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Television wasn’t banned at Hazbin Hotel. If it were, it would probably be a great way to lose any guest they had, lack of TV would kick up a hell of a lot more arguments than having a therapy schedule requirement. Amongst the guests, television was still a preferred way to pass the time and since it was certainly on the lesser side of evil than, say, grand theft drug snatch or vehicular homicide, it was still allowed in these hallowed halls.
It would be an understatement to say it wasn’t the favored medium for anyone on staff.
Charlie and Vaggie were too busy for a binge watch of ‘Sí, Me Follé a Tu Hermana, ¿y Qué?’, Alastor hated the television with the sort of revulsion usually reserved for hellhounds taking a piss on one’s shoes, and Lucifer just wasn’t interested, nothing but boring shit on it. So it was something of a surprise for Vaggie to storm into the parlor to snap on the boob box that was shoved back into one of the corners while Lucifer was sitting in there alone doodling on his sketchpad.
A little rude to interrupt him while he was working on a new design…well.
He was supposed to be working on a new design. That’s what he’d told Charlie when he ducked (heh, no pun intended) out of the therapy circle this morning. Not that he was starting to feel strangled by all the eyes that kept looking at him, weighing him, judging him. He’d stayed until he couldn’t stand it anymore, trying to hide how panicky his breathing was, how sweat was starting to soak through the back of his shirt. Lucifer took a page out of Alastor’s bloodstained book and smiled wide, told her he had a bunch of new ideas to rough out and he had to strike while the iron was jumping, no rest for the unwicked, and probably half a dozen other stupid fucking platitudes.
Her smile had been no less warm than it ever was, verging on sympathetic—not pitying! — And she’d shooed him on his way, said she’d love to see his ideas later and it was fine. Fine! Yeah, fucking fine that he’d promised to help her and ended up abandoning her (again. always again) with a stupid excuse.
Anyway.
Sitting for a while in this quiet room with the lights dimmed went a long way towards settling his overstrung nerves. He was plenty calm now, he should go back and help. Check out the therapy room with better than a cursory glance and a thumbs up. He should. So why he was still sitting here in the private parlor for staff only, he had no fucking idea. Only that the thought of going back, of seeing all those eyes swing at him again made his chest go tight again, his pencil threatening to break in his hand and…yeah. Tomorrow, maybe, he could try again tomorrow, that’s what tomorrows were for, to try things again. He was sure of it.
It didn’t make him feel less guilty about not going back today. Worse, he didn’t even have a single sketch to show Charlie. Oh, he had sketches, it was the ‘show her’ part that wasn’t working out. Every time he settled in to work on a new duck, his pencil took an unapproved detour and started sketching cute little bones and a toothy bill.
Lucifer tore the most recent page from his sketchbook and tossed it into the trash with its brethren. He was not about to damn well start making skeleton duck toys. They were hideous and besides, obviously someone else was already making them, be pretty rude to try and horn in on what was surely a very limited market.
Hmm… a skeleton duck that breathed fire, though, maybe he could ask Alastor where he’d found the one he’d given Lucifer, check if the fire-breathing niche was still open.
His pencil was scratching against the page again, moving absently and without his permission. When Lucifer glanced down, he frowned to see he’d started sketching a pair of softly pointed ears overtop a Cheshire smile and no, absolutely not, this was not happening. He tore the page free and this one he made a point to ignite.
He started again and barely had the first hint of a beak when he accidentally scratched through half a dozen pages, jumping as the door burst open and slammed into the opposite wall when Vaggie stormed in. She didn’t seem to notice she’d scared the all-holy shit out of him, snarling as she snapped on the television. "Look at this!"
Well, it was good to see she’d gotten past any awe or fear of parental disapproval from him.
“Huh? What’s going on?” Lucifer set aside his sketchpad, RIP little fire duck, and checked out the screen.
The display was showing the downtown district, the footage was grainy and jumpy, but there was enough that he got the gist of the matter. Alastor was in his Godzilla mode wreaking his own brand of grisly havoc right alongside the storefronts, demon scattering away from him while a reporter gleefully narrated the destruction in the background.
Yeah…that was probably a problem. Damn.
Lucifer should have known the day wasn’t going to go smooth when he woke up and found the other side of his bed empty, the sheets already cool to the touch. The tatters of the canopy overhead were the only signs Alastor had been there at all, not that Lucifer was sniffing his pillows or anything. (it was only one time and he’d eat the damn thing before admitting it)
No idea when Alastor left, no hint as to where he was, and Lucifer wasn’t sure if he was more pissed that Alastor hadn’t at least left him a note or angry with himself for caring that he hadn’t left a note.
He’d mentally declared the entire thing a wash and headed downstairs, trying to subtly look around the hotel to see where tall, dark, and furniture-ruining went. It was Niffty who interrupted her endless quest for insect annihilation to tell him Alastor had left the hotel on an outing before Lucifer even rolled out of bed.
Outing, yeah, right, like he was having a mimosa breakfast downtown? But whatever Alastor did when he went out, he usually either went alone or took Charlie with him and gossip from Angel Dust was that this time, he’d taken Husk along and the guy hadn’t seemed too happy about it.
Lucifer didn’t blame him. Learning Alastor owned Husk’s soul was an uncomfortable knowledge to possess, mostly because there was nothing Lucifer could do about it. Dealing in souls was binding and even he didn’t have the power to break a legitimate contract. He'd known Alastor was a powerful overlord with many souls in his possession but there was knowing and then there was having it jammed right in your face. Juuuust a little uncomfortable, no joke. Plus, he liked Husk, guy seemed solid in a grumpy, gives-no-fucks sort of way.
Onscreen, a renewed burst of screams dragged his attention back to the television. More screams heralded Alastor holding up a sharkie-looking demon caught in his tentacles, raising him up and…oh, ugh.
“Yeaaah, ick, that’s…that’s not right.” Lucifer wrinkled his nose and swallowed back a gag. Alastor was hard to see through all the rolling static, but the bloody red was coming through with brilliant technicolor glory. Plus, all the crunching sounds, world’s worst Rice Krispies, ew. Shame he couldn't get a view of the tail, though. “Clothes and all, yeesh, who knows where that guy has been? Man, look at the mess he’s making, ‘Evil Donuts’ is gonna be pissed about having to get rid of their stock for the day.”
"He can't keep doing this!" Vaggie raged. She pointed furiously at the television. "How are we going to get anyone to come here if they're afraid of being turned into asshole snacks?"
Lucifer hadn’t noticed any of their guests being too concerned about the infamous radio demon lurking around, much less whether or not he was in a peckish mood. To be honest, he was actually a little surprised by the ongoing slaughter downtown, it wasn’t like Alastor to indulge in indiscriminate murder. His murders usually had at least some reason behind them. "So, what, you want me to talk to him or something?”
"You?" Vaggie said, surprised. She opened her mouth to offer what would surely be a logical and nonconfrontational explanation, seemed to realize that neither of those were her strong suit and closed it again, shuffled her thoughts and then tried again, offering carefully, "Sir, I'm not sure if that would help. The two of you haven't exactly," she struggled for a word and maybe she did get something out of those morning therapy meetings because she settled on, "bonded."
He tried not to be offended, it felt like there should be offense there, but she wasn’t wrong. Yeaaah, probably the only way he and Alastor were ever going to bond was going to involve ropes of some sort, possibly a safeword or two. Still, it wasn’t as if Vaggie knew about any of that and she didn’t really have a wide pool of candidates lined up who had ‘able to reason with psychopaths’ listed under skills on their resume. "You got someone else he's bonded with that you’d rather take a crack at it?"
Her face twisted helplessly, and he knew exactly who she was thinking of. The only other person either of them could come up with who might have any sort of bond with Alastor was Charlie. Neither of them really wanted her spending much quality time with the local demon of a broadcasting nature. Charlie had proven resistant to taking on any of Hell’s seedier nature for her entire life but if there was one person who might be able to get a stain to stick, Alastor was the right ketchup to plop on her white shirt.
"You’ve got a point," Vaggie conceded. "I still think maybe I should try." Her spear was nowhere in sight, something her restless hands didn’t seem to like. Surely they’d prefer to be sharpening it before any chats with Alastor and that was a good indication at how well that conversation was probably going to go.
“You really think that’s the best plan?” Probably he could have made that sound less doubtful but come on. A person didn’t have to be at the hotel for too long to see exactly how well Alastor and Vaggie got along. They were like oil and water, if someone turned the water into blood and then set the oil on fire. "Look, let me handle it, I promise, it'll be fine."
He could practically feel the gears in Vaggie’s head turning; if Alastor took the rebuke poorly, then Lucifer was better equipped to deal with him than anyone else here. Also, if he handled it, she wouldn’t need to, with or without her spear, and that right there had to be worth the price of admission, right?
“All right,” Vaggie agreed slowly. “Go ahead and talk to him about it, good luck to you.” Lucifer tried not to be insulted at how hesitant she sounded, sheesh, it wasn’t like he and Alastor got into screaming arguments all the time. Arguments, yes, but there was no screaming! None! Well…none that anyone ever got to hear, he’d long since put up some magical soundproofing around his bedroom.
Vaggie turned to leave, rethought it and added, “Try not to kill him? Don’t let him kill you? And keep the damages low?”
“I’ll do my best,” Lucifer said solemnly. He was betting on at least managing two out of the three.
Not that he’d admit to it, but he was already getting a little restless at the thought of a decent argument with Alastor. His body knew pretty well by now how those tended to end. Not with killing, no sir, the only death he had planned on from Alastor was la petite mort. He had high hopes this conversation would lead down that path once again, plus he could add ‘bonding with Alastor’ to his Sharing Group scorecard, really, this was a great idea, it’d be like a twofer.
Lucifer glanced back at the shaky cam chaos on the television screen and winced. Ugh, but Alastor wasn’t touching him again until after he brushed his teeth.
It was a few hours before Husk and Alastor returned; apparently the shark buffet was more an impromptu pit stop than a destination. Whether or not Alastor took the time to brush his teeth was unknown, but at least he didn’t have like a piece of an arm or a boot stuck between them and Lucifer was calling that good enough. Maybe he carried dental floss with him, one never knew when the cannibalistic urges might strike.
In that time, Lucifer managed to sketch and destroy about fifteen more skeleton ducks and he was starting to run out of paper. He was down to his last sheet when the door burst open again and this time his visitors, plural, were exactly who he’d spent the last couple jittery hours waiting for.
Alastor was, of course, pristine down to the well-polished toes of his shoes, unreasonably posh for a guy freshly returned from a morning massacre. Husk was less so, if you counted his bloodstained…er…everything. Husk didn’t seem particularly pleased about it, either, but it was hard to tell, he never seemed to be pleased about anything. He grumbled on his way over to the minibar in the corner where several bottles in various states of fullness sat, a fine selection of brandy, port, sherry, and whatever that shit was that Alastor liked to drink.
Neither of them paid Lucifer any mind and he was not going to take that personally.
Yet.
He’d said he was going to help Charlie with the hotel. This was how he could do it and if it came with a side bonus of sex, Lucifer wasn’t exactly overrun with the good things in life, seemed to him frequent applications of not-exactly-hate-sex was the least the universe could give him.
He waited until Husk handed Alastor a glass. He took it, unbothered by the smear of bloody fingerprints on it and drank it down in one gulp. Huh, interesting, for Alastor that was practically a proclamation that he was having A Day.
“Problems on your outing?” Lucifer asked lightly. For the first time since he’d come into the room, Alastor looked at him, crimson eyes narrowed and his smile firmly in place as he laughed, not questioning how Lucifer knew about the morning shenanigans. Wasn’t like everyone didn’t know about that television guy’s obsession, even Lucifer caught word of it, and he couldn’t have named any of the other overlords in Hell on a bet.
Laughter finally wound down to a low chuckle as Alastor said, "Not anything I couldn't handle, as I’m sure you know."
“Yeah, they were showing you on the boobie toobie,” Lucifer said. He watched the little frown line appear between Alastor’s eyes, the one that never came close to his mouth. Alastor really did have television issues, didn’t even like to hear it mentioned, much less that he’d appeared on it. “You were a little jumbo-sized from what I could see. What was it all about?"
“Oh, just a little dispute,” Alastor waved his hand, the one without the microphone, a deliberate little see-how-unimportant-this-is gesture. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
His tone did not match the gesture, the wavering radio static flaring and popping like a warning. It was starting to dawn on Lucifer that this was not their normal sort of argument, not the kind that ended up with damaged clothes and pleasant aches. This was the kind of argument that made Vaggie’s concerns about death and property damage more serious.
‘Let it go,’ Alastor’s bright eyes were telling him, and Lucifer couldn’t.
“I'm the King of Hell, everything is for me to worry about." Lucifer rubbed a knuckle between his eyes where a headache was forming, already regretting offering to take this off Vaggie’s plate. "Look, you can't keep doing this. Eating anyone who annoys you has to be off the table, if you want cold cuts, you're going to have to go to the butcher like everyone else."
The edges of Alastor’s disbelieving laughter were as jagged as broken glass. "Excuse me?" He shook his head as he laughed and the sound of it settled cold into Lucifer’s gut, rising static in the air was prickling along his skin, lifting the fine hair at the back of his neck. Fuck, he wasn’t annoyed, he was pissed, every word dripped with a weird mix of amused venom. "I believe I've established that not only can I, I did, and I shall continue to do so. You may be 'king of hell',” Alastor hooked his fingers into mocking quotes, “but you've been absentee for how long now? Until you take the initiative to actually command your subjects, and very likely after, I am quite happy remaining on my own side.”
That stung, mostly because it was true. He’d let Lilith handle Hell for a very long time and when she’d vanished, he’d sat back and let Charlie take a crack at it. How could he blame Alastor for not accepting a rebuke from him, for laughing outright? It was some kind of fucking joke, wasn’t it. But then, it wasn’t about him, now was it.
"Alastor,” Lucifer struggled to keep his voice even, “there is no reason for that kind of slaughter, we are trying to get people to trust this hotel! Who is going to come here knowing at any moment they might become a midnight snack?”
"I have never!" Alastor said indignantly. "Snacking late at night disrupts one’s sleep!"
Laughter still lingered in his voice and Lucifer’s temper, already getting difficult to hold, slipped enough for him to snap out, thoughtlessly, "And you have enough sleep disruptions, is that it?"
That…was probably not the right thing to say. Alastor’s smile sharpened to the point it could cut glass, the reds of his eyes bleeding away into darkness, oh, this was past pissed off, this was an incoming train wreck sailing right past the property damage area and ready to fall into the yawning canyon of deadly. The very air between them seemed to quiver, waiting to see where the penny dropped.
A savior came from an unexpected source as Husk chose that moment to speak up, calmly gruff as normal, as if the person who owned his soul wasn’t a thread away from attacking the ruler of Hell.
"Might wanna give him a pass on this one," Husk grunted. He’d wiped away most of the blood on his hands and face, and given up on the rest. He tossed the messy towel into the trash can alongside Lucifer’s sad duck attempts before pouring himself a glass of rotgut from a bottle hidden far in the back, "We were just walking by and overheard this fella yapping, got an earful about his extended rape fantasy for Charlie, the section where he described--" Husk broke off with a shiver, slugging back his glass before pouring another. "Well, it was somethin' else."
Alastor whirled on him, eyes flashing hot crimson as he said through his teeth. “How kind of you to furnish details!" His tone promised some horrible future retribution, not that Husk looked very concerned about it.
Lucifer couldn’t care about that right now, all his own blossoming anger had come to a screeching halt. “You…what?” Lucifer said, blankly.
"It was nothing more than trite drivel," Alastor said dismissively. As if Lucifer could somehow miss that he was agitated, twirling his microphone from hand to hand. "The sort of thing an idiotic baboon unworthy of being in public fantasizes about." His grin widened, tongue briefly flashing over his teeth. "If he'd brought in entrails, now, that's where a good story begins."
Lucifer stood for a long moment in silence, staring at Alastor while his brain worked to absorb all these unexpected facts. Alastor only stared back, he was never one to shy away. Finally, Lucifer cleared his throat and said, calmly deliberate, "You killed them too fast."
"Really?” Alastor took a moment to polish his monocle on his sleeve, settling it back into place so that he could stare at Lucifer with the proper level of pompous disdain. “Perhaps I misheard, I thought you said there was no reason for that kind of slaughter?"
"Don't make it a habit." It wasn’t, quite, an order, but he saw the flash in Alastor’s eyes and this time that heat was not fury.
"Heaven forbid!" Alastor said, lightly. His eyes never left Lucifer’s. "Husker, why not take the rest of the afternoon for yourself."
"Me?” Husk looked up from his third drink, surprised. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, “Why?"
"Why!” Alastor tore his gaze from Lucifer’s to face his…well, what was his. He clasped his hands to his chest in a mockery of adoration. “Well, I would think your work this morning counts as overtime, never let it be said that I overwork those in my employ.” Alastor pointed at a wide bloodstain smeared across Husk’s pantleg with the end of his microphone. “I also believe a shower may be in order."
“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Husk tossed back the contents of his glass and made for the door, hesitating halfway there. “Not that I’d wanna tell either of you what to do, but the kid would be pretty upset if one of you turned up dead.”
“Your concern for my wellbeing always touches me in my special, secret places,” Alastor said cheerfully.
“Fuck you,” Husk muttered.
Lucifer waited impatiently until the door shut behind him, already stepping towards Alastor. Only to be pushed away with the blunt end of his mic cane pressed firmly to his chest as Alastor said, “You need to stop that."
That was not anywhere in the realm of what he’d expected to hear, not anywhere on the list had he considered Alastor telling him to ‘stop’ about anything. “Stop what?”
“That,” Alastor wagged an admonishing finger at him, “That look. It needs to stop, unless perhaps you’re planning to make a happy announcement about the two of us in the paper?”
“Wha…no!”
Alastor nodded solicitously and Lucifer nearly fell as he took his microphone away, giving it a twirl before settling it back on the floor to lean against. “Then you need to learn how to control your expressions. Husker is already suspicious. Of course, he won't say anything, but I can't exactly exert my control over souls not in my possession.” Alastor’s grin widened, “Not in any way that meets your approval.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, this guy. “I don’t have a look!” Lucifer snapped.
“I’m afraid you do,” Alastor said breezily. He tucked his cane beneath his arm and leaned down to pick up the sketch pad left discarded on the sofa. Lucifer snatched it away before he could give it more than a cursory glance. “It was quite stark when Husker indiscreetly mentioned my motivations for this morning’s calisthenics…ah! Yes, that!” Alastor clapped his hands together in mocking delight. “That look right there, that’s the one! If you don't stop looking at me like that, you're going to end up having an awkward conversation with your daughter and as much as I'd enjoy watching you stutter through some absurd explanation, I suspect my own stake in…this," He waved an impatient hand to indicate their…yeah, Lucifer didn’t have a clue what to call it, either, "is in danger. So, you may wish to work a little harder on controlling it."
This was ridiculous, he didn’t have a fucking look…Alastor only smiled, his head tipping neck-crackingly to the side and it was absurd and revolting, and made Lucifer want to nibble down the long line of his neck—okay, yeah. Lucifer probably had a look. "I'm not sure if I can," Lucifer admitted.
Whatever answer Alastor was expecting, that didn’t seem to be it. He blinked, his smile dimming from its normal 100-watt capacity down to more of a 60. He drummed his fingers on his microphone, feedback hissing, then said, "I do believe that's the most pathetic thing I've heard all day. Perhaps even this week, I’d even wager you’re a contender for most pathetic of the month! My, you are an overachiever!"
"What?" Lucifer said. He took a step back, stung. “Fuck you!”
"Stunningly pathetic!” Alastor went on gleefully, “Here you are, the King of hell, enamored of yours truly to the point you feel the need to stare at me moistly throughout the day? I do hope you're keen to provide towels, I may need to sop up some of your drool lest I step in a puddle, these shoes are leather, you know." His scornful laughter burned as much as the words.
Lucifer could feel his eyes reddening, too furious to even speak, hellfire burning through him, his hands taking on a visible glow. He was angry past words and fucking hurt, angry that he was hurt, how dare this fucking asshole--
Alastor’s next laugh froze the burn in Lucifer’s chest, somehow sweeter, the real laugh he’d heard only once before while lying on the cold floor in the middle of the night.
"There you are, much better!" Alastor beamed delightedly. "Keep that expression in place and no one will suspect a thing."
Oh, this motherfucker—
Alastor had a good six inches on him and Lucifer didn't mean below the belt. Being taller meant nothing to his strength and it sure as fuck didn’t mean Lucifer couldn't manhandle him. Before the last of his laughter faded from the room, Lucifer grabbed him by the front of his shirt, used two fistfuls of his precious coat to shove Alastor backwards towards the wall.
He saw Alastor’s eyes widen but he didn’t fight, not so much as a flicker of tentacle or radio eyes. He only went where he was pushed, Alastor letting him, letting Lucifer walk him back until his shoulders were against the wall and Lucifer was pressed tight against him and nothing about Lucifer felt at all panicked in this moment, nothing at all.
"Oh, dear," Alastor sighed dramatically, lounging back against the wall as much as he was able. "I'm afraid that expression is so much worse than the first." His smile was not displeased, feet shifting apart until Lucifer slid in between his legs. It put his crotch at about the level of Lucifer’s belly and all fucking hell, he could feel the hard line beneath his trim pants, Alastor was hard, of fucking course he was getting off on Lucifer dragging him around.
"Why are you like this?" Lucifer asked, despairing. Not that he had any room to be high and mighty about it, not with the way his own pants were getting painfully tight. The only difference was Lucifer couldn’t reach anything of Alastor’s to press his crotch against, not unless he wanted to hump his leg and yeah, he’d get a stepstool before lowering himself to that indignity.
Alastor’s grinned shifted to something delightfully savage. "Because I like this."
He wrapped both clawed hands around Lucifer's wrists where his hands were still knotted in his coat. Rubbed his thumbs along the insides of his arms, moving delicately over thin skin. It was weirdly soothing and Lucifer should have known better, should have been more suspicious because all he could do was squawk when Alastor let go of his wrists and instead reached down to grab two palmfuls of his ass, lifting him up on his toes.
“Alastor!” Lucifer hissed, couldn’t decide if he was offended or amused. He had no idea what expression was on his face now or what it revealed but he could see Alastor's gaze drop to his mouth. Watched his tongue flick out, snakelike, the tip briefly touching his upper lip as Alastor started leaning down, lips parted—
Alastor's shadow came sweeping up out of nowhere, whirling with uncomfortable franticness around them both.
"What--" Lucifer started, only to find himself dragged backwards by shadowy hands, "Hey!"
Before he could lash out he was already released, what the fuck, man, okay, he was short, that didn't mean Alastor could manhandle him around whenever he liked, he thought they’d established that was his job, damn it—
Barely a blink after the shadow released him, the door burst open for a third time that day as his daughter came dashing in.
"Dad!"
"Charlie?" Lucifer managed. He nearly toppled over when she ran over to him, managed to catch her when she grabbed onto him, chattering excitedly about a new resident. He felt wobbly, disjointed, strange to be holding Charlie after just having Alastor in his arms—
Alastor.
A panicked search found Alastor was standing nearby, not so much as a wrinkle in his coat, his wide smile easy and unstrained, yeah, okay, maybe Lucifer could use some lessons on how to school his expressions into something more discreet.
Charlie followed his look, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasped in dismay.
"Oh. Alastor," Charlie said, crestfallen. "I didn’t know you were in here, I'm sorry, I interrupted your…your conversation…?" Her statement tilted into a question and Lucifer could only swallow his guilt. She wanted so very much for him and Alastor to get along, to be civil if not friendly and she didn’t know…he couldn’t…
"Not at all, my dear," Alastor said smoothly, bending in a short bow. "Far be it for me to complain of any rescue from one of your father's insipid chats."
"Hey!"
He ignored Lucifer’s indignance, didn’t so much as glance his way. "I'll leave you two to discuss our newest resident."
"Oh, but, you could stay." Charlie said hopefully, her eyes pleading for Alastor to play along. Oh, you kid, if you only knew.
"I do appreciate the offer,” Alastor said, easily, “but I think in the interest of familial bonding, its best I go. Later, chums!" He waggled his fingers at them from over his shoulder as he strode out the door.
Charlie stared after him, some of her cheer deflating. Lucifer cleared his throat and tried for some brightness of his own, "Well, sit down and let's talk!"
It was enough. Charlie’s smile returned and she turned towards the sofa, for one instant in a place where she couldn’t see the swirl of darkness.
Lucifer didn't flinch when Alastor's shadow swept up to him, the non-feeling of insubstantial hands settling on his shoulders and it wasn't a voice that whispered to him, but he heard it nonetheless, a single word.
Tonight.
It vanished into nothingness and Lucifer was suddenly very grateful he wore loose pants today. He pasted on a smile for Charlie and went to sit with her, took her hands in his, and tried very hard to listen to every word she said.
None of it drown out the single word still echoing in the back of his mind, but hey, give him credit. He tried.
Lucifer really tried.
-finis-