ringing, ringing, and more ringing until it goes to voicemail. He frowns, trying to ignore the very small weight of uneasiness leaning into his belly. It’s nothing to worry about, it just doesn’t seem like Vaggie to not pick up right now. Then again, she’s probably busy holding up the fort and keeping everyone in line and on track. So he tries not to let the very slight concern wobble in his voice too much and even needs to clear it with a cough as he starts up his message for her.

“Heyyy Vagster. Just, uh, callin’ to let ya know that we’ve got ourselves one hell of a lead. Heh. Yeah. Um, so I’ll call back soon with another update! I really think we’ll be home soon. See you then! I hope.”

Naturally, Alastor is leaning over him to see what he’s up to, head cocked. 

“Worried?”

“What? No! I mean, she’s probably got a million things to do. Or maybe she’s catching up on sleep. No need to assume everything’s gloom and doom, right?”

Alastor isn’t entirely convinced, but also doesn’t seem too concerned either way. In fact, he’s very casual with how he reaches down to actually pinch Lucifer’s cheek sharp and tight before he saunters aside, his own glamour flickering into place.

“You really need to smile more! Of course she’s fine. And, well, if she isn’t? It’s nothing we can’t handle. Nothing she can’t handle! She’s quite the brute, after all.”

Lucifer is scowling, but it lessens into more of a thoughtful frown as he rubs his cheek where it had been so rudely accosted.

“She’s… She is strong. And smart. Charlie’s just like her old man, after all. Got good taste.” Even if he himself isn’t so sure of his tastes right here, right now. But he still forces a smile and stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “Yeah, of course she’s fine. Duh.”

Alastor simply gestures with a flourish, a languid prompt for him to continue with the task at hand. Right, yes, no more delays or distractions. Their infiltration starts now.

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Lucifer snaps his fingers and the portal’s maw yawns lazily open. This time, however, he decides to play cheeky and bows just slightly with an open arm to gesture for Alastor to enter first. The demon’s glamoured grin widens and he steps through. 

When Lucifer follows him, his face instantly hits dry desert air. The portal closes crisply behind him and leaves the pair of them alone wandering up the dirt road toward the compound. The sun is bright, blazing even, and it paints the desert all the more in the glow of an oasis to welcome weary travelers. In fact, he can even smell some of the nectar, honey, and orange blossoms from inside those tall white walls.

“Seems a bit conspicuous,” Alastor muses with a hum as they walk. “Showing up without a mode of transportation. Aren’t you pretending to be some kind of billionaire playboy?”

“ Not a playboy – where the hell did you get that?” Lucifer huffs, adjusting the gold-glazed aviators perched atop his head. “I think they’ll like it more if we… embrace certain eccentricities. They clearly like a little mystery.”

Alastor makes another amused sound as they arrive at the gates, smiling up at one of the security cameras watching their approach. Lucifer knows the footage is probably warping and rippling in whatever security office they’ve got guys skulking around in, unable to record the radio demon even when he’s dolled up in his handsome human skin. 

A guard pokes his head out of the lookout station that has the gate controls, eying them carefully. 

“Got an appointment?”

But even as Lucifer opens his mouth to answer, he can hear the guard’s radio buzz alive from his belt. Krystal’s voice chimes out from the speaker: “It’s all right, Bill. They’re the VIPs I told you about.”

The guard nods, tapping the gate controls and giving them a dutiful tip of his cap. 

“May you walk the Path.”

Lucifer laughs weakly. “Er, yeah, you too. Bill.”

There’s a golf cart waiting for them on the other side, manned by a guy with mousy brown hair, glasses, and a mustache. Unlike most of the other cultists they’ve met up to this point, he seems socially awkward and apologetic; even stuttering slightly at first when they approach him.

“H-hello. I’m, uh… W-well, I’m Jericho, Krystal’s personal assistant. She– W-well, ah, she wanted to greet you herself, b-but she’s still busy preparing everything for your arrival. I’ve been told to show you to your rooms a-and answer any questions you might have before tonight’s festivities.”

He looks to both their faces through wide hazel eyes before fidgeting a little in his seat.

“N-no bags?”

Lucifer seats himself in the cart, laughing weakly again. “What? Didn’t Krystal tell you? We already had them brought in for us! Silly. Now c’mon! Let’s get this show on the road!” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand as Alastor slides in beside him and crosses his legs. 

Jericho also laughs a little nervously before starting to drive them further down the dusty dirt road where the main house waits. 

It’s a little eerie to Lucifer, the more he sits there and watches his surroundings shift from browns to lush, tropical greens. Like a pale shade of Eden; a safe, bountiful utopia hidden from the cruel corruption of any world beyond its pretty leaves. He sighs, shifting his weight. It’s enough to attract a sideways glance from Alastor, but he’s welcome to it. Wouldn’t kill him to think on his perspective, since he’s always so entertained by it. 

The drive doesn’t take long, transporting them through a lovely arch of trees before they stop in front of the doors to reception. Jericho smiles sheepishly after he parks the cart. 

“S-so, uh. Welcome to Hope Incarnate’s Eden Retreat Centre. It’s– W-well, it’s as luxurious as you can get when it comes to spiritual, um, guidance and wellness. You both must be very special for Krystal to have invited you in after only one meeting. A-and she’s given you both the deluxe suites for your stay.”

Jericho hands them both key cards as they make their way to the lobby. It sits serene behind automatic doors that part aside for them to a pair of receptionists who smile kindly to welcome them. The room is huge and with a massive fountain that spills water into a pool that looks to be filled with gold-spotted koi. Lucifer can appreciate the ‘showmanship’ of it all, gaudy as it is. He tries his best not to pull a face and forces a grin instead. 

“Well, what can I say? We had a connection. Krystal, she, er, sure is something, isn’t she?”

Alastor turns his face to hide his smirk, pretending to be interested in idly watching the koi instead. Lucifer hopes he isn’t planning on eating them over the course of their infiltration. 

Jericho just beams, taking a clipboard from the staff at the help desk. 

“Oh, she’s a visionary. It’s why I feel so honored to work so closely with her. W-which reminds me, I should really–”

“Go on, good sir. We’ll find our way to our rooms all on our own,” Alastor interjects, grinning wide and warm. “Wouldn’t want you to fall behind on your duties! I figure tonight will be quite the shindig!” 

Jericho laughs weakly. “Only the most lavish banquet we’ve put on in a while and all last minute. O-oh, um, no offense–”

“None taken! Now hurry along!”

The man nods thankfully and makes to hurry off with his clipboard, though turns to offer a few last words as he goes. “Your change of clothes are in your room! A-and everyone will be congregating near the church around five! A-any questions, just ask at the desk! O-oh, and leave your phones with them! If– If you could?”

And off he goes, muttering into his staff radio as he disappears around the corner. Lucifer watches how Alastor cranes his neck slightly, watching him leave with an odd pull of interest.  Must be the anxiety, which Lucifer is certain might be a dusting of sprinkles on the treat of any mortal’s soul for a hungry demon. So he just turns to reception where the staff are all smiles. 

“Your phone, sir?” 

Lucifer takes his out, handing it over easily. It’s not as though it matters when the only contact there that’s important is Vaggie. And the rules of Earth have never entirely applied to him, so he’s not worried. 

“And yours?” they ask Alastor, who simply laughs. 

“Oh, I don’t bother with those silly things! Call me an old soul!”

They seem slightly skeptical, their smiles strained at the edges just enough to show an application of frustrated force, but they both relent with polite nods.

“Your rooms are just down that hallway, then. Walk the Path.”

“Walk the Path!” Lucifer answers, laughing. He’s already getting tired of saying it, but the religious types do like their sayings, mottos, and affirmations. Exhausting. 

At least their rooms are quite nice. It’s clear that though this place is a “wellness centre” meant to take people off the grid to better tap into their spirituality, it’s also clear that it’s designed to cater to a very wealthy clientele. Like naïve Hollywood starlets and wealthy Bel-Air trustfund kids who want to “find themselves.” Lucifer can’t help but roll his eyes at the heated floors in the bathroom and the massive goose-feather bed. 

He also rolls his eyes at the change of clothes they’ve left prepared for him neatly atop one of the chairs by the massive fireplace. Classic cult, leaving out their white ‘uniform’ of very basic shirt and trousers, even if it’s more high end than what he’s seen. No, he won’t be partaking in any of that. Not because he’s so vain he can’t play pretend regarding his clothes (he’s already playing pretend plenty with his glamour), but because he doesn’t want to conform too easily. They’re interested in him, after all. He’s got no need to beg to get the recognition he needs to find out how to free Charlie. 

So he scoffs and snaps his fingers, manifesting a suitcase of his own wardrobe into the room. 

“White’s not really my color these days,” drawls a voice from directly behind him. 

Lucifer jolts, surprised. And he’s immediately annoyed that he’s let it show when he catches the smug gleam of Alastor’s smile in his peripherals. 

“Too bad they’ve got nothing in red,” he huffs, fiddling with one of his rolled-up sleeves. Alastor just steps over to one of the windows, peering out through the blinds. 

“So how do we proceed, hm? I’d say some divide and conquer, but I know you like to keep me on a… short leash.”

To this, Lucifer is quiet as he thinks on their game plan. They have some time to spare before they have to meet by the church, so it would be best to get a proper lay of the land now that they don’t have to slink and hide. And though everything about this place and its people itches wrong to him, there’s a guilt bunching up inside him to see so many drawn to this kind of nonsense. It’s not his fault directly - few things truly are these days - but it still feels like a product of his reckless dreaming from all those years ago. The depressing remnants of fallout still creeping out from the crater of his Fall. 

He sighs. Alastor tilts his head. 

“No, I think you’re right. We should go out and mingle, see what we can learn from the flock.” Lucifer furrows his brow a little. “I’ve seen proof that there’s… so much more going on here than just yoga and questionable group therapy. I wonder how much is common knowledge. And what these people hope to gain in the long run besides vague promises of paradise.”

Alastor nods, adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose. 

“Lovely! I’ll take the East and you take the West side of the compound. We meet at the middle by the church for their darling little harvest festival?”

“Perfect.” Lucifer claps his palms together. “Get out there and stay–” 

Shit. 

Lucifer’s mouth locks shut when he realizes how stupid he could’ve sounded just now – about to tell a goddamn demon to ‘stay safe’ like they’re friends, family, or lovers. A simple, ‘nothing’ gesture that Alastor probably won’t even notice, but it’s got Lucifer’s throat tightened, his heart scrunched up high in his chest.

Why does it matter? Why should he care if anything actually happens to Alastor out there? The freak can take care of himself just fine, even here on Earth. 

So after a few seconds, Lucifer is able to swallow down the awkward fumble and try again in the drawl of a scoff instead. 

“Try not to creep anyone out so much that we get shown the door, okay? I know it’s difficult for you, but try to have at least a little class.”

Alastor is, again, that curious kind of quiet that lounges out longer than it should and prickles the nape of Lucifer’s neck. But he eventually hums an amused chuckle, heading for the door. 

“I would never do anything to jeopardize our very important mission, your majesty! Have a little faith!”

Lucifer just lets him saunter off, having settled with the fact that he doesn’t really have a choice right now. Besides, in his own weird way, he’s scrounged up… some kind of “faith” in the smiling sinner. Enough so that he believes he’ll do a better job of finding out information if he’s left to his own devices on this one. The demon can be charismatic, after all. 

Enough so that he might listen to one of his radio broadcasts when they get back to Hell. He owes him that much, maybe. 

With Alastor already out there mingling, Lucifer figures it’s time he does the same. If he sticks around in this fancy-pants room, he’ll just start letting his mind plunge back into the long, twisting, depressing places he’s been trying to avoid. So he splashes some water on his face, gives himself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, and leaves his room in favor of wandering the grounds for some (hopefully) valuable insight.

It is funny, in a way. All of this and he still ends up strolling through a beautiful garden, brushing shoulders with humans who have no true free will of their own. 

The universe has a nasty sense of humor. But he knew that already. 

Still, the afternoon is a beautiful one and the greenery is lush, thriving. It’s busy, too. Lots of the cult’s members are either moving things around in preparation for whatever feast or initiation Krystal’s got planned or they’re tending to their schedules and chores. Lucifer sees some bee-keeping, others discussing literature under the trees, and some meditating by the stream that weaves through the plantlife. 

Though Lucifer knows for a fact that there’s sinister work at play on this compound, this perspective certainly paints a different picture. The kind that they plaster on their brochures, no doubt. 

He hates how much it reminds him not only of Eden, but of other places too. Of Heaven, if just a little. Of the picture-perfect pretty shine of it all and the winged devoted buzzing with faith, with blind loyalty to all that light and warmth. To the halos glowing above their heads that might as well slip down and choke their throats like collars. 

In a way, he wants to understand. A lot of these folks don’t look like bad people. Hell, it’s even a very different atmosphere from that stuffy brunch back at the beach club filled with suits and snobs. The people he passes here are mostly young with so many misguided stars in their eyes. Or maybe he’s just assuming and everyone here wants to watch the poor and downtrodden burn below just for existing. 

Curiosity has always been Lucifer’s downfall, however. Sometimes literally.

Regardless, he can’t help himself when he comes across a small group talking amongst themselves by the vegetable gardens. They’re all dusted with soil and smiling with one another as they pass carrots and eggplants while they chat amongst themselves. And when Lucifer approaches, their expressions are all the more welcoming and warm.  

“Hey there,” he greets awkwardly, flicking them a wave. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything! I’m new around here. Still trying to get a lay of the land, I guess!” A beat. “Name’s Lucian, by the way.”

The group is filled with smiles, all of them stepping in closer to greet him. 

“Name’s Keith,” says a broad-shouldered man with kind, sparkling eyes. 

“I’m Delilah,” offers up a short young woman with bright red hair and freckles. 

The rest of the group give their names too and welcome him to the fold with their dirt-caked hands either reaching to shake his or to pat his shoulder. It’s all a lot more friendly and familiar than Lucifer was expecting. 

It almost makes him feel bad for the deception. Almost, but not quite. 

“So, uh, I guess I’m kind of nervous about all this,” Lucifer admits to them, rocking on his heels. “It’s all a bit much, y’know? I read the pamphlets and I like the message, but I’m worried this place will end up being a little too intense.” 

He kind of hates how understanding they seem, all nodding and murmuring gently amongst themselves. 

“Has it been that way for any of you? Or is this, like, the real deal?”

Keith chuckles and it’s a deep, rich sound. 

“Worried we’re gonna start breaking out the Kool-Aid?”

Lucifer smiles weakly. 

“Something like that.”

“And I don’t blame you,” Keith continues, setting aside a bundle of carrots to be carried away. “I thought the same thing when I joined up. Figured ‘what the hell’ because it sounded better living here than the roach-infested dump I had back in the city. Turns out, there really is peace of mind out here in the middle of nowhere. And damn good food we grow ourselves.” He sets his hands on his hips, nodding with pride. “It’s the first time that life has ever made sense to me.”

Lucifer tries not to let the sadness show through his eyes or tighten his smile too forced. Luckily, Delilah chimes in again after sliding an armful of leeks into a crate. 

“I came here looking for answers. About life, the universe… The usual.” She sweeps her hair behind her ear. “And I really think I found it. Along with a family - a real family who loves and understands me for everything that I am. Which is more than my old family ever did. And then some.”

This is what Lucifer has been afraid of - r egular people, working people, good people trapped in this web. Though Lucifer isn’t one to assume any one human is “good,” he’s been seeing more of it since he’s come here. Just glimpses, just shimmers, but it’s more than the cold callousness that he’s taught himself to expect throughout his immortality. 

Sadness sinks down into his belly to sit there as he watches the group smile and laugh while sharing more of their stories. One girl talks about the abusive home she fled from, another person shares their experience with mental illness that had left them feeling completely lost and alone on the streets. Of course they’re drawn to cults like this – of course they seek family, understanding, connection, and purpose in places like these where it’s offered so openly and freely. 

Lucifer keeps quiet, feeling his sadness mutate into anger. These people deserve better, deserve a community of honesty and acceptance that has no secret strings attached. Maybe then they’d have a chance to be the best of themselves, unfiltered. Maybe they could be happy, embracing the life they have for all its worth with no regrets. 

Maybe it really is reminding him too much of his days in Heaven as the spirited one, the starry-eyed troublemaker. He’d never even thought an angel could be banished from Heaven until he’d lived it himself in so much fire and brimstone. There have always been secrets upstairs and there still are. Just like there are secrets here, right under the feet of these salt-of-the-earth people just trying to belong somewhere. 

At least, in Hell, it’s all out in the open with what it is. Raunchy and disgusting and terrible, but honestly so. 

After chatting with the group for a bit longer, Lucifer leaves them to their work. He’s got a guilty ache in his heartstrings for playing a role here, but he reminds himself it’s for the best. He’s not here to save these people or linger long at all. He’s here to get Charlie and get out. That hasn’t changed.

So he wanders the grounds for the rest of his time to himself, watching the members here go about their business. Occasionally he’ll wave and smile or they’ll come over and greet him with some small talk, but he feels less inclined to ‘get to know’ any of them with this ugliness tangled up inside him. Vaguely, he wonders if Alastor is having better luck. Probably. He’s a sadistic murderer, after all – empathy isn’t really his cup of tea.

For a moment, Lucifer even needs to close his eyes. Maybe because the greenery smells so sweet, so lovely like Eden’s had and it’s also trying to do numbers on his psyche. He keeps thinking he’ll glimpse Lilith lounging in the shade of one of the trees or Adam laughing whilst trying to coax some of the singing birds to the seeds in his palm. Or Eve watching curiously from between the leaves, waiting for him to step in closer.

He shakes his head with a groan. Fuck this place. Fuck this place and fuck Krystal and fuck how stupidly complicated all of this has been. He just wants to bring Charlie home and wash his hands of all of this, not think about past wounds, old loves, and even the looming closeness of Alastor such a current fixture in his day-to-day. 

Luckily, it’s about that time to start wandering back toward the church. Good. They can get all of this over with soon and he can distract himself with something that isn’t his own mind trying to devour itself.

He heads back past the vegetable garden and the bee hives, eventually ending up closer to the main household and the church with its pointed spire. 

Standing this close to it again provokes a stirring in his chest; a swelling of emotion just to know that Charlie’s right there beneath it, captive behind a door that doesn’t belong here. He still thinks if he let go – truly, utterly let go – he could rip the church from its foundations and reach down into the dark, twisting bowels of it to tear aside that ugly door and free his baby girl. It’s always that last, secret option to try if this all goes to complete shit, he supposes. Not that he wants Charlie to see him like that, know what he’s capable of when pushed to his limits. Adam’s wrath had been one thing, but this is something else entirely. 

“My, my. Someone’s got his head in the clouds today!”

Alastor’s voice ruptures his thoughts, ringing like a bell to snap his focus back into place. At first Lucifer might scowl, but he’s actually a little grateful for his intrusion this time. 

“Shows what you know. No part of mine is supposed to be anywhere near the clouds,” he muses with a wry smile. “So how’d your stroll go? I’m sure you have opinions.”

He always does. Infuriatingly so, usually.

“Ugh, it’s all the same ol’ story with these people,” Alastor drawls, clearly unimpressed. “Krystal saved them from themselves or what have you. Brought them under her wing to this sweet little paradise to be ‘part of something.’” He sighs, looking around at the crowd that’s starting to gather close by. “I almost feel sorry for the poor saps. Cults never change!”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Lucifer sighs. 

“So I take it that’s all you got out of them too?”

“Pretty much.” Lucifer knows there’s a line of tension in his voice, but doesn’t want Alastor picking at it right now so he keeps talking. “It’s not like I expected much to begin with. They wouldn’t even talk ‘ lore ’ with me, though. Nothing about the angels or the Path or any of that shit. Just more vague waxing poetic about how wonderful this damn place is. And how they’d all be out on the streets otherwise or some shit.” 

He doesn’t want to care so he tells himself it’s nothing, this knot bunching up between his ribs again. But he can see Alastor leaning in close, his gaze as sharp as a dissection scalpel when he gets like this. Lucifer just scowls and gives a dismissive wave. 

“I thought chatting up the ‘locals’ would help us figure out an angle, but I’m almost starting to wonder if it’s even worth an angle. This place, it just…” He sighs again, glancing around at the growing congregation continuing to gather and lowering his voice. “It just rubs me the wrong way.”

Before Alastor can offer a reply, a hush falls over the crowd. Krystal has arrived with even more of her loyal followers trailing after her flowing white skirt. Flowers adorn her hair and there’s gold glitter flecked across her cheeks. Lucifer steels himself as soon as he sees her gaze shift directly to him and her smile widens kindly.

“Oh, Lucian. Here you are. I’m so happy.” She holds her hands over her heart and sighs wistfully. Lucifer senses Alastor fidget slightly beside him, but the demon holds his tongue for the moment. 

On all sides, everyone steps aside as Krystal floats toward them, never hurried with her steps. Lucifer only just now notices Jericho back amongst the entourage Krystal had arrived with, anxiously looking on. 

As is expected at this point, Krystal invades Lucifer’s personal space by gently tucking some hair behind his ear for him. She still doesn’t seem interested in acknowledging Alastor properly.

“I take it you both have made yourselves comfortable? Everything to your liking?”

“Oh, it’s all fantastic. You sure do know how to make a guy feel welcome,” Lucifer replies, smiling brightly. His face is going to hurt from all the fake grinning he’s had to do. 

“Wonderful.” Krystal looks to her devoted posse, nodding to them in what must be a gesture to proceed. They nod back and move off to where the banquet must be served. Krystal doesn’t move with them, instead stepping in closer toward Lucifer to take his hands in both of hers, squeezing them gently. “Now tell me. What’s your favorite food?”

Lucifer stares up at her face, taking in the serenity of her eyes like he’s hoping an answer shifts in a shadow across them. But there’s nothing but that expectant look, that calm confidence she wears as easily as her cottagecore dresses. 

And he knows he could give her a fake answer - one more befitting the character he's created for their infiltration like steak or oysters - but he's always liked pushing his luck. If he's going to get to the bottom of this, he'll need to flush out the truth eventually. Better to do so with some special truths dispersed between the lies. So his smile widens all the way up to his eyes.

“Apples,” he answers simply. 

Her own smile quirks playful and she winks. 

“I thought so.”