Chapter Text

Lucifer

Lucifer was trapped.

Not that this feeling was particularly unfamiliar to him, but experiencing it in the physical sense of the word was something he hadn't felt in a while.
Hazily, he tried to blink away the lingering feeling of unconsciousness that still clouded his mind to fully assess the position he found himself in.
It dawned on him pretty quickly that it was nothing as substantial as the rubble they had to clean up after their fight against Adam and his extermination army that pinned him down, but instead something organic, living, and breathing was firmly pressed against his back.

He tried to push himself up, but found his hands, balled into fists, were tightly held in place at either side of his head. Lucifer tried to lift his face away from the pillow and froze when the hot breath of his captor hit the back of his neck. A slight shiver ran through his body at the sensation and a soft, dismissive sound reached his ear. But there was something else to the little noise. A distortion, a crackling, as if it came from an old radio.

Alastor.

Lucifer's confusion shifted to annoyance. The realisation of not what, but who, trapped him here sobered him up like a splash of ice cold water to the face, washing away all sleepiness instantly. 

Still unable to move, he tried to say something, tried to object to whatever was going on here, but only a pathetic whimper escaped his mouth. Alastor's hands, fully clasped around his wrists, made a small motion against his skin, almost akin to a caress, while still firmly holding him down.
With the weight of Alastor’s whole body on top of him, and why exactly was this haughty, misshaped deer so incredibly heavy?, Lucifer was left almost breathless. Every attempt to fill his lungs with more air seemed futile and Lucifer stirred, his mind set on escaping this odd situation, but his body just wouldn't comply. The betrayal of his own body, which pressed almost welcomingly back into the weight on top of him, left him flushed with embarrassment as the little movement elicited a deep groan from Alastor, who slightly shifted his weight and brought his face even closer to Lucifer's neck. Heat spread through him and Lucifer was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the clothes that constrained him. If he could just move his hands and magic them away, he thought - wait, what? He shut his eyes and gave a small shake of his head, as if to rid his mind of these thoughts and this weird feeling that spread inside of him, when the weight on top of him was suddenly gone and he was lifted from the mattress - or was he really lifted?

Face forward, Lucifer crashed into the cold, hard ground and his senses were assaulted by a fresh, earthy smell. He jerked his eyes open and quickly rolled onto his back, staring into a dimly lit night and - was that the night sky?
He sat up straight on the ground and looked feverishly around in the search of the one who was obviously responsible for all this - Alastor.
Something a few feet away from him sprang to life, a crackling sound announcing what was about to follow.

"Good morning, Your Majesty, rise and shine! I thought you wouldn't mind leaving today's re-decoration of our lovely hotel to me. I hope you're still very much enjoying your stay with-" Annoyed, Lucifer tried to shut down the voice with a lazy wave of his hand, but of course, nothing happened. "-Ah, ah! Don't tell me you aren't entertained by my beloved morning show? You might hurt my feelings!"

And what feelings were those, exactly?

Maybe Lucifer was unable to stop this broadcast with magic, but no influence in his realm could force him to actually actively listen to that nonsense.
He pushed himself up from the ground and, with a groan, rubbed his still aching nose. Further assessing his surroundings, it seemed as if Alastor had shifted half of his room into a swamp. This astute observation was immediately confirmed by Lucifer, who stepped into a small puddle, soaking the bottom of his trousers.

"That fucking-" He stopped in his tracks, realising that he wasn't wearing his own clothes, but something rather much more akin to Alastor's clothes.
Lucifer sighed and bent down to hitch up the legs of his new, and now soaked trousers that were more than a few inches too long, only to find himself to be obstructed by the long sleeves of his jacket that fell over his hands.
Mustering every particle of self-control he was able to find in himself at this early hour, he swallowed down the rage that threatened to push his horns out from his head, leaving him with a feeling bordering on a migraine.
After shoving every sleeve and leg up, he marched into the part of his room that hadn't been transformed by the tacky fuck and made out the little radio that sat on one of the tables.
Gleefully, and fully unaware of what was about to happen to it, it still emitted the cheery voice of the one who had placed it there.
In joyful anticipation of what he was about to do, a murderous grin spread across Lucifer's face, but quickly faded when he grabbed the radio with both hands and found the thing wouldn't budge an inch when he tried to lift it off the table. He fastened his grip and yanked harder at it but the radio just sat there, unmoving and unbothered by the desperate yanking. 

"Oh, Your Majesty, this goes just wonderfully with the theme for today! It would be a shame to remove it!"

A curse sat on the tip of Lucifer's tongue, when his mind made the connection - he was still dreaming! Yes, this was a dream!

He would just close his eyes and concentrate really hard on waking up and when he would open them, all dreams would be gone and - oh shit, what was wrong with him? Did he really dream about almost-sex with Alastor? The embarrassment that hit him at the memory of Alastor on top of him forced his eyes open again and to his dismay, he found himself still standing in his half shape-shifted room, wrapped in Alastor's clothes, his mind addled with strange images from his dream.

Lucifer was certain that things could only improve after having that kind of morning when he tried to swat away what felt like a hundred gnats on his way down to the kitchen, only half-acknowledging that the interior of the hotel was now a Frankenstein-patched-up-nightmare of its usual design and a swamp, when he opened the door to the kitchen and was promptly proven that things could definitely always get worse.       

Not only him, but everyone else was dressed up in something that looked painfully close to what Alastor wore on a daily basis. Grudgingly, Lucifer also noticed that only he got what must've been Alastor's size while everyone else's get-up fit them perfectly.

"Oh, Dad - good morning!" Charlie, bless her, greeted him in that cheery up-beat mood she seemed to be in all day, every day nowadays. She sat at the middle of the table, next to her girlfriend, waving him over and patting the empty seat next to her on the other side. Lucifer felt as if he was looking at a fucked up painting of Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper - that was if Jesus had forced all of his followers to wear the exact same ugly outfit he wore every day. And did he just compare Alastor to Jesus? Or Jesus to Alastor? He made a mental note to himself to bring this up exactly never with his non-existent therapist.

"Surely it won't be confusing at all that we also all have the exact same looking mug", Vaggie complained. Lucifer was delighted that he wasn't the only one who wasn't all too happy with today's re-decoration of the hotel and all living souls inside of it. With a groan, Vaggie brought her new pink ‘Oh Deer!’ mug to her lips.  

"Not at all, dear! See-" Alastor grabbed the mug next to him in his usual disgustingly overdone cheery manner and took a small sip, his face contorting into distaste for just the fraction of a second before snapping back into an insufferable grin, "-this sickeningly sweet brew could only ever belong to His Majesty." Proving Vaggie's point entirely that you couldn't tell them apart until you took a sip out of it didn't seem to matter at all. This little display of drinking out of Lucifer's mug to rouse him even further was obviously more important than actually making sense.

As Lucifer sat down, slowly rolling up his sleeves again ("Your Majesty, incredibly sorry, your size just wasn't available anymore!") to prevent dragging them through his breakfast, his mind mulled over the events of the last weeks and what exactly had landed him in this predicament he now found himself in.

That Lucifer and Alastor wouldn't agree on how things should be run around here was clear from the start. But that they would get caught up in petty fights over the interior design of the hotel hadn't been on his bingo card.
Alastor was clearly unhappy with the changes that Lucifer had made around the hotel after building it up again and began to undo all of Lucifer's hard work.

Of course, Lucifer couldn't let that happen and they found themselves in endless fights over decorating and re-decorating everything until their magic began to clash and nothing seemed to fit anywhere anymore. Doors that were half-shaped by Lucifer and Alastor alike and were now unable to open, an elevator that just poof-ed out of existence one day with one of the residents still inside of it, and no one seemed to get anything done anymore when they found themselves in a different laid out design of the hotel each day, ultimately turning it into a labyrinth.

Charlie had observed this fight between them patiently for weeks, anxiously hoping that they would one day just magically get along and everything would return back to normal, when her patience eventually gave out and she forced Alastor and Lucifer into a deal.

That this deal was utter - sorry, Sweetie - shit, was clear to Lucifer the moment it was proposed. But to keep the peace and to not disturb his newly rekindled relationship with his daughter further, he agreed to it. Why Alastor agreed to this deal wasn't entirely clear to Lucifer at that moment; the stipulations of the deal dictating that every other day it was up to Lucifer to have control over the hotel's design. It quickly showed that the tacky deer came out as a winner in this scenario, as Charlie seemed to be amused by every change that Alastor made around the hotel at best, or at worst, was outright delighted by it. Their bond wasn't simply based on what Charlie thought of as support from Alastor, but they also seemed to have something going on that Lucifer couldn't quite grasp. Occasionally, he could hear their shared laughter ringing through a hallway or them pitching in on the same tune together and Lucifer found that this would annoy him more than any change Alastor could have ever made around the hotel.

Lucifer seemingly didn't get the same leeway that Alastor was granted, so he was mostly stuck with changing the hotel back to its original design to show Charlie that he was the bigger man here and tried to play it off as a win, as the new design was his idea anyway. But he, of course, wouldn't let slip any opportunity to allow himself some pettiness when it came to the old Radio Fuck.

"I'm leaving for work now. Ya know? The place I work at? The Vee tower? Are we okay that I show up there dressed in this naughty Alastor cosplay?"

The snap of fingers came so quickly that Lucifer was almost impressed, until he realised to what Alastor had changed Angel's clothes.

Lucifer's usual white-red ensemble. 

Angel just acknowledged this change with a little shrug, not a care in the world to be had - "This is going to be an interesting day at work." 

One by one everyone left the table to get to their schedules for the day and Lucifer found himself staring longingly after Angel, or rather, staring longingly after his outfit.

"Shall we, Your Majesty?" 

Startled, Lucifer jerked his head up. Alastor, now standing behind and slightly bent over him, placed one of his hands beside Lucifer's propped up elbow on the table. Lucifer was absolutely aware that this was just another stupid tactic to rouse him, caging him in like that over breakfast, but the sensation of his back so close to Alastor's body flooded his mind again with the memory of his dream. Lucifer busied himself with his mug, eyes fixed back on the table, and noticed just a moment too late that he had grabbed the wrong one. Overwhelmed by the unexpected bitterness in his mouth, he gulped down the black unsweetened liquid with a disgusted groan. He could practically feel Alastor's smile widening above him, so Lucifer quickly pushed back his chair and got up, revelling in the fact that this little manoeuvre caught Alastor by surprise and forced him to take a staggering step back to avoid them crashing into each other. He turned to him and - to Alastor’s disgust, which he unsuccessfully tried to hide behind his smile - Lucifer rubbed his mouth clean with the red sleeve of his new jacket. "Yeah, let's go."

Together they made their way down a hallway that led to the back part of the hotel, which wasn't really in use for anything. And once again, Lucifer couldn't help but notice that the whole hotel still reeked of Adam's scent and magic. It was as if it dripped through every crack and left an unmistakeable stench of Heaven hanging in the air which no one besides him seemed to care about or even notice. It didn't make sense. As far as Lucifer knew, Adam had never set foot in the hotel and he wondered if this was some new form of divine punishment to invoke even more guilt in him.

But guilt for what exactly? He wasn't the one who had killed him, right? Maybe it was just some sick message they tried to inject directly into his brain, and only his, because if anyone was ever at fault for anything, it surely must be him. But then again, Lucifer wouldn't have been surprised if all of this was just a hallucination, a twisted new torture his own brain came up with - which it was so very good at -, and that Heaven played no part in any of this at all. Lucifer, lost in thought, let his gaze wander up to Alastor, studying his features and thinking about whether he should ask him if he could sense Adam's presence, too.

But, he thought, would he get an honest answer if any answer at all?

"Can I help you?" Alastor didn't deign to look at him, but was obviously aware that Lucifer was ogling at him.

Yeah, by vanishing into thin air and not coming back, Lucifer thought, and found himself rather funny for that.

"Yeah, by vanishing into thin air and not coming back."

Alastor rolled his eyes and opened his mouth for a surely witty remark, when something caught their eye. Lucifer had already wondered at breakfast where the little bug demon had disappeared to but, as they rounded the corner, he saw her crouched on the floor at the brink of the water, apparently focused on something in front of her. Part of Alastor's re-decoration for the day included a bayou that lazily ran through every hallway of the hotel and as they came closer, Lucifer could see what she was peering at - two yellow eyes, staring back at her from the muddy water. She extended her little hand and tried to dunk it into the water when an alligator crashed through the surface in an attempt to snatch her - but Alastor's shadow was at the ready and held her up high enough and out of reach. The alligator sank back into the water with a displeased growl, accompanied by a slap on the nose from the little bug demon. She was beside herself with giddy laughter and Alastor joined in with a jovial laugh himself when they passed her - "Oh, Niffty, dear, I wouldn't try to tame them!"

Alastor's shadow gently sat her back down and slipped behind his master, but not without tripping Lucifer over. Alastor's hand shot out from behind his back and grabbed Lucifer’s arm, holding him firm so he wouldn't topple over. "Watch your step, Your Majesty." Alastor said, not even trying to hide his amusement at this in any way.

Lucifer yanked his arm out of Alastor’s grip, not fond of being touched by him this morning for more than one reason. No – not fond of being touched by him ever, of course.

When they finally reached their destination, the atrium, which was mostly empty, Lucifer was relieved to spot an abandoned, misplaced chair and lounged himself right into it. He felt weary and sleepy, ready to get back into bed. Maybe not his own bed, as he wasn't sure if it even existed anymore, but he would surely find an empty room in the hotel, as they had no new residents anyway. Lucifer yawned. That his clothes felt more like pyjamas than anything else didn't help at all.

"So", Alastor began with a gesture toward the grand empty space, "Charlie thought about channelling the new arrivals to Hell through the hotel, or rather, here, to be exact. For a while at least. Giving them a good-willed pat on the head and a coupon for free therapy before explaining to them where they are and that she thinks that redemption is possible."

"Ha! No." Lucifer huffed, amused by this silly suggestion, and not failing to notice Alastor’s emphasis on ‘she thinks’. "So that some shitty Overlord like yourself can position himself nicely at the entrance and give them a deal they can't refuse on their way out, or rather, way in? Surely not."

Alastor rolled his eyes, but Lucifer was sure that he must've been aware that this idea was stupid in more than one way.

"Why do you care?" He asked.

"Why do you?" Lucifer shot back, sure that Alastor got the implication he wasn't just talking about this particular idea of Charlie’s. Because what the Radio Demon really got out of all of this was still a big mystery to Lucifer and he bought that whole ‘Watching souls fail to accomplish something meaningful’-bullshit not one bit. 

Not expecting to get any answer, he continued, "Assuming that is not what you're after - and I'm stretching the meaning of good will a lot here - what will happen if you all leave some day? Or if this project is abandoned altogether? Will I just be left with the task to rearrange everything back?"

"I'm not planning on leaving, of course." Alastor smiled at him, but that's what he always did, so Lucifer was left none the wiser.

"Not really your choice, is it?" Lucifer leaned further back in his chair and brought one leg over the other. He had to admit - he was rather astonished that they hadn't heard back from Heaven at all after their battle against Adam. Considering that Adam was killed in said battle.

The anxiety that had Lucifer in a deadlock for the first days after their fight still sat in his tensed muscles, wearing away at his mind and body more than usual. Sure, Adam broke the stipulations of the deal they had made an eternity ago first, but Heaven would always see themselves in the right, no matter what they did. No point in arguing.

And oh yes, Lucifer absolutely expected the better dressed sinners to come down here and to strike down every living, or rather, dead soul again. They could ravish and burn down the whole city and there wouldn't be a single thing that Lucifer could do about it except for maybe getting a good spot to watch the whole thing go down gloriously. And after they had killed everyone and had ravished the whole city, he maybe would take a walk through the rubble, finally not only feeling isolated, but being all alone in the literal sense of the word.
And maybe he would find Alastor's dead body between the rest of them and he would mount his antlers on a wall at his palace, as a reminder and a memory to another dream crushed. Not his dream of course, as Lucifer was wise enough to not have any of those anymore.

Of course, he couldn't share any of these thoughts that plagued him with anyone at the hotel and surely not with Charlie, as he had settled on playing along nicely that all this was a great idea. He was sure that Heaven would never harm her, not physically at least, fully aware that they had their own twisted ways of harming the ones who wronged them. And what else could he offer her after they burned everything down except for a 'Told you so.'?

A slight tremor had caught in Lucifer's right hand, so he laced his fingers behind his head in an attempt to hide it from Alastor's gaze.

"Alright", Lucifer began, "I mean, there's no harm in visiting the Limbo. God, I haven't been there in centuries." He shut his eyes and tried to remember the last time he had been there.

"Could we just go there?" Alastor asked.

"I surely can." Lucifer was certain he would do this alone, but then the thought of ‘forgetting’ Alastor in the Halls of Judgement and returning to the hotel after a little rehearsal of what he would say to them ("Charlie, Sweetie, I swear, he was right behind me when I left. But fret not, he just has to get in line with all the other souls and he will be back here in no less than a few weeks or maybe months!") crossed his mind and he found it to be very appealing. He opened his eyes and gave Alastor a wink. "But I can make an exception for you, as it so happens that I know the boss."

"So very gracious of you, as always, Sire." Alastor replied, not meaning it one bit, "Should we take our leave then?"

"What? Today? No, no. I mean-", Lucifer said irritatedly and gestured vaguely into the air, "It's almost noon in a few hours. And I'm tired. Let's go tomorrow."

Alastor sighed, visibly not amused by Lucifer delaying this until tomorrow, but then agreed with a shrug anyway.

"Well, I guess we can do this after the meet-" Alastor froze. His ears stood up in an alert position and he tried to play off what he just gave away by turning slowly away from Lucifer, acting as if he was merely stuck on a thought he had. A truly lousy attempt at diversion.

"Oh. Oh", Lucifer got up from his seat, his tone dripping with false pity. He clutched one hand over his heart in a dramatic manner, not entirely oblivious to the mockery of Alastor's usual theatrics. "Having an important meeting tomorrow, Bambi?"

He reached for Alastor's shoulder to give him a not-sympathetic-at-all-pat, but the demon jerked away before Lucifer could touch him. It didn't matter. Lucifer's suddenly improved mood wasn't so easily spoiled after he had just acquired this important information.

"Don't you worry, I already have the perfect theme for tomorrow's design in mind!"

Chapter Text

Alastor

Luckily for Alastor, most of the days that their deal dictated for Lucifer to be in charge of the hotel's design, he was able to get all his official business done that would require him to leave the hotel long before the pint-sized monarch would even get up.

And oh yes, he was more than aware when the deal was proposed that its stipulations were highly exploitable and Alastor could have voiced his objections at that, but preferred to just play along, his interest more anchored in the need to find out if Lucifer could be coerced into a bad deal just to appeal to his daughter, even if it benefitted Alastor. And that he so willingly did, and without any effort from Alastor at all, was most valuable information indeed.

Even if that meant that occasionally it so happened that he could pin-point the exact time when Lucifer would finally awake from his seemingly endless slumber and Alastor's outfit would suddenly and without any warning change. Because thanks to their truly badly worded deal, every living resident inside of the hotel who called it their home counted as interior as well and so was gone the free choice of clothing every other day for him.

The past weeks the people around Alastor must have started to wonder if he had a serious case of bad magic hiccup, for his clothes were sometimes replaced by whatever grotesque and childish fantasy the monarchical mind was possessed by that day, often while he was just mid-sentence.

Alastor, of course as unbothered by any of this as ever, had decided that the best way to deal with this was to act as if nothing had happened at all.

He wouldn't react, wouldn't acknowledge it, wouldn't cuss the miniature-sized king out - he simply retreated to store away his temper deep inside of him where it could quietly chew away at his organs every other day, probably leaving him with an ulcer built out of fury and resentment.

So, when his clothing decided to change again seemingly out of nowhere in the middle of the Overlord meeting he was attending – to what was it even? Trying to identify what Alastor was wearing wasn't so easy in situations when he was determined to act as nonchalantly about it as sinnerly possible. In his field of vision he could make out something absurd looking like tassels dangling from his shoulders - golden - and from the look of his arms, that rested on the table in front of him, he assumed that he must've been dressed in all-black, except for his shirt which was - a quick glance - white. The weight on his head suggested that he was also wearing a hat now.
If Alastor had to take an educated guess, he was some kind of tawdry looking showman now, more befitting a circus than the place of eternal damnation.

He didn't pay any mind to Velvette, who was not even trying to be subtle about her attempts to capture some pictures of him with her device. She snickered a "What the fuck?" in his direction, her tone implying that she thought his age might have suddenly caught up to him and he was losing his mind. He wouldn't even acknowledge Rosie, who gently nudged him in his side, as if to ask, "What's this now?" And he surely wouldn't deign to look into anyone's face except for Carmilla's, who had decided not to let this little hiccup interrupt her current speech.

No, he surely couldn't care less.

Alastor may have avoided the Overlord meetings altogether if it wasn't for Charlie and his agenda to stay on her good side. The cancelled extermination seemed to be just a momentary occasion for all denizens in Hell to celebrate. When the big clock in the city centre had stopped ticking away the minutes to a new extermination date, the Vees, and especially Vox, quickly twisted the narrative to their favour. Because left without any indicator at all when or if the angels would descend upon them, and the threat of them now omnipresent, must've meant that the hotel and what they were trying to accomplish was dangerous and their endeavours should be avoided altogether - that was at least what they wanted everyone to believe, and they oh so gloriously succeeded in that venture, adding hundreds and hundreds of souls to their already overgrown empire and thus strengthening their power day by day. Needless to say, the promise of security was an empty one.

It left Alastor to deal with the constant pestering at the meetings from the other Overlords. Because clearly Alastor must have had some answers for them if he lived with the Princess of Hell in the same building and with the King of Hell even on the same floor? (And that they acquired the latter information was something that didn't sit right with him at all.)

"Don't you worry!" He would tell them every week in his usual charming voice, and had a feeling that this made them worry even more, "a little turmoil never hurt anybody. Count your new deals and souls this unrest brought you and stop lamenting. You're welcome!"

Better to leave them to their beliefs that this was all part of some elaborate plan from him, than letting them know that Alastor himself was just as clueless as they were.

When Alastor made his way back to the hotel, strictly avoiding any reflection of himself in the windows of the shops he passed and an undeterred smile plastered to his face, he could already make out the swarmed entrance from a distance. Since their battle against Adam and his army the hotel was crowded by cameras and pesty journalists at all times. And Alastor could have only guessed that it would come in handy someday, but the deal he struck with Vaggie months ago that he would never have to interact with any of Vox's dreary tech ever again proved surprisingly useful to keep him away from the line of fire.

Not that Vaggie wouldn't still use every opportunity possible to accuse him of not helping enough in handling the situation.

Alastor merged into the shadows a few feet away from the commotion and resurfaced inside the empty lobby. He let his gaze wander over every crack and corner, the hotel back to its old-new design as Lucifer so often settled on, when his eyes found what he had sensed the moment he had stepped into the lobby - a newly installed camera, pointed directly at him.

The static around him rose and a finely high-pitched tune let the little box explode, its lifeless lens now pathetically hanging from its mounted case.

Vox probably thought of himself as subtle, but Alastor was very much aware from the first day that Vox and his pesky tech not only besieged them outside of the building but had also invaded it from within. And riling the King of Hell was one thing, but Alastor's design choice the past weeks served him in more than one way. A well-positioned tree here, a well thought out run of the bayou through the hallways there and all monitoring devices were blocked from view and the residents were successfully and with minimal effort kept away from areas that were bugged. The occasional shove of another undercover assistant from Vox into the muddy waters where they vanished into nothingness - after they had appeared at the hotel under the disguise to seek redemption - and everyone could go about their day without a worry. And if that included now and then a lost soul who was honestly trying their attempt at redemption - who cared, really?

But it was also proof of what Alastor desperately tried to hide from everyone else.

Now sure that he wasn't observed anymore, he exhaled and leaned back against the door, allowing himself a moment of rest. His head falling back with a thud, he could still hear the shuttering sounds of cameras outside and a distant chatter, but it all faded to the static sound that spread around him. For the first time in his afterlife, he felt as old as he was. The wound that Adam had inflicted upon him took its toll and the act he had to keep up constantly that he was perfectly fine just added to his misery. He had tried to heal the wound, had tried to stitch it up magically, had tried to stitch it up manually, but nothing seemed to work. His options for who he could turn to were slim to non-existent, as he was sure no one who had suffered an injury of this magnitude had ever lived long enough to come up with a solution. And he wouldn’t allow himself to even think about turning to the one soul in Hell who probably could have offered some remedy to his injury.

Carefully, Alastor placed a hand on his chest, taking a few deep breaths in and let himself feel the uncomfortable stretch of the stitches. He tried to accustom himself again to the feeling that he was unable to fully satisfy the need for air in his lungs. When he lifted his hand from his chest it slightly shook, and he tried to tell himself that he wasn't panicking about any of this and these were only signs of his weakening state, but he wasn't so sure anymore if his addled body hadn't already begun to wear down his mind with it. Adding to that the sprinkle of necessity for constant vigilance the little power play from Vox demanded from him and you could positively call him exhausted.

Alastor pushed himself away from the door, correcting his posture back to its usual rigid form, and made his way to the kitchen. He - well, not hoped - but at least expected to find the King of Hell there after he had only just woken up. He surely wasn't fond of the other option - fetching him from his room, as this could prove to be a very difficult task.

And if Lucifer got up (either on his own or by force) and left his room at all, he still delayed every plan and every schedule endlessly. An air of lethargy always hung about him, more befitting the Sin of Sloth than the Sin of Pride, Alastor thought.
But Alastor also came to learn over the past few weeks that giving the royal feathers a good ruffling in the early morning hours with a more than unpleasant wakeup call was the easiest way to get him to at least attend breakfast, even if he retreated back to his room immediately afterwards, already worn out by joining them in the sphere of consciousness for a few hours.

"Oh, hello Ba-", a sing-song voice greeted him as he swung open the door to the kitchen, Lucifer's eyes widening in shock as he took in Alastor's appearance, and he seemed to momentarily choke. He hastily cleared his throat and added, a bit breathless, "Happy with your outfit?" Alastor was confused that his demeanour lacked the usual smug tone and the added mockery. Wasn’t this what he had expected to see? Wasn't this clown-ish outfit what he had wished for?

"Ready to leave, Your Majesty?" Alastor tried in a, not even to him convincing, cheery tune. Seeing Lucifer, alone at the table with his breakfast still in front of him, already answered that question. This could take a while.

"Tea? Coffee? What's the hurry?" Lucifer smirked, now back to his normal self, seemingly revelling in the fact that Alastor unsuccessfully tried to hide his disapproval of having to wait for him to finish. He would never admit to it out loud, but the offered chair across from Lucifer looked indeed very welcoming to his worn-out body. Even if it meant he had to spend this moment of rest in the presence of the never-ending prattling. He tried to sit down as gracefully as possible and straightened the front of his jacket, accompanied by a little twitch of his eye, when the fabric against his skin once again reminded him that he looked idiotic.

"You know, I read a book that reminded me of you", Lucifer promptly started, every thought that crossed his mind immediately in need to be aired out, while pouring himself another cup of coffee and adding an egregious amount of sugar to it.

"I'm flattered that you think of me so often, Sire." Alastor said, not flattered at all.

"American Psycho - ever heard of it?" Lucifer asked as he brought the cup up to his lips.

"I'm surprised you find the time to read, considering your demanding sleeping schedule." Alastor quipped back and after taking an annoyingly loud sip from his coffee, a smirk reappeared on Lucifer's face.

"Talking of sleep - have you had time to enjoy your new room yet?" No, he hadn't. And Alastor would probably make sure to avoid his room altogether, if possible, his mind wandering back to one particular day where he had opened his door, lost in thought, and was buried under a mountain of squeaking rubber ducks. Lucifer was promptly at his side, commenting on how he always enjoyed ball pits as a kid, and this was where his inspiration had sprung from. "What childhood?" Alastor had asked as he fought off the army of rubber ducks on top of him, and Lucifer, in a mockery of Alastor's usual bearing, slapped his hand to his forehead and chirped, "Ah, that's right. I never had one. But now you're invited to join me to build some childhood memories", and dived right into the pit of rubber ducks that formerly was known as Alastor's room.

"Alright, alright. Let's take our leave", Lucifer surprisingly concluded, when silence was the only answer he got from Alastor and pulled off the white napkin he had stuffed down his collar. He lazily waved a hand, and a portal opened next to him - where to, Alastor couldn't exactly tell, as it seemed to just lead into total darkness. Lucifer took a step through the portal and extended a hand for Alastor.

"Is that really necessary?" Alastor asked, unmoving.

"Is it necessary to be a prissy bitch about everything? It's not a normal portal and it would be such a shame if you got lost somewhere in this realm where deer are strictly forbidden to graze." Lucifer impatiently waved his hand again at Alastor and he grudgingly got up and took a step forward to grab Lucifer's arm and followed him through the portal.

The Limbo wasn't what Alastor had expected it to be at all. He found himself standing inside a grand mausoleum and for the first time since his death, he felt a cold breeze on his skin. The place was designed in a grey in grey colour scheme, so unlike Lucifer's usual choice of vibrant circus colours. Alastor reached for one of the marble walls and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the cold sensation that met his fingertips.

The long halls stretching out in front of them were filled with souls over souls in lines to their destination, presenting themselves as glowing orbs that lazily swayed in the air. It was as imposing as it was suffocating in its design and the feelings it elicited.

"I can't remember any of this", Alastor wondered, his gaze wandering over the ceiling, high enough that he was unable to see the end of it.

"Of course not", Lucifer shrugged and turned away to make his way down one of the halls. "Being trapped here for days or weeks without any physical form, unaware of where you are or what is happening to you, but unable to move forward or back. No track of the passing of time. Seems pretty traumatic to me." Lucifer's words echoed eerily through the grand place.

Alastor followed him, his eyes now drifting over every soul that they passed on their way. He couldn't tell if they were aware of their presence and brought up a hand to touch one of them. It glided effortlessly through the orb, and it was as if he was reaching into mist - no substance and only leaving him with a chilly feel at the contact.

"Isn't hell meant to be eternal punishment?" Alastor asked.

"Well," Lucifer shrugged again, his back still turned to Alastor, "and I wonder who decided on that."

"So why isn't it that way?"

"Because I designed it this way, of course." Lucifer gave him a weak smile over his shoulder as he walked on. His shoulders momentarily slumped forwards, as they may would have after a day of demanding physical labour, but he seemed to be suddenly reminded that he wasn't alone and in an attempt to appear more put together, he corrected his posture back into an upright stance, fists clenched behind his back and around his staff.

Alastor closely watched Lucifer as he was walking in front of him. The echo of his words had left the halls, but not Alastor’s thoughts and he felt as if he was allowed a peek into a window to the past and to a Lucifer that didn't exist anymore. That had ideals or hope for the people here even if he and they were damned for eternity. A glance through the window of the present and one could think they looked at an old office director ready for his pension, worn out after years of primitive work and no interest in any change at all.

"Through me you pass into the city of woe, through me you pass into eternal pain, through me among the people lost for aye", Lucifer began to recite, probably too aware of the silence around him once more. "Before me things create were none, save things eternal, and eternal I endure."

"All hope abandon - ye who enter here." Alastor finished for him and the smile he earned from Lucifer he interpreted as genuine and it made the wound across his chest sting.

They reached an old desk for which the souls seemed to be lined up. It was stacked with an absurd amount of plain folders that seemed to be arranged and rearranged by an invisible hand. Occasionally one of the orbs in line would vanish into thin air, probably on their way to Hell, Alastor thought. At that, the folders continued their life of their own and would fly up to sort themselves into one of the shelves that were lined up endlessly behind the desk, the end of it obscured in darkness.

Lucifer picked up one of the folders on the desk and flipped it open, starting to read aloud, "Alastor. Wasn't hugged enough by mommy and daddy as a child."

He looked up when the expected retort from Alastor never came and whatever he imagined to see in Alastor's face right there made him shut the folder and hold it up, "I'm just joking, you know that, right? This thing is empty." He gave it a good shake as if to prove this to Alastor.

Alastor hadn't decided if he minded that information about his past life seemed to be stored in one of the shelves behind Lucifer - or if he knew.

Lucifer sighed, setting the folder down again.

"Don't worry. I don't have to come here and search for a file to know what you sinners were up to in your past life." Alastor raised an eyebrow at this information and Lucifer defeatedly continued, "But I simply do not care enough to find out." He turned away from Alastor and walked down one of the aisles behind the desk, busying himself on one of the shelves. Alastor stepped up behind the desk and inspected the folders that continued to arrange themselves neatly into stacks in front of him.

"You know, it's weird", Lucifer mused, "Some of these souls are already stuck down here for months or years. It seems as if something isn't working correctly."

"Shocking", Alastor commented. Not surprised at all that something that Lucifer designed didn't work the way it was supposed to because he abandoned the whole thing at some point and didn't put in enough effort to make it right or to maintain it. Lucifer huffed a small laugh and rambled on about the design of the Limbo, and how all of Heaven was positively obsessed with paperwork and organisation. And that he thought it was funny that this behaviour stuck with him so much that he would implement it in Hell but found out quickly that it was probably just peer pressure, and he didn't care for order in any way. 

But Alastor wasn't listening anymore when something caught his eye. All folders on the desk contained a full name and some dates, but one stuck out to him because it looked different from the others. Written on it just one simple name. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Lucifer was still occupied by whatever, so he grabbed it to inspect it further. The cold shiver that ran through him had nothing to do with the constant cold breeze that wafted through the place. He pondered if he should keep this find to himself or if he should share it with Lucifer, when he suddenly appeared at his side and reached for the folder, “What you got there?”. Not ready to let go of it, Alastor held onto it tighter, which resulted in Lucifer ripping it apart in the middle.

Lucifer looked up at him, one half of the ripped folder in hand, "Oh yes, very mature, asshole." Alastor's smile tightened and the other half of the folder disappeared from his hand when Lucifer waved his own to stitch it back together.

Disbelief at what he saw crossed his features and he looked up at Alastor again, aghast.

"Adam?"

He turned his head to the line of swaying orbs and Alastor wasn't sure if Lucifer was able to make him out in the endless line of waiting souls. A tremble manifested in his hand, but Lucifer tried to play it off by running it through his hair, slightly pushing up his hat.

Even if Alastor couldn’t be sure if Adam would've been left with any of his powers after this whole process to offer a remedy to his injury, he felt himself desperately grasping for this opportunity, however slim the chance may be that he could help him. At worst, having Adam at the hotel would offer him a shot at some good ol' revenge.

"Having Adam at the hotel could give us some leverage." Alastor suggested, his tone as unbothered as possible.

Lucifer absent-mindedly shook his head. "Look. It won't be possible to redirect this whole process through the hotel." He stared down at the folder with Adam's name on it, his eyes unfocused and his mind far away. And of course, Alastor knew this particular idea was entirely futile when Charlie had proposed it, but he would leave it to Daddy Dearest to tell her that.

"I didn't say anything about that. I was just talking about Adam." He needed Lucifer to at least buy into the idea that having Adam in reach proved a great opportunity, as Alastor had no real concept of how the Limbo really worked and how it was decided where the souls landed in Hell. Getting Lucifer to just materialise Adam in the hotel would make his life a lot easier. But Lucifer only gave a small shake of his head again, his eyes now again focused and fixed on Alastor's. And if he hadn't known better, Alastor would have thought to make out some desperation in his eyes.

"Picking a fight with Heaven won't go over well. Trust me." Lucifer laid down the folder and put his hat on top of it, again running his hand nervously through his hair. "That Adam landed here is proof that they abandoned him, or they would've intervened. How, I don't know, but he wouldn't be here." He turned away from Alastor and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"At least he could provide us with some useful information, we can discard of him later", Alastor suggested.

"As if he would tell us anything."

"Not voluntarily." Alastor offered in an almost sing-song voice and Lucifer's posture relaxed a bit, giving way to his usual smugness, as he turned back to him.

"May I ask, this whole redemption thing - does that include you or what was the plan here, because I think torture isn't the way up the golden stairs." Alastor just shrugged, aware that he wouldn't have to play the game of believing in the whole ordeal of redemption in front of Lucifer, who in return wouldn't believe him anyway.

But now that there was evidence of damnation from Heaven, shouldn't he at least consider that maybe redemption was also possible?

Alastor refrained from saying anything, hoping that Lucifer would come to the conclusion that they needed Adam for–

"I'm not sure if we should tell the others about this." What? Alastor's train of thought thoroughly derailed by Lucifer's interruption, he blinked. Lucifer gestured vaguely, trying to explain himself - "Okay, there is some stuff you don't know about and-"

"What are you talking about?" Alastor asked, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Just- can we keep this between us until I have figured out how to breach the topic with Charlie?"

Alastor tightly clutched his hand behind his back, trying to hide the building tension in him from Lucifer, who was now standing between him and Adam. He was sure that if Charlie and the others knew about this encounter, they'd want Adam at the hotel as well, or at least Alastor would make them all believe that they wanted that. He was also certain that, if he now agreed to drop this, Lucifer would forget about it entirely for weeks or months which would probably eventually result in Alastor's death, which he was sure Lucifer wouldn't be too unhappy about, but Alastor clung to the life he had.

Sensing that Lucifer grew tired, he feverishly rifled through his mind for a way to not abandon this topic entirely.

"There is someone who fell out of favour with Heaven and who we could discuss this with - without mentioning this little encounter here of course."

Lucifer looked at him, slowly blinking. He brought up a finger to point at himself, as if to ask 'Me?'. Alastor almost growled at him, the sheer stupidity or ignorance of this unspoken question hitting the wrong nerve.

"Your Majesty. Are you aware that your daughter is in liaison with a fallen angel?" He asked, strained.

The lightbulb turning on in Lucifer's head was almost tangible. Alastor couldn't tell if this only served as a reminder or was completely new information to him.

"Oh. Sure. Of course!" Lucifer avoided Alastor's stare by uncomfortably swaying away from him, "I mean. Good idea. We should talk to-", his head momentarily cocked to the side in thought, "... her."

He swivelled back to Alastor, clapping both hands together, "Well, then. Should we?" Without waiting for an answer and in seemingly desperate need to escape this situation, he opened back up a portal and Alastor could only hope that he could use Lucifer's reliance on not telling anyone about what they had discovered as an advantage to him.

But for now, he had to let go of Adam and had to unwillingly hold onto Lucifer again when they both stepped back into the lobby.

Chapter Text

Vaggie

Getting used to Lucifer and Alastor's shenanigans had taken Vaggie some time but compared to where they had started from, she counted it as a win. 

Better yet the somewhat-managed chaos through their deal than the ever on-going and unpredictable escalation that had been the norm for the first weeks after Charlie's father had moved in with them and that had dragged everyone in Alastor and Lucifer's vicinity into whatever mayhem had emerged from their endless bickering and childish fights. 

And after the deal was struck, all that noise had eventually faded into an easily ignorable background hum. 

Especially because Charlie had decided that on top of their deal it would be ideal to put Alastor and her father together on whatever job she needed done after having another idea or new plan for the hotel. She would insist that forcing them together like that was only because she hoped that it would bring them closer or that they would even become friends one day, but Vaggie couldn't help but notice that Charlie was also perfectly fine with the fact that this setup kept her own interactions with her father to a minimum. 

Vaggie knew very well that Charlie would never say it out loud and probably tried to not even think it but she knew her well enough by now to know that she would be a lot happier if her mother had joined them at the hotel instead of her father. 

Because if Vaggie considered her own conversations with Lucifer as weird, the few interactions she unfortunately had to bear witness to between Charlie and her father, that involved more than a simple back and forth of pleasantries, were almost agonising to witness. 

Vaggie was sure that this is what it must have looked like when two species from two different planets came into contact with each other for the first time; not versed in the language or customs of the other, but still trying to apply their own understanding of what it meant to be polite to the situation, which was in return deemed as highly inappropriate by the other species.

So if Charlie tried to avoid the awkwardness of their self-inflicted proximity altogether by keeping their interactions to a minimum, she couldn't blame her.  

Vaggie herself was not so sure what she had expected from living with the King of Hell under one roof. 

Probably because she had never expected to live with him at all. 

In all their time together before, Charlie had never talked much about him - not just out of resentment, but it seemed as if there wasn't much to tell anyway. A stranger who accidentally ended up with the title 'father' and 'King of Hell' alike. 

And even after weeks and months of a shared home, Vaggie could only admit that she also hadn't much to say about him. 

Lucifer would rarely join them for any shared meals or other group activities - seemingly not out of ill will, but it was as if he existed in a parallel universe where time was an entirely different concept from what everyone else lived by. 

And if he managed to spend time with them as a group, in whatever capacity, he was mostly on a spectrum between lethargic to outright apathetic to everything that was happening around him, engaging only in discussion if he was in a fight with Alastor or if something specific had caught his attention. 

Charlie had told her that she only remembered him like this or that he just got worse after her mother had left. The word 'depression' was sometimes mentioned, which did not mean much to Vaggie. 

She wasn't sure if she had ever met someone who was depressed before. 

As far as she remembered, no one was ever depressed in Heaven and her life before that was nothing more than a vague shape, shadows that would sometimes manifest into something substantial in her dreams but would dissolve before she awoke and left nothing behind. 

She never gave it much thought, but had assumed that depression would involve a lot more crying and desperation. Lucifer however rarely seemed particularly sad or desperate in her or Charlie's presence. And what he was up to all those hours and days he would not leave his room no one seemed to know.

Lucifer's fondness of his daughter and Charlie's want, as small as it may be, to have him at the hotel couldn't be doubted, but at the very end of it all, he was who he was and Charlie seemed to wish he was anything but.    

The irony that, of all people, Charlie chose to trust the one person that Vaggie wouldn't even have entrusted with watching over her imaginary pet out of worry that it would only serve as a quick afternoon snack to him, wasn't lost on her. 

But could she really blame Charlie that she was more enthralled by Alastor's actions than Lucifer's non-actions?

It served Charlie perfectly well that Alastor, in his endeavour to always stay on her good side, had trapped himself in the role of the silent, but forcibly enthusiastic martyr, who would always reassure her that dealing with her father was 'of course no problem, my dear!'

If nothing else, having them always work together on the most basic tasks did not only keep Lucifer out Charlie's way, but also kept Alastor out of Vaggie's way, so she wouldn't complain too hard.

"If they shove one more stupid camera into my face to ask a weird question about Alastor, I will make them sign a contract that they won't get any answers if they don't join our hotel", Charlie said, only half-joking. 

"Let's just put him in a cage in the lobby so he can answer them himself", Vaggie murmured, "or at least get rid of them." 

And Charlie wasn't wrong in her complaint about the cameras and the reporters stationed outside, she also felt like this day was truly wasted - yet again. They had to spend most of their time answering questions that were thrown at them by the journalists and reporters that swarmed the hotel every minute of the day. Not only that, but the questions seemed to decline rapidly in quality by the day. And it didn't matter what they would say anyway, as Vox's only hope was to catch something on camera that could be used to ridicule them further on every possible outlet. 

And if there wasn't anything that could be used, he would just cut other interviews of them together in a way that he got what he wanted to begin with. 

Even if Vaggie saw this whole ordeal as the plot to drain them mentally and keep them occupied with nonsensical stuff that it was, she would put in the same effort as she did on the first day if that meant she could support Charlie. And sometimes that meant sitting through weirdly private questions about Alastor that not even the reporter, who was forced to ask them, seemed comfortable with.

As they both made their way down to dinner, Vaggie wasn't too unhappy that the hotel was back to its usual design, and she was in command of her own clothes. 

The hotel had fashioned a 20s theme the day prior, apparently Alastor's prime time alive and an aesthetic he was very fond of. Long, velvety curtains that had covered the walls and spotlights on the floor pointing to the ceiling gave the impression of an old-timey stage, the carpet in the lobby gone and room made for a grand wooden dance floor - although not used for any dancing. The faint sound of jazz music had wafted through the hotel; a bizarrely warped quality to it that turned it more into the soundtrack of a horror movie than an invitation to dance. 

But as the clock had struck midnight, everything changed back to its original design and Lucifer couldn't, as so often, be bothered to make any changes.

"But I don't get why Vox wouldn't just invite us to any of his shows, why just settle on this nonsense?" Charlie complained further as they entered the dining room, the food already prepared and set on the table. 

 "Oh Charlie, dear, you wouldn't want to talk to this sad excuse of a host anyway", Alastor greeted them as they sat down, already in his usual spot. 

"Maybe we could make use of one of your radio broadcasts to advertise the hotel!" She happily proposed as she sat down, the smile on Alastor's face widening.

"Why, I'd be delighted to devour one of these pesty journalists on a broadcast to-"

"Or maybe not!"

They were all in the middle of dinner, when the door swung open and a dishevelled looking Lucifer trotted in, an expression of surprise flitting over his face to come upon anyone else. Vaggie wasn't entirely sure if he had confused the days and thought that Alastor would take care of his clothing by force of their deal or if he just didn't care enough, but his shirt was all crinkled up as if he had slept in it and his vest was not correctly buttoned up. Going from the look of his messy hair and the dark circles under his eyes he probably hadn't thought much of anything so far.

"Do we have any coffee?" He asked, his voice hoarse and sluggish, giving the impression of someone who was either drunk or badly hungover.

"Oh, Dad, hello! Are you joining us for dinner?" Charlie asked, her voice not as cheery as it was just moments ago. 

"Dinner? What time is it?" Yawning, he made his way over to his usual empty seat at the table, his face momentarily crunching up as if he smelled something foul.

"I still wouldn't mind having a chance to talk to Vox", Charlie stated as she picked up their conversation from earlier, standing together with Angel at the kitchen counter to prepare coffee for her father and more drinks for the others.

Vaggie sighed, "He would just make fun of us, and we would give him free material to trash us even further." She didn't completely dismiss Charlie's idea though, but they would probably have to find someone else to help them right the narrative they were currently fighting.

But who was there left anyway? 

The Vees controlled almost every influential outlet in Hell. Asking Alastor wasn't really an option. They could just be glad that the cannibalistic screeching on his radio show that was only interrupted by his favourite music didn't serve as further repellent to any future residents. Although he had restrained from doing any of his shows since they had moved into the newly built-up hotel.

"Maybe", Charlie said, "we should go with what you suggested the other day. Just accept whatever label the Vees have put on us and make people believe that we can at least offer some protection to anyone who comes here."

"Don't forget to mention the free rent, free drinks and free entertainment - at least that's why I'm here", Angel said as he handed them a few glasses from one of the cupboards, "and then slowly rope them into the whole redemption thing", he added with a sly smile.

"Lure them here under the pretence of protection and fun and then leaving them no other option than to join our venture or else they'd have to give up on all of the benefits sounds more like something a cult would do", Vaggie said, huffing a laugh. Charlie grinned mischievously and brought her hands up in a showman gesture, "And we will dance around the fire, and chant, and-"

"What have you done?" Startled, they all turned their heads, interrupted by Lucifer's upset voice from the dining room.

"I-"

"Alastor, what the fuck have you done?" As they got back into the dining room, Lucifer had leapt out of his seat, causing his chair to violently crash backwards to the ground. His voice almost a shout and his eyes now not so tired looking anymore but frantically fixed upon Alastor, who, usually not shy of a witty response, seemed completely lost for words at the sudden outburst. Smile still in place, but his eyes widened in surprise. 

"Dad, what is going on?" Charlie asked warily as all other conversations were silenced by his inexplicable aggravation and all attention on him. But Lucifer didn't pay them any mind. 

"You better not be fucking with me right now, Alastor. I can sense it, smell it - so, what the fuck did you do?"

Alastor leaned back in his chair to avoid any point of physical contact with Lucifer, who had stepped up to him and came uncomfortably close as he leaned over him.

"Your Majesty-" He offered in an attempt to diffuse the tension, his voice amused, tinged with a hint of irritation.

"Don't you fucking 'your Majesty' me, you fucking prick. What did you do with Adam?" Lucifer tried to grab him by the lapels, but Alastor was faster than him and had already dropped into his shadows and manifested again beside Charlie and Vaggie.

"Adam?" Charlie asked, whipping her head between her father and Alastor, who put on an act of total indifference and dusted off his jacket where Lucifer hadn't touched him.

"Alastor, what is this about?" Vaggie demanded, annoyed, after none of them deigned to acknowledge Charlie's questions.

"I have absolutely no idea, my d-" He began, but was interrupted once again by Lucifer, who now made his way around the table over to them, ready to lunge at Alastor. 

"Don't shit me! I can clearly sense him all over you! So answer my fucking question right now!" He tried to reach for Alastor as he came closer, but Charlie had already put up a hand in front of her to stop her father. Lucifer's eyes, on the verge of bleeding into a dark crimson colour, wandered bewildered from her outstretched arm that tried to hold him at a distance to Alastor, which she almost offered a protective gesture to in return.

As if talking to a particularly dense child, she asked in a slow voice, "Dad, you know that Alastor was wounded in the battle against Adam, right? Is that what you're talking about?"

"You- what?" Lucifer finally acknowledged her fully, some fight leaving him, making room for a more confused look, the red colour draining from his eyes.

"Yeah, haven't ya seen it on the news?" Angel asked, seemingly very much entertained by what was going on and not worried in the least. "Vox even installed a new station where they aired nothing else but the clip of Alastor getting his ass handed to him."

"Ha, really showed nothing else", Husk quietly laughed from behind them, the sharp look he earned from Alastor causing him to busy himself again with his drink. 

"I- no", Lucifer admitted a bit sheepishly. "I haven't seen that."

"But he's alright now", Charlie consoled him, as if Lucifer would care, and put her hand back down. "Right, Alastor?"

"Right as rain, dear!"

Vaggie and Lucifer exchanged a quick glance. Confused as he might be, it probably was still clear to him that no one in this realm possessed the power to get him back on his feet if he was wounded by an angelic weapon and on top of that of an injury that was inflicted upon him by Adam of all people.

And Vaggie remembered all too well the time after that clip had first aired.

While Charlie was worried sick for him, Alastor denied that anything was wrong with him at all. And soon enough, Charlie would know no other topic to talk about to Alastor, until he had decided that avoiding her completely was the best way to deal with the situation. He would deliberately only show up to group settings where he could be sure that the surrounding crowd was big enough for Charlie to refrain from seeking him out and embarrassing him further by needling him about his injury. 

Not that she wouldn't still try to catch Alastor after every one of those meetings, but he simply would pretend he did not hear her and was already gone by the time she had reached him.

One day, Angel sat her down and gave her the not so helpful advice that 'if you want to pet a wild animal, you have to wait until it comes to you!'

Vaggie had to comfort Charlie about this whole ordeal night after night; when she finally asked her the dreaded question, "Do you know if he really could be okay, and just heal the injury on his own?" 

And Vaggie was tired of Alastor playing this stupid game, so she decided to offer a weak "I mean, it could be. It's been a while and if he was severely injured, we would have noticed by now, I think?" 

Even if unwillingly, she had to admit that it was kind of impressive they had in fact not noticed any changes about him. 

And Charlie wanted to believe it, as bad and inconceivable as the lie might have been. And Vaggie had sought Alastor out after that conversation, alone.

"Look, Alastor. I know that you're lying. I know this is all just an act. Why you wouldn't accept Charlie's help, I don't know. I don't even want to know. But know that I covered for you, and I hate lying to her for someone like you."

"Absolutely no idea what you're talking about, my dear!" Alastor replied, smile as unwavering as ever.

"Sure, why did I think we could actually have a normal conversation about this?"

And so here they were. 

Everyone very much aware that Alastor wasn't, no, couldn't possibly be alright in the slightest. But he and everyone else pretended that he was - and for what exactly? To protect his skewed sense of pride and not hurt his delicate feelings with the implication that he was not the great indestructible Radio Demon?

Lucifer slightly shook his head, as if to get rid of his thoughts.

"No, that's not - we, we met him", he finally explained.

"Who?"

"Adam!"

"You did what?"

"The other day, in the Halls of Judgement, the Limbo, he was there! Well, his soul, that is, and-"

"What does that mean?" Charlie asked, agitated, once again whipping her head between Lucifer and Alastor.

"Look. I wanted to tell you and I just-", Lucifer began and vaguely gestured towards Alastor, who shrugged as if this was the first time he heard about this information either. "Oh yes, thank you very much for your help, Alastor. Really helpful", Lucifer shot at him sarcastically. Charlie let out an annoyed groan that her father had once again dropped his explanation, so he continued, "I thought it would be better to tell you all when we're together, especially because we had the idea to ask, uhm-" His gaze was fixed on Vaggie and he stared at her as if he was searching for something in her face. 

In an erratic display of 'tag, you're it' all temper that had left Lucifer now inhabited Charlie, who exploded in his face, "Vaggie! That is her name! You've been here for months now!" 

Every effort to be patient and understanding gone, and everything about her screaming ready to fight. Lucifer put up his hands in defence, his face anything but. Almost annoyed, he said, "Okay, Sweetie. Can we calm down? I just forgot, it happens."

His words more oil than water to the fire, Charlie's face twisted in rage and Vaggie reached for her hand, a weak attempt to avoid an escalation of the situation. To her surprise, it worked, and Charlie closed her mouth again, painfully swallowing down whatever tirade tried to break loose. A small gentle tap on Vaggie's hand signalled her that she could let go of her and her shoulders sagged down as she turned away to leave the room, a weak "Cannot-fucking-believe-this" escaping her before she slammed the door shut after her.

Vaggie's first instinct was to run after her, comfort her, console her. But she thought it wise to resolve this whole mess first and question Lucifer and Alastor further, now that at least one of them was present and willing to talk. 

"Ask me what?" She said, crossing her arms as she turned back to Lucifer. 

It felt strange to recount the memory of how she had landed in Hell. 

She heard herself talk and the story sounded dramatic or almost traumatic in a way, but she recounted it as if it was an anecdote, something that had not happened to her but someone else entirely. It wasn't exactly a secret either and everyone except for Lucifer probably knew it by now anyway, but she preferred it not to be the centre of attention nonetheless. 

"That is very interesting", Lucifer contemplated after she had finished her story and leaned back self-complacently in his chair. 

"Uh, what exactly?" Vaggie looked from Lucifer to Alastor, who had refrained from contributing anything to this conversation so far except for kicking everyone else out of the dining room, and effectively cancelling their entertainment for the evening by doing so - very much to their dismay. 

He was obviously very pleased with the fact that the attention had shifted away from him so quickly earlier and wasn't keen on changing that again. 

Lucifer put his chair back down. "You never went through the Limbo, they just left you here", he said in a voice happier than it should have been after learning about someone being left behind in literal Hell. The confusion on her face apparently very visible, because he continued, "I haven't heard of a single soul in Hell who just got here without passing through my judgement. Except of course for...", he momentarily stopped, debating with himself, "...you know."

"And why would she? She was just merely injured, not completely annihilated like Adam." Counting 'losing an eye' as 'merely injured' could of course only come from someone like Alastor.

"That angel who had left you behind, who was she exactly?" Lucifer asked.

"You mean Lute? Just another angel who was part of Adam's extermination army." Vaggie shrugged, not keen on getting deeper into the history of them. 

"So, no one who actually has any authority in Heaven."

"Well, Adam knew about it, and I don't know who else. They didn't try to remedy it in any way, so it probably was approved later in some way." 

She had never questioned the decision of being left behind, not in this way at least. 

The emotional turmoil of losing all she knew and loved because she had chosen to do the - in her eyes - morally right thing while participating in a morally questionable task was one thing - but she had never questioned if her disowning had been lawfully right. 

Because Heaven could do no wrong, right?

Lucifer chuckled, "I wonder", and he said this more to himself, "if you just showed up there, would they even have any authority to make you leave? After all, being attacked after you saved someone's life and one angel deciding you're not coming back up with them again hardly counts as damnation."

"It doesn't?" Vaggie asked, her tone as matter-of-fact as it had been through the whole conversation so far, "She broke my halo."

"And? They can get you a new one. Hell, I could give Alastor one right now", and as if he just gave himself the best idea ever, his face lit up like that of a child on Christmas morning. "Why not give", and Lucifer snapped his fingers, "everyone one today?"

It was as if someone had turned on two little night shades in the room when a halo appeared above both their heads.

"Won't get you into Heaven, though." He added, a grin spreading across his face, as he tipped his chair back again.

"Lovely. Now what's the plan, Sire?" Alastor sighed.

Lucifer pondered the question for a moment while rocking his chair back and forth. "You know what? Go to the Heaven Embassy and ask for another meeting with them."

"For what exactly? And how do I reach someone in there?" 

"Oh, they'll hear you. They just love playing hard to get." 

"What about Charlie?" Vaggie asked and she wasn't sure if she should suggest that an apology might be in place, but Lucifer seemed unconcerned about her in the slightest, the incident seemingly already completely wiped from his mind.

"What about her?" He just shrugged and Vaggie thought it best to leave it at that.

"But take her with you, she could do with some fresh air to calm down a bit", he added after a short pause.

Vaggie took that as a sign as being dismissed from the conversation and got up from her seat to leave Alastor and Lucifer alone, when Lucifer gently grabbed her wrist to hold her back.

"Haven't I done everything she has asked of me so far?" 

Lucifer asked in a quiet voice and Vaggie just stared down at him. She thought of him as rather pathetic in that moment, but before she could say anything, he let go of her arm and dropped his gaze away from her, signalling that he didn't want an answer.

As Vaggie made her way up to her and Charlie's room, she tried to work out how she should feel about all of this or if she even felt anything at all. It seemed important to feel some kind of way about it but there was nothing. Her past was unimportant and she hadn't anticipated to ever talk about it again because she was happy now and it was all over, nothing to be done about it, a thing of the past she wouldn't want to change anyway. 

And she couldn't see how any of this would benefit Charlie or the hotel and she certainly wasn't up for any threats that Lucifer and Alastor may have had in mind to make against Heaven. 

Of course, she knew Heaven was wrong for how they had handled things so far with the hotel, of course she was angered by how they had treated Charlie, of course she was mad that she was just left behind, no questions asked, no one ever again coming to get her or even fighting for her, of course she was furious-

She stopped at the head of the stairs, the muscles around her lungs painfully spasming. She must've broken into a sprint at some point. 

Shakingly, she tried to steady her breath. 

All of this had nothing to do with her. She was here for Charlie's idea and her dream, and that was what she wanted, too. 

As she had reached their door, she gently knocked before entering. From the doorway she could see that Charlie was bundled up in a heap of blankets, facing away from the door. When Vaggie stepped closer, Charlie turned her head, her eyes widening in surprise as she looked up above Vaggie's head. "What...?"

"Your dad", Vaggie answered, "It's just decoration, don't worry about it." She gently sat down beside Charlie on the bed, caressing her arm lightly and tried to remember if her father hadn't just mentioned that he would give everyone a halo.

"How do you feel?"

"Just so annoyed by Dad's antics, we could move so much faster and be more efficient if he wasn't like, well", she sat up, the blankets falling from her shoulders, "...like that."

"You know, Alastor hasn't mentioned any of this to us either."

"Oh, please. My dad probably told him not to say anything", Charlie waved her hand in a gesture of dismissal.

Yes, Vaggie thought, because Alastor was exactly the type who would do as Lucifer told him. Usually not shy of using everything that could be used to bind Charlie even more to him, he probably just hadn't said anything because mentioning Adam in a conversation with Charlie was something he tried to avoid. Still, it didn't sit right with her that Alastor got away so unscathed from this whole situation. She wondered what exactly he and Lucifer were up to, keeping this encounter to themselves to begin with. 

Could Lucifer really have simply just forgotten to tell them? 

"What did you talk about?" Charlie asked, stretching her arms out in front of her. 

Vaggie tried her best to recount their talk as precisely as possible to give Charlie the whole picture of what had happened since she had left. For the most part, she just listened silently but let out an annoyed groan at parts of the story where she thought her father had said something rather tactless. 

"Well then, should we go?"

"Right now? You feel up to it?" And Vaggie wasn't so sure if that question wasn't directed more at herself than at Charlie. Charlie just shrugged at that, "why delay it further?"

Stepping inside of Heaven's Embassy was another drive down memory lane Vaggie didn't know she didn't need that day and the whole aesthetic of it was almost unbearable. 

The grand place, while opulent in its appearance, was furnished very minimalistic, but still left her with no air to breathe. It was stifling to a point it made her feel lightheaded. The light was too bright, unusually bright for Hell, and felt almost surgical. With herself on the operating table. 

As they had reached what could be considered a front desk, of course unmanned, she noticed that a simple envelope was placed there, undisturbed. Vaggie picked it up and frowned as she read the inscription on it. 

"There is already an invitation here. And it seems dated back to almost two weeks ago."

She held it out to Charlie, who gently took the envelope from her hand, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She ripped open the envelope and her eyes flitted over the paper. Slowly the colour drained from her face as she reached the bottom of the letter.

Before Vaggie could ask, Charlie cleared her throat and said, "It is an invitation to Heaven."

And she held the letter out to Vaggie, "but only to you."

Chapter Text

Lucifer

"Always so sleepy."

Wearily, Lucifer blinked open his eyes, only slowly coming to his senses. His tired gaze took in the blurred shape of Alastor, who was comfortably propped up against the headboard next to him in bed, an amused grin on his face and an attitude about him as if he was just where he belonged.

Lucifer opened his mouth in protest when his brain finally caught up and recognised what Alastor was wearing - that stupid outfit Lucifer himself had chosen for him a few days prior. And yes, he oh-so regretted that particular choice when Alastor had popped into the kitchen that day and was not looking like a jester to the king, just as Lucifer had planned, but looked rather - good? Attractive, even?

And even in his mind, Lucifer's voice was tinged with disgust at himself for even putting those words in close proximity to Alastor's name in a sentence.

Of course, Alastor would choose to dress up again like that, probably very much aware of the effect it had on Lucifer. Unable to tear away his eyes otherwise, Lucifer rolled onto his back, sighing, "What do you want?" As if he didn't know already.

As he rubbed his tired eyes further awake, an attempt to busy himself with something other than staring at Alastor, he felt long fingers encircling one of his wrists and tugging at him gently. Lucifer snapped his head up at Alastor but did not resist the pull at all. He just let it happen, as he always did.

Shadowy tentacles joined Alastor’s hand in encircling his other wrist and waist, giving him a teasing squeeze. Wrapped firmly enough around him to force him into a straddling position, but not so tight that he deemed it uncomfortable - no, it was a rather welcoming feeling to the tensed muscles in his body. 

Lucifer didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. 

For a moment, he squeezed his eyes shut - annoyed at himself that he was so weak to not resist this. Even welcomed, wanted it. 

Big, clawed hands replaced the tentacles at his waist. Before Lucifer could react, Alastor surged forwards and buried his face in his neck. Whispering warmly against the skin, “I missed you so much.”
Lucifer’s heart ached in a way that was almost pathetic if he considered who it was coming from. 

Oh, whatever. 

Lucifer admitted defeat - he was weak and he would always be weak. Reacting instantly to Lucifer’s silent surrender, Alastor pushed him back and down onto the mattress. A surprised gasp escaped Lucifer at the sudden motion as Alastor pressed himself against him and pushed him further into the soft surface.

His wrists still trapped under shadowy tentacles, Lucifer could do nothing else than welcoming the weight on top of him with a press of his own body against it and a tilt of his head to give Alastor better access to continue the press of wanting kisses at his neck. A half-sighing, half-groaning noise escaped Lucifer - “Alastor.”

"Yes, dear?" It echoed inside his head.

But something was off.

Alastor's mouth was still occupied with doing something else. And the tone of his voice entirely incongruous to what they were about to do, chirpy and amused, and -

When Lucifer snapped open his eyes, he saw red. Or, well, rather a very deep crimson.

Alastor was lying next to him in bed, propped up on his elbow and seemingly very amused by what he had just witnessed while Lucifer was asleep.

With a yelp, Lucifer tried to scramble away from him as fast as possible but did not account for how close he already was to the edge of his bed and felt his body tipping over. With flailing arms and in a desperate attempt to get some leverage or a grip on his sheets, his legs got tangled and he slipped ungracefully off the bed. A sharp thwump noise accompanied him on the way down as he hit his head on the edge of his nightstand.

"Ow! What the fuck!"

As if the pain that pulsed through his head from the impact wasn’t enough, shame crept up his neck as the realisation fully hit him that Alastor had observed him in his sleep while he, Lucifer, had a most shameful dream - or, alright, would have had a most shameful dream if he hadn't been interrupted. He felt the heat further creeping up to his face, probably tinting it in a telling blush, so he rolled onto his stomach and buried his face in his hands in a pretend game of 'I'm not here'.

"You know", Alastor's voice came from above him, "I gave your very generous offer from the other day some thought."

Lucifer could only muster the strength to let out a pathetic noise at that, a question on his tongue that never made its way into actual words. He had no idea what Alastor was talking about and maybe he was losing his mind - was this still a dream? Lucifer could never be entirely sure around here. His dreams so vivid since his mind had decided to put him through an endless pornographic loop in his sleep.

And to his humiliation and shame, these dreams almost only consisted of Alastor.

Lucifer usually prided himself in his creativity, but his brain seemed uninterested in making any use of that in his dreams, its ambition more set on writing scripts that would put the dialogue Angel had to suffer through on a daily basis at his job to shame. And if Lucifer was still dreaming, he very well knew how this particular situation would go and what this offer was about, as it could only mean one thing.

"That you would heal me!"

What?

Lucifer lifted his head from his hands. Alastor was half-hanging over the side of the bed, staring down at Lucifer's pitiful prone form on the ground. And if it wasn't the cutest thing to witness how Alastor's ears would flop forwards from the position he was in-

Alright.

This had to stop.

Immediately.

A big, red-lettered something that looked suspiciously like the word 'obsession' bounced through his head. With a groan, mostly directed at himself, Lucifer rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again. He had to somehow escape this side of his mind that had taken on the shape of Alastor and mocked him at every possible occasion, while the other shaped Alastor outside of his brain did the exact same thing.

Just, very differently so.

He had to tune out everything for just a moment to ground himself, and - oh, yes. Music.

Taking a deep breath in and filling his lungs with as much air as was comfortable for him, he folded his hands over his chest. When his lungs deflated again, the soothing sound of splashing water had already picked up, ready to carry him away. Quiet and almost unnoticeable at first, it was accompanied by a soft chirping. He could easily have mistaken it for a flock of birds outside his windows, but the chitter carried a sound that could only have been crafted with meticulousness and a purpose to welcome a new spring after an eternity of cold, dark months. As Lucifer was confident that this was a non-occurrence in Hell, he was relieved to find that he must be already somewhere else entirely. The soft sound of music trickled around him like water but evolved into something steadier, carrying him further away. The current of music strong and determined but never reaching the momentum of crashing waves in the ocean. It was still calming in its flow and allowed him to just let himself float along with it.There was nothing to do, no turns to take and no way to go wrong. No exertion tugging at his body in face of the long journey he was on. A relief at last. Sometimes, a flicker of sunshine would break through the thick branches above him and cast a soft, warming light on his face. But he would not open his eyes, he would just-

"Sire?"

Alastor's head, now cocked to the side in confusion, was still hovering above him.

"Just-", Lucifer gave a small cough to clear his dry throat, "listening to some music in my head." He brought up a finger to gesture at his temple as if that would offer a better explanation. The confused smile on Alastor's face stretched into a sinister grin and a soft static noise emitted from the little radio in Lucifer's room and from the first note he immediately recognised the song that was playing - 'Dream A Little Dream Of Me'.

"Oh, yes. That is very helpful. Thank you very much." Sarcasm dripping from every word, Lucifer pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was now around ninety percent sure that he was indeed awake and not dreaming anymore. The uncertainty about what day it was and who was in charge waved away by the lazy movement of his hand as he tried to shut down the radio and change his clothes into his usual get-up, which, to his delight, worked.

At least some grace had been granted to him today.

"So, about your offer", Alastor began again, unfazed.

"What offer?"

"Oh, your Majesty, don't jest! As I've just told you - that you would heal me, of course." The confident smile on Alastor's face left Lucifer uncertain if he had offered any of that sort. But he could not recall in the slightest ever making any offer in that regard. Especially as Alastor's state had only been revealed to him mere days ago. And if he also remembered correctly, the last time Alastor's injury was even mentioned was that same day when Lucifer had his little outburst over breakfast. And alright, he may have been out of line with that, and his reaction was maybe uncalled for if he had just taken a few moments to give the question some thought as to whether Alastor was even in any way capable of secretly dragging Adam's soul here without any help from Lucifer. And he might have come to the conclusion that, no, a mere sinner like Alastor was definitely not capable of doing something like that.

But could he really be blamed for thinking so in his sleep-addled mind?

Everyone would have been just as confused and on edge after having the worst 72-hour nap of their life. Having a full welcome committee waiting for him in the kitchen directly after waking did surely not help either.

Absentmindedly, Lucifer rubbed his face. "Uh. Can't recall any of that."

Also - that unbearable stench of Heaven wafting over from Alastor. It set Lucifer on edge in every possible way, as unwilling as he was to admit it. The scent so incredibly foul, it would surely make him gag if he focused on it any longer. Alastor smelled as if he had just stepped down from Heaven; never a day spent in Hell before to give it the opportunity to drench him with another rotten stench that could be found at every corner down here - but would have been preferred by Lucifer to what he smelled like now. And it only got worse.

At this point, Adam's energy radiated off of Alastor as if he had been dipped into a pool of radioactive material, contaminating every cell in his body. Eating away at his flesh and all of his being, rotting him away in the most divine sense possible. For all Lucifer knew, they would have no need to drag Adam's soul here as Adam 2.0 seemed to manifest right here in his room, in no way less annoying than the original one.

His eyes travelled up to Alastor and Lucifer gave himself a moment to observe him closely. As closely as he had not allowed himself to observe the real Alastor for a while.

He had to admit, the nature of his dreams made it so that he was perfectly fine with avoiding getting a good look at Alastor; firstly, because it was embarrassing to look at him after what Dream Alastor had done to him in his sleep and secondly, because Alastor seemed to always instantly notice when he was observed and would shut down any unnecessary ogling with a pissy attitude and an unpleasantness that Dream Alastor would never dream (ha!) of.

Fully taking in his appearance, it was now so obvious to Lucifer that something was off. Or more than just something. Deep, dark shadows framed Alastor’s eyes and his whole appearance was gaunter than ever. Every muscle around his smile uncomfortably stretched. And it could have been from lying down, but Lucifer was sure that if Alastor got up at that exact moment, his clothes would still look as if they were a size too big for him.

Everything about him unmistakeably pointed to a premature end that would befall him sooner rather than later. The only question was - how many more weeks or days had he left?

Alastor tried hard to appear as put-together as ever, but his current state would not allow him to hold the ill-crafted mask as perfectly in place, threatening to slip any moment. As effortlessly as possible, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put his feet next to Lucifer on the ground. From the edge of the bed, he shuffled a bit closer in Lucifer's direction.

"In that case", he said, his head hovering above Lucifer again, "allow me to propose a deal."

"Ha!" Lucifer laughed, pushing himself into a standing position and forcing Alastor backwards.

"So very desperate", Lucifer clicked dismissively with his tongue as he snapped his fingers, and the colour of his own clothing changed to an all-black, giving him the look of an orator at a funeral. And going by the look on Alastor's face, the joke wasn't entirely lost on him. "There is nothing you could offer me. Nothing I want from you."

"Is that so?" Alastor asked smugly, as he leaned back on Lucifer's bed, the innuendo obvious. And oh yes, Alastor must have been truly desperate to just barge into his room like that, even getting into bed with him. And while Lucifer could not blame him for the good old 'try to catch them off-guard and they will agree to anything' attempt he tried to pull off here, he must have been aware that Lucifer would not fall for a child's play like that.

"Yes. Alastor. That is so."

If he would just simply leave Alastor to die, would Charlie blame him?

Healing Alastor's injury was well within Lucifer's power and Charlie was probably aware of that. And if Alastor wasn't such an uptight, prideful asshole, she might have already asked him to do so. Depending on how much further Alastor would allow his mask to slip in the days to come, this request from Charlie might still come true.

Of course, Lucifer had debated all of this with himself after learning of Alastor's injury. But he was definitely proven wrong, as Lucifer had been absolutely sure that Alastor would prefer to just silently lie down and die before he allowed a dent in his pride by asking Lucifer for help. If one could call this charade asking for help.

It seemed as, no matter how this went, there was an inescapable probability that he would end up helping him.

And suddenly Lucifer knew exactly what he wanted from Alastor.

"Alright. A deal." Alastor's grin stretched wider at those words, pleased with the direction this was going in. "I will heal you of the injury that was inflicted upon you by Adam."

"And what do you demand of me in return?"

"That you ask me for help."

"What?"

Lucifer took a few steps around the bed, delighted by the fact that Alastor could not hide his emotions in face of this proposition. "C’mon", Lucifer mocked him, "ill-mannered guy like you whose full-time job it is to act like a good-mannered guy certainly knows how this works, right? There's a little magic word and a structure to a sentence that does not imply 'Do it', but rather says 'I need your help, and I need it very desperately.'"

Alastor scoffed at his words as if this was just a joke, arrogance seeping from him as he leaned further back on Lucifer's bed. Oh, that arrogant old bastard, as if he was in any position to bargain here.

"Perhaps", and at that Lucifer waved his hand and the two broken halves of Alastor's staff appeared in the other, "this will change your mind."

Pondering, Lucifer weighed the two pieces in his hand. After he had learned of Alastor's injury, Lucifer had to see how that fight went down with his own eyes. And it wasn't exactly hard to find, apparently the whole internet swarmed with footage of said fight, each upload and edit of the scene more humiliating than the last one. It was pathetic, to put it mildly. And if Lucifer had not been locked up in this cage called Home and Hell alike for as long as he was now, he maybe would have thought of Alastor as very brave, the way he was willing to face Adam all alone. Willing to protect the hotel and even ready to die for it in the attempt.

But Lucifer knew that Alastor was not stupid.

Arrogant as he was, but he must have known very well that he would stand no chance against Adam in a fight like that.

And clever as he was, he would have found a way to weasel out of the fight without getting so severely injured.

No, this was the stance of a man who had no other choice than to do exactly as he was told.

Bound to a losing position, unable to flee, no matter how much he may have wanted it in the face of the army of angels befalling him from above.

And that left the question as to who would subject him to something like that?

It must be someone who had an interest in Charlie's success and her well-being - putting Alastor on the job to protect her and her endeavours and maybe even better, dying in the attempt to spur her on even more with his death.

But that someone who was ready to subject Alastor to an almost inevitable death like that must not care for Alastor that much.

And well, who could that be?

Lucifer let out a half-laugh, half-frustrated noise. The answer even more obvious with the broken microphone in his hand. The magic inside of it laying so bare before him. Uncontrolled and weak it flowed out of the broken halves, of no other use anymore except to mock Lucifer in this moment.

Strained, he flexed his fingers around the staff. Usually, everything inside of him was attuned to blend out every memory or thought that would lead him here. The thick fog that surrounded him at all times dulling, but also a protection against his overactive mind.

But with this open wound before him, he could no longer repress. Not now that the magic lay so openly before him, a twitching and spasming nerve, radiating off everything that was so familiar and yet everything that has grown so unfamiliar and strange over time. The blood in his veins reacted to the rhythm of the convulsing nerve before him, a rhythm flowing out from deep within. His head was pounding with an almost unbearable headache, and he could not tell if his hands were shaking or if his whole body was swaying. He tried to steady himself but had no point of orientation anymore - where was the horizon again? Trembling, he brought the staff up to his face, his iron grip around it threatening to shatter it beyond repair. But he was unable to relax or let go of it, anxiety rampant in every taught muscle and in his pounding head, making the microphone itself come to life in his hands and move towards him in a way that screamed threat. As the cold and smooth surface of the microphone touched the skin of his lips he tried to remember the last time he had allowed himself to be this close to her magic? Her memory? On the few occasions he had allowed his mind to explore the possible outcomes of a connection like that, there was fear and hope alike that it would spark something, anything inside of him. A familiar sense of home and safety that would flood him, followed by an unbearable and unspeakable sadness that would drag him down at the prospect that neither could be had anymore.

And so staying away from the memory in all possible senses meant loss of all hope but it was also avoidance of a futile attempt to fill an emptiness inside of him that could not be filled by memory alone and should not be filled anymore, a vast space devoted to a commemoration turned vigil.

The anxiety would not ease. The pounding against his skull would not ease.

And that not even a close memory like this could offer any relief or catharsis, as twisted and hurtful as it might have been, scarred him more than any senseless hope could have. The nothingness of it all threatening to overcome him in a way that the deepest wave of sadness could not have. The painful awareness that now there was nothing left anymore. In his attempt to preserve a sense of belonging, as he constantly told himself if he visited the memory too often it would fade, he had lost it completely.

The painful realisation settling in that the only constant that would ever prevail in this existence was that his existence was prevailing - no matter how unwilling that existence was.

He tried to yank the staff away from his face, but his body was unable to make any sudden movements, every muscle so taut it was close to snapping.

"You are very powerful", his own voice sounded strange to him, hoarse, deeper now, "and you've done a lot of things most could only dream of. But don't forget you're all nothing without me."

His head must have burst open at some point, the throbbing pain dripping down over his eyes, and when he found the will to open them again, everything was tinted in a strange red hue. To his surprise, it was Alastor that was sitting in front of him, watching him closely.

Had he been here before?

Lucifer stared into Alastor's eyes, widened in confusion and shock, unable to look away. A deer caught in his headlights. His claws digging deep into the bedding beneath him. Lucifer wanted to tear away his gaze, but again found his body completely unmoving, his eyes unmoving.

The sight of Alastor like this in front of him stoked a fire inside of him that spread so quickly that it burned away every other emotion in its wake. He swallowed hard past his dry throat.

If he would lunge at him right now, would he be quick enough to escape?

Lucifer was certain that if he could just get a grip on him, Alastor would never be able to get away from him, even less so in his weakened state. It would take no effort at all to pin him down - but Lucifer had to make sure that he was cautious enough and would not use too much force on him as he wanted him conscious for what he was about to do to him.

His jaw dislocating, clamped around his neck, taking in as much of it as possible. His tongue scraping over the exposed skin in a desperate need to know what he would taste like. A will to rip open the skin beneath and suck out Adam's energy. And what would be left of Alastor after he had drawn out all this foreign energy?

Who even was Alastor? What smell, what taste, what sounds would there be without this distraction of all the other diversions that surrounded him? Take it all away and what would he be left with? Just an empty husk, only ever a servant to host what was not him, his own self long lost?

The static noise around them howled like a siren, pressing in on Lucifer from all sides. It was suddenly interrupted by a crackling sound behind him and Lucifer was uncomfortably ripped from his imaginary play as to what other sounds he could elicit from Alastor and his eyes flicked momentarily to the side - it was the radio in his room, springing to life once again.

But before he could register it as what it was - a primitive distraction - the sudden movement before him indicated what his mind registered a moment too late - Alastor was gone. Dragged away by his shadow.

Silence filled the room once more. The howling sound of a siren still echoing through Lucifer's head.

When he tried to deliberately take a deep breath in, his lungs uncomfortably tensed, and he was not entirely sure if he had just simply stopped breathing at some point. Slowly, he allowed the air to fully fill him once again. All fight inside of him left him immediately when he was finally able to will his muscles to relax and his vision turned back to normal, the red hue gone in an instant and with it the pounding headache.

Every nerve in his body felt sore from the exertion when he brought up the staff in front of him once more.

And a soft whisper slipped from his lips that sounded like 'heal' but felt like 'destroy'.

Alright.

Scaring Alastor off like that might not be the best motivation for him to seek Lucifer out and ask him for help.

That much he had to concede.

Alastor was probably left with the impression that Lucifer was mad about his deal or that he was just simply mad, period. But no matter what he thought, Lucifer wanted to set things straight.

Unfortunately, after the incident in his bedroom, he found himself participant in a game of hide-and-seek he had not agreed to.

Alastor had practically vanished, at least from Lucifer's waking eyes. Which was not the worst that could have happened to him, but it also left him with no opportunity to observe any more changes in his condition. Lucifer had often played out in his mind what he could say to Charlie about the inevitability of death and that it would surely take her no more than a few decades to get over it. If at all. A few months surely would do as well.

It could not be that hard to find another mediocre radio host with a questionable character and bad sense for fashion. Lucifer was even willing to give him some fluffy ears as an accessory, an all-time pissy attitude and a smile plastered to his face. What more did it take? He could not be that irreplaceable.

"Oh, Dad! You're here?" Charlie asked as she flipped the switch to turn on the lights in the dining room.

Right.

Lucifer's momentary sleep schedule might have contributed to him not seeing or finding Alastor.

His waking hours mostly narrowed down to a time between deep night and early morning where everyone else was fast asleep. Also, his search might have only extended to the kitchen and the dining room so far, where he tried to drown himself in an ungodly amount of cornflakes.

"Have you tried these? They're incredible!" Lucifer held out the cereal box to Charlie that he had brought with him from the kitchen, the design on it a mix of pale pink and white with an oversized portrait of Angel Dust on it, happily eating a bowl full of 'Fluff's'. His chest was emphasized by the framing between the bowl before him and a long finger that pointed directly at it - unmistakeably also pointing out that the content of the box was in reference to his chest fluff as it was filled with puffed up white little rice balls, sugary-sweet.

"Why are you sitting here in total darkness?" Charlie had made her way over to him and lifted the box from his hand, only to put it down instantly again without even looking at it.

"Was I?" Lucifer turned back to the bowl in front of him and turned the cereal box around so he could continue solving the puzzle that was printed on its back.

Charlie let out a sigh and said in a tone that was not unfrustrated, "I wanted to talk to you these past days. I could not find you anywhere."

"Oh, yeah? What's up?" Lucifer's eyes were fixed on finding a way out of the labyrinth before him, his hand bringing another spoon filled to the brink with cereal up to his mouth. He knew what she was about to say and it was extremely important to stay focused on the task ahead, which was printed on the back of his breakfast.

"We have a meeting with Heaven."

"That's great, Sweetie! How did you manage that?" Damn, where was the exit out of this labyrinth? Did he take the wrong path?

"Well, we didn't do anything. There was an invitation already waiting for us at the Heaven Embassy." Her tone implied that she thought Lucifer was at fault that they did not know about this sooner. He avoided her probably accusatory look by keeping his eyes fixed on the puzzle in front of him. He could not remember the last time he had looked at his phone or where it even currently was as he had no longer any use for it since he had moved in with Charlie.

And not knowing where it was made it so much easier for him to ignore every incoming call, although the other Sins had given up on rotating new phone numbers to contact him a while ago, after Lucifer had made a habit out of blocking all their numbers instantly.

And apparently no meeting with Heaven was missed either, which was of no surprise to him.

Heaven would never show any sign of weakness and would not just let an invitation like that be ignored. They had their ways to make it known that a meeting was happening without involving Lucifer.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Told you they would want to meet eventually."

"Well, not me." Charlie shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "Only Vaggie", she added quietly.

"Oh." Lucifer finally looked up at her. Her face was twisted in concern. "Well, it's a team effort, right? She can do this, I'm sure."

"Do you think they would hurt her?"

"In Heaven?" Lucifer let his eyes wander and gave it some thought. "No, I don't think so." This did not seem to have the calming effect on Charlie Lucifer had hoped for, so he quickly added, "Heavily mutilate you and create a new realm to punish you for eternity? Absolutely. But just, like, plainly kill you? Not their style."

The lights above them suddenly started flickering violently. Lucifer raised his eyebrows at that, giving Charlie a questioning look.

"That's just Alastor, I think." She shrugged and turned away from Lucifer to leave again. All business. "Not sure what he's up to these days, I haven't seen much of him. He must be ... busy." At the last word, she stopped. Looking down at her hand, tapping the table nervously, thinking. And there it was - Lucifer knew that she would give in at some point and ask him for help.

She opened her mouth, half-turning back to him, but was interrupted by the arrival of Vaggie in the dining room.

"Heard about the good news!" Lucifer exclaimed in a tone he hoped sounded happy and lifted his hand to give her a thumbs up but his body must have suddenly forgotten what muscles he had to exert for this particular gesture and so he ended up just awkwardly flexing his fingers and put his hand back down quickly again. "I'm sure it'll go ... great!"

Vaggie nodded and was about to say something when her face shifted to confusion as she caught sight of what was sitting in the chair right next to Lucifer. "Is that Alastor's microphone?"

The temperature in the room must have gone up a few degrees because Lucifer suddenly felt hot. He made a small gesture towards it, as if to present it to them. "Ah, yes. Practically new, see?"

"But why do you have it?"

Lucifer was not sure if the big, red-lettered 'obsession' that was imprinted on the inside of his skull was visible from outside. "I fixed it. Just didn't have a chance to give it to him yet." And that wasn't even a lie. Not entirely, at least. Thankfully, Charlie and Vaggie seemed not interested in further questioning him on that and also agreed to discuss anything regarding the meeting with Heaven after breakfast and left the dining room again to prepare a spread in the kitchen for everyone. With a wave of his hand, Lucifer turned off the lights again.

From behind him, a soft light illuminated the room, announcing the dawn of a new day.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a relieved sigh. He thought himself ready to face them all again, face the talk about the meeting with Heaven and what the plan was - but the slight tremor in his hand told him otherwise.

He reached for the staff beside him and gave it a good squeeze. He had done great work with it. Gently, he let his fingers run over it and stopped at the point where it was broken before, now smooth as ever. Someone who didn't know better would never be able to tell that it once was damaged. Cautiously, he twirled it, pleased at how the weight felt in his hands.

Since the day he had manifested it, he had exchanged his own staff for Alastor's. He brought it wherever he would go, just as he would his own. Well, maybe he handled this one with a bit more care.

He would put it in the seat next to or across him at the table, enjoying the silent company it offered. Hours must have passed where he did nothing else but let his fingers run over the smooth surface, just as he did now.

He leaned further back in his chair, tipping it over to rock back and forth. Hands clutched around the staff; he closed his eyes for a moment.

A small vibration from beneath his hands made him open his eyes again. He found himself lying on one of the sofas in a sitting room close to the kitchen. Right, he had allowed himself some rest while the others prepared breakfast for everyone else. He flexed his right hand, loosening the grip it had on Alastor's staff that was tightly clutched against his chest. He lifted his hat up and away from his eyes which he had used to block out the bright lights from above. Lucifer was surprised to find Alastor standing behind the sofa, staring down at him, an unreadable smile on his face.

"Well, that was easier than I had thought." Lucifer quirked an eyebrow at Alastor. The hiding was over.

But Alastor remained silent, just eyeing him warily from above, not a particular identifiable emotion on his face. Lucifer reached for Alastor's hand which rested on the back of the sofa, but Alastor pulled it away before they could come in contact.

"Oh, good. Not a dream then", Lucifer murmured and forced himself to sit up. "I've been looking for you", he added with a stretched yawn.

"It seems like you have found me", Alastor replied. "And where have you wandered off to?"

Lucifer slumped against the back of the sofa, letting his head fall backwards to look up at Alastor. The shadows around his eyes were even darker now and he must have lost a few more pounds, if he had even any to spare anymore. When Lucifer had made his way down to the kitchen earlier, armed with the mission to fill himself up with as much Fluff's as possible, he could not fail to notice that the hotel sported the swamp design again that Alastor apparently so loved.

But maybe it was not so much about what he preferred anymore but what took the least of effort. The scenery not as detailed as Lucifer remembered it from the beginning when this whole ordeal of their deal had started. Lucifer had also not failed to notice that his own room remained perfectly normal and untouched. And he was even given free reign over his own clothing choice.

"Look", Lucifer began, bringing his hands and with them the staff closer to his chest again. "I'm not mad at you. In fact, I don't really care if you have a deal with her or what the stipulations of that deal are. I'm aware that she was always the more influential part in this realm and part of that involved having deals with a lot of demons. I'm also aware that your deal probably dictates that you can't talk about it to anyone and that serves me very well because I definitely don't want to hear anything about it." Would you look at that, what a short rehearsing over a few days could do.

Alastor stepped around the sofa in front of him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

"Why what? What good would it do me to know?" Lucifer shrugged his shoulders and let himself sink a little more into the cushions of the sofa. He was so goddamn tired.

"What if it's anything concerning this hotel?"

"It most definitely has something to do with that or else you would not be here."

Alastor gave him a look that was for someone in his position, practically clawing at death's door, way too pitying. Who was he to look down on Lucifer if Alastor could not even get over his pride for once and say the word 'Please'?

"It is very refreshing to hear that you're as interested in the endeavours of your own daughter as ever, Sire."

"I'm here, am I not?" Again. Lucifer sighed and thought about giving Alastor a good hard kick in the shin. Sadly, he would probably just topple over at that and never get up again, frail as he was now. There was no fun in that.

Alastor's gaze travelled cautiously over to his staff, still held closely to Lucifer's chest. He opened his mouth to say something but seemed to decide against it and just glanced back at Lucifer, eyebrows furrowed, the question unspoken but not unheard. The staff slightly vibrated again in Lucifer's hands, just like it had moments before as it had woken him up. Had it done that before? Lucifer could not remember, but his attention may have been focused elsewhere the past days. But this was the first time he was in close proximity to Alastor since he had repaired his staff.

Lucifer loosened his grip a fraction and slowly tipped the microphone in Alastor's direction, the vibration increasing. It was almost as if it buzzed in joyful anticipation of a long overdue reunion with its rightful owner. How very curious. Alastor tried to reach for it, but Lucifer snatched the staff out of his reach before he could get a hold of it. Alastor simply scoffed and rolled his eyes at this little game.

"Listen. It's yours and I will give it back to you the moment you're not on death's door anymore." Lucifer got up and clutched the microphone behind his back, not unhappy about the faint buzz of energy it emitted in Alastor's presence. "I know that it amplifies your powers and that you will try to heal yourself with it as soon as I give to you and I also know that this would instantly kill you in your current state."

"Why, I'm flattered to know that the King of Hell is so concerned about my current state. Why don't you just heal me then?" And Alastor was right, there was concern in Lucifer's voice. Even if he didn't like to admit it. He had thought about just leaving the staff outside of Alastor's room or somewhere else for him to find. But he was also sure that he would instantly try to use it to stitch up his wound, which was definitely not just a mere wound that could be stitched up anymore. Amplifying his powers at this moment would most definitely kill him. And Lucifer had no desire at all to be in some way responsible for that.

"I told you what I want."

"Keep it, then." The grin on Lucifer's face faltered as Alastor turned to leave. What? He surely had heard wrong. What was he waiting for, that proud old asshole? Was it so much to ask for a simple 'Please' that he would rather die? Alastor must be aware that he had no other options left.

Lucifer tried to reach for Alastor's sleeve but stopped shortly before he could grab it. Alastor gave him a surprised look at that, eyebrows raised, questioning. Lucifer put up his hands in a defensive position just to show him that he would make no other effort to touch him.

"Alright, then." Lucifer said, quietly and defeated. And with that, Alastor disappeared in a spiral of black.

Chapter Text

Alastor

Accompanied by an angry screech of static and a blast of air that rippled through the scenery around him, Alastor manifested in his room. Fury tugged at every overexerted muscle around his mouth, making his upper lip curl upwards and allowing a deep growl to escape his mouth. 

Asking him for help? Begging like a common sinner?

As if he had no other choice than to ask that sorry excuse for a king that they all were stuck with for help.

Murder on his mind, Alastor stomped through the grass, his anger muffled by the soft ground, when he was suddenly forced to stop in his tracks as a sharp pain shot through his whole body. With a groan, he clutched at the front of his jacket, trying to push the pain that tried to break free back down and away. But it did not ease, an invisible weight on his back forcing him to bend in on himself. His legs not strong enough to hold him upright anymore, Alastor let himself fall to his knees. His claws dug deep into the cool ground as he tried to steady his position and breathing alike. But he found that he could not inhale, not fully at least. A stinging sensation in his chest forbade him to take in as much air as he would have needed to fill his lungs properly. Helplessly, Alastor gasped for air, the repeatedly short intake of oxygen causing a panic to well up inside of him. As black spots danced before his eyes, his vision started to blur. He felt his arm, which still held him in a somewhat upright position, give in and he decided to roll onto his back before he could crash into the ground face forward. The grip on his jacket tightening, his claws burrowed into the wound underneath his clothes with the same ease as they had dug into the soft ground just seconds ago. 

Alastor tried to focus all strength he could muster on getting his breathing to a steady rhythm again, tried to teach his body anew how to breathe in fully. But his body proved an unwilling student, and started to rebel against the force that was exerted on it. Not willing anymore to give in to the violence that Alastor inflicted upon it in an attempt to keep the symptoms of his wound in check. Mind and body not willing anymore to live in peaceful unity as they once had, now fighting an unrelenting war over who could overpower the other. The panic that still clawed on his insides feverishly calculated his odds of survival if a small outburst of rage already had this extreme effect on his body. The estimate was concerning, to say the least. 

Every new rising sun that he opened his eyes to he was surprised and relieved alike that he still did so. But the relief would never last long, his body always at the ready to give him a new rundown on his condition and how it had worsened again over night. If he drifted off into sleep voluntarily and not by the will of his overstrained body, he always wondered if it could truly get any worse. 

He forced his eyes open again and allowed himself a moment where he would just watch the softly swaying tree crowns above him, moving to the rhythm of the faint breeze that blew through his room. Alastor slowly relaxed the desperate hold he had on his jacket to loosen his bowtie. In one angry move, he ripped it from his neck, his hand painfully slamming into the ground. 

It was utterly pathetic that it wasn't even noon yet and his weary body already screamed exhaustion, begging for release - sleep and rest. A few hours of barely being up did him in as if he hadn't slept for weeks. Which, he had to concede, may not be entirely untrue. 

Lurking in front of Lucifer's door at every possible occasion, as silently as possible, just to see if he could make out any noise or movement from the other side. 

But no matter how hard or for how long he had pressed his ear against the dark, cool wood, there was no sound to be heard from inside. 

After the incident in Lucifer's room Alastor was not too concerned at first when there was no sign of living from him. It wasn't uncommon for Lucifer to drown in an endless slumber that could easily last for days. Still, Alastor was always able to make out his existence when he would stop at his door. But whenever he had stopped by the past days, there was just - nothing. He couldn't hear him, couldn't feel his presence. The silence was so loud that his mind would start to play tricks on him and make him believe he had heard something. But when he tried to focus on this non-existent sound that could only be heard inside of his own head, he felt his senses muddying even further after lurking in front of the door for too long.

Pictures of that day would play over and over again in his mind - how Lucifer had waved his broken cane into existence, the mood set on their usual mildly antagonistic bickering. And Alastor took that little magic trick as just another attempt to taunt him, and not an entirely unsuccessful one at that. But his microphone, not able to withhold anymore in its broken state what was impossible to be communicated otherwise and freely giving away the secret on who had imbued it with the power it once held, struck a nerve inside of Lucifer. 

And where Lucifer had stood before, he disappeared and something else broke free. Red, pointed horns pushing from his forehead, his voice accompanied by a deep, ragged breath as if he was in pain and so unlike his normal tone. And when he finally spoke, it was hard to make out what he was even saying. His deep red eyes unsettling in a way his usual soft expression would never be capable of, no matter how many buttons had been pushed to get him on edge. When Lucifer's stare eventually fell onto Alastor, he almost seemed - surprised? But the flicker of surprise was gone in an instant, the look on his face shifting into something that Alastor was more than familiar with - a stance, a glance that screamed hunt. But Alastor was completely unfamiliar with being the one who that look fell upon. He found himself frozen in place, glued to Lucifer's bed, unable to move, unable to look away. The cold realisation that he was the one in front of the crosshairs anchoring him to the spot. 

As they had stared into each other's eyes, the wound across his chest began to throb painfully, the rush of blood and the rubbing of his clothes against it emitting a spark that pushed into action a Rube Goldberg machine inside his own body. Striking nerve after nerve, the spark that travelled through his system lit each of them up. Slowly, complicated but purposefully, until it had finally reached its destination - a corner of his conscience that whispered to him, ‘Do it.’

Do it, do it, do it - it echoed inside his head. 

He could feel how the words had pushed further through his insides, found their way through his vocal chords, settled on his tongue, ready to be formed and spoken out loud. And his only thought was - what would it feel like to be ripped open by Lucifer, right here on his bed? How long would it take for him to die in his current state? How much or little would it take? Odd exhilaration bubbled up inside of him at that.

But before he could make a sound or even move a muscle, he noticed in his peripheral vision what Lucifer made out a second too late - his shadow manipulating the dials on the radio, causing a distraction by it. 

And when his gaze momentarily shifted, Alastor was forcefully dragged away by it into a deep, black void. Away from Lucifer.

It was strange.

Strange, when he had found Lucifer again and he was nothing like what he had been like in that moment. Clutching his - now repaired - cane like it was something precious. An almost desperate grip on it. But apart from that, he appeared calm, peaceful. A stark contrast to how they had parted on their last encounter. And when he had laid eyes on him again, Alastor knew that he had to fear no punishment or retaliation from what Lucifer had learned about him that day, but it left him none the wiser. 

He tried to hold onto the image a few moments longer, but a deep, all-encompassing fatigue dragged his eyes shut and pulled him away.

The high-pitched screech of an electronical guitar ripped Alastor from his sleep. He was surprised to find his surroundings plunged into total darkness - how long was he gone for? As he sat up in the grass, a blanket fell from his shoulders. A token from his over-sentimental shadow, which peaked sheepishly at him from behind a tree trunk. Annoyed by his shadow's antics as of late, he tore the blanket away. Alastor did not know if it was worried for him or its own existence, as his end would inevitably mean an end for both of them. 

He felt drunk and hungover alike when he staggered towards the part of his room that was not permanently transformed by his magic. A shiver ran over his entire body as he made his way to the bathroom, a dizziness settling behind his eyes. When he had finally managed to wrench away all clothes from his body, he involuntarily caught sight of himself in the mirror. Stumbling, he took a few steps towards it and started to examine his mirrored self. Something he usually tried to avoid lately. His wound - a deep, angry cut across his whole chest - did not look like any other wound he had ever seen. In life and afterlife.

Scarcely held together by the magical stitches that Alastor had applied to it, it was not closed up entirely but rather looked as if it would burst open any moment. The edges around it were swollen and uneven, the skin ripping open further where the stitches tried to hold together what seemed impossible to be held together. All of that would have not been particularly concerning to him, if not all of his blood vessels that lead away from it weren't tinted in a black-ish colour. Like branches on a tree, they spread out from his chest over the rest of his body. He could observe how the rot spread further and further each day, the end of every dark vessel lit up in a golden hue like a fuse to a bomb that extended instead of shortened itself. The outcome no less threatening. A sickness that had grown to live inside of his body, he could feel the black vessels sway, roll, twitch under his skin. They seemed to breathe to a different rhythm than he did and left him with the uneasy feeling that he was not the only inhabitant of his body. That his hands and feet still remained untouched by it made him believe that he still had time. There must still be time. Time to find a cure. 

Cleaned up and freshly dressed and with a premonition that this simple task may already be everything he would be able to do all day, Alastor found himself in the dead silence of the hotel as he stepped outside of his room. All floors completely empty, no conversations to be overheard, no echoing footsteps, no faint chattering from the reporters outside, no ensuing chaos - nothing. 

It was too late and at the same time too early for any residents to be up. 

For a moment, the idea passed his mind to stop at Lucifer's door across the hall to hear if he was still there. But the exhaustion that sat in his sore muscles convinced him to use the little energy that he was left with to get safely down the stairs. His shadow tugged at his pant leg and Alastor gave into it, no real input from his side and just a vague trust that he would land anywhere near the kitchen. To his surprise, the light was switched on, but the room appeared dormant. Only the faint rumbling of some electrical appliances filled the space. Uncertain if someone had simply forgotten to turn off the lights, he peaked through the open door into the dark dining room and immediately recognised the silhouette that was sitting at the table shrouded in half-darkness. 

Lucifer. 

"What are you doing here?" Alastor asked, his tone more accusatory than he had intended. 

Now idly standing in the door frame, disturbing the little light cone that shone into the dark space, his body cast a long, slim shadow across the table. 

"You are aware that I live here, right?" Lucifer said, but only after he had stuffed his mouth with a spoon full of cereal, as Alastor unhappily noticed. "Oh, hey-", he chewed, "another word for arrogant, eleven letters?"

Lucifer grabbed the pastel-coloured box in front of him and held it out to Alastor. He took a few steps into the room and reached for it, displeased with himself that he almost slumped into the chair next to Lucifer. Silently, he stared down into Angel's happy face with his full bowl in front of him on the package. Angel's long finger pointed at his chest and Alastor absentmindedly brought up a hand to his own chest and pressed slightly against the wound that was hidden beneath his jacket. The pain had somewhat settled from when he had fallen asleep, everything shoved to the back of his mind into a muted hum, just a familiar sting now that had accompanied him for weeks and months. He felt numb.

Alastor dragged the package back onto the table, turning the front away from him. 

"You don't eat?" Lucifer asked, still chewing on his meal. His tone quiet, but curious. Alastor's gaze was fixated on the cereal box, his eyes only able to make out blurry shapes without the help of glasses. With a squint, he could half-guess, half-read what was written on it. 

"Pretentious."

"What was that?" 

"A synonym for arrogant, eleven letters - pretentious." Alastor glanced at Lucifer sideways and saw how his face lit up. He grabbed the box and his eyes quickly flitted over the word puzzle.

"Oh yeah, you're right!"

Alastor hadn't paid any mind to how much time had passed after he had further slumped against the back of his chair. His eyes idly wandered from an undefined point in the room to Lucifer, who was just shoving an endless amount of sugary sweets into his mouth while busying himself with solving the other puzzles that were printed on the package, and back to nothing. Alastor noticed how unusually quiet Lucifer was, normally blurting out every thought that crossed his mind. For once, the silence between them was only broken up by the crunching noises he made.

Alastor found himself annoyed that he was annoyed at that. That he preferred the mindless chatter to the quiet, even if it was not awkward or uncomfortable. The realisation of that did nothing to improve his mood. 

After another shift of his gaze from nothing to Lucifer, he noticed that dawn had broken. Casting a muted red hue through the windows, it softly illuminated the dining room. 

At some point the others must have joined them, but Alastor could not remember if he had said anything, had reacted to anything. He felt as if he was just another piece of furniture, idly waiting around in the dining room until someone had any use for him. A half-waken, half-asleep state which dragged him further and further down in his chair. 

When a pale hand appeared in front of his face, his vision snapped back into focus. 

"Good morning", Charlie said in a voice strangely quiet and soft, as she first held Alastor's mug in front of his face and then set it down on the table. Steam lazily wafted off from the dark liquid inside of it. She cautiously placed her fingers on the rim of the mug and slowly turned it, the porcelain gently scraping against the wood of the table. When the 'Oh Deer!' lettering finally faced him, she let go of it. 

He looked up at her, an expression hushing over her face that he could not make out fast enough as it was quickly replaced by a bright smile.  

"Thank you, my dear", Alastor said and was left with a light tap on his shoulder. 

"Alastor? A quick word?" Charlie called out after him as he was leaving the kitchen on his way to- somewhere. He could not remember why or when he got up or where he was even headed to. Heavens, what was wrong with him?

"Of course, how can I be of help?" He swivelled around, a toothy smile on his face. The mask perfectly in place.

"Has my dad talked to you about the meeting with Heaven?" She asked as they stepped outside into the hall. 

"He hasn't mentioned anything to me as of late, I'm afraid." 

"I'm-", Charlie folded her arms in front of her chest, a pained expression hushing over her face, "not quite sure what his plan is. I was under the impression when you both talked to Vaggie to get a meeting with Heaven, you or he had some kind of plan. But now he's just always like 'I'm sure it will be alright!', 'I'm sure it will go great!', 'Maybe they will heavily mutilate her but hey, probably nothing worse!'" She scoffed at that last part, unamused. Her arms tightened over her chest. When Alastor did not reply to any of that, she continued, "It feels to me as if he isn't particularly interested in us talking to them but more like them talking to us. As if he knows more than he lets on." She looked up at him, a pleading look in her eyes. "I just thought ... maybe ... he said something to you?"

Alastor opened his mouth in reply but was interrupted by Lucifer, who was exiting the kitchen, momentarily stopping as he caught sight of them both. 

"I-, oh, uhh-", he stammered. 

Poor, idiotic Lucifer, who would always turn into an anxious mess when he got into any social situation where he did not know what to say or how to react. As if he hadn't lived for a billion years already. His stuttering almost gave the impression that he had caught Charlie and Alastor in a particular compromising situation and not just them having a normal, unheated conversation in the hallway. 

They both gave Lucifer a questioning look. Lucifer's gestures just as stuttering as his words, he tried to communicate what his words failed him to. "I-, okay. Just-" He brought his hands up and put them together as if to gesture to them that he would just squeeze past them - in a hallway that was wide enough to fit at least five people walking side by side. He stopped halfway, seemingly remembering the essentials of human communication. "What about a game?" He blurted out.

"A ... game?" Charlie asked, her eyes narrowed in confusion at the odd question as she let her arms fall back down. 

"Yes, like chess? Or something else? I thought it could be- fun!" Alastor could not see Lucifer's face, but the vision of it was clear in his mind at the anxious tone of Lucifer's voice and the excessive gesticulating. 

"Dad, we still have a lot to do before Vaggie leaves for the meeting with Heaven. You remember that, right?" Charlie tried for an excusing tone, but her choice of words could not hide the patronising tinge. 

Lucifer immediately waved it off, "Oh, yeah. Sure! Of course! It was just ... an idea." He turned to leave again, giving Alastor only a quick look, a strained smile on his face, before he turned back to Charlie, "Well, see you later, then." 

After Charlie gave him a quiet "Okay, bye", they silently stared after him for a while as he made his way to the stairs, probably back up to his room. Alastor's smile widened uncomfortably at the sight of his microphone that Lucifer still carried around with him as if it was his own. 

"Would you rather have her not leave for the meeting with Heaven?" Alastor asked, picking back up their conversation. He was positively annoyed at how slowly his mind processed anything lately. Usually, in a conversation like this, he would have played out every possible scenario in his head before Charlie even thought about talking to him. But now his head felt as if it was filled with cotton, making it impossible for him to waft through and grasp anything. It made him feel uneasy, vulnerable almost. He had no idea what Lucifer had planned or what to make of his behaviour. To him, he was just the same as he always was. Anxious and useless. It had not even crossed Alastor's mind to think he could have any ulterior motives or that there was something he did not share. Did he not just blurt out any thought that he ever had instantly? The silence at breakfast left him with the impression that he simply had no thoughts to share for once, because thinking of Lucifer as the quiet, scheming genius was just so very odd to him.   

"It's not that, I just-", Charlie sighed. "Are you alright?"

The question caught Alastor by surprise. Charlie had not asked him how he was feeling for quite some time, a silent agreement between them to avoid the topic entirely. "Of course, dear. Why wouldn't I be?" Just as the words had left his mouth, he noticed that his skin felt weirdly sticky - he was sweating, profusely so. Charlie's face twisted in concern but before she could say anything, they were interrupted once again. Vaggie stepped hastily out from the kitchen, gently grabbing Charlie’s arm and not paying any mind to Alastor, as she was seemingly in a rush. She turned to her with a “Ready?”, apparently collecting Charlie for whatever business they had. And that Alastor did not know what any of them were up to that day or the days to come was another thing that was concerning to him. Charlie gave her phone a quick look, slapping a hand to her forehead, “Oh, yeah, shit! Let’s continue our talk later!” Alastor did not wait around for them to leave the hallway and allowed his shadow to get him back up to his room immediately when they turned away from him. 

"You can try to stall as much as you want, but we both know that you already lost this round by a mile." 

Alastor was not entirely sure how he had ended up in this situation. 

He remembered how his shadow had helped him to get away from the kitchen in what could possibly be best described as an escape and how it had planted him right in front of Lucifer's door. A not so subtle hint, begrudgingly acknowledged by Alastor. No time for any reprimanding, as he needed to focus all of his energy on willing his body into submission by pushing down the pain that was welling up inside of him and trying to steady his breathing once again, he noticed the arrival of Lucifer behind him a second too late. In the frenzied hurry to get away as quickly as possible, Alastor had completely forgotten that they had just parted ways moments before as Lucifer was making his way up the stairs to their rooms. There was no believable explanation as to why exactly he was lingering in front of his door and in an attempt to hide the predicament Alastor was in, he must have said something truly foolish that promptly landed him in a no way less precarious situation as he had been in the hallway. 

And it was true. As far away as he was from predicting any movements that Lucifer may have planned concerning the meeting with Heaven, Alastor was also completely oblivious to any moves he made on the chess board in front of him.   

"Ah, c'mon, Bambi! Don't sulk. We can play again", Lucifer said, happily slapping his hands together and rubbing them in a very satisfied manner. 

Alastor let out an irritated hum at that proposition. His mind was weak and slow, and he was not in the mood to let his ego be bruised any further by something that he would be absolutely in control of if he wasn't in the condition he was in. With a wave of his hand, Lucifer let the figures rearrange themselves back to their starting positions. 

Each round just as humiliating as the last one, Alastor could simply not win. He wished he had it in him to convince himself that this was only because he was gracious enough to let Lucifer win as he was probably the most pathetic and sad being he had ever met before and he felt pity for him, but it was of no use. Lucifer was as sharp as ever and Alastor as dull as he had never been. Maybe, he thought, his injury was not only of the physical kind and would not ultimately lead to his demise but just leave him permanently impaled until he was just like Adam - dumbed down to an extreme and no manners worth mentioning. At that truly dreadful prospect, Alastor huffed out a laugh. 

"What's so funny?" Lucifer asked, eyebrows perked up and his mouth stretching into a smile, ready to be let in on an inside joke. 

"Looking at His Majesty's face is always amusing to me, that's all." 

Lucifer's grin stretched even wider, "You're a bad loser, you know that, right?"

"I-", it struck Alastor in that moment how easy it would be to just ask Lucifer for help. They were completely left alone, every other resident busy with whatever their schedule dictated. They had not seen or heard anyone for what probably had been hours. It would take no effort at all to just ask him to finally free him from this curse that was bestowed upon him, free him from the pain and help him clear his mind again. But just at the simple thought of that, Alastor felt his mouth clamming shut and his jaw uncomfortably tensing. The words did not come. "I have to leave", he simply stated and when his shadow swept him away, he thought he saw Lucifer's expression shift into disappointment. 

But Alastor did not make it as far as he had planned to. Instead of his own room, he found himself standing in the lobby of the hotel. 

If simply his diminishing powers were responsible for the trip to the bar, as he was not able to make it any further, or his shadow, that had decided it wise to drown every pain and panic in alcohol, he could not tell but he also would not fight it. As soon as he sat down, the tabletop almost spelled out an invitation for him to rest his head on it for just a moment, but the excessive staring that he was subjected to from across the bar prohibited it. A glass filled with golden liquor came sliding towards him and Alastor clumsily caught it. 

"If you don't cease your ogling at me this instant, I will announce you as a very special one-time guest on my next broadcast." 

"Jeez, someone's in a bad mood", Husk muttered as he turned his attention to polish the glass that he had just picked up. Alastor made a mental note to himself to unscrew a few of the bottle caps behind the bar and tighten others just a fraction too tight when Husk would be off somewhere else. He took a sip from his drink and as a familiar and comfortable warmth spread within him, his eyes flitted over to Husk. Alastor could almost make out the chain around his neck, the soft green glow that was emitted from it, the heavy material that connected them, closing the distance between them. But the chain felt slack. It was cracked in some places, and the material was tarnished in other spots, as if it had been dragged under water for too long. Could Husk feel that Alastor's existence was at a vanishing point? That his power wasn't as stable as it used to be?

The concerned looks he found himself the centre of lately proved that he must at least know something was off. But Alastor did not even try to convince himself that Husk was truly concerned for his well-being. More likely that he was concerned with where he could get a cake fast and big enough to celebrate when Alastor would finally succumb to his injury.

"Lost at chess", Alastor mumbled into his glass, almost sulking. Something in a corner of his brain nudged at him to remind him to correct his posture into an upright position, but his body firmly decided that they would stay just exactly as they were, slightly hunched over. 

"That so?" Husk asked, his expression more amused than his tone would let on. “He made me play poker with him the entire day yesterday. Haven’t won a single round against him. That’s what you get for playing against the devil, I guess.”

Alastor's ears perked up at that information. He did what? "Why?"

Husk simply shrugged as he put away the glass he had just polished onto the shelf beside him. "Why does he do anything?" Alastor did not know about this. Which was just another point on the list of things that he once was aware of - knowing exactly what the residents were up to and everything that happened around the hotel, especially if it was an activity that lasted over the course of a whole day - and he now could not keep track of anymore. "You don't see him for days and suddenly he is at every meal and lurks around the lobby. Probably won't last long if I had to bet on it", Husk concluded and picked up an empty bottle from the rack, "Have to get a replacement for this one.” 

For a moment, he stopped beside Alastor and added “But he had asked if I had seen you.”

He eyed him suspiciously at that, observing how Alastor would react to this new piece of information. But Alastor was adamant to keep a straight face to give nothing away, and just stared at him unimpressed. Husk continued his way across the lobby, the sound of his steps accompanied by a soft whistling that echoed around the open space for a while longer before it was swallowed up by the rising static noise that surrounded Alastor. 

Alastor lowered his head onto the wooden surface, allowing himself to enjoy how the cool, polished material felt against his overheated skin. Lucifer had asked for him. And drew Husk’s suspicion by doing so. Was he so worried for him when he was not to be seen over the course of an entire day? It was true, for Lucifer this must have been a strange occurrence - as he was usually the one who would simply disappear for days without giving a warning. With an exhale, Alastor tightened the grip on his drink and hooked a thumb into the front of his jacket. He wondered if any of the others had also noticed that he wasn’t as present as he used to be, missing from whatever meetings, activities or talks that took place over the last days.

He had to drink more if he wanted to ease the pain further. 

"There you are!" Startled by Lucifer's voice, he shot up, the hasty twist of his head leaving him almost dizzy. 

"What are you doing here?" Alastor asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"I live here, remember? I wondered where you wandered off to." Lucifer jumped into a seat at the other end of the bar, leaving a few empty chairs between them. He let his eyes wander over the offerings in front of him and leaned a bit forward as if to check if someone was hiding behind the tall bar. Impatiently, he thrummed his hands against the tabletop. "Man, the service around here sucks, right?" Lucifer asked, as he turned back to Alastor, a wide grin on his face. 

Alastor did not know where the sudden surge of energy came from, but in the blink of an eye he was in front of Lucifer. Looming over him, he placed a hand on the bar to support his weight as he leaned in. Lucifer did not seem fazed in the slightest by that sudden change in proximity between them or that Alastor caged him in like that, his grin only turning more wicked. 

Why are you here? Why are you taunting me? Why are you not helping me?

"Are you following me?" Alastor studied Lucifer's expression and leaned in closer as if the answers to his questions were written somewhere on his face. 

"I don't know, are you that interesting?" Lucifer did not flinch, did not back up. He just watched Alastor with raised eyebrows, grin just as perfectly in place as Alastor's. 

"You tell me." 

"Maybe I was just incredibly thirsty", Alastor's eyes momentarily fell onto his cane which Lucifer had placed carefully in his lap and which he was idly tracing with his fingers. A more narrowed expression on his face and his claws slightly scraping along the wooden surface of the bar, he looked back at Lucifer. Displeased, that he would not be able to just simply snatch back what was his. "Or I wanted to see where you were trying to hide after being so thoroughly humiliated at chess."

For a moment, they just stared at each other, unmoving, except for the motion of Lucifer’s fingers that continued to run over the smooth surface of the microphone between them. 

“What would poor Charlie say if you just left me to die?” Alastor wasn’t stupid. He knew very well that every interaction between them was purely based on when or if he would finally cave in and grovel at Lucifer’s feet to beg for his help, even if non-pleasantries would obscure that on the surface. Every jab, every taunt, every tease just a dance around the deal that Lucifer had proposed. Trying to bargain his way out of having to actively ask Lucifer to cure him by inducing a little guilt in him might have worked the other day, when Alastor had left Lucifer so suddenly behind - his face so defeated in that moment, as if he was ready to give in and surprised that Alastor did not. But now, as his situation grew more dire and he more desperate, Lucifer must know he had the upper hand and that he could humiliate him in any way he pleased. 

“Hmmmm”, he pretended to think about Alastor's question, but in the tone of his voice was nothing but mockery, “‘Dad, do you remember that time we had Alastor? My god, how long ago was that? I think he must’ve died of rabies or something, he loved to dig through the trash.’”

Lucifer did not wait for a reply. Instead, he shifted in his seat, changing his sitting position in a way that brought their faces even closer together. Alastor did not back up. Silently, Lucifer formed the word 'Please' with his mouth, putting emphasis on each syllable, the letters on his breath hitting Alastor's lips. "Is that such a hard word to say? Or is a slow, agonising death what you desire after the first one was so sudden?"

Alastor blinked. The question hitting him like a punch to the chest, it pushed him away from the bar, pushed him away from Lucifer, pushed him away from everything. 

He was back up in his room, surrounded by low hanging trees and tall grass. Irritated, he wrenched his head around, taking in the abrupt change of scenery. He could not make any sense of how he had ended up here. A slight breeze hit him, sending a shudder over his whole body which signalled him that he had to get away. But his mind could not follow what his body seemed to know with an unshakable certainty - that something was not right. As his eyes frantically scanned everything around him, he stopped at the sight of the woods in front of him. He thought he had imagined one of the trees moving. Taking a few cautious steps towards it, he noticed that it was indeed moving, but not in its usual sense - it was flickering, almost glitching. Alastor cautiously stretched out his hand, tried to lay it on the trunk but just reached into nothing. His magic was vanishing. 

“No, it- can’t be”, he pressed out, his feet clumsily backing him up from the tree. Alarmed, he stared from his hand to the line of trees in front of him. The glitching intensified with each disbelieving blink of his eyes. He swallowed hard, the muscles around his smile stretched so far that they twitched painfully. 

He had to get away. Run from it.

But run from what exactly? And where? His body acted purely on instinct, leaving his mind no time to process what was happening around him or what to do about it. He was unable to stop, unable to take a moment to think or make any conscious decision. Only the burning of his lungs broke through the manic haste after a while. Shaking with exhaustion, he tried to catch his breath, hungrily gulping for air. He felt sweat running down his neck and forehead, soaking his hair and clothes alike. When his gasps turned less desperate, he noticed that something around him had changed. He stilled for a moment to listen, his ears flicking nervously to pick up any sound, but there was nothing to be heard anymore. His room usually filled with all sorts of sounds - the wind softly brushing over the leaves on the trees, the faint curling and splashing from the different bodies of water throughout the swampy scenery, the humming and buzzing of critters hidden in the tall, swaying grass - were now all gone. A total absence of all sound, only his own pathetic breathing left to fill the silence. It has to be a hallucination, he thought. It all had to be a dream or a trick, the pieces not fitting into his beknown reality. 

Suddenly, a loud crack ripped through the air, loudly echoing through the spacious woods. But Alastor's addled mind registered a moment too late, what was soaring towards him at a dizzying pace. Before he could even attempt to move a muscle, it crashed into him. The impact so violent as the metal drilled itself into his skull and the soft matter behind it, it sent him flying backwards, his body crashing into the hard ground. 

Barely recognising how the pain from the harsh impact rushed through him, he could only focus on the fact that he was unable to see. 

All light gone from his sight, he was only left with the flashing of erratic twitching bolts of lightning before his eyes. He had no control over the frantic movements of his body, the convulsing of his muscles. Something was clawing, gripping at his feet as if it wanted to drag him away. He tried to struggle against it, kick at it, but the something seemed to escape every pathetic attempt of his legs to free themselves. A screech so loud that it filled him with a sense of terror rang from it and would not stop until he felt his eardrums finally give in to the blinding sound and left him in total silence again. Fear pressed in on him from all sides as he was losing control over his senses. Unable to resist, he was dragged down into a dark abyss. 

Panting, he forced himself back into consciousness. 

His eyes snapping open, he realised - he could see, hear and feel the woods swaying around him in a dim, calm night. A soft breeze picked up and ran over him, trying to soothe away any pain and panic that still held onto his sore body. He tried to give in to it, tried to inhale deeply, when he could hear it before he could feel it - a loud crack beneath his chest, the breaking of bones. At first, he thought it must have been a sound coming from the woods that surrounded him, but the involuntary contraction of his own body in face of the pain proved him wrong. A renewed rush of panic ran through him as he pressed his flat hand against the sharp ache, trying to contain it. He wanted to get up, get away, but he found that he could no longer move, could only force his back further into the ground beneath him. Frantically, he moved his outstretched fingers over his ribcage. A simple injury like this would usually not mean much to him, would heal up in no time, but the feeling of his other bones violently twitching and twisting beneath his touch left him nauseous, left him with the premonition that this was not the end of his suffering. He could feel them slowly starting to give in to the pressure of being bent too far. Splintering apart like rotten wood, the jagged bones effortlessly ripped through his flesh and jacket alike, sticking out of his chest at odd angles. Alastor tried to scream, tried to make any sound, but only a strained, gurgling groan escaped him at the loss of air in his lungs. His claws found the front of his jacket and shirt and ripped them away in one desperate move, revealing his wound. He pressed his chin to his chest, but he could no longer see the slash across his skin, could no longer make out the pathetic attempts at stitching it up - everything was covered in blood that was now pouring out from his torso. There was so much red in his vision that he felt all of his being merging seamlessly together, leaving him unable to tell if there was even any substance left to him. Trembling, his hand gestured around the bones that stuck out of his upper body. His thoughts were webbed up in a sticky matter that once must have been his brain, unable to find their way through his system. As he caught sight of his shaking hand, he recognised that the tips of his fingers were lit up in a golden hue. The fuse had found its end, had finally reached his extremities, the end of line. With no room left to extend further, his veins widened with each throbbing pulse, the black of them filling up every space that was not already soaked in red.

Entranced and horrified alike, he could only helplessly watch the violent transformation of his body. Or was it even his anymore? His brain refused to believe that it was truly his own that he was observing. As he tore away his gaze from the golden light underneath the dark skin of his hand that grew almost blinding in its brightness, he caught sight of his heaving chest. But it was not the intake of breath that moved it - something else, something foreign was stirring inside of him, inside his chest. As if trapped beneath the shattered bones, it squirmed around - pressing against the broken cage, testing the limits of the constraints that Alastor’s body still held. 

For one long, agonising moment, it stilled - only to crash through the opening that the wound across his chest offered a moment later. Long fingers clawed into his skin, trying to hoist up after them what was still hidden inside his broken body. All of his nerves must have burst into nothingness at some point, leaving no carrier in his system to process any pain - all of his existence narrowed down into a single event horizon. The edges of his injured skin finally gave in and tore open over his chest, allowing a tall figure to break through. Alastor’s blood dripped heavily like black tar from its silhouette as it stepped over him. Beneath the dark veil, only a wide stretched grin that revealed a perfect row of white teeth was visible, but he had no doubt of who it was that was standing over him - Adam. 

Senses blurring, thoughts racing into nowhere, it was as if Adam was the last resource of energy that Alastor had inhabited but was now ultimately robbed of as he had stepped out of his frame. He felt his existence dwindle, leaving only one lightless tunnel, darkness pushing in on him from all sides. But his body was not willing to give in yet. 

Desperate cough after desperate cough that brought up more and more blood from his insides, he tried to get up and away again, away from the unmoving Adam, away from everything. His eyes transfixed on the impassive figure of Adam, he only recognised the other shape standing beside him when a black, shiny boot slammed Alastor back into the ground. Firmly lodged beneath his collarbone, it left him no room to struggle. Alastor winced as he raised his bleary gaze, his vision blurred and almost blacking out. Red, haunted eyes glowed unwavering down at him and smoke billowed from the mouth of the other silhouette with every spoken word. The voice so low and distorted that the words could almost not be told apart from a threatening growl. 

"I can heal you of the injury that was inflicted upon you by Adam."

"And what do you demand of me in return?" Alastor did not recognise his own voice, not only because it was barely audible between the amount of blood he was coughing up, but it was also shaking, absent of any filter, the desperation in the face of death clinging to every sound he made. 

Lucifer leaned in closer, his face menacingly hovering above Alastor and his boot digging even deeper into his flesh. The sound that tried to escape Alastor drowned in a pitiful gurgling. 

"Everything."

It was gone. His magic - it was gone, Alastor realised, as he opened his eyes again. 

Drenched in sweat and his insides boiling hot, he could only half-heartedly acknowledge that his body seemed to be whole again, or at least whole in the sense he had grown accustomed to in the past months. It did not matter to him - the loss of his powers worse than any corporeal punishment or torture that he could ever be subjected to. His room was not transformed anymore. If not for his own interior, the room would have been indistinguishable from every other one the hotel offered. He tried to snap his fingers, tried to magic back into existence what was missing, but nothing happened. There was not even a spark inside of him at the attempt of using his powers - as if the connection had been severed completely. Not even a broken fuse left behind that could be mended back together. Nothing. 

Panicked, he shot up from the ground, momentarily losing his balance and staggering sideways as the throbbing pulse of his head hit him. His skin felt too tight, too hot - everything inside of him was screaming loudly for his attention. His hands clawed into his scalp, almost as if he wanted to rip out every pounding thought that tried to get to the front of his mind. He desperately tried to blink away the impending doom of unconsciousness, he could not faint. Not now. With laboured breathing, he bolted out of the room and was instantly in front of Lucifer’s door. His eyes flitted over the door, unchanged and unwavering as ever in its appearance. Trembling, he brought a hand over the door handle. He had to do it. There was no other option left. But his hand would not move, would only shake violently in its position, hovering above the handle. Deep red eyes stared down at him from his memory, the threatening growl leaving his body vibrating with anguish - ‘Everything.’

As he let his cramped up hand fall back down again, he dropped his head against the door. His antlers scraped over the wooden surface as he tried to press his forehead further and further into the hard material. The tension in his body eased, if only for a fraction, when he brought up a hand again and let it cautiously run over the door, almost exploring in its movement. As he exhaled, he could feel the world around him shifting a bit more into focus. The sound of a faint chirping found its way through to him. Irritated, he turned his head. Only now he noticed that the inside of the hotel was transformed into the usual bayou theme that Alastor often chose on his days, not unlike the one that had just disappeared from his room. But in the many ways it appeared to be right, it was also entirely wrong. There was a detail to it that his design had been lacking for weeks, not possible for Alastor to conjure anymore as his powers had slowly faded. There were birds flying between the branches that were never part of it. Weren’t ever part of his memory. As wrong as it was, it was hauntingly beautiful at the same time. More dream than reality. 

And entirely too much.

It was as if the sight of the pretty lie in front of him snapped him out of a trance, his mind suddenly catching up to where he was standing. Shocked at what he had almost done, he shied away from the door. 

He could not do it. Could never do it. 

Slowly, he backed away from Lucifer’s room before he broke into a run. He tried to call on his shadow, but there was no answer. Unable to see it, unable to feel it anymore, he rushed down the stairs. He did not know where he was running to or what he even wanted to do - when he almost crashed into the small form of Lucifer at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh hey, watch ou-“, Lucifer began but was immediately silenced by Alastor who grabbed him by his lapels, pulling him close with one sharp aggressive move.

“What are you doing here? What are you doing here? What are you doing here?” It broke out of Alastor, desperation clinging to each syllable. Each repetition of it more pleading, each repetition of it cramping his hands even further, tightening the grip he had on Lucifer. It wasn’t a question he needed an answer to, wasn’t a question he even wanted an answer to. But it was all that he knew. He could not remember any other words, did not know how to say anything else. “What are you doing here? What are you doing here?” He almost screamed at him, as it was the only thing that he was left with. 

“Alastor, what…?” Lucifer’s eyes widened, confusion and shock edged into his expression. He brought up his hands, but stopped before he came in touch with Alastor, as if he had remembered something at the last moment. Alastor watched his movements closely, both of their gazes wandering from Lucifer’s raised hands to his own that still held tightly onto the fabric of his coat as if it was a lifeline. He only recognised now that he was covered in blood, leaving behind red marks on the pristine white. As if burned, he let go of Lucifer instantly and pushed him away, his hands shaking. 

“I-“ He stuttered, staggering backwards, his eyes fixed on the bloodied imprints of himself on Lucifer’s jacket. 

“What are you doing here?” Alastor could not tell if he was awake or dreaming. His head hung low, almost resting against his chest while his back was firmly pressed against the wall of a storeroom that he had come across in his panicked escape. Old furniture was carelessly scattered around it, some of it stacked in assemblages so high that they seemed to defy gravity. His eyes were fixed on his bloodied hands that lay unmoving in his lap. Only when she had reached for his ears to climb onto his head and started talking to him, he noticed that he was not alone anymore. 

As she let herself hang down over into his field of view, Alastor grabbed her. A fraction too tight, a fraction too forceful - no real intention to hurt her and only recognised by him as he saw Niffty’s eye widening in shock. He instantly let go of her. Guilt and shame burned up inside of him for not being in control anymore. For not being able to fully recognise what was happening around him anymore. Just a scared, dying animal, backed up into a corner and acting purely on impulse and instinct. He probably would have gotten up and started running again if he had any energy left. He wanted to apologise, wanted to say something - but he could not. Niffty immediately relaxed back into her usual unbothered and cheery demeanour, as if the rough handling Alastor had subjected her to just a second ago had never happened. She let herself fall to the ground, scrambled to her feet and slightly ducked to look into Alastor’s eyes that were fixed on his hands again. “Are you alright?” She asked, as she pushed her tiny hands against the fabric of his jacket.

“I-“, Alastor began and wanted to lie. The mask was there, it would be the most natural, most mundane thing for him to just reach for it and put it on. But he felt so exhausted, his mind and body tired of being assigned their parts in the same old boring play. “I don’t think so”, he said. He thought that the admission would maybe bother him somehow, but he found that he did not seem to care anymore. If anything, it made him feel lighter. 

He raised his tired eyes to look at her, her face twisted in confusion. Hearing Alastor admit to being unwell was something she had never heard before. Her eye narrowed, flitting over his hunched over figure, over his bloodied hands and clothes. She fidgeted, seemingly unsure what to do or how to react, her mind trying to comprehend something it seemed not capable of. 

As Alastor watched her, he thought back to his life on earth - the procedure she was forced to undergo in her own lifetime only a new invention at his time alive. Offered as an alleviation for all sorts of illnesses or hysterics that could befall the brain. Niffty saw his blood stained clothes, saw the blood on his hands, saw the suffering and heard the defeat in his voice - but her mind could not, would not process what it meant. The implication of Alastor’s words were almost torturing her, it left her tiny frame shaking and twitching, as if it was about to break under the pressure. 

“But”, he said, “I think I’ll be in just a moment.” The mask was back in place. Niffty’s expression eased, gladly accepting the lie as truth. Her body visibly relaxed from the weight that had been taken from her. She started babbling away, leaving Alastor unsure if she only did so to forget as quickly as possible about what he had just said. 

His head too heavy to be held up, he let it drop back against the wall with a thud. Only catching a sentence here and there, “Saw you standing in front of his door”, “He never lets me clean”, Alastor did not follow any of what was thrown at him. 

“Aha?” He would reply at random, trying to keep the conversation going with as little input from his side as needed. He almost welcomed being drowned in the mindless chatter, it reminded him of something, but he could not quite recall what it was. 

“I already asked him so many times before, but he won’t let me in. And he put a spell on his room that forbids anyone from entering.” 

The words hung in the thick fog that surrounded his head and were almost swallowed by it, gone unnoticed. But he felt himself reaching for it, as if there was a piece of information hidden in it that was important. It made no sense to him. He did not understand.

Alastor opened an eye, looking down at her. “What?”

“Didn’t you know? He hexed the door”, she told him in a hushed voice, leaning in as she did so, as if she was letting him in on a secret, “so no one can get in.” 

But Alastor had been in Lucifer’s room. 

It seemed to him as if it was an eternity ago when he was lying in Lucifer’s bed, watched how he had stirred in his sleep, witnessed whatever silly dream he had of him. But there was no barrier to cross, no spell that he broke as he had entered his room - he opened his door just as he would every other door in the building. 

Something in the back of his mind tugged at him. Pushed at him, needed his attention. He could not quite grasp it, was lost inside himself for a moment when he realised that it was not just something, but everything all at once that tried to rush him, tried to fill the emptiness that he was now. But it could not pass his narrowed down existence, seemed to be stuck. He could feel it fighting against the fog, struggling against what tried to hold it back. And then - a piece of it broke free. At first, it would only slowly float through the tunnel that was him until it reached the open vastness behind it, then picking up speed, it rushed towards the light, crashing through the surface. And he realised, could finally see - 

The door had always been open. 

Niffty, oblivious to Alastor’s inner turmoil, was still happily chattering about some get-together they had planned before Vaggie would leave for her meeting with Heaven. Apparently, it was the evening before she had to leave and they all wanted to do something fun to ease everyone’s mind. But it all seemed so incredibly unimportant to him in that moment. He looked at Niffty and she looked foreign to him, he heard the names of the others and did not recognise them. It did not matter anymore. “Will you be coming, too?” She asked. 

“Yeah”, Alastor lied, “in a moment.” 

Alastor had lost track of any time. He did not know when Niffty had left. Was it hours, days, weeks ago? He could not tell. In his mind he had always just been here, right in this abandoned storage room. Waiting. Feeling the time ticking away as it finally ran out.  

Black boots cautiously stepped into his vision. Alastor did not want to raise his head at him, could not take any more humiliation. But it was as if an invisible hand forced his head back against the wall to make him see that there was no pity on his face. Lucifer stood silently next to him, looking down at him. His eyes slightly narrowing as he observed him. 

There Alastor was - his hand hovering over the door handle again. But this time, it was as if there was nothing holding him back anymore, no one left to ask for permission or allowance. The link to all control, every restraint he ever had thoroughly severed. Taken away from him, just as his magic had been taken away from him. Instinct his new master, holding the reins and leaving no room for any thought or doubt. Only leaving him room to act. He felt his hand crashing down on the handle, felt it pushing it down and felt the door finally fully open as he stepped over the edge.

"Please help me."