Archive of Our Own

Lucifer thought the hotel had never looked more grand than it did right then. The recent remodel, in addition to the stunning decor that the entire hotel had worked on putting together, made the place really sparkle; not like how it had been decorated when he first arrived, never that again. Which was perfect, since they were hosting a ball. A real one. Charlie had insisted the ballroom was unnecessary, and Lucifer had insisted it was very necessary for events, and it could always be utilized as a multi-purpose space if they didn't have any parties. For most things he had deferred to Charlie; it was her hotel, her brilliant idea, her incredible drive making everything happen, but on this Lucifer had stood firm.

When Charlie had gleefully thanked him, he kicked down his hellish urge to gloat; to go “I told you so”. He had spent far too much time in rotten company, and he needed to remember his Charlie wasn't like the overlords he had gotten so used to, and he had to re-learn how to be genuine with someone again.

Watching her twirl around the dance floor in a sparkling black tuxedo, dancing with Vaggie, who’s red dress glittered just as much as Charlie, he had a feeling he could figure it out. Would figure it out, for both of them. Since they could overcome Vaggie's past with the executioner angels, he also had a feeling she was sticking around, and he might as well get himself used to the idea of two daughters sooner rather than later.

Around them were the hundreds of other guests; he had really not expected such a turn out. Rosie and her cannibals made up at least half of the guests, and had been personally invited by Charlie to thank them for their assistance. How food was being provided for them, Lucifer wasn’t sure and he didn't particularly care to know, but they all seemed happy.

The rest were a mix of people Angel had invited from his workplace that didn't include the overlord that owned his soul, local sinners who had literally just wandered in because of their open door policy for the event or had received one of the invites much of the hotel staff had literally handed out in the nearby neighborhoods for the last several weeks.

There were a few overlords, but that was to be expected since Lucifer was there. He was managing to avoid them pretty effectively. Mainly by dancing with anyone who wanted to. Couldn’t catch him in conversation if he was constantly on the dance floor, and if someone wanted to talk politics or try to curry some favor with him, he could slip away pretty quickly. He had forgotten how exhausting it was to be so visible in the public eye, but since he was splitting his time at the hotel, he had become a lot more accessible. He had always felt wrong-footed in politics before, and he had a feeling it wasn’t going to get much better now, even if he was happier than he had been in a long time. A low bar, to be sure, but it was something.

He had slipped away to the bar for a small break. The bottles were just out so anyone could pour themselves a drink, since Husk had been given the evening off to enjoy the event. While it would have been classier to have a bartender, from what Lucifer understood Husk almost never got a break. He had seen him dancing with Angel all night, so he agreed this was better. Charlie had also insisted an open bar would keep the event more casual.

He poured himself something, he wasn't really sure and he didn't really care. It was hard for him to get drunk, and he was determined to get a little buzzed this evening, so he would continue to pour literally whatever down his throat until the world became beautiful, and just a little fuzzy.

He was refilling his glass when a bit of static caught his attention, and he looked over the brim of his cup to the source.

“Alastor! You rotten old deer!” Rosie cackled and pushed Alastor's shoulder playfully, who only smiled. He was sitting with Rosie and several cannibals. Lucifer couldn't understand his smiles. Charlie had told him once that you had to get used to Alastor's facial expressions, and Lucifer wasn't sure how he was supposed to even believe Alastor had more than one expression that wasn't his smile that was so wide it threatened to break his face.

But Charlie seemed so genuine, and Lucifer didn't want to dispute her. He had chosen to keep his feelings about Alastor to himself, since he had a feeling his open disgust with the sinner had begun to upset Charlie. Vaggie didn't seem to mind though.

He gazed at Alastor steadily, and watched.

When his glass was empty, he refilled it, and when he turned back, Rosie had stood and was attempting to draw Alastor onto the dance floor. Lucifer was just going to turn away, uninterested in watching them dance, when something changed on Alastor's face. His grin became broader, but more pinched. His teeth weren't on display anymore; never had a smile looked more forced.

“Rosie, doll, you don't want to dance with me, I assure you,” he said.

Rosie just laughed. “Of course I do! You're the best dancer I know, babycakes. Surely you didn’t think I would come to your party and not want to dance? Now come on and dance with an old lady.” She didn't leave a great deal of room for argument, and before Alastor could do anything about it, Rosie had him halfway to the dancefloor.

Lucifer snorted into his glass. He sort of liked Rosie, she was a real class act, and she certainly deserved a better dance partner than the Radio Demon.

Charlie swung by with Vaggie, and briefly distracted him enough that he lost sight of Rosie and Alastor. He watched his daughters twirl and twirl and twirl, so when he attempted to find them again, he was struck by what he saw.

Alastor was just pulling Rosie out of quite the dip, and twirling her, and sliding with her effortlessly across the floor, his hand at her waist, her hand keeping her silvery skirt off of the floor. They moved like they were the same person. Like they had grown up keeping perfect time with each other, and he recalled that Charlie had said that Alastor and Rosie seemed like old friends.

Other people were turning to watch, as well. There was no formal dance happening, and the music was ambiently good for anything, but the tempo picked up when people began to clear the way for Alastor and Rosie. They sped up, kept to the beat, and didn't miss a step. Alastor was clearly reveling in the attention, and Rosie blew a kiss at a random standerby when she was once again pulled out of a dip and lifted so her skirt slipped through the air like melted silver. It had to be some kind of lightweight silk, the way it moved.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie and Vaggie standing off to the side, as awestruck as the rest of the crowd, just watching the two dance.

Lucifer put his now empty glass down hard, not that anyone noticed. The world was a little fuzzy, but not yet beautiful.

He moved to the dancefloor, right when Alastor pulled Rosie out of another dip.

“Mind if I cut in?” He asked, and didn't leave a lot of room for an answer when he swooped Rosie into his arms and effortlessly twirled her away from the angry static noises.

“Oh your Majesty ,” Rosie giggled, flashing all her pearly white and deadly sharp teeth.

“Hope you don't mind, my lady, but I felt you deserved a real dance.” Lucifer’s knife-like smile matched hers. They twirled right by Alastor, who was staticking loudly, but had moved back to the edge of the floor.

Lucifer winked at the band, and the music switched to something a little saucier and he pulled Rosie close. The Devil knew how to dance, even if he didn't know Rosie well enough to move as effortlessly. He kept his hand in a respectful place on her waist, but left less room between them. He couldn't hold her hand over her head, but with gentle touches she twirled between his hands effortlessly, giggling the entire time.

This might have actually been a little fun, and for a moment he forgot why he was doing it. Rosie was a fantastic dancing partner, and his glances around the room told him they had more attention than before. The entire floor was theirs, and he sent gold sparks flying from her skirt, so everytime she turned glitter cartwheeled in every direction, and there were many oohs and aahs that pleased Lucifer immensely. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was showmanship .

They did six turns around the floor, before she reached out during a particularly deep dip, and snatched Charlie from the sideline before Lucifer could even register it, and suddenly his daughter was in his arms in Rosie’s place.

“Apologies, your majesty, but you'll have to excuse this lady a small break,” Rosie said, her hand to her chest as she regained control of her breathing. Lucifer shot her a wink and a winning smile, and whisked Charlie away. He couldn't complain much about the trade, especially when Charlie squealed with delighted laughter as she took the lead and dipped her dad, which made the crowd laugh in response, and the music became a little lighter and the dance a little sillier. People returned to the dance floor, and Lucifer forgot what he had gotten so worked up about all over again.

He passed Charlie back to Vaggie, and grabbed someone new. This, he could do. He could dance a night away. If someone tried to speak with him, he twirled them away and pulled in someone else. He composed the crowd, and they moved the way he wanted. He orchestrated people into groups that pleased him, caught who was looking at who and spun them together before they could say a word. He danced with Vaggie, and led her just as playfully as Charlie had led him, and snatched up four of Angel Dust's hands to twirl him around a little before spinning him into Husk. He even pried Cherri, who was just finding it in herself to be around large groups of people again, from the periphery and did a footwork heavy jig that got her blood pumping hard enough she could forget about being sad for a few moments, and enjoy something other than blowing things up.

It was good . Lucifer was alive with energy. He felt like an incubus of the good times, the lord of dance, and devourer of songs. There was probably some myth somewhere that painted him as all of those things, if he cared to think about it.

He didn't care to think about much of anything, right then.

And then there was a flash of familiar red, radio static, and his smile turned to a snarl. He clawed at his good mood, holding it in place, as he slipped back to the bar to watch Alastor chat with someone else. He hadn't danced once since Rosie, even though she had been back on the dance floor a number of times.

He was chatting with some overlord Lucifer didn't know, but had danced with. The only overlord other than Rosie who seemed to want to actually participate in the festivities, and not only network. Something mischievous tickled Lucifer's hand, and he made a motion at the band, and the music changed.

Hell didn't have a lot of like-minded individuals, at least not in the Pride ring, where sinner fought sinner ate sinner killed sinner in the ceaseless climb to a peak that didn't exist. But there were a few things everyone could agree on, and one was that The Devil Went Down to Georgia was about as close to a folk song with a matching folk dance that anyone could get to in the eternal pit.

The first cords of the fiddle were stuck, long and slow to give everyone time to disperse and rearrange themselves on the dance floor so anyone that wanted to participate in the dance could, and those who didn't, wouldn't.

Alastor, poor Alastor , was flanked on all sides by people Lucifer knew were going to want to dance, especially when he stepped back onto the floor after throwing back three shots of mystery liquid and grinning like he wanted to eat the world. Maybe he did.

The Radio Demon was jostled onto the floor, and Lucifer snapped his fingers to begin the music before he could escape.

It was kind of a loose circular dance with multiple concentric rings, where partners paired up, one would lead and one would follow in some dance they made up, usually twirling or dipping or jigging, and then pass them along and somehow in the madness of the song people were passed further and further into the rings until one pair ended up in the middle and had to dance a jig that was dependent on the locality and try to get out of the center, which was determined by the crowd; best dancer got let out. Last person in the center by the time the song ended was the Devil, and therefore the loser of the dance, while the last person to make it out was the winner. It was a series of fast micro competitions, and sang to Hell's violently competitive nature.

Lucifer might’ve been offended about it once, but he couldn’t recall because the first time he had participated he had ended up the loser, and found it so funny he produced a tiny fiddle made of solid gold to give to the winner, who looked like they were going to faint, and which probably didn’t help the myth, but it’s not like he cared much what people said about him. Endless millenia of being the ultimate bad guy had numbed him to it.

The music began, and it was an extended version of the song that would take about twice as long to finish since there were so many participants.

Many people lost to him, and some conceded, which annoyed him, but he had finally consumed enough alcohol that things were just a little sparkly all the time, and he couldn't bring himself to care very much. To turn it around he began to concede some of his dances, especially when he ended up partnered to Charlie and Vaggie. Charlie led him in a little twirl that made him dizzy, and then he copied the move on Vaggie, and spun her out just to bring her back and move on before she could concede.

He made it to the second ring and had just conceded a dance to Husk, who had out-tapped him fair and square, when he came face to face with Alastor. He had forgotten he had been pushed into the dance.

“Fancy meeting you here, Al,” he said, and took Alastor's hand to lead him in a dance.

Alastor scowled, or at least Lucifer assumed he did, since the demon's lips remained turned up in a smile.

“Unhand me,” he growled , which was so funny Lucifer pulled him closer.

“No can do. You'll just have to beat me. Or are you allergic to having a good time?” Lucifer maybe wasn't at the top of his game for insults.

And it seemed Alastor wasn't at the top of his game when it came to dancing, because Lucifer managed to lead him with hardly any fight. He pulled them chest to chest, or, more accurately, Lucifer's face close to Alastor's chest.

Alastor’s scowl deepened, which is to say his smile became even sharper and his eyes narrowed. He attempted to wiggle himself to a more advantageous position, and his eyes darted to the side. He wanted to concede, Lucifer realized, which made him smile with all of his teeth.

Sure, he'd let him leave, once he’d had his fun.

He turned Alastor and forced him into a huge dip, and the Radio Demon snarled, his eyes flicked black, and his radio-dial pupils flickered for just a moment before he regained his composure with what appeared to be great force. Several people nearby jumped and a few attempted to leave the dance.

It would have been funny, except for the fact Lucifer picked up the faintest scent of rotten blood, and under it, angelic magic.

It surprised him enough he let Alastor go, and the Radio Demon sank into the shadows and disappeared. Lucifer looked around, and caught him reappearing next to Rosie. And then he was swept into another dance, and he lost sight of him entirely.

The song came to an end, and he pushed himself through the rings to find Husk had actually won. It was downright endearing how he blushed when Lucifer pinned a solid gold fiddle brooch to his blazer, and raised his arm to the cheers of the crowd.

What happened after that was a bit of a blur, but at some point Lucifer found himself once again next to Rosie, on the sidelines with a bottle of wine in his hand. Apparently, he had got it in his head to come refill her drink. He took the spot on the loveseat next to her and lounged back, topped off her drink, and then titled the bottle back into his own mouth. There wasn't much left, and it would have been wasteful to get a clean glass.

She giggled. “You are quite the dancer, your majesty. You'll have to treat me to another before I leave,” she said. Lucifer winked at her, and clinked their drinks.

“Anything for you, Rosie-Posie.”

Lucifer looked around, and squinted when he couldn't find-

“Alastor retired for the evening, I'm afraid. Said he'd had his fill of festivities. Can't say I blame him. This is quite the party you've thrown.” Rosie sipped her drink, and watched Lucifer over her glass. She looked extremely amused, and Lucifer had a feeling if she'd had eyes, they'd be sparkling with mischief.

“It's the hotel's party, to celebrate the grand reopening, and our successful battle with the exterminators,” Lucifer said casually, taking another drink from his bottle.

“Certainly. And quite the success it was. Heaven has temporarily called off the exterminations, if the news is to be believed?”

“It is, indeed. They'll probably come back, once Heaven has devised a way to punish me for Adam's death.” He snapped his mouth shut as soon as he had said it, and kept his composure as Rosie, as well as a few other people who definitely weren't eaves-dropping snapped their attention to him. Maybe he had finally had too much to drink. He put the bottle down on his knee.

“Punish you? But he attacked your daughter, in direct violation of the extermination agreement. Surely you couldn't be expected to take that lying down?” Rosie seemed so genuinely concerned, Lucifer almost believed she cared for a second.

He stood, handing his wine off to the nearest whoever, and offered her his hand.

“Tonight's not the night to worry about such things, my dear. How about that dance?” Rosie recovered her composure, took his hand, and off they went.

Lucifer didn't re-emerge from the dancefloor until half the crowd had trickled out, so late into the night it was early morning.

Rosie and most of her cannibals had left an hour or two prior, Lucifer couldn't quite recall. He left the ballroom, and wandered out to find Husk and Angel in the lobby, cozied up on a couch, chatting quietly.

Vaggie and Charlie were on the stairs. Vaggie had abandoned her shoes at the bottom of the stairs, and was listening to Charlie explain the purpose of the hotel to a few sinners who seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. Lucifer made an idle mental note to let…someone know they might have more real guests soon.

Someone like Alastor.

The demon had retired an unknown number of hours before, and Lucifer would leave it alone but something tickled in the back of his head and in his nose.

Alastor had retired early, which was unusual. He was the host of the hotel, and it was his duty to remain until the last guest left. Lucifer could say many things about him, but that he wasn’t dutiful in his job as the Hazbin’s hotelier was not one of them. He should have been there.

The memory of a scent hit Lucifer. Rotten blood and the foul smell of angelic power straight from Heaven. He had smelled it on Alastor before the demon had absconded. Lucifer wondered if that was when he had left the ball, too.

Did it matter to him? It felt like it did. He watched Charlie's animated movements for a moment, as she commanded the sinners’ attention on what she had to say, and he tried to recall what was bothering him.

Oh. Alastor had disappeared in the fight with Adam and the exterminator angels. According to Vaggie, he was supposed to fight Adam but then he had vanished, and no one had seen or heard from for the weeks it had taken them to rebuild the hotel. At the time, Lucifer had laughed at the idea that Alastor thought he could fight Adam. Adam was the First Man, Heaven's favorite winner, and Alastor was just another sinner.

Adam was dead now, and Alastor had re-appeared like nothing had happened, after the rest of them had done the hard work of rebuilding the hotel, a thought that still pissed him off.

Rotten blood, like a festering wound. It had smelled, and Lucifer wrinkled his nose at the memory.

Lucifer teleported himself before he could consciously recall deciding to, before the great ocean of apathy he was always trying to stay above could drag him back down.

He raised his hand, ready to knock on Alastors door, but stopped. His thoughts were muddy, and he had almost tripped into the door after he teleported. Why was he here? He grasped at his thoughts, the buzz from the various liquids he had consumed making his thoughts slip away like sand in his hands.

Maybe he shouldn’t be there. Rolling waves of uncaring dragged him towards the idea of his bed, in his room, and he could wake up tomorrow and Alastor would be fine and maybe he’d make pancakes for everyone, even if it was too late for breakfast. Pancake lunch, or maybe even early dinner, if the weight of exhaustion that pressed on his spine was any sort of metric to go by. He was suddenly so tired .

He stepped away from the door, determined to leave whatever was happening that had him at Alastor’s door at such a ridiculous time of night/morning for the Lucifer of a different day, or maybe the Lucifer of never. He made it one step, when something caught his eye.

He leaned down. It would have been imperceptible on the red carpet, in the low lighting of the hall right outside of Alastor’s suite, but he had terrific color perception; a perk of what he was.

Two small splotches of red that had clearly fallen from a height, the distance of one long step from Alastor’s door. Lucifer touched one. The blood was dry, and, when he scratched with a claw, flaked off onto his nail, which he stuck into his mouth. And then immediately stuck his tongue out. It was foul, several shades beyond rancid. It tasted like something rotten and festering, worse than sinner blood normally was. He smacked his tongue and wished he had another drink.

He turned back to the door, and reached for the knob when a little black sigil popped up. The Radio Demon had barred his door from unwanted guests.

It took him a moment, and he could feel his face scrunch up in concentration as he tried to gather his scattered thoughts, but the sigil popped and fizzled in a flash of gold under his hand. The magic smoke that resulted made him sneeze, and he was pretty sure it was a failsafe to incapacitate an intruder, which was just too cute.

He pushed the door open with no further effort, and was immediately assaulted with the stench of rot . It was stronger in Alastor's room than it had been outside of his door. The second thing he noticed was how warm it was, not just in temperature. The part of the room that was a normal hotel suite was mostly in shades of reds and browns, and it had a plush carpet and large, comfortable looking bed that was impeccably made, and appeared like it had never once been slept in. There were deer bones as decor, and a banked fire in the fireplace, which had clearly been used before, as well as a large, plush looking chair in front of it. A book with a bookmark and an empty whiskey glass rested on the small table next to the chair.

It was the picture of coziness, in direct contrast to every mental image Lucifer could conjure of the Radio Demon he knew.

The third thing Lucifer noticed was that half the room wasn't even a room. There was a literal swamp in Alastor's suite. It started barely a meter away from the far side of the bed, but the carpet and then the wood floor underneath gave way to pale green grass, luminescent with moonlight and the soft glow of hundreds of conjured fireflies. There was a table and chair, with an empty place setting, it was clearly somewhere Alastor ate his meals, and Lucifer was suddenly struck with what exactly it was that he was doing.

If Alastor saw him there, he would probably attack him on sight, and Lucifer couldn't really blame him. This was a pretty intense invasion of privacy that he was engaged in, and he considered once again whether or not he should leave. But he had already come this far, and the smell of rot was still present.

He stepped further in, and examined the floor. There were more scattered splotches of red on the carpet, and he had to examine the ground closely to spot them. They went around the bed and into the swamp, where they contrasted better but disappeared in the tall grass.

When Lucifer crossed the threshold of the artificial bayou, the rotten smell abated some to the sweet smell of algae, grass, trees, and growing things. His curiosity got the better of him, and he reached out gently with his magic, just enough to feel but not damage any of the work. The magic was incredibly solid, and some of it wasn't even artificial. Once it was built, it would take very little effort to maintain the illusion. Lucifer could see the seals on the ground and in the walls that extended the room, and he had a feeling the suite was actually occupying multiple neighboring rooms in the hall that Alastor must have claimed without anyone knowing, and the space extended even further beyond that.

It was good magic, cleverly put together, and used techniques that Lucifer knew weren't common for sinners to know, let alone use. This was clearly something the Radio Demon had worked hard on, and for entirely personal reasons; this wasn't for anyone else but him.

The sense of invading someone's privacy heightened, but it's not like these things needed to matter to the Devil.

He moved further into the bayou and no longer needed to follow the trail of blood, because the exact width of it was more illusion, and didn't far exceed the room. The depth, on the other hand, shocked him.

He walked until he couldn't see the normal part of Alastor's room anymore, and followed the waterline until he turned a small bend and anything that wasn't the magical landscape fell out of sight. He breathed deep, and enjoyed the fragrance of green earth, a rarity in Hell, despite the growing intensity of rot. Lucifer could understand why Alastor had done this; it was incredibly peaceful and in his buzzed state Lucifer really wanted to lay down in the grass and take a nap; it felt so plush under his sparkly party heels.

At the end of the bend was the end of the bayou, and there was a small cabin, half on land, half in the water on stilts. Lucifer knew this was the end of the space, even though the illusion made it look like it stretched far beyond the cabin.

There were stairs just on the opposite side of the water, and thanks to four convenient stepping stones that were fun to hop over despite the fact he almost slipped twice, Lucifer found himself at the base of the stairs, looking up at a quaintly painted warm orange door that had a small window and what appeared to be pale yellow curtains on the other side blocking any possible view. If he had been thinking clearly, this new contradiction to what he knew of Alastor’s character would have caused him to be more boggled than he already was, but Lucifer could only snicker to himself quietly.

There were splotches of blood on the doorknob and railing all in the shape of a hand, with even more splatters of blood on the wood stairs leading up into the house.

The stench of rot had only gotten worse, and Lucifer hated to think about how badly it would smell inside.

But he had to go in. His thoughts were still pleasantly fuzzy, but even through the haze of his buzz, he knew he should have seen Alastor by now, even if he wasn't in his room. Lucifer had tripped several invisible alarms on his way in, and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the hotelier.

The aftertaste of rancid blood still lingered on the back of his tongue.

Lucifer went up the stairs, turned the knob as quietly as he could, and slowly opened the door.

The smell of rot was even worse than he thought it would be, and he wrinkled his nose as he peeked around the room.

He heard Alastor before he spotted him; there was a low sound that took him a moment of processing to realize was labored breathing, more of a wheeze than anything. His gaze followed the noise, and there, on a single person bed on an austere iron frame was the Radio Demon.

There was blood everywhere. The white sheet was more red at this point, the sticky, half-dry blood trail was unbroken from the door to the bed, and on the floor were wadded up used bandages, which appeared to have been removed as Alastor made his way to the bed.

The demon himself appeared to be unconscious to some degree, with one arm thrown over his eyes and his other arm resting at his side as he took deep breaths in and out. Or at least he tried too, if the harsh wheeze was anything to go by.

His chest was a mess, which Lucifer could tell because his coat and shirt were thrown haphazardly on the floor, leaving Alastor in only his pants as he clearly struggled to rest. There was a great splotch of red on his chest that Lucifer struggled to make out in the dim lighting of the cabin.

He stepped forward quietly, thankful that despite how old the cabin looked, the floorboards didn't actually creak. Alastor still didn't stir, which Lucifer only belatedly realized should have indicated how bad the situation was. If that didn't do it, what he actually saw did.

A thick gash crossed his torso from his left to right side going from collar to waist. It was deep enough that where it wasn't crusted over with dark blood, Lucifer caught glimpses of the white of fatty tissue and muscles. Even worse, the skin at the edges was black with necrosis, and there were hundreds of blisters across Alastor's chest that varied in size; some were the size of Lucifer's small fingertips, but most were the size of pinheads and clustered together so tightly they were practically on top of eachother. Many had burst and left a shiny transparent film of dried pus, and Lucifer could see more were forming. Underneath the entire disaster was an angry red infection that went off in every direction, like a furious starburst.

If Lucifer hadn't seen worse thousands of times over in his life, it might have actually made him sick.

There were snapped green threads, which he realized were Alastor's magic, in what he could only assume had been the demon's attempt to close the wound on his own.

Now that he was so close to him, Lucifer once again smelt angelic magic, under the festering, fetid injury.

At least this solved the mystery of what had happened to Alastor during his fight with Adam, and why he had disappeared for so long.

Something rolled in the pit of Lucifer's stomach, and for a moment he interpreted it as maybe he would be sick, but then he blinked and his hard earned buzz was gone, forced out by his magic. A sensation spread to his extremities, and there was an unusual tingle in his hands and his back, between where his wings would emerge when he called them, and his body moved with the urge to do something . He was at Alastor's side, and he placed a hand gently on his shoulder. The sinner's gray flesh, paler than it usually was, was fever-hot under his hand.

“Al, wake up.”

It took way too long for Alastor to rouse, and Lucifer stamped down on his urge to shake him, the long buried part of him that recalled how to nurture and heal reminded him he had to be gentle. This injury was bad, and he needed to stay focused.

But then Alastor moved his hand away from his eyes, and stared at Lucifer for a moment too long before recognition sharpened his expression from vaguely confused to lethal.

“ Get out ,” he hissed, and attempted to pull himself into an upright position.

“No, don't-” Lucifer tried to reach out to do something, anything, but his hand was knocked away.

“ OUT!”  The shadows of the room grew, and Lucifer felt something nip at his heels. The little light that had filtered in from the small windows disappeared, and then there was only a void with the two of them in it.

He regretted burning away his buzz immediately, this had not been worth it.

“Sorry, I didn't think you wanted to die a slow painful death, but fuck me for trying to be helpful, I guess.” Lucifer sighed, the sensation of being present in his body that had jarred him so much was fading. He had for the briefest of moments forgotten exactly who he was dealing with; the worst fucking nuisance of a sinner that had deceived his daughter into thinking he was useful.

“ Get out , I am not -” Alastor had nearly managed to pull himself fully upright, and Lucifer watched in real time as parts of the wound that had tentatively sealed since the sinner had been resting burst open, and blood began to run down his stomach once more and Alastor choked on his words. He would have cringed at the way Alastor's flesh moved out of sync on either side of the injury, but he was too busy being annoyed.

“Sure, and I'm a six-winged Easter bunny. You're infested with angelic magic, Alastor; and that injury doesn't look like its healing. And you've had it for, what, over a month?”

Alastor glared at him, his red irises almost nothing with how tight his gaze was, and his whole body shook with the effort it took to remain upright, but his mouth was still pulled into that stupid fucking smile, and he had all his teeth on display. Lucifer had a feeling that if deer could growl, Alastor would be.

“Get-”

“-out, I know. You've said that a bunch of times, and if I was going to listen to you, I would have already. But I have to fix that .” He pointed at the gash, that was seeping even more blood with no sign of stopping.

“Fuck you.”

“Eloquent as always, Al, do you have any other riveting nuggets of intellect I should be made aware of before I do what I came here to do?” A lie. Lucifer hadn't known until about three minutes ago what he had come there for, but if there was anything that could be said about him, it was his ability to commit to the bit.

“Doesn't your party need you back, your majesty, or did you get bored with your own festivities?” The words came out strained as Alastor struggled to enunciate through his gritted teeth. That irked something in Lucifer.

“It wasn't my party; it’s the hotels, and it ended forever ago.”

“Are you so sure about that? I thought with the way you were running the entire thing, you’d forgotten it was Charlie's party, but heaven forbid she have a success that isn't overshadowed by her powerful daddy who can only show up at the last sec-”

“Watch your fucking mouth-”

“Maybe heaven does forbid it, actually, as part of your divine punishment to fail at all you do, but what do I know? I'm just some lowly sinner-”

Lucifer felt the hellfire in his mouth, and his hand found purchase around Alastor's throat, he forced the Radio Demon down onto his back, and he squeezed.

“I said shut your FUCKING mouth, you piece of shit; waste of fucking breathe. You’re right; you're just a sinner worth less than the dirt on my boots.” He blew hot steam on Alastor's face, and the sinner’s eye twitched from the sensation, but his obnoxious grin only grew wider, his eyes turned black and his pupils to little ticking dials as Lucifer felt him struggle to breathe under his hand.

“You are nothing, you will always be nothing, and I only let you live because my daughter has decided to keep you around like some deranged stray animal, but that eventually may not be enough to save you. So watch your mouth. ”

He let go, and stood up from his lean. Alastor gasped and coughed, which only caused his injury to gape worse and bleed more. He propped himself up on one elbow, heedless of the damage he was causing himself.

“Did I touch a nerve, your majesty?” He said, wheezing around the words. His antlers had grown larger, and Lucifer watched a red X between his eyes flicker in and out of existence; his death-mark, hidden by an illusion that struggled to remain in place.

Lucifer reached forward and flicked the mark with his claw, and Alastor went flat to the bed and hissed, radio static popping in the air, his eyes blown wide with pain as the ticking dials vanished. Lucifer was only just impressed he didn’t screech in agony when he felt, for the second time in his existence, the sensation of a bullet rocketing through his brain, especially since this time he didn’t get the sweet relief of death to abate the pain. Just as quickly as it had come, the sensation was gone.

“Are you done?”

Alastor stared at him with wide red eyes, and his smile flickered like it might actually disappear.

Lucifer’s gaze slid to the wall. Maybe it had been a little overkill, if this was the reaction.

There was a small black and white photograph of a woman on the wall that his eyes landed on. She had curly hair pulled into a neat bun, and there was a large mole on her cheek and a little scar on her chin that stood out brightly against her deep complexion, but otherwise her face was blank, with only muddled shadows that implied the shape of eyes, a wide nose, and full lips that might have been drawn into a smile, but Lucifer couldn’t really tell.

He counted to ten, and looked back at Alastor, who’s smile was firmly in place, as wide and as infuriating as ever. The Radio Demon’s eyes were somewhere on Lucifer’s chest, and his breathing was labored, no doubt recovering his mental facilities.

“I’m just going to heal you now, and then we can never speak of this again,” Lucifer said.

“Why?” The radio filter had dropped from Alastor’s voice, which was weird as fuck, and his words were strained.

“Why?”

“Why do you want to heal me? If what you say is true, then this wound will eventually kill me, and I will no longer be your problem.”

Lucifer thought about it, really thought about it. Why did he care?

His first thoughts were always the sounds that came readily from the great ocean of apathy.

He was the King of Hell, he could say whatever the fuck he wanted , the sweet voices said, why did this pathetic sinner deserve insight into his thoughts?

Thinking is too hard, don’t worry about it, said another, as fast as the first.

He returned his gaze to Alastor’s wound, where it bled sluggishly, and more blisters had burst.

Adam’s war ax had killed so many of his people, it would be great to spit on his memory by undoing its final damage, take away its final kill.

A safe lie, whispered a voice from so deep Lucifer wasn’t sure where it came from, and the idea of examining its origins created an unpleasant burn in his chest and neck that he had no desire to deal with right now.

There are two truths.

Show me the one that hurts the least, he whispered back.

An image conjured itself.

“Charlie would be so upset. She really trusts you; enough to make a deal with you, even. Don’t you want to see that fulfilled? Or do you want fucking Adam to have the last laugh? You’d go down in cosmic history as his final kill, you know.” Lucifer lifted his hand and inspected his nails. He conjured a small hellfire in his palm, and let it burn across his hands and claws; that would leave them clean enough.

His words successfully poked at Alastor’s ego enough he squinted at Lucifer hard.

“You know-”

“I’m healing you now, asshole,” Lucifer said, and jumped on him.

The Radio Demon, unsurprisingly, fought back.

Lucifer knew he weighed more than he appeared, and he enjoyed the “oof” that escaped Alastor's mouth when his pelvis was pinned by Lucifer.

“Hold still- fuck!” Lucifer was tossed from the bed, hard enough he crashed into the wall,  and his head cracked against the wood. It didn't hurt so much as it pissed him off. Adrenaline was clearly working wonders on Alastor as the demon got to his feet, the bed between them and his back to the door.

Lucifer jumped up, and saw Alastor's gaze slide in the direction of the door. He bent at the knees, hands out, and the second Alastor's foot pivoted to make a break for the exit, Lucifer pushed off from the wall with his wings, launched himself over the bed, and tackled the bleeding sinner to the ground.

A loud screech of radio noise tore apart the air. The windows rattled and Lucifer's sensitive hearing gave out to painful white noise that transformed into ringing. It took him several seconds to return to himself, and process what he had heard.

His knees were wet in a way they hadn’t been before, so he looked down.

Alastor had hit the ground facedown. He shook between Lucifer's legs, and his hair had fallen over much of his face, but Lucifer could see his mouth was open as he panted. Fresh blood pooled under him, and it climbed the white fabric of Lucifer's pants.

There had been a real scream under the radio noise.

“Fuck.” Lucifer raised himself enough that he could turn the sinner onto his back. Alastor’s eyes were half open but his gaze was distant. The hot emotion returned to Lucifer's chest, and he stamped down the guilt with some force.

He had really stuck his nose too far into it this time; Alastor was a lot worse off than when he had found him.

“Damnit, Al, why- nevermind,” he muttered. He put his hands over Alastor's wound, and touched gently with his magic.

The angelic magic inside of the sinner throbbed, and made him twitch under Lucifer's hand. It was wound all around his torso cavity, twisted around his ribs, squeezed his lungs whenever he took a breath, and long sharp points reached for his heart and were days, a week if he was lucky, from their destination. It was more like a poison than anything.

Lucifer felt blood climb further into his clothes and turn his inner thighs damp.

He came back to himself, and saw Alastor had managed to do the same as they locked gazes.

“It's bad,” was all he said.

“Astute as ever, your majesty.”

“ Fuck you. Just- fuck you .”

“Eloquent, as well.”

Lucifer growled. “You are days away from a terrible, painful, awful second death and you really seem to want to piss off the one person who can help you. What the fuck is your problem?” He put a hand over Alastor's mouth before he could respond. “Actually I really don't want to know.”

He half expected to be bitten, so he was a bit surprised when a shaking hand grabbed his wrist and only pulled weakly. He removed his hand.

The Radio Demon sighed after a long moment once his mouth was free.

“I am damned either way, it seems. So do what you will,” he said, and let his hand fall to the floor next to his head, palm up. The other hand was no threat either, and rested at his side in the growing pool of blood..

“Fucking finally. Now hold still,” Lucifer said. He spread his hands wide, fully coating his palms and fingers in rotten red blood. He prodded gently at the angelic poison with his own magic. It was unresponsive, which infuriated him. He tugged , and the poison only moved away, deeper into Alastor's body, and squeezed his lungs tighter.

The sinner exhaled sharply, and his grin grew so wide Lucifer felt like it might actually make his face fall off this time.

“This- is- helping-?” The words came out between sharp intakes of breath.

Lucifer rolled his eyes.

“I'm figuring it out. You're the one who let it get this bad in the first place, instead of just asking for help. What was the plan, anyway? Roll over and die? Doesn't seem like you,” he said.

Alastor's gaze sharpened on him. “And what,” more sharp breaths, “do you know- about me? ”

Lucifer chose not to take the bait this time, mainly because the angelic poison throbbed under his hands again, and Alastor winced hard enough his eyes snapped shut. Lucifer abruptly realized what he needed to do to get the poison out.

“Alastor.”

“Mn?” The sinner looked half dazed, but he opened his eyes and locked them with Lucifer.

“The poison is wound too deep. I’m going to have to reach in.”

Alastor’s breathing was still labored, so instead of wasting words, he just cocked an inquiring eyebrow at Lucifer, demanding the angel explain.

“I have to make your injury a lot worse, and dig in. I need to make contact with the poison.” Lucifer lifted his hands, now entirely red on their underside, and flexed his fingers to draw attention to his claws. They may have just appeared like long vanity nails, and to an extent he did like to keep them pretty and sometimes he even painted them, like he had for the ball, but they were harder than most metals and sharper than a surgeon's scalpel. He was more precise, too.

Alastor’s eyes grew wide as he realized what Lucifer was saying.

“I’d rather not,” he wheezed.

“Do you think I like the idea of touching your insides? Fucking ew; and I’m not up on my vaccinations so I’ll probably catch something. But it’s either this or that slow painful death I mentioned,” Lucifer said, and then added before he could change his mind, “I can try to do something about how much it will hurt.”

He wasn’t sure why that mattered to him, he should have enjoyed the idea of watching Alastor writhe in pain as he tore him further apart; but somewhere in his mind something recoiled at the idea.

He put his hands back on Alastor's wound without waiting for permission, and tried to remember how to alleviate pain. It came back to him slowly, and he closed his eyes as he pushed his golden magic into the sinner’s body. He attempted to unwind muscles, soothe damaged nerves, and numb the pain that already existed and keep it that way. The poison resisted it entirely, but the organs it was tormenting accepted his ministrations.

Lucifer knew it had worked when the tension in the body beneath him eased, and Alastor exhaled like he had been holding his breath.

“Good, ok, so, this is still going to suck, but maybe not as much? You’ll probably survive” Lucifer said.

The Radio demon’s smile, which had shut, widened again to show off his yellow teeth.

“Do what you must, your majesty,” he said, and Lucifer took his sarcasm as a hopeful sign that he wasn't going to die during what followed.

The wound had tentatively stopped bleeding with Lucifer's healing, and the blood disappeared with a wave of his hands so he could get a good look at it. He wanted to avoid additional cuts; it would be easier for him to fix one big injury than several smaller ones, and the gash that already existed was nearly deep enough already.

Lucifer just needed to make it a lot worse.

Well, there was no point in wasting anymore time, he thought, and sank his fingers into the injury, right over Alastor's ribs.

He felt the flesh rend further around his nails, and the Radio Demon hissed sharply and the hand at his side snapped up to grab Lucifer's arms, but his grip was weak and could only bunch up in the rolled fabric of Lucifer's sleeves. It wasn't a hindrance, so Lucifer let it be.

He pushed his fingers in carefully, and he worked to avoid organs as he slid between Alastor's ribs. Blood and flesh squelched around his knuckles. It was excruciatingly slow going, and he was soaked with blood up to his wrists as the injury had started bleeding again. He began to get nervous that he might puncture something despite the detailed visual of the inside of Alastor's body that his magic was painting for him in his mind's eye. He had extensive experience in healing, but it had been so long, and never had he used it to undo the work of Heaven; so he wasn’t sure how much he could trust his skills.

This body is immortal, you needn't be so soft, take what you must and let this sinner be grateful for your mercy, one of the nastier voices said. It was countered by the same little whisper that seemed determined to wrench terrible feelings from him ever since he had entered the cabin. The claws may be new but they are still your hands, and you know what to do.

In that same moment, his fingertips make contact with the poison. It felt like needles against his skin, and Alastor's breath hitched. Lucifer looked at his face, the deer demon's grin had become small and pinched, and his eyes were squeezed shut. The hand that grasped his sleeve squeezed the fabric harder.

For a moment he thought maybe everything would be fine, he would fix the fucking Radio Demon, and they could both move on with their lives.

And then the poison reacted to Lucifer's touch, like it seemed to realize it couldn't hurt this new invader so it would double its efforts on the victim it already had. The poison went deeper, and began to crawl faster towards Alastor's heart, who’s face contorted in pain, his smile almost fully vanished and he began to dig his nails into Lucifer's arm.

“Fuck!” 

Idle hands do the Devil’s work, and the Devil’s hands do the worst work of all. The thought was like a blade through Lucifer's heart.

He couldn't do this. He should have known better, and now Alastor was going to die when he’d told him he would heal him, and worse yet, he was going to die in more pain than ever and it was because of Lucifer, the fallen, the failure, outcast and oathbreaker.

The claws in his arm loosened their grip, and Alastor's other hand grabbed a hold of his other forearm.

“Luc-ifer,” he gasped. He opened his eyes with what appeared to be some effort, and he met Lucifer's panicked gaze.

“I'm sorry Al, I don't- I can't, it's so bad-” Lucifer began to ramble.

“Shut the- fuck up,” the Radio Demon said. He raised one of his hands slowly, and grabbed at Lucifer's shirt. He had no strength, but Lucifer complied when he was tugged forward, and he leaned just slightly, careful not to press his hands in any deeper.

“You're,” he gasped again, struggling to get enough air, “you're the King.” Another gasp, Lucifer could feel the poison constricting his lungs like a snake, ready to sink its fangs in at any moment.  “Act- like it- and save me-!”

This seemed to take the last of his strength, and both of his hands fell to the floor, and his head rolled to the side; he was unconscious, his eyes half open and foggy.

Lucifer panicked harder.

Put the sinner out of his misery, it's more mercy than he deserves.

The words bit at him, and something ugly reared up from deep within him. It was the same ugliness that had inspired songs like one he had danced to earlier that night. Every myth, legend, and story that reminded him of the actions he had committed on humanity in retaliation for his fall.

That was the Devil, and the Devil would never put this much work into saving a sinner he didn't even like.

But Lucifer had just reconnected with his daughter, who he had missed more than his own grace, a thought that struck him suddenly and felt like a flaming sword pressed hard against his heart.

Charlie cared about the Radio Demon, despite common sense. She believed in him, and he had been there for her in a way Lucifer hadn’t; couldn't.

The Devil might kill the Radio Demon someday, especially if he did hurt Charlie, or made her do something through their deal that made her upset.

But today, Lucifer had promised to heal Alastor.

He dug his fingers in deeper, his claws rent flesh and slid into the space between lungs and heart which thumped against his knuckles. When he beat the dagger-like poison to its destination, he mustered up his own angelic magic, and gasped when it reacted with the poison and caused it to attach to him in a good but painful improvement.

He had to wait for the poison to fully attach to him, now. He took a deep breath, held it, let it out. Repeated the breathing, and on the third exhale his nerves had settled somewhat, and the poison was fully focused on him.

His hands lit with hellfire, as cool as he could make it. Even unconscious, Alastor writhed as Lucifer burnt away the poison, hot fire pressed against his ribs.

It took several more agonizing seconds, during which Lucifer watched Alastor's face flinch and twist, but never lose its smile. It was incredibly infuriating, if Lucifer had had the capacity to feel such an emotion at that time.

The moment the poison was gone, Lucifer breathed a sigh of relief. He nearly sagged, but caught himself at the last second.

He became acutely aware of the situation. Him, on his knees over Alastor, who was unconscious and very nearly bled out. His hands, and especially his fingers, nearly fully submerged inside of Alastor's body. He chose not to consider how much blood was on him, in that moment, but he could feel it turning sticky between his thighs and on the backs of his forearms.

He began the arduous process of extracting his fingers from Alastor's chest, every millimeter he moved made the most disgusting wet noises. He could feel Alastor’s ribs against his hands, bending with the force Lucifer had had to exert. It would be so easy to snap them in several places, which was not helping Lucifer’s anxiety. Once his hands were free, deep pools of blood filled the pockets that they left.

Right, he had to fix the giant necrotic blood and pus covered wound now. Great.

He stared at it, not sure where to start.

He missed his buzz. He missed dancing. He should have danced with Charlie a bunch more, maybe had more drinks. He didn't get to tango with anyone, and that had been a bummer.

Something twitched in the back of his mind as he lamented his prior inebriation and stared more at the large leaking gash. His hands were in the air unsure of where to go, and the blood was turning tacky between his fingers and made them stick together.

He stared more, and thought about tango and the image that was half-formed in the distance of his awareness.

And then anatomy unfolded in his mind's eye, over the thoughts of dance and drink and distraction, and his hands moved as he snapped back to attention.

He knew exactly what to do, and was thankful Alastor was an immortal sinner, and not a fragile living human, or else this would be way harder.

He flicked his wrists, the blood on his hands evaporated as he held them over the gash. The blood disappeared there, too, and he pressed down on it to seal veins with glimmering golden magic.

There, now he only had a giant necrotic pus covered wound, and he could see what he was doing.

He addressed the necrosis next, and delicately scraped away dead flesh with his claws, sealing veins as he went. It took ages, because he had to get every last spot of black, which went layers deeper than he had anticipated, and the dead skin was thick and leathery, which made it hard to manipulate. But eventually it was gone, with only red, freshly broken skin left behind.

With a drag of his hands, pustules deflated and vanished. Pus, old and crusted and slick and new alike burned away with cool hellfire and golden light.

Now all that was left was to close the wound, and, second to the poison, this would be the most complicated part.

Sure, he could just bandage it and Alastor could maintain it and eventually more flesh would grow and the wound would seal, but it would leave such a hideous scar, and Lucifer had his pride to consider. He could do better than that .

It was near impossible to make something from nothing, though, and he considered his options.

Skin grafts were a lot more work than he was willing to put in, plus he had magic so why would he do that? A whole host of options danced in his mind, and he discarded each one as they came.

He wasn't sure how long he had been there, but his knees had begun to hurt, which was a hard thing to accomplish, so he wasn't as surprised as he could have been when he glanced at the windows and saw daylight peeking in. It was real light, too, piped in by what Lucifer knew to be a complex web of spells that took the real light that came in from the windows that were covered by illusion and diffused it over Alastor's bayou to follow the real day and night cycles, or what amounted to them, of Hell.

He also realized his wings were still out from when he had tackled Alastor earlier.

Oh, that'd do nicely.

He brought one of his mid-wings forward, and ran a hand through his primary feathers until one simply fell into his palm. He chose not to think about what this implied about how long it had been since he last groomed, and instead focused on the long, wide crimson feather thrumming with live magic in his hand.

He laid it delicately over Alastor's injury, pleased that it was the perfect size to cover the entire gash. He smoothed it out against Alastor's skin. It was soft, and adhered where Lucifer pressed it.

The rest was easy. Magically, it was more than enough matter to compensate for Alastor's missing muscle and flesh. Once sparked, it burned and melded into the gray skin of the Radio Demon's torso, fusing together muscle and skin and knitting nerves and veins and all the other squishy parts that made up a person. A metallic smell filled Lucifer's nostrils as he watched intently, his hands up to gently guide the healing.

When it was done, in place of a thick, uneven scar was a smooth, only slightly paler scar that shone in the light from the windows, and was vaguely in the shape of his feather. It was much nicer looking than what Alastor could have done on his own, especially with his shoddy stitchwork.

Lucifer straightened his back. His entire core hurt from doing magic he hadn't done in ages, and all the dried blood on his clothes and shirt had crusted his pants to his legs so they pulled at his skin every time he moved. He had a feeling that if he looked in a mirror he'd look like a horror movie antagonist.

He looked around the cabin, and then down at Alastor who looked even worse than him. Yeah, he was absolutely a horror movie antagonist.

Lucifer stood, cursed the hardwood floor, glanced around at the bloody mess of the cabin, and snapped his fingers. Golden light shot from his hand, and the blood was gone from the walls, the floor, and even the bed. The messy bandages burned away to ash that also vanished. The bedding was back to a pristine white and he picked up Alastor's coat and undershirt to shake the blood out. He tossed those over the trunk at the foot of the bed; he wasn't about to fold someone else's laundry. He picked up the portrait of the faceless woman that had fallen to the floor and cracked when he had pushed off from the wall. The crack was gone with a flick of his wrist and he hung it back on its hook.

He caught a glance of himself in the mirror and cringed; it was even worse than he thought. He patted himself down from shoulder to ankle and held his boots by the stilettos to shake out the blood. It evaporated like the rest and he put them back on.

The blood was gone from his body, but he still felt incredibly yucky. Maybe he'd have the energy for a shower once he got back to his suite.

Once the room was clean Lucifer looked around and considered how stupid it might've been to do all the extra work of cleaning, but he did hate to leave a job half finished.

And since the room was clean, it made no sense to leave Alastor on the floor, although it could be really funny, all things considered.

The sinner was still unconscious, also clean of blood. His breathing was even, and when Lucifer picked him up, his skin was cool to the touch, no longer fever-hot and clammy.

He didn't move as Lucifer laid him back in his bed and adjusted the pillow so he didn't wake up with a weird neck cramp. He still smiled in his sleep, but now it looked less pinched and pained.

Lucifer looked around again, even more pleased with his work. When he shook out his wings and folded them away, a few feathers fell out that he didn't care to pick up. They could remind Alastor of who had saved his life.

The tight knot of unpleasant emotion that had sat in his belly like a rock since he entered the cabin and seen the dying Radio Demon had finally eased. It seems whatever he had done had fixed it, replaced by a sudden burst of energy to do something that buzzed in all of his extremities and the center of his back. Maybe he'd get some of the weird energy out and undertake the tedious process of grooming all his wings before he slept, a task that was usually too much of a pain to do solo.

He turned and left the cabin, back out through the bayou bathed in morning light.

He breathed deep again, and all he smelt was green growing earth.