Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a busy evening, chaotic to the point nobody noticed him making his way through the noisy lobby, past the crowded front desk, and directly to the eel Sinner desperately trying to direct the chaos around him.

He pointedly cleared his throat, barely getting a mote of his attention.

“I’m here to see your boss.”

The kid didn’t look up from his tablet, tapping away while muttering into his headset instead of listening, the thing might as well be glued to his ear.

“Mr. Vox doesn’t take walk-ins, you’ll need an appointment,” the kid informed him, still typing away.

“Oh, I assure you,” he reached for the tablet, his dark claws digging into the touchscreen before the Sinner could pull back. With no other option the kid finally looked away from it, recognition and barely concealed panic quickly replacing his previous casual disregard. “He will see me.”

***

The lounge was Lucifer’s favorite addition to the Hotel. It was a cozy space, with comfy chairs, reading nooks and shelves full of books and board games. The charming bric-a-brac was all but custom designed for when you just wanted to lay low and enjoy a moment of solitude— especially after putting yourself out there in an effort to re-integrate in your daughter’s life.

Okay, maybe that was a tad too specific, but he was sure this section of the Hotel was going to be useful one way or another, even if at the moment it was mostly him lounging on his own.

Not that night, though.

As he’d been about to get comfortable in one of the plush chairs, soft snuffling sounds caught his attention, and he turned to find the most adorable hellish little piggy he’d ever seen following him, expression cautiously friendly.

“Well hello there, you sweet baby!”

Lucifer had not fully knelt down when the little pig was already jumping into his waiting arms, and he was not about to turn him down, obviously. He was more than happy to have this cutie patootie for company while he made himself comfortable and read a book. It was great, especially when the lil piggy cuddled on his lap, making happy squeaky grunts while he got scritched to his heart’s content.

Lucifer’s mind was far away, deep in comfortable silence when he heard his daughter’s spider friend enter the lounge, looking for something.

“Nuggs? Where ya at, baby? Daddy’s— Oh.”

The little pig oinked happily in greeting, making Lucifer smile. “That’s his name? Nuggs?”

“Fat Nuggets,” the spider confirmed. Lucifer squinted his eyes, trying to remember the Sinner’s name. “Angel Dust.”

“I knew that,” Lucifer chuckled nervously, sidestepping the fact that he had completely forgotten it even though he had spoken with Angel just that very morning, and it had been a pleasant conversation too! His brain cramps just got the better of him, sometimes.

Angel didn’t seem to take it personally, just rolled his eyes with a smile and sat down on the seat next to him, one set of arms resting on his knees as he scratched Nugget’s chin with a free one. “I see someone’s made himself right at home,” he chuckled, “Ain’t ever seen ‘im warming up to someone that fast.”

“Oh?”

“He’s very skittish, ‘specially with men,” Angel said, looking up with a small smile. “Looks like you won him over.”

Nuggets chose that moment to bump his head against Lucifer’s palm, demanding attention, which he of course delivered.

“Ha, it’s most likely ‘cuz I’m an angel—like, a literal one.”

“Pure angelic power, huh?” Angel chuckled, but shook his head. “He don’t act like that with Vaggie, though. You must be a really nice guy…”

He trailed off, biting his lower lip, one set of arms folded over his chest while the other hugged his waist. Lucifer couldn’t tell if he was unsure of what to say or just uncomfortable in his presence—which was silly because the spider had just told him his adorable pet pig liked him. Probably the best endorsement Lucifer was going to get from anyone in this Hotel.

He just gave it time, massaging Nugget’s little horns, unsure what to say while Angel tapped his foot against the floor, worrying at his lower lip with increased zest.

“Fuck it, my baby ain’t ever been wrong before,” the sinner mumbled, before decisively turning to him. “Look, it’s just—I-I need a favor–”

Lucifer winced. “I uh…. No. Sorry.”

Angel’s lower lip wobbled a little, before biting it so hard Lucifer internally winced.

“Please man, can’t ya at least hear me out?”

Lucifer hugged the hell pig closer, palms already starting to sweat. This was why he avoided the general populace, it always came down to this.

“I-I mean, yeah, sure, I can do that much, but I need to be very clear …I don’t make deals with Sinners,” Lucifer stammered apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“Really? Huh,” Angel looked a bit surprised but not disappointed. “Okay, but I’m not looking to make a deal—learned my lesson with the last one—this is just like, a tiny little favor, no bindings, just— never tell anyone what I’m about to tell ya, that’s it.”

“That’s easy enough…” Lucifer reasoned. He could do that much. “Shoot.”

Angel hesitated for another moment, but his eyes landed on Nuggets again, and that seemed to make up his mind.

“Dunno how to put it nicely, so here goes nothing’ I know where Alastor is.”

Lucifer blinked slowly, trying to put a face to the name and coming up with one almost immediately, despite his reservations concerning that particular Sinner. “The bellhop?”

“Yeah,” Angel confirmed, grimacing. “He uh… he ain’t doing so good.”

Lucifer huffed. “Is that why he hasn't come back yet?”

It had been a few weeks since the exorcist's attack. Lucifer had taken care of the bulk of the Hotel’s reconstruction, including the initial clean up. There hadn’t been much of anything left under all that rubble, and he’d still somehow managed to find a familiar microphone among the destroyed radio tower. The pieces of it, that was.

He was glad that nobody knew he’d kept it, because he couldn’t explain even to himself what had prompted him to pick up the broken thing—probably just a desire to keep it out of Charlie’s sight. As far as anyone knew, Alastor had gotten his ass handed to him by Adam before Lucifer showed up to even out the odds. He’d expected to make fun of the deer demon once he slunk back to the hotel, but that was yet to happen because the bellhop still shone for his absence.

It was annoying.

“Well, yeah,” Angel said, shoulders slumping. “He’s in the V Tower, but—”

“Tell him to get his ass back here, nobody cares that Adam kicked his butt,” Lucifer lied, mostly because he was very much planning to rub it in his face first chance he got. “A blow to his ego is not a good reason to go MIA on Charlie, she’s worried sick.” Lucifer scoffed, folding his arms across his chest, the little pig oinking a few times in agreement.

“...He can’t.” Angel said behind clenched teeth, looking at the ground. “He’s hurt.”

Lucifer shrugged, rolling his eyes. Bitch had dropped a fucking piano on him, he was no wilting violet. “He’s a fucking Overlord, he can walk it off.”

Angel shook his head, golden tooth gnawing on his lip again. “I’m talking hurt bad, yer highness. I—Fuck, I only got a quick peek, but he looked like shit. It’s gotta be real bad or he wouldn’t still be there.”

That… actually sounded plausible. It made him wonder if Adam had done more than simply toss the Sinner around before he’d fled, and when put like that it all quickly became significantly less funny. Lucifer's thoughts were interrupted by the spider Sinner getting up and walking around, like he could no longer stay still.

“I’m sure he can take care of himself…” Lucifer muttered, catching the subtle trembling of Angel’s many hands.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought! I kept thinkin’: ‘Oh, he’s a big-dick scary Overlord, ‘course he can take care of himself!’” Angel said, looking down. “He’s so fucking strong—like, when Adam and his bitches arrived! He got this shield around the hotel, it was massive, and they kept trying to break it but nope, nuthin’.”

“I didn’t see a shield,” Lucifer said,only remembering the unbridled fury of seeing Adam close in on his daughter, and there had been no shield in sight by then.

“Adam broke it,” Angel explained with a sneer. “They fought, and I lost track of Smiles after that, dunno what happened… but it's gotta be nasty, or he would' have gotten outta Vox’s claws by himself.”

Lucifer blinked. “Who the fuck is Vox?”

“The TV Overlord,” Angel explained, gesturing to the window and the view of Pentagram City. “He’s the CEO of VoxTek and, well… the conglomerate that makes the Vees, I guess. They got beef, of the ancient kind. Radio vs TV or whatever,” Angel shrugged, not going into details, and Lucifer suppressed a sigh, already annoyed with Overlord drama.

“Fiiiine. I’ll talk to Charlie—”

“No, nonono,” Angel interrupted, shaking his head and waving four arms in the negative, startling Lucifer in the process. “That’s the favor I asked, yeah? No telling.”

“But—”

“Look short King, Charlie’s my friend, I love her to pieces, but I also know her. She absolutely cannot find out about this.”

“Why…?” Lucifer asked dubiously, raising an eyebrow.

Angel ran a hand over his face. “Cuz she’s gonna march there, and make everything worse.”

“You don’t know that,” Lucifer said, cringing. It didn’t make him sound particularly confident.

“Oh, I totally do! It ain’t gonna help Alastor, and it’s gonna fuck me up. I really can’t afford that happening again.”

“Again…” Lucifer sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “What did she do?”

“She tried to help me,” Angel groaned, rubbing one of his eyes. “I had shit goin’ on with my boss—who is one of Vox’s partners—but it really was none of her business! I told her not to get involved, she didn’t listen. So she shows up at my damn job without even a warnin’! It was a complete shitshow, like—she started a fire on set, and it pissed Val off so much—worst fucking week of my life so far.”

Lucifer wanted to say something, his paternal instinct kicking and screaming to jump up and defend his little girl, despite knowing where Angel was coming from. The rational part of him—the part who knew his daughter damn well, despite what others might think—stayed afloat, and Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the incoming headache.

“I’m sorry… she means well—”

“I know,” Angel said, waving his hand. “We’re good now, that’s not the issue.”

“Then what is the issue?”

“The Vees can’t know we know,” Angel explained. “What if they take Al somewhere else, or off him?”

“Why would they? Overlord fights are flashy and very public, that’s half the point. Why are they being so secretive about this one?”

Angel didn’t answer, which prompted Lucifer to drop his hand and look at the Sinner in the eye. He found himself at the end of a long, searching look.

Lucifer resisted the urge to shift in his seat. He didn’t like the uncomfortable silence.

“...This ain’t yer average Overlord fight,” Angel finally said, his tone far more serious than it had been already.

“What is it, then?” Lucifer asked, confused.

“They’re fucking Alastor,” Angel said with a blank face.

“You— uhm, you mean fucking him up, right?” Lucifer asked, his nervous laugh betraying him.

“No.” Angel finally looked away.

Lucifer slumped on the chair and craned his head to stare at the ceiling, willing himself to remain calm, and think. It took him a moment, one that thankfully Angel gave him by staying quiet, while he petted and petted Nugget’s warm back.

Until a few minutes ago, Alastor missing in action had been nothing more than an inconvenience. He’d simply been waiting for the sinner to show up again so Charlie could stop worrying about him.

There was also the tiny detail that, despite Lucifer’s annoyance, the Radio Demon had helped protect the Hotel—helped Charlie—so he owed him that consideration, at the very least.

Funny how quickly things could change.

Lucifer was familiar with the depravity of Sinners, and after seeing so much of it, there were only a handful of things that never failed to offend him.

This? Yeah. This was one of them.

***

The lobby had gone deathly quiet, dozens of curious eyes watching with apprehension and disbelief. Some people started to put more distance between them but still lingered, while others trampled over fellow demons to get away, which suited him just fine. The poorly disguised chaos his entrance had provoked might be a little amusing, but Lucifer was not looking for entertainment.

This was not a social visit, after all.

The eel boy kept shout-whispering into his headset as if Lucifer couldn’t hear him, all but begging for someone to pick up his calls, and getting no immediate response. He leaned on his cane, carefully keeping a smirk on his face, which seemed to unnerve the intern more every time he checked on him.

“Is this gonna take long?” Lucifer drawled, looking unimpressed. “I don’t have all day.”

“Y-yes, yes—I mean no! No, of course this won’t take much longer, Your Majesty!”

Lucifer adjusted his hat using the apple of his cane, clicking his tongue—making it very clear he was not buying the bullshit this kid was trying to sell him. “Does your boss usually get lost in his own building?”

“Ah, n-no, I mean, uhm—oh, just a sec!” The kid half turned, clutching his headset high. “Sir, please, if you could just—yes, I understand you’re filming, but this is uhm, urgent. Yes, I’m sorry, I’m very sorry but he’s not picking up and—please sir—hello?”

The kid looked at him with terror in his eyes, and Lucifer did nothing to dispel that aura—if anything the sharpening of his smirk encouraged it.

“Something wrong?”

“No, no, right here, please follow me!” The eel boy ran to the side, quickly opening the closest door, followed by another. Lucifer followed nonchalantly, although he was getting tired of this charade. A few more minutes and he was going to start remodeling the building from the ground up.

It was then that an exceptionally tall moth demon rounded the corner, adjusting his fluffy coat and heart shaped glasses as the eel boy reached him. He didn't even let the kid talk before grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and shaking him like a ragdoll.

“Que chingados quieres??”

“Sir, the King—”

Lucifer cleared his throat. The moth demon squinted his eyes in his direction, and after a second he dropped the kid, catching up with what he was seeing. His demeanor changed immediately: standing up to his full height as his smile grew to performative sharpness. Lucifer would know, as a showman himself.

“Your Majesty!” The taller demon simpered. “What a delight, what an honor!”

“Oh, I’m sure…”

The moth did a half bow. “My name is Valentino, please forgive my lateness, I wasn’t informed of your presence,” he said, sending a heated glare in the eel boy’s direction. “How may I service you?”

“I’m here to talk with your partner,” Lucifer said, ignoring the double entendre and pointing to a cardboard cutout of the TV demon. The place was full of advertising, so it wasn’t hard to pick one. “If you would be so kind as to take me to him.”

“For sure, your Majesty,” Valentino said with a slight twitch in his left eye, the shake of one of his antennae betraying his cool demeanor. He half turned, pulling out a long cigarette holder from his coat, gesturing to the hallway with one of his free hands. “Please follow me.”

Lucifer hummed acknowledgement and walked one step apart from Valentino, keeping the symbolic distance despite their height difference and the barrage of pheromones oozing from that pink smoke. Too bad that shit did nothing for him.

The moth demon seemed to be very familiar with the area; not only because he knew the way but because the decor somehow matched him. Considering the mix of styles he had seen so far, this seemed intentional.

“You have no idea what a delight it is to have you here, Your Majesty, one can only dream of having such a distinguished guest, and I’m very much thrilled to see you in person and up close,” he leered, leaning down and winking. “If you are familiar with my work, I’d love to give you a private showing.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched. “You don’t have to. Seriously.”

“Ah, bueno,” Valentino pouted. “But let me know if you change your mind. We’re humbled here at V Tower to welcome the ever fleeting attention of royalty! Is your beautiful daughter visiting as well?”

“Not this time,” Lucifer answered easily, clinging to his temper.

“She looks so much like you… true angelic beauty, you might say.”

“Mmmmhhm.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer tool care to keep pace, desperate to cool his temper before he killed the Sinner and ended up even more lost in this stupid building. He couldn’t help but notice the change on the billboards and posters on display as they got deeper into it. Most of them featured Valentino or the other two Overlords, but what caught Lucifer’s attention was the difference between them. Many were not prints, but paintings.

“These are pretty,” he said in an effort to change the subject, gesturing to the art decorating the wall. “Commissions?”

“Not those, I made them myself!” Valentino said proudly, his chest puffing up and his antennae vibrating in delight at the recognition.

“Really? You’re very talented.”

“Why, thank you! It’s a hobby of mine, squandered but, así es la vida—my work keeps me so busy.”

Lucifer grimaced, eyes trailing over piece after piece of frankly outstanding art. The topic might be repetitive but the style itself captured the eye, possessing flair that surpassed what would merely stand as apt realism. The use of color alone was distinct from more average styles, popping boldly without ever crossing the line to eye-cringing.

“Your clients must be very happy,” he said sincerely, a little saddened. He couldn’t imagine having this kind of skill and squandering it to make a living out of violent sexual exploitation.

“Very few lucky ones…If you like, I’d love to make a portrait of you and your lovely daughter, together,” Valentino purred, purple drool trailing down his chin.

Aaaaand just like that, whatever kernel of goodwill Lucifer had managed to drag up for this piece of shit sinner was swiftly flushed down the metaphorical toilet.

“So you do have a free spot for commissions…?” he asked, eyes shining guilelessly. “My Vizier loves art. If there’s someone with the eye to properly appreciate this talent of yours, it’s him… and he’s very generous with his artists.”

“K-king Paimon?” Valentino squeaked, nearly shaking in excitement as he immediately started patting himself down for a spare business card.

Before they could get further derailed, a set of double doors off to the side were thrown open, making way for a short doll-woman with fancy clothes and perfectly done hair. Angel had mentioned her, even if Lucifer couldn’t remember her name, but guessed she was the remaining ‘V’ they had discussed. Velveeta or something.

“Fuck, that plonker wasn’t lying—” Her angry face quickly switched to a performative smile. “Your Majesty!”

Valentino gestured to the newcomer. “Allow me to introduce you to my dearest partner and number one fashion guru in Pride, Velvette.”

“Charmed,” Lucifer deadpanned, surreptitiously taking a picture of Valentino’s card with his phone and sending it to Abalam with a cheeky ‘new talent!’.

Velvette did something that Lucifer guessed was meant to be a bow but looked more like a choppy dance move, and flicked her hair back into place, giving him a perfect smile. “Pleasure! Are you giving him the tour already, Val? I just got the prototypes for my new collection, and my girls would love to have you for the runway show, your Majesty.”

“So many talented chickies,” Valentino purred. “Velvette can make them look even better when she works her magic. I’d know!”

The moth opened his coat, and for a brief second Lucifer was sure he was about to be flashed, but thankfully the sinner was dressed underneath. Well dressed, at that. Why were so many accomplished people just awful?

“Blue looks so good on him, right?” Velvette boasted, blowing a big pink gum bubble as she gestured at the combo of trousers, shirt and waistcoat, but it was not the outfit that caught Lucifer’s attention, but the necklace hanging from his neck. The piece was composed of several yellow teeth.

Lucifer grimaced internally, already guessing the sharp smile those particular pieces came from. Oblivious to his thoughts, the other two continued to gush at each other.

“I’m making those adjustments to your coat, Val. It’s gonna be per-fect!”

“Oh, Velvette, muñeca bella! You should show his majesty your concepts for the new royal line,” Valentino suggested, adjusting his glasses. “It’s breathtaking!”

“I have a few directly inspired by your victory against Adam!” Velvette said with a tittering giggle. “I’d love to give you some of those. Exclusives, obviously.”

“That sounds so lovely…” Lucifer said in the most disinterested voice he could muster. “But I’m afraid I can’t get side tracked today, despite your evident skill.”

“Oh? You can’t?” Velvette fluttered her eyelashes again. “But then, what brings you to our humble tower?”

“Your third,” Lucifer said, tilting his head to the side as he pointed at yet another cardboard cutout. They really were everywhere.

Valentino draped one or his lower arms around Velvette and played with her hair with his upper hands, and she shot him a glare but otherwise let him.

“His majesty wants to speak with our dearest Vox, preciosa.”

“...I see!” Velvette blinked a few times, tapping her chin with one finger, the airhead performance utterly on point. She put her hands together and giggled. “Oh, this so, so embarrassing your majesty. Vox’s kinda busy, and I have no idea if he can come over… but I’m sure we can help with whatever you need, yeah?”

“Nah,” Lucifer chuckled. “I’m here to talk to him.”

“Whatever for?” Velvette asked behind gritted teeth, tilting her head and batting her eyelashes like she actually had no idea what he could possibly want.

Lucifer moved closer, making her retreat until she walked back straight into her partner. He stopped then, his hat obscuring half of his face, making the subtle glow of his eyes more prominent.

“Why do you think…?” he asked, letting his sharp smirk match the rest of his demeanor, enjoying being the one looking down on someone, for once

He liked to give credit where credit was due. Despite the subtle twitch of her profile, Velvette maintained his gaze and didn’t break beneath it. She eventually chuckled to hide the tremor of her voice, quickly composing herself.

“Yeah, yeah. I figured,” she said bitterly, her entire stance sobering as she folded her arms across her chest and nodded.

Satisfied, Lucifer stepped back, smiling jovially as he pushed his hat into place with his cane. “Shall we, then?”

Both Overlords shared a quick look before she finally walked ahead. Gone was her cute, clueless fashion queen demeanor, if anything she looked utterly pissed as she typed away on her phone. Another set of doors opened for them, a shorter corridor this time. The style shifted again, hallway going from red and pinks to shades of silver and blue layered with black, the tech motif taking over the layout, with a few sections of it looking recently patched and reinforced.

The final set of doors lead to a large space surrounded by silver screens, and at the center a massive water tank where some kind of shark constructs swam around. The bridge over the tank was a long catwalk that led to a large control center with more screens surrounding it.

He had expected to find the titular Vox there, but the chair was empty, despite the screens changing to display several areas of the building.

Velvette swore under her breath, running a hand down her face.

“So…?” Lucifer prompted, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” Valentino chuckled, leaning against the console.

There was a beep, and the screens turned off—only to be replaced with an overhead shot of a bed where Vox was on top of a very familiar someone. If the livestream hadn’t been enough, the audio left no room for interpretation. Valentino cringed, Velvette looked ready to murder him, and Lucifer wouldn’t have minded watching that instead.

“Yee-eees, I can see he’s quite busy…” He deadpanned, forcing himself to look at the screen with deliberate disinterest, before turning his unimpressed gaze on the two sinners.

Velvette pushed the moth aside and slammed another button on the console, clearly regretting it almost immediately when the single screen became several varied angles of the same bed.

She slapped her palm against her face, muttering curses under her breath as Valentino all but leapt to the console.

“V-Voxie!” he sing-songed into the set’s microphone, louder than necessary. “I need to talk to you, pretty please. Ahorita, ¡chop chop!”

The TV guy didn’t even look up, pushing himself up with a grunt and answering on the open voice channel. “Not now Val, daddy’s busy.”

“Vox!” Velvette barked more urgently, startling the TV demon when she slammed her fist on the console. “Vox, get here right the fuck now. We got royal company!”

Lucifer stood at the edge of the control center, looking at the changing live feed. He tried to look at the screen analytically, instead of feeling like he shouldn’t be seeing this. If he focused, it wasn’t hard to make out some features that obviously belonged to the Radio Demon.

He really didn’t want to focus.

Alastor’s face was obscured by his own matted hair and he was turned away from the cameras—or at least trying to, there were so many angles it was hard to avoid all of them. A couple caught a glimpse of the dull look in the deer demon’s eyes, and Lucifer was careful to keep his expression disinterested so as to not give away the very real disgust churning his stomach.

Valentino kept looking between him and the live screen. He laughed nervously, and lifted a finger, most likely about to make some excuse. Lucifer’s glare made him step back immediately, whatever asinine comment he intended to regurgitate choking in his throat.

“I-Imma just,” Valentino walked backward, and punched a few more buttons on the console, making some alarms blare.

“Goddamnit, Val!”

Some lights illuminated the feed, the main camera being slapped out of focus as Vox exited the room. Lucifer turned to the only screen that didn’t have any visible part of Alastor in it, just aiming at a rumpled, empty corner of the bed. He could have fooled himself into believing he was looking at a frozen image, if not for the time stamp still running and the nearly undetectable sounds in the audio—a rustle of fabric alongside the click of metal against metal.

Behind the many consoles, a set of automatic doors opened, and a fuming Vox marched towards them, his eyes glued to his phone. His fly was open and his clothes were rumpled, his shirt missing under a ridiculous little vest, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Not that Lucifer needed to imagine anything, after that fucking live feed.

“Voxie!” Valentino jumped away, snapping his fingers to get his attention. “Papi, could you, uhm—” Valentino tried to get Vox to look up, but the TV demon ignored him, yanking the moth’s face towards his phone.

“Little Princess Morningstar can wait, Val—since you're already here, what do you think of this angle?”

“A-amorcito—”

“I think the lighting leaves a lot to be desired,” Lucifer said, leaning on his cane.

He saw the moment Vox registered they were not alone, and let go of Valentino’s face, the TV Overlord’s wide eyes looking him up and down.

Without breaking eye contact, he pressed something on his phone that made the screens go black. The new blank spaces did nothing, of course, now that the images were seared in Lucifer’s memory.

Slowly, his gaze shifted from the screen to Vox.

“Y-Your Ma-a-ajesty!” the tv demon shrieked, jumping forward, his face losing its form for a second as he glitched, shocking Valentino in the process.

Lucifer chuckled and walked past them to sit on the large empty chair, crossing his leg and lacing his fingers while the three overlords looked at each other, apprehension growing in their eyes. Exactly like he wanted.

“Alright, then. Now that you’re available… Let's have a chat.”

Chapter Text

The Sinner looked ridiculous, decked as he was in just a wrinkly vest and equally wrinkled trousers. Even his fly was still half undone, having snapped the pull tab halfway up on the first attempt to fix his sorry state. Sadly, he had not caught his dick in the process.

Lucifer would have laughed at the embarrassing scene…if the timestamp of the live feed hadn’t been running, still.

Bastard hadn’t even actually turned it off.

“Your M-m-majesty! It’s such an honor to have you here!” The TV-head finally seemed to have found his voice after some minor cursing and glitching. He reached to fumble with his tie, but without even a shirt on, his fingers just awkwardly caught on the sweater vest. “W-w-we deeply appreciate your visit here at VoxTek! I’m the CEO, I’m sure you have heard of me—”

“Nope,” Lucifer clicked his tongue. “What’s your name, again?”

That took the wind out of his sails.

“U-Uhm… Vox, your Majesty.”

“Great!” Lucifer chirped pleasantly. “Please Uhmbox, take a seat! You two as well.”

“It’s Vox, Sir—”

“Sit.”

Velvette looked exasperated while Valentino blinked, clearly confused. “There’s no other chairs here, Sir.”

Lucifer simply leaned over the armrest with a sharp smirk and an expectant look on his face.

The moth caught on first, hesitantly lowering himself to the ground and primly folding those stilts he had for legs under himself. Lucifer beamed at him, which seemed to help his associates finally understand the assignment: the TV guy chuckling and adopting a faux-relaxed lounging stance, while the doll dropped into a cross legged position, glaring daggers at her square-headed partner.

“So, uh… w-what can I do for you, your Majesty?” the TV overlord asked. His left eye swirling in a way that made Lucifer squint for a second—before quickly deciding to ignore it.

“Oh gosh, nothing difficult! I'm just here to pick up my daughter’s little bellhop,” Lucifer studied the apple on his cane, keeping an air of disinterest and humor. “Guy’s been missing work like crazy. Can you believe it? Pfft, what are we even paying him for, huh?”

The TV guy shook so hard his body spat some electric sparks. “Uh, Sir—”

“No, seriously. Can you believe I have to waste my time to come get him? What am I, Hellrides…? Alas, he’s got a job to do, and if he’s not doing it I either have to do it myself, or pick up a new peon from the gutter and get them trained to my baby’s standards…” Lucifer scoffed, studying his nails. “Like I have the time for that shit.”

“Well—”

Lucifer continued, ignoring the interruption attempt. “Yeah, I’m so glad you found him, hahaha… ¥ðµ §hðµlÐñ† håvê.”

Vox shrunk back at the threatening reverb on his voice, neon claws gouging the metal floor.

“Oh nooooo, nonono, Sir! I think there’s some, uh– m-major confusion here…You see, I didn’t find Al—”

“He’s here, though,” Lucifer pointed out, waving at where the obvious had been displayed in multiple consoles.

“Oh that’s not—I mean yes…! He’s here, but—”

Velvette elbowed him before he could even try to spin another lie, hard enough to knock the air out of him. Vox laughed to cover it; an ugly, exaggerated sound that Lucifer disliked already.

“But…?” he prompted, smirk sharp.

“He’s mine—my partner! So I’m just… giving him a hand. Helping him get back on his feet, and all that.”

Lucifer gave Vox a blank look, averted his gaze over the screens, then looked back, eyebrow arching sharply.

‘On his feet’, really?

“Oh, no no! Your Majesty, I assure you that’s—this is not what it looks like, at all!” The Sinner insisted, jumping to his feet. “Please understand—”

The guy just wouldn’t back down, a stance Lucifer was familiar with but had never been a fan of. He wanted to sneer, yet kept an easy-going expression that didn’t match his mood at all.

“Cox. Buddy. I don't think you understand, despite it being really quite simple. See, you have something that belongs to my daughter, and I'm here to take it back,” Lucifer smiled, all teeth. “Now you can give it back, or I can go look for it, and this is a nice building—very modernist, Naidorf-esque, right…? It’d be a pity if the highlight of the Entertainment District was reduced to nothing but a smoking crater in the next, hmmm… ten minutes?”

Velvette was on her feet not one second later, kicking Vox on the back of his knee, almost sending him to the floor if not for Valentino yanking him upwards. The Doll Sinner grabbed Vox by the back of his vest and spun him around to face her.

“Vox, we’re totally gonna do as His Majesty is so kindly asking, aren’t we?” She batted her eyelashes at him then went back to glare at her associate, lowering her voice to a whisper Lucier pretended to not hear. “That’s the guy who knocked the tar out of Adam. We’re not getting on his bloody nerves. Your fucktoy is not worth losing everything!”

Vox’s right eye twitched, unable to hide his annoyance. “Not this fucking thing again, Vel.”

“I’m not letting you ruin our fucking empire over your furry little pet,” Velvette hissed.

“We’re not losing—”

“Mi amor,” Valentino shifted closer, rising to his feet and pulling Vox’s hand to get his attention, speaking behind clenched teeth as blood trailed down the corner of his lip. “Business before pleasure, remember? That’s what we agreed.”

Vox’s screen glitched, the anger in his face raw and visible before another glitch masked his expression. He shifted away from the other two in a flash of light, reforming only a few feet away and taking a deep breath before putting his business face back on.

“I just want to make it clear, I didn’t find Alastor. He came to me, completely willing—”

“Don’t care,” Lucifer interrupted, rolling his eyes. He stood up, adjusting his hat. “Shall we?”

Vox clenched his teeth, his left eye twitching. “Please, follow me…”

“Delighted to! But before that…” Lucifer planted his cane before the Sinner’s feet, nearly making him trip. “There’s a few teeny-tiny details left to iron out, yeah?”

“Like what…? I’m a little lost here, Sir,” Vox said, and Lucifer knew that part was true, so he was about to enlighten him.

“Oh don’t worry, it’s quite simple. Before we do anything else, you’re gonna give me everything you’ve got on the Radio Demon, so I can get rid of it. No copies, no backups, no duplicates, nada.”

“...What?” Vox looked genuinely baffled. “Why?!”

Lucifer smiled beatifically.

“It's very simple, really. I love my daughter very, very much, and she’s a soft little thing, quite unlike her father, so… I’m not about to let you hold that kind of footage over her head, try and convince her it’s worth any sort of deal…? Nah, ain't happening.”

The Overlord looked stunned.

“Y-your Majesty, I assure you, I never once thought—”

“But you're thinking about it now, aren’t you?” Lucifer pressed with a smirk. Oh, he was certain that up until that moment, the TV head had not actually thought of such an outrageous move, but now it lived rent free in his head thanks to his words, giving Lucifer room for this demand.

The Overlord paused for a moment, catching up on the trap his King had set and that he had inadvertently walked into. Unfortunately the guy didn’t seem to have any self-preservation to speak of, because instead of taking the move for the warning it was, his flabbergasted expression shifted to a sneer.

“I’m sure we can work something out, Your Majesty, since you seem to want something I have,” Vox said, walking towards him with his hand already extended. “How about a deal?”

Lucifer resisted the urge to blow up the building. Sinners were so predictable—and he didn’t have the time, nor was he in the mood to play this game.

Just because he’d planted the idea, it didn’t mean he was happy with Vox actually trying to use it. Especially on him. Did he even know what that would entail? Clearly not, or he wouldn’t be asking so willy-nilly.

His eyes shone brighter. “Sure! How about: you do what I tell you, and I don't set you and everything you own on fire?”

With a tap of his cane against the floor the temperature skyrocketed, making the water tanks around them immediately start to boil over, splashing the three Overlords.

That wiped the smirk off Flathead’s face. He almost toppled over the railing, watching in horror below him.

“Nonono, that’s my mainframe’s cooling system!”

The light around them flickered a few times before failing, leaving the room in darkness.

Lucifer examined his nails.

“Whoops.”

The TV guy turned around, screen glowing like a lighthouse in the dark, glitching uncontrollably with fury.

“You f-fucking—”

“Vox!” Velvette screeched, her sandaled plastic feet starting to melt as the boiling water heated the metal platform they stood on. Valentino hurried to pick her up while dodging the hot splashes of water more or less successfully– At least until an unfortunate slip landed him on the floor, holding his much smaller associate high over his head while he was doused in scalding water.

The artist yowled something very unflattering about Vox’s parentage while Lucifer stood there, utterly unmoved and unaffected by the unfolding disaster.

“Vox for fuck’s sake!”

“Okay! Okay!” The demon flailed, waving his hands while Valentino groaned at his feet.

“Excellent! I’m so glad we could come to a fair agreement.” Lucifer chuckled, removing his cane and letting everything return to normal. Sure, the tanks were more than halfway empty and the sharks were cooked extra crispy, but hey, that’s what you got for trying to blackmail the literal Devil.

At least they hadn’t been real sharks.

“Yes, yes, of c-c-course,” Vox glitched again, huffing as the emergency power supply kicked in, giving them some low light again. “Let’s get this over with…”

“That includes you two, by the way,” Lucifer informed the remaining members of the trio.

Valentino, who had finally gotten back to his feet, was not paying attention. Lucifer unceremoniously dragged the moth forward with a casual flick of his hand, grabbing him by the necklace to make him crouch to his height. The sinner was already struggling to get free, but quickly gave up on the instinct to fight, looking down at the necklace, as if it had just dawned on him why this was happening.

“Oh. That... I completely forgot I was wearing it, hehe…” he said lamely, and tried to move to take it off but Lucifer didn’t let go. Awkwardly, Valentino crouched even more and ducked under the chain to get it off his neck, falling on his ass in the process and quickly scrambling backwards.

Lucifer barely looked at the sharp, polished teeth arranged with the chain, groaning internally. He tossed it over his shoulder, his magic lining each tooth before it disintegrated mid-air.

He looked at Velvette next. The doll was clearly smarter than her partners, because she immediately pulled out her phone, tapping on it a few times.

“Done,” she declared, sounding exasperated. “Vox, move it.”

Reluctantly, Vox went to the console and started typing. Since the system was running with just the backup generator, only one screen was available, and even so it was too much. Images and files with bizarre, Alastor-related names were flashing so quickly Lucifer only got glimpses of them, and while the content varied, the sheer quantity made the whole process take an extremely long time.

He was both impressed and vaguely disgusted. Just how much did this guy have?

Vox seemed to hesitate a couple times, but a well-aimed elbow from Velvette kept him focused. Several minutes rolled by until the screen finally went black, then showed a message to indicate the process was completed—and to confirm he wanted the data permanently deleted.

“That’s all,” Vox said bitterly, pressing the button, handing over a memory stick to Lucifer, who resisted the urge to sigh.

“Are you sure?” He asked instead, leveling the TV guy with a look that hopefully conveyed the message that he wasn't mad, he was disappointed.

“Yes, of course,” Vox answered, smiling like the sleazy salesman he was.

Lucifer crushed the stick in his fist.

“Are you really, really sure?” He asked again, extra sweetly.

Valentino’s wings caught on fire out of nowhere, his yelp echoing in the vast room. It would have made Lucifer laugh if he hadn't been running very low on anything other than contempt. There was a reason he’d pulled himself back from the public eye for as long as he did, and the impressions given by these three were not helping in his effort to deal with Sinners again.

Velvette made a sound between a groan and a scream, pulling on her braids a couple times before stomping on Valentino’s wings—partially to douse the fire, but mostly to walk over to Vox. She practically ripped the other overlord’s vest open, yanking a ripped photo from the inner pocket despite the guy’s obvious distress. She gave him a nasty look, and turned to hand over the picture.

“Why, thank you!”

Lucifer took it between his claws, not even looking at the thing before setting it on fire. Vox’s knees almost gave out under him, looking like he’d just just had his firstborn immolated in front of him, or something equally dramatic. Lucifer shook his hand free of the ashes and leveled an icy glare on the TV Overlord.

“Well then, Voxy-Vox, my funny little picture box… this is your last warning, capiche? If you try to deceive me again, you will live to regret it.”

Vox blinked a few times, confused. “I-I think you mean won't live—”

Velvette kicked him and this time his knee did give out under him, sending him to the floor at an awkward angle. Lucifer looked at him, unimpressed.

“No, I didn’t.”

***

There was something odd about this section of the building. Lucifer could feel the shifting ambient energy, how the currents just stopped past a certain point, leaving this particular space in a kind of weirdly sterile environment.

Despite most of the tower having lost power, the way even the backup electricity ran through this section of the structure gave him the sensation that this was meant to be restrictive, perhaps acting like an aggressive form of insulation? Seemed quite likely, if the objective was to keep Alastor inside it.

Lucifer wished he had time to look closer and fully identify what the TV Overlord had done, but his priorities were set, and the sooner he got himself and the stupid busboy out of this shithole, the better.

The emergency lights barely illuminated the hall—and when they made it to the door, Lucifer took note that while the electronic part of it wasn’t working, the whole thing was reinforced physically with a thick metal bar.

Vox laughed nervously, moving around to push the bar away, struggling to get the heavy door open. Lucifer stepped around him without waiting for an invite, only to wince upon entering the room. It was downright chilly, and the smell hit him immediately, what with the lack of windows.

His eye twitched, and his gaze quickly darted around the room to locate the person he was looking for. The bed was the obvious location, but it was empty, forcing him to follow the metal cables to the side of it.

It was a testament to his restraint that Lucifer didn’t react.

Angel’s recount of what he’d seen was not enough to give him the full picture; the Sinner had only gotten a mere glimpse from his dressing room balcony. What he’d described had been pretty straightforward: the Radio Demon’s mad dash that had almost gotten him to the exit, and the attempt being violently cut short by Valentino.

So yeah, Lucifer had known things would be bad, but that was putting it mildly. He tilted his head, raising a single eyebrow after a slow, controlled blink to go with his blank expression. Counting to ten was not gonna cut it for this.

Alastor was huddled on the side of the bed in an awkward slump, reinforced cables keeping his arms up, which gave Lucifer an unfortunately unimpeded view of his current state. He was mostly bare, except for an open dress shirt that didn’t fit him right— and he didn’t need to look at Vox to know where that garment came from. The lack of clothing was the least of his problems: the Sinner was in such awful shape Lucifer didn’t even know where to look that wasn’t completely invasive.

The metal muzzle over his mouth was an immediate eye catcher, accentuated by the bloody nose that was so fresh it was still sluggishly bleeding. Next was his bruised neck and the thick steel collar digging into it, shining a telltale angelic-silver.

The way the Radio Demon tried to pull his legs up to shield himself was an obvious mistake, because it ended up aggravating the… mess that was his lower half. Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes going up and down as he desperately tried to find somewhere to put his eyes that wasn’t completely invasive. Okay, he had to keep himself calm and lock his eyes somewhere… ugh… he couldn’t do the face, those bruised eyes weren’t lack of sleep only, and the red-on-black irises didn’t help. The ears? No, that was worse. He was gonna look at… that one antler.

Yeah. Right one.

Perfect.

…Uuugh this is why Ozzie was in charge of this shit! He had a tougher stomach.

Vox cleared his throat.

“Your Majesty, please don’t misunderstand,” he said. Lucifer kept his indifferent stance. “I’m sure in your very long life you’ve seen the many, many fun things humans have come up with in regards to intimacy.”

The Sinner had a very characteristic smile Lucifer disliked. It was the kind of charade people put on to convince you they were simply looking to share whatever joys they had with you, when in reality they were selling you something.

This guy was not just trying to hype up his own image, he was trying to pitch Lucifer an obvious lie involving someone else, and the audacity was getting on his nerves.

He tapped his claws on the apple of his cane. “Buddy, I don’t care who or how you fuck, but I can’t help but notice my daughter’s bellhop doesn’t seem to be enjoying himself.”

“Oh no, no, Your Majesty, I assure you he’s into, uhm—advanced stuff. I’m simply delivering! We are pretty close, you see, go way back—” Lucifer stared at him for long enough that it started to get uncomfortable, Vox shifting on his feet. “Oh this is so awkward, I assure you both of us would prefer to keep the kinky shit behind closed doors, but obviously this looks—er, a tad much.”

Lucifer hummed noncommittally, eyes studiously stuck to his antler of choice.

“...But it’s just a misunderstanding, I’m so sorry we wasted your time! Oh, this is so, so embarrassing, I know what it looks like, but I assure you—” He moved almost in front of the Radio Demon, looking down at him, pixelated drool running down his mouth. “Alastor is here because he wants to be.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes!” Vox insisted, and then turned again, looking down. “Of course he is, right Al?”

Alastor flinched, but didn’t answer right away, one ear twitching—but only one of them, because the other was lopsided and so swollen it barely moved.

His eyes were still stuck on red-on-black and his gaze was so cloudy, it was hard to tell if he was actually focusing on Vox at all. It took a few blinks before he seemed to get what he was supposed to answer, and he looked away from the other man, slowly making full eye contact with Lucifer.

“So…” He started, raising an eyebrow as he focused all his attention and intent on the Sinner before him. “Are you here because you want to be, Alastor?”

There was no immediate answer. Of course there wasn’t.

Lucifer wasn’t actually expecting the other man to talk when there was some hideous contraption covering his mouth, but there were other ways to convey an answer, and he needed one.

Hell’s King dropping by on a whim to pick up his darling daughter’s pet Sinner was acceptable, as reasonable and apolitical an explanation as they could get. Lucifer personally swooping in to rescue a big name Overlord wasn’t.

All he needed was an excuse to act, but he needed Alastor to give it to him.

There was a barely noticeable flinch from the Sinner at the question, a shift in his gaze. Very real hatred burned behind those dimmed eyes, a spark that gave Lucifer hope there was still something left of the demon before him, despite the deplorable state he was in. It was small and it only lasted a second, but it was something.

It might even manage to be enough.

Alastor closed his eyes to shake his head, confirming what Lucifer had already known.

“Yeah…” Lucifer turned, his horns emerging and eyes shifting while Vox started inching away. “That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

There was a crack in the corner of the screen.

It was tiny—almost imperceptible against the near-blinding brightness of today’s chosen background, and Alastor wasn’t entirely sure it was actually there—but it gave him something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the way Vox had all but bent him in half to once again force himself upon him.

He desperately needed it—needed something to hold him together, no matter how minuscule. Something that helped with the way he kept losing time and grasp of the shrinking world around him, existing like a stranger in his own body.

Sometimes it didn’t even feel like he was truly in it.

He could technically account for each indignity and abuse it was subjected to, but integrating had become an unmeasurable struggle. It made him feel like one of the radios his father used to work on: broken and gutted yet laid on the table, all inner pieces neatly set side by side, awaiting to be put together again.

Not that there was anything about his current state that could be remotely described as neat.

Alastor sensed—in the indistinct haze he currently existed in—that these abstractions were getting worse. He couldn’t hear well, his head felt like it was stuffed with half-rotted cotton, and it was hard to move despite the restraints being looser than usual. He tried to shift his arms to test this, only for Vox to pin his wrist on the mattress, ramming into him with little grace despite his pointed lack of resistance.

It hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as the foreboding weight that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his chest, leaving him short of breath and vaguely nauseous. Everything felt both fleeting and disjointed when juxtaposed with the constant throbbing inside his ribcage.

Rage had morphed into frustration and eventually settled into despondency over the fact that, in his current state, he couldn’t just will the numinous shard within him to rise and rain violence upon Vox—or at the very least tear from his groin his most offensive appendage. That would have solved most of his problems.

He’d tried, with every aching hitch of breath—as if sheer pain could will such a thing into existence.

That's not how this works, little fawn.

Of course it didn't. Things never worked out how he wanted them to.

There was a shift, the ache concentrated on his lower half moving to his wrist at that brutal hold, but not enough to let him forget what was happening. Vox’s displeased voice was just an aggravator that made him shiver, wishing he could curl on himself. His blurry gaze caught the corner of the screen again, and he fought to breathe around it and not think.

The slap brought reality back into sharp focus, echoing in the cold room, and pain flared across his face like wildfire after a confusing moment of delay.

“I fucking told you to look at me!”

Alastor whimpered, looking up at Vox with an apology already on his lips, only for it to catch on the barbs outlining his muzzle, letting only a vague sound out.

Awareness of what he’d almost done followed like a flash flood, finally reconnecting him to the moment.

Alastor could have drowned under the undeniable, nauseating weight of the subservience already infesting him, spreading like a cancer set to consume him. Aggravating pain might have been kinder than the knowledge that in a moment of weakness, he’d almost let a domestic, defeated plea escape. Had he really almost...?

He suddenly felt grateful for the contraption silencing him: at least he could keep those words to himself and not sink any lower.

“Gonna need a stronger dose,” Vox mumbled angrily before moving again, and Alastor shuddered, the taste of that vile potion still lingering in his mouth. It might not have much of a physical effect on him these days, but it still left his mind feeling like an overheated bog out of which the carcass of semi-coherent thoughts would occasionally bob to the surface.

Far from helpful given his more and more fleeting connection to reality.

There was a blare of feedback, and Vox jostled him in a way that sent a painful pang of discomfort up Alastor’s spine but he was careful to not make another sound, only catching the end of Velvette’s shrill, irate voice.

“—company!”

He felt Vox pushing his head back onto the bed, and the restraints tightening again as the other demon pulled out, leaving Alastor all but trembling in revulsion at the slick feeling. He didn’t dare move while Vox grumbled, hastily redressing himself before exiting the room, slamming the door closed on his way out.

Alastor gave himself a moment, then rolled over to the side of the bed and over the edge, letting gravity help.

The floor was cold. It was always cold, this little ‘love nest’ Vox had so lovingly crafted for them after Alastor’s last failure of an escape. It fit Vox’s taste to near perfection, so of course he couldn’t leave the climate control out of the picture; his old pal preferring the cooler temperatures to avoid overheating that square head of his. But this went beyond that, it didn’t feel like comfort but deliberate punishment, and it most likely was.

It seemed Vox had finally abandoned any pretence of wanting anything deeper from him beyond humiliation and carnal abuse.

While everything around Alastor was detached from warmth in one way or another, feeling the cold floor under his naked legs meant he’d earned a second of respite. The hard surface offered no solace, only the certainty that they were done with him—at least for now.

Pain radiated from his arms, protesting at being held up at such an awkward angle. The reinforced cables shackling him to the bed frame barely gave him any leeway to slump against it, but he couldn’t stand spending one more second on that disgusting mattress.

His skin felt too tight, and he hurt, which was to be expected. Vox’s displeasure was guaranteed to leave fresh marks on him, as it always did when Alastor didn’t give him what he wanted. Not that he could tell what that was anymore—No, he knew, and he’d almost—

His fingers twitched, blindly tracing the side of the mattress as he tried to think. He was losing himself again, unable to tell where the pain was coming from anymore, so he pulled on the shackles, feeling them dig deeper into his skin as a makeshift anchor. Just for a moment.

He just needed a moment.

Uncurling his claws ended the temporary redirection of pain,and Alastor grimaced behind the muzzle, glaring at his shaking frame. He should get up, but it wasn’t like he had the strength to do so.

His head was silent, too silent. Instead of giving him margin to think, it left too much space for Vox’s voice to echo and take over, despite him being out of the room.

Silence had never felt like this before being trapped in this wretched cage, and now was a constant. He hated it, despised it. The constrictions around gave him no space to feel or identify any signals, leaving him feeling lost and adrift in his own body. Untethered.

Until the startlingly sudden absence of artificial light, at least.

His eyes couldn’t adjust to the darkness—nor tell if the light had died or his eyes were no longer willing to perceive it. It took a few seconds before he could discern shapes in the dark to know it was real. He’d never been granted the cover of darkness in this room, so the absence of light gave him the rare opportunity to push his broken body to its limits in an effort to try something.

Going for the source of pain in his ear was the immediate action, even with the restraints limiting his movement to the point of leaving him breathless at such little effort. It was pathetic. If he couldn’t even manage such an insignificant action, how could he expect to make it out of the room, let alone the tower?

Would there even be a point to it?

He rested his head against the mattress, only for more of that strangely oppressive pain to flare up his entire body. He jerked back, shaking badly, pulling on the cables and not quite getting to his ear, barely managing to press the pads of fingers against it. He was immediately rewarded by a wave of agony igniting upon contact.

The whole area felt hot and swollen and the barest brush made it worse, he couldn’t even keep it straight. The feeling of the thing Vox had forced under his skin like a parasite was unnerving, but his fingers didn’t quite reach enough to do more than graze it. Vox had ensured he couldn’t get rid of it, not after the last time.

Alastor let his hand fall as much as the metal cables would allow. Despite the unnerving, despised silence overwhelming him, at least the room was dark. When was the last time he hadn't had to look at those horrid screens and their unnatural blue light?

He pulled on the metallic cables again. If he could just reach under the mattress, maybe then he could finally end this.

He’d made nothing but mistakes, and the consequences kept piling up. So stupid, if he had just seen it coming—if he had just…

He leaned against the bedframe, and willed himself to gather his strength— or at least that was what he’d intended to do, if not for the sound of steps on the metal floor making him flinch.

Why? It was too soon, hadn’t he earned at least some semblance of a reprieve?

The resentment was immediately overtaken by paralysing fear when he realised it wasn’t just one set of steps, but Vox’s fast ‘I-am-angry’ gait and…someone else’s. Someone Alastor didn’t recognise.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe around the foreign weight crushing his lungs, his heart hammering against his chest.

Vox had already granted Valentino many liberties with him, but anyone outside the two of them was a line yet to be crossed—but never truly denied.

He’d known it was coming, even as he’d tried to delude himself on this—and now it was happening and there was nothing he could do to stop them. They were going to—No, no, no!

Desperation quickly turned into overwhelming panic. Alastor pulled on the chains with everything he had, pushing his hooves against the bed frame in a useless effort to break them. He quickly gave up when the shackles just dug into his skin, pain surging up his arms as he panted, already winded from that brief effort. If he could break his thumbs maybe he could slide out of the shackles—yes, his token defiance would cost him more but he didn’t care, if he could just—

The door slid open and the light from the hallway bathed the figures entering the room. The terror swarming his mind momentarily crashed to a sudden halt when a flash of red stood out.

Crimson eyes, glowing in the dark.

Such an occurrence was almost an impossibility to his natural perception, one he had only come to see in Charlie. For a moment, he thought it might be her… if not for the height. It was much too short to be the princess, which left only one other option.

That couldn’t be right.

Vox was still talking, his glowing screen going about the room like the King was actually there and he was trying to sell the tiny monarch something at a premium—but Alastor remained unsure if what he was seeing was even real. It wouldn’t be the first time his mind played tricks on him, the lack of signals in that space made it almost too easy.

He still couldn’t stop looking, the King looked so real.

“—right, Al?”

He blinked a few times, suddenly aware that Vox was talking to him, his sharp smile promising new punishment if he failed to provide the right answer.

Alastor fixed his gaze on the King, somehow still unsure if he was actually seeing him or if this was another of Vox’s elaborate traps he set for Alastor to inevitably fail… but he doubted even his own mind playing tricks would come up with Lucifer of all people seeing him like this.

“So…” the King raised an eyebrow, looking down at him. “Are you here because you want to be, Alastor?”

He flinched at the words. An immediate, almost visceral need to agree washed over him, not because it was true—far from it. But if he said so, then at least this was a hell of his choosing, not one he’d been dragged down to due to his own pathetic weakness.

But wasn’t that exactly what everyone—what Vox expected of him?

He knew the smirk was going to be poorly concealed even before shifting his gaze to confirm it for himself.

Alastor felt numb. Vox knew him better than he wanted to admit and was counting on his agreement as a done thing, knowing himself to be right—and he was, he was right—and it was intolerable. Something stirred to life within him at that mounting resentment: the awareness that for the first time in who knew how long, Alastor had a choice.

Better the devil you know was a well known refrain for a reason, and he didn’t know Lucifer. Oh, Alastor knew about him— knew of his open apathy and disdain for his subjects—but he didn’t know the Devil himself, brief interactions notwithstanding.

This might as well be another trick, and he was about to fall from the pan and into the open fire, but… Charlie came to mind, along with her almost aggressive honesty and drive. There was a chance, minuscule as it was, that her character was a reflection of something else, someone close. There was a chance that she shared more than an obvious physical resemblance to her father.

And if he turned out to be mistaken, there was very little left for Alastor to lose.

He gave Lucifer his full attention as if he were the only one in that wretched room. Finally closing his eyes, he shook his head, letting the admission drag off the last vestiges of his pride to wither and die.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought.”

Alastor kept his eyes firmly shut despite the rising franticness of Vox’s pretexts. If he couldn’t spare himself the humiliation, at least he could refuse to see it reflected in Lucifer’s eyes.

A loud noise made him flinch again—the crunch of cracking glass and a choked scream.

“—fucking warned you! Enjoy the new curse, bitch!”

Alastor willed himself to open his eyes the moment he felt Lucifer move closer, and was rewarded by his vision being engulfed by even more red—a forgotten and unimaginable relief. The glow in the King’s eyes and the marks of his cheeks, but more than either it was the flame dancing between his horns that convinced him this was real, a distinguishable beacon of warmth, anchoring him away from the void of icy blue that had nearly consumed him. He tried to pull on his bindings, wanting to get closer, but they didn’t budge.

Instead he found himself under Lucifer’s scrutiny, the Devil’s red gaze almost a physical weight. Then his hands tore the right cable off as if it were made of tissue paper. His blackened fingers didn’t even graze Alastor’s skin when pulling, and for that he was ridiculously pleased.

He let his arm fall on his lap, staring at the King while he snapped the other manacle just as easily as the first, relief flaring into pain as his arms were finally allowed down, restoring circulation. Then Lucifer’s hands came into view and Alastor froze without thinking. He kept his head high, his eyes fixed on the fire flicking between Lucifer’s horns, slowly leaning closer.

It felt warm.

Any lingering doubt of the reliability of what he was seeing was dispelled as that small but powerful source of heat let him feel something other than the artificial cold imposed in the room. Alastor wanted to lift his hands to hover them over the flame, but the pain in his arms and shoulders flared up at his attempt, leaving him hissing instead.

He couldn’t tell if Lucifer’s blank stare faltered for a second, or if his mind was playing tricks on him yet again. He wasn’t even sure it mattered. Still, the King snapped his fingers, bringing into existence a blanket of all things, unceremoniously dropping it over him.

A large, luxuriously soft blanket. Possibly the downiest Alastor had ever seen.

The large piece of fabric piled on his lap, and Alastor unfolded it as quickly as his clumsy, aching body would allow him, his primary objective being to cover himself. If the feeling of the soft material brought him a measure of comfort, that was for him to know and no one to witness, not even the King.

Lucifer cleared his throat, and he couldn’t help the flinch that followed, yet the King didn’t seem to notice. Alastor quickly composed himself, shifting his gaze.

“I’m gonna take that thing off now,” Lucifer announced, and that was all the warning he got before the King reached for the muzzle restricting the lower half of his face.

Alastor almost pushed him away at that, knowing removing it would aggravate the barbs digging into the open skin of his mouth… but he wanted the horrid thing gone, and thus stayed still, at least until Lucifer had destroyed the bindings keeping it shut. The King’s movements faltered when he encountered resistance, yet Alastor didn’t let him think about it. He pulled back, uncaring of the way the barbs ripped out of his gums and lips.

Regret almost drowned him when he took a deep breath and pain erupted all over again, the frigid air hurting his shredded throat to the point he couldn’t stop a whimper from getting out; a minuscule, pathetic sound.

He ran his tongue over his raw gums, some drool and blood running down his chin, and caught Lucifer staring at him, his stern expression replaced by a frown. Alastor dropped his eyes to the blanket, his heartbeat drumming rabbit-fast upon seeing the stains on the pristine fabric covering him. He tried to hide them by turning it in his grip, hoping that if Lucifer didn't see them he wouldn’t take it away.

If the King noticed, he didn’t say a word. He extended his hand—a silent, courteous gesture that nearly made Alastor laugh—but there was no humor in his situation. He ignored the offering, and tried to push himself up, but his hooves slipped between the blanket and the floor, almost sending him crashing back down if not for Lucifer quickly moving to catch him around the waist.

Alastor growled, but stopped upon noticing the King was not looking at him in the eye but at his mouth. He wanted to bare his teeth in anger, but that would only bring more attention to the many missing pieces. He almost clamped it shut just to stop him from staring… but he was tired of hurting, anger and shame washing over him in waves as yet more evidence of his disgrace displayed.

He’d know what they’d done to Alastor, wouldn’t he?

He’d know.

Alastor looked away, slowly closing his mouth despite the ache, and considered leaving his gaze on the floor as Lucifer moved. But there was no point to all this humiliation before the King if he didn’t use it to at least get himself out of this accursed place. He leaned against the mattress, his claws digging in between the bed and the frame before the King used both arms to get him off the ground, barely tightening his hold the second he tried to struggle.

“I don’t intend to touch you more than I have to, but we need to leave,” Lucifer remarked with a scoff, his hold firm despite the clear disgust Alastor provoked in him. His claws twisted around the blanket, and he forced himself to not look down. He wasn’t a stranger to such reactions to his person, even if it had been decades since he’d lived it so vividly, or had such valid reasons to provoke them.

His ears fell down even further, flushed against his head despite himself, mortification and outrage measured in equal parts, but mostly he was overtaken by the strange calmness that came with knowing he incurred such disgust in someone that held so much leverage over him. Not wanting to touch him guaranteed at least one aspect of his safety.

It was easy to fold into himself in Lucifer’s arms, telling himself it was because he didn’t want the King to drop him and nothing else—if he’d been able to walk on his own he would have, they both knew that.

“I doubt you have more of an interest in sticking around than I do, unless there’s something else you want…?” Lucifer asked, tail swiping behind him, sending the whole bed flying against the screen on the wall, where it somehow managed to catch on fire. The King turned around and advanced, casually kicking aside an obstacle that Alastor couldn’t initially recognise, not until he saw the glass pulse with static for a moment before completely turning off, Vox’s head torn and useless.

Alastor looked up, following the trail of broken glass and plastic to the rest of Vox’s body, twitching like an agonizing fish outside of water. He shifted the blanket enough to hide the lower half face, his lips twitching in an attempt to smile that was quickly killed by the flare of pain in his mouth. Vox’s body jerked again and despite knowing he was going to regenerate, Alastor watched with relish as his pants leg caught fire, clutching under the blanket and close to his chest the one thing he needed from this disgusting place.

He mustered the courage to look at the King, and shook his head.

Lucifer made a sound meant to be an acknowledgement, yet it took everything in Alastor to not flinch again, his fingers digging into the blanket he was holding like a lifeline, unable to stop trembling. If Lucifer noticed—and of course he did, Alastor was too tired to fool himself into thinking he didn’t—he didn’t say anything, purposely stepping over the broken pieces of Vox’s twitching headpiece and to the golden portal that opened before them.

***

Alastor felt the second they were out. The horrid silence that had been smothering him for who knew how long suddenly shifted into a screeching cacophony of ambient signals that had him wincing, eyes tightly shut.

The chamber Vox had used to imprison him had more than dampened Alastor’s powers; now that he was finally out it was like shifting from being underwater to having everyone screaming directly into his brain. He couldn’t even tell if what he felt was pain or relief, like a million pins and needles shifting as circulation restored itself.

It couldn’t have been more than a moment, but it was enough to distract him from the place Lucifer had taken him after closing the portal, and when he was able to open his eyes they were almost at the side of a bed.

No, no, nonono, no!

He was kicking his hooves and trying to get away from the King before he could process his own reaction. It was futile, not only Alastor was in quite possibly the worst condition he had ever been in, Lucifer was unquestionably stronger than him, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t just lay down and take it. Not again!

Lucifer pivoted around so fast, Alastor almost slipped from his hold, yet the King kept his grip while backing away from the bed in a motion that would have been comical if Alastor wasn’t about to lose what little was left of his mind.

“Sorry, sorry! That was dumb, sorry!”

…What?

Barely a second later, he’d been deposited ever so carefully on the plush chair at the other side of the room. Lucifer crouched on the floor beside the armrest, his horns now tucked away—banishing his imposing image for one that left him looking as dangerous as a small, awkward clown. Alastor found himself missing the warmth of that infernal flame, despite this room being at the kind of usual Hellish temperatures someone might charitably call ‘cozy’.

Lucifer winced, all but shrinking behind the armrest while Alastor curled into himself and took a moment to catch his breath. His throat hurt—and the damned collar around his neck didn’t help. He pulled on the metal to no avail, his broken claws chipping with the force he applied.

A movement caught his eye, and Alastor snapped his head to the side to see Lucifer had slid closer, still on the ground while looking up at him. The King looked like he wanted to leave. Alastor would very much like for him to do so already.

“I need to remove that,” Lucifer said quietly, motioning with a finger to his neck. “It’s cutting your powers off.”

Alastor let his hand fall onto his lap, grabbing onto the blanket and craning his neck instead of answering. Thankfully, he didn’t have to explain himself because Lucifer was at his side a moment later, telegraphing his movements, most likely for Alastor’s sake. He wanted to hate the King for such delicate treatment, but he could only direct that resentment to himself for the reassurance it gave him, for so shamelessly needing it.

Lucifer’s claws dug into the metal, pulling outwards, tearing the collar as easily as he had done with the muzzle, barely touching Alastor in the process. Probably thanks to the disgust he provoked on the King, but did it matter? The collar was off.

He immediately tried to seize hold of his powers but a sharp current of pain struck him immediately, the source planted in his mangled left ear. Alastor growled despite his missing teeth, sick and tired of the restraints Vox had forced on him, hating this one the most.

“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asked, then muttered to himself. “That was a stupid question, nevermind—your ear? It’s your ear, right? It kinda looks infected—hey, hey, what are you doing?!”

Alastor pulled on the appendage with one hand, his other hand immediately going for the inner side where the source of pulsing pain lingered. He didn’t care about that, he wanted—no, he needed that thing gone.

“Hey, stop, I’ll remove it, alright?” Lucifer soothed, his hands hovering over Alastor’s head. When had he gotten that close? Alastor kicked his hooves but Lucifer easily dodged his clumsy blow, batting at his calf like it was a fly passing by. “Stop that, I need to see… yeah, that’s under the skin. Great. ”

Alastor rolled his eyes despite himself because it was obvious. Of course the thing Vox used was planted under his skin, otherwise he would have gotten rid of it sooner.

“Right. Uhm. Just—sit tight okay? I’m gonna need some tools—”

Alastor was done waiting.

He dug his chipped claws into the delicate shell of own ear despite Lucifer’s yelp and the burning agony it earned him, closing them around the disgusting, horrendous thing. It immediately sent a pulse, zapping Alastor with a shock of electricity that almost had him losing his grip, but he didn’t let go, closing his claws around the offending piece of metal. He didn’t give himself a chance to hesitate—even as he was near convulsing from the electric discharge—and pulled.

Rotten blood splattered Lucifer in the face and ran down Alastor’s temple, gushing down his cheek and covering his neck. The hot flow of it stung the lacerations on his neck but he didn’t care, loosening his grip on the damn thing to glare at it.

The little metal chip with VoxTek’s logo was still glowing under the strips of skin he'd ripped off with it, and he flinched and dropped it as it discharged another spike of electricity—despite the thing not being in him anymore. It landed on the floor with heavy splat, clearly about to pulse again—if not for Lucifer’s pristine black boot unceremoniously stomping on it like he’d done with its maker.

Alastor almost laughed at the irony of that. Almost.

“Jeez, what the fuck,” Lucifer crouched down, staring at the mess of infected flesh and blood, poking it with the tip of his cane. “Is that…?”

Alastor could feel his ear drooping with the pain and shock, but he couldn’t wait, not when he finally had the chance to regain control over his powers.

He expected the effect to be immediate, but the symbiotic entity he hosted barely stirred, and he couldn’t feel—No, no, this couldn’t be happening.

Vox had already taken so much from him, and now this? After all his inhuman efforts—a struggle that had almost cost him his life— he couldn’t bear losing—No!

Alastor took a deep breath, pushing past the pain and his pathetic desperation. It seemed impossible but he grasped at the threads of his own being, deeper, as deep as he could, and tried again.

The pain was the least of his problems, not when the fear of losing such an integral part of himself was far worse. He struggled on, burning through reserves he could scarcely afford to use and still there was no answer. He felt nothing but mounting despair… until he finally, finally got a response.

The Eldritch shard pulsed, and at his feet, his shadow trembled. With an effort that looked nearly tortuous they took form, rising from the penumbra at his call. Alastor reached for them—because despite seeing the creature take form and move before him, he still couldn’t feel them.

“How the hell did that fucker get his hands on refined angelic steel?” Lucifer was asking, probably to himself because Alastor was barely paying attention, too busy with trying to find his shadow’s distinctive signal amongst everything that he was receiving after so long of imposed silence.

Say something, he pushed. Talk to me… please!

H͛⦚e͛⦚r͛⦚e͛⦚

His shadow looked strange, their eyes glowing dimly and their signal unstable, swaying as if they were unable to keep still, like a mirage. Even in this sorry state they were quick to cling to Alastor, immediately hovering over him, their attention fixed on his mangled ear. Even their gentle touch sent a sharp pang through his head and down his spine.

H͛⦚u͛⦚r͛⦚t͛⦚, his shadow lamented. Alastor was able to catch some echoes of grief and anger but it was nowhere near the level of synchronicity they should have had.

“What’s—Oh? Is it sentient? That’s neat…” Lucifer muttered, his red eyes set on Alastor’s shadow with undisguised curiosity. Alastor didn’t welcome his sudden interest, instinctively shrinking away from the King and pulling the supernatural creature with him as he glared. “Hmm, no, that wasn’t it either… so… uhhh, bad news, you still reek, bellhop.”

Alastor halted, staring blankly at Lucifer while his shadow hissed, ears down and clearly unhappy at the utterly unnecessary observation. He knew, he was intimately aware of his repugnant state of being. It shouldn’t affect him to his core, and still he tried to push the renewed wave of mortification to the back of his mind despite his own movement betraying him, pulling the blanket closer.

“Of infection!” Lucifer nearly shouted, making him flinch. “I mean you have an infection! That’s what I meant, of course that’s all I meant ha, ha ha!” Lucifer winced. “No, seriously. I can still feel angelic power radiating from you, and that’s like, in your chest? Mostly. So I’m gonna need to—hey, don’t kick me—would you stop that!”

Lucifer’s hand caught his ankle in an iron grip, and Alastor froze, an almost inaudible bleat escaping him. The King held onto the limb for only a second before letting go like the fur had burned him, Alastor’s hoof dropping with a sharp thump against the hardwood floor. He didn’t move right away, his unsettled stare stuck on Lucifer. Seeing the King also frozen in place, Alastor slowly dragged his leg back under the blanket.

The anger in Lucifer's eyes vanished so quickly, it was almost like it had never been there—but Alastor saw it, and he couldn’t forget it, nor pretend it had never happened. He was on thin ice already.

“Sorry, sorry—C’mon, let’s just… get that healed, ok?” Lucifer insisted, his tone coaxingly soft.

What was he even talking about? There was no need for anything else. Superficial wounds were giving him some trouble in his current state, but the last thing he wanted was someone’s hands on him again. His shadow chirped softly at him in protest.

He’s lying, Alastor insisted to them, tracing one hand over the scar on his chest, currently hidden under the blanket. Vox’s pet doctor had ensured he was ‘fit’ for the other Overlord.

His shadow shook their head.

H͛⦚u͛⦚r͛⦚t͛⦚, they insisted, voice still distorted and hands hovering over his chest. S͛⦚i͛⦚c͛⦚k͛⦚.

The King he might still doubt, but his own Shadow…? Alastor pressed his hand against his chest, the sharpness of that pain nowhere near as bad as when the wound was open and bleeding—but that ominous pressure intensified until it cut his breath short.

What if his condition was a result of more than the bindings Vox had imposed on him? He’d known there was something wrong with him, even after the intervention of that cursed doctor, but he’d blamed it on the drugs and constant abuse, perhaps—

Lucifer cleared his throat, and Alastor mustered up enough courage to glare at him, pushing back his instinctual need to remain still. This was Hell, and altruism was as good as dead down here, so what did the King want from him? He needed the fine print.

Reluctantly, Alastor let go of the blanket, his shadow helping him to shift the fabric so it was still covering him. He had to find out what Lucifer wanted—but more importantly he needed to know why he was doing this, so he asked him exactly that. Alastor didn’t even have to think before the fingers of his dominant hand were touching his forehead, then forward and down, his fingers curling with the motion of the question.

Lucifer’s face scrunched into confusion, his mouth partially hanging open like a fish.

“Uhh, are you… Is this sign language? …American?”

Alastor repeated the question, this time more urgently, frustration building in his core.

“Oh,” Lucifer said, finally catching on. “Because it’s beneficial to both of us, duh!”

Alastor didn’t believe him. Nothing was free, not in hell and much less with the Devil.

«Name your conditions» he signed, not falling for Lucifer’s trick.

“Conditions? What are you—” Lucifer jerked back. “Oh Hell no! You gotta be fucking kidding me, I’m not making a deal with you!”

«Name. Your. Conditions.» Alastor insisted, punctuating the words with a smack of his hands and a glare.

“Nu-uh,” Lucifer huffed. “Consider this an exchange! I’ll heal you so you don’t keel over and die, and I get some peace of mind and a good night's sleep—a very sweet offer if I do say so myself.”

«No.» Alastor was not about to fall for that; he couldn't let himself be fooled by the King and end up in debt without a clear understanding of what it would cost him. He was still grappling with the repercussions of his last deal to risk leaving this one to chance. «Name. Your. Conditions!»

Lucifer might have said something—not that Alastor noticed. He was too busy doubling over from another wave of dizzying pain, gasping for air. He ran the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead, smearing blood all over it, and bared what he had left of his teeth at the King. At least that was his intention—because one second he was looking at Lucifer and the next he was on the floor with the King looking down at him with a mixture of anger and panic.

Alastor pushed himself back up, his muscles stiff yet utterly unable to stop shaking. His mouth tasted like blood and his tongue felt swollen. At his side, his shadow was struggling to maintain their form, and Alastor leaned on them for support, his pathetic attempt at a defiant glare back in full swing.

Lucifer closed his eyes, looking up while sucking in a deep breath that said more than any words could. Alastor could picture it, anger and disgust overlapping by just looking at the sorry excuse for a Sinner in front of him.

It didn’t matter. It was not the first time he was looked at with such vitriol, nor would it be the last. It was irrelevant and he didn’t care.

He didn’t.

“Fine,” Lucifer said, his tone clipped and impatient. “Your fucking choice.”

As the King extended his left hand, the color of his eyes shifted seamlessly with the reemergence of his horns, that infernal flame pulsing rapidly between them, reflecting its master’s foul mood. Alastor straightened his back—as best as he could even while kneeling on the floor with Lucifer literally looking down at him,

“Here’s my deal, Alastor,” Lucifer declared, gold and red sparks dancing around his extended hand. Alastor could feel the air around them tremble as the King laid out his terms. “I will make sure you’re fine, all healed up and ready to work. Aren’t you supposed to be the facility manager? Well, I own the Hotel. Which means, per my authority, consider your contract renewed. Ain’t that sweet? As long as you do your job and don’t purposely or maliciously hurt anyone currently in the building, the deal stands and we are even. Couldn’t be easier, right?”

Alastor had to force himself to stop shaking—difficult to do with the weight of Lucifer’s power making the air in the room feel heavier and every hair on the back of his neck stand up. Perhaps his fever was getting the better of him, because he’d never felt this kind of oppressive force as a preamble to a deal before, not even with his current benefactor.

He suspected this to be a trick, because there was no way the King was laying out such simple terms for this—not to mention the only setback was a forfeited threat, an impossibility due Alastor’s soul already being tied in embargo thanks to his original standing contract.

It was a harmless deal. Perhaps one of the safest he’d made in a long time. Lucifer clearly had no intentions to hurt him—he’d gone through all the trouble to get him out of that hideous place and was still pressing against his own will to heal Alastor. It was a chance he’d be a fool to turn down.

He reached to accept Lucifer’s offered hand, his own green-tinted magic reacting as the deal was sealed. He felt a sharp tug in his chest and in every single stitch holding his power together, the pressure quickly becoming intolerable.

Then Lucifer let go.

Alastor pushed himself backwards, and his shadow helped him onto the seat again. It was pathetic that such a simple action had him silently panting. Lucifer must have noticed—yet made no mention of it, something that again incited some reluctant gratefulness in him.

At least he had some manners.

“Let’s get this over with,” Lucifer huffed, already back to his regular form. He had taken off his coat and was pushing the sleeves of his shirt up his elbows, something that triggered a new wave of unease in Alastor for a second—but he forced himself to push it down. The King had made it undeniably clear he was repulsed by Alastor, and thus wouldn’t touch him more than necessary. It was humiliating—but it was also reassuring. He was safe.

A golden glow framed Lucifer’s entire form, more prominent in his hands as he hovered them over Alastor’s chest, but he didn’t even graze the exposed fur. Instead, the King scrunched his mouth, grimacing.

“Yeah, that’s gonna hurt.”

What?

Lucifer only spared him an apologetic look, and pulled.

Alastor threw his head back as pain ignited in every atom of his body. It started across his chest, under the scar Adam had carved with his axe, but it went deeper and beyond. The sickness was moving, Lucifer’s power finding it scattered in so many fragments of his being that might as well be everywhere. From his flesh to his blood and even his bones, it had sunk in and spread.

He could feel now what didn’t belong, forced away from where it had latched onto him like a parasite, being pushed to his core—the center of his chest where everything started, that poison slowly being molded, shrunk and finally, finally coalescing into a single unit isolated by Lucifer’s power.

But it was still in him, and when Lucifer pulled once more, it felt like his chest was torn open all over again.

He was unable to stay conscious this time, and perhaps that was some kind of mercy he didn’t deserve, but took anyway.

***

Lucifer stopped masking his expressions the second he felt Alastor losing consciousness. If not for the fact that the damn Sinner was more skittish than a wet cat and just as untrusting, he would’ve suggested putting him under from the beginning—because there was no way this wasn’t agonizing for him.

Agonizing and utterly disgusting.

“How the fuck is he even alive?” Lucifer nearly shouted, encapsulating the infection and forcing it out of the stupid demon’s body, his ribcage all but exploding open like an overripe cantaloupe.

Okay, now he was sure Adam did far more than just toss him around, and—well. Part of him felt a little bad for not thinking about that possibility until now, but how was he supposed to know this demented asshole was an integral host to a highbred Eldritch gof'nnn?

But he was making up for it. Right now. By draining that disgusting infection out of his body and closing the crater on the Sinner’s chest. That was good, right? Right. Yes. Obviously good. No infection was always a positive, duh.

Lucifer gagged, still siphoning a ridiculous amount of what he could only describe as a slurry of Eldritch pus in various stages of ripeness, aggravated by a frankly stupid concentration of angelic energy—at least Adam was gone now because whoa, what a fucking dick.

This Sinner was already hurt, badly. Adding all this shit on top of that was just cruel. Truth be told, he was impressed not just with Alastor being alive, but mostly coherent and kind of sane—even if that last one was still up for debate.

Still, coherent enough not only to talk to him but get him into a fucking deal. Ugh. Okay no, nope, not thinking about that now, he had far more urgent things to worry about—like making sure the damned demon lived to fulfill his stupid end of the contract.

The n’ghftnah at his side lowered its ears and lost form, sinking into the floor like ink in water with their master no longer able to sustain it.

Oh, Hell no.

Lucifer nearly tripped over his own feet to reach for the shadow. “No! Nonono, don’t leave me alone with him!”

He dashed to the flattening, wavering mass of darkness and threw his cane at it, the base sinking into it like a javelin that instantly stopped it from closing. Lucifer threw himself on his knees to make the last leg of his dash, plunging his arm all the way to the shoulder into the penumbra, the other held high over his head, still cradling the gross mass he’d pulled from Alastor’s chest like some sort of absurd trophy.

It took him a second of not finding anything while flailing his arm inside the increasingly unstable pocket space, but ultimately he managed to get a hold of the shadow creature and quickly yanked them back up by the scruff of their neck. He tried to, at least—it was kinda hard to pull because it kept losing shape despite his hold being quite firm, and in his frustration he let slip some of his own power, zapping the unsuspecting creature in the process.

Lucifer couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, seeing how his unplanned zap had left them all fluffed up.

“Oops, sorry about that, buddy. It’s just a little boost, you will be fine,” he assured them, giving the confused n’ghftnah a quick pet right between the ears—oh, they were wispy-soft, nice. “There you go! Good as new! Kinda.”

Alastor’s shadow stared at its own hands, turning them over, inspecting their own fingers—wihich seemed way more solid than before—then looked up with a new shimmer of gold in its eyes, blinking at Lucifer with a deeply confused frown.

“Don’t look at me like that, you were about to fade!” He protested, opening a small portal to an active volcano and tossing the disgusting biohazardous mass he'd been holding into it, disposing of it in no uncertain terms. “Him passing out is enough.”

Priorities shifted, the n’ghftnah quickly went over to its master, fussing over him and making soft, hurt noises while hovering their spectral hands over Alastor’s mangled ear.

Lucifer grimaced. He was very tempted to push the bindings of the contract they’d just made to try to get that fixed up as well—he did say he was going to make sure Alastor was fine, and well, fine was a very broad term, so as the dealmaker he could interpret it however he wanted—but no. That wouldn’t help.

Building up trust was always a lengthy process, and he didn’t need Charlie’s little exercises to have a pretty good idea of where to start. Clearly, Alastor didn’t want to be touched, and he’d already gone through enough shit without having a say on it, so Lucifer was not going to add anything to that shit pile. He could always try to convince the Sinner to let him take a look at that ear later.

Now that Alastor was no longer clutching the blanket, Lucifer was reminded of the state he was in. Not that anyone could forget, but whatever. While he wasn’t completely bare, it was very obvious the shirt hanging on his shoulders wasn't his—and there was no mistaking who it belonged to. It sparked his fury just to remember the TV guy and his cocky expression. What a fucking piece of shit.

It was hard not to wince. He looked worse for wear, and despite Lucifer having taken back his earlier comment, well… he did smell of what had been done to him.

He looked at the door over his shoulder, then back to Alastor. The way he was slumped on the chair couldn’t be comfortable, and leaving him with all that grime and, uhm… everything else left a bad taste in his mouth. But how to go about this without crossing boundaries…

“Oh!” Lucifer snapped his fingers, an idea lighting up in his mind. “Hey, hey, shadow buddy.”

Alastor’s n’ghftnah pointed at itself and tilted its head to a side in a frankly adorable way Lucifer wasn’t able to fully enjoy because he was a bit busy looking after its master.

“Yes, you! Keep your eyes on me. Yeah? I’m doing some Alakazam. See? No hands!”

He wiggled his fingers and then waved one hand towards Alastor, making him float in a flurry of golden sparks that also did a bit of a cleanup. Maybe he was pushing it a little, but he was sure the deer demon wouldn’t mind that much, right? Right.

In a single snap, the shirt was traded for a soft pair of flannel pajamas—he would’ve liked to actually make something, but conjuring would do for now. Lucifer laid him on the larger couch next to the chair, and covered him once again with the blanket.

“Okay buddy, you saw me,” Lucifer pointed to the n’ghftnah and then at himself. “I was standing here, he was sitting there, and there was absolutely zero touching. You saw! It was full-on eye contact—do you actually have eyes? I don't know, it doesn't matter—you saw everything!”

The n’ghftnah’s left ear twitched.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

After one last look back to the sleeping sinner, Lucifer hurried to leave the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He placed the palms of his hand on the wood and then pulled back to snap his fingers again, setting a perimeter around the room with some magic. Nothing too complicated, just a little disinterest spell to make sure nobody decided today was the day to snoop around the place uninvited, and a bit of noise cancelling magic to seal the deal.

It was only then that he remembered the bloody handkerchief in his coat’s pocket, pulling it out to look at the gross chunk of bloody, broken-metal-encrusted flesh.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Text

Several notifications popped up on his screens, overlapping the ones already there and completely failing to catch his undivided attention. There were many things a renowned Duke of Hell like Astaroth should be doing, but finding out why one of the very few networks capable of competing with his own was on unscheduled ‘maintenance’ for the first time in decades was a lot more interesting than any of those grandiose duties he may or may not have done already.

He really should get that checklist updated. He was pretty sure everything that needed doing was done, and he just forgot to write it down again, and now he was just bored out of his mind, so this was the perfect little distraction.

Anyway.

Astaroth adjusted his headset and ruffled his feathers before stretching. He was about to go on a deep dive, and there was nothing that could stop—his phone was ringing. With a number he had not seen in a long time.

“Oh, shit!” Astaroth quickly answered the call, because as much as he was prone to disregard everyone when going into the zone, his boss was not to be ignored.

“Hi Sire! About the task I missed, I promise I'm on it already!” he said, frantically pulling his checklist to find what the fuck he had overlooked. “You literally caught me in the middle of—”

“Hey Ash,” Lucifer greeted, not sounding like anything was about to explode, for a change. “Got a job for you.”

“...Oh?” Astaroth didn’t have to wait, because a cloth bundle containing some thing encrusted in a mass of fur, flesh, and Sinner-red blood landed on his laptop with a wet plop, making him grimace. Cleaning the keyboard was going to be such a bitch.

“Gross, thanks! What am I supposed to do with this?”

He waved his fingers, incapable of waiting as his blue and teal magic pulled apart the frankly disgusting piece of half rotted flesh, separating it from the shiny metal bits that caught his eye. He was pretty sure it was a broken chip, but it felt… odd.

Astaroth waved his fingers again, setting the organic matter aside and into a waste basket that he promptly threw out of the window before it could stink up his study, making the chip float so he could look at it closer, trying to piece it back to its original form.

Was that….?

Oh, but that—yes!

“Ash?”

Ooooo…

That was kind of brilliant, huh?

Maybe he could just—

“Ash, you’re doing the thing when you make cute, interested birdy noises, but don’t actually explain shit to me.”

“Whut?”

The King let out a long sigh. “Did you hear anything I said?”

“You said something?”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Lucifer mumbled, sighing. “Do you know what that is?”

“A disruptor. Well, it was,” Astaroth answered with a shrug. “It’s broken, so it’s useless now.”

“I see.”

“Whatever broke it was tanky af, ‘cause I’m pretty sure that thing is wired with tempered angelic steel, it’s acting funny against my magic.”

“That’d be me,” Lucifer said, which didn’t surprise Astaroth because the thing was very, very broken. “Dunno if there’s more.”

“Oh,” He hummed. “Well, fuck. That’s not good.”

“Nope.”

“Where did you get this shit anyway?”

“The TV Overlord, the one in the ugly panopticon building.”

“Ah, yeah. VoxTek,” Astaroth said, rolling his eyes.

That wannabe tech monger was so annoying, the damn guy kept trying to get him into a business deal, while also having the gall of trying to steal from his network— despite the many times Astharoth had already blocked him and intended to continue doing so.

“Predatory corporate trash,” He declared, inching closer to poke the pieces with a pen, only to get zapped for his efforts. He pulled back, hissing in affront. “Dangerous, too.”

“I don’t like that,” Lucifer huffed. “Can you step in, do your thing?”

Hell yeah he could.

“I’ll get in and see what I can find, Sire.” He agreed, as if he’d not been setting his tools for an afternoon of deep cleaning already. “Gonna get rid of anything itty-bitty Sinners shouldn’t have.”

He’d had his eyes on that anyway, his aides had mentioned VoxTek announcing a line of angelic security or some shit like that, and he hadn’t thought much of it until now. Angelic steel from weapons left behind by exorcists was no joke, but tempered? Used to augment electronics? Yeah, that was nothing but trouble.

Also illegal. Hmmm, it might be good to send one of his kiddos to deal with that, no point in getting rid of the blueprints with prototypes about to flood the market...

“Yeah, that’s good, thanks, ” Lucifer said, and then paused, shuffling audibly. “Uhm…”

Ah, there it was. The awkward causerie they’d skipped. The only thing worse than being bad at smalltalk was being trapped in conversation with someone who sucked worse at it than you did.

The silence continued stretching for an uncomfortably long time, neither of them making another sound, until Astaroth clicked his beak.

“Yeah, this is getting weird, so I’m just gonna end the call now—”

“No, no, wait! I need something else. Please.”

“Yeah…?”

There was a deep, resigned sigh from the other end of the line.

“Do you know the Radio Demon?” Lucifer mumbled reluctantly.

Three clicks later and he could answer. “I do now.”

“So does TVhead. Can you, uh…also get rid of everything he has on the Radio Demon?”

Astaroth stopped his scrolling. Now that was interesting. Tall order from the Big Boss for some random Sinner.

“Of course Sire—just to check tho: when you say ‘everything’...”

“I mean everything.”

“Sure thing, Bossman.”

He was going to have a fun afternoon, and perhaps learn a thing or two about this Sinner the Ringleader had just brought to his attention.

The Radio Demon, huh? Okay then.

Time to work.