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The moment Alastor bursts into the kitchen, Lucifer knows something is wrong.
He looks up from the sink, pausing his scrubbing of a particularly crusty pot to raise a single, apathetic eyebrow.
Something he’s come to learn about Alastor is that he makes it a point to always look proper and genteel. Every day it’s the same clean, urbane red suit; tie straight, jacket wrinkle-free—despite the distasteful tatters in the hem, which is certainly a, uh, design choice— polished shoes, and monocle spotless. So when he throws open the door and charges to the nearest refrigerator, tie askew, jacket half unbuttoned, and his hair a mess, Lucifer will admit he’s a little intrigued.
Niffty, who’s rinsing and drying the dishes faster than he can clean them, looks up from the plate she’s rubbing raw, turning to follow Alastor’s sudden trek through the room at the same time he does. Her normal, feral smile shrinks slightly as she cocks her head. Concern isn’t an expression he’s used to seeing on her and it makes him do a double-take.
“Alastor?” She cocks her head to the other side as he yanks open one of the fridge doors and rummages through it for only a few seconds, before slamming it shut and moving onto the next one. There’s a line of them set against the wall, a smooth, silver metal path that Alastor is racing down like he’s got an Exorcist at his heels. Since rebuilding the hotel, they’ve upgraded to an industrial sized kitchen, with multiple large fridges, state-of-the-art stoves, every appliance they could ever need, and a walk-in freezer (not bad, if he says so himself).
Niffty, completely distracted now, climbs off her stool to wander after him. A little curious himself, Lucifer follows, grabbing the cloth hanging over his shoulder to dry his hands as he peers at Alastor, who’d submerged the entire upper half of his body inside the fridge, mumbling frantically to himself as he rifled through its contents.
Good luck with that. He and Niffty–though mostly him, as she got side-tracked hunting down a few stray rodents that weaseled their way into the pantry–went through all the fridges and freezers hours ago, throwing out everything old, bad, and stinking.
When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, Alastor growls under his breath, slams the door closed, and stalks into the freezer.
Lucifer tosses the cloth back over his shoulder as he stands in the doorway, just out of reach of the nippy air, with his hands on his hips. “So, looking for anything specific, or…?”
“Where is my supply?” Alastor hisses, clawed fingers cutting through the metal grating of the shelves as he snaps toward him, eyes deranged and smile manic. Well, more deranged and manic than usual. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary if there wasn’t something…off about it. And Lucifer’s not just talking about the strange, almost panicked tone of his voice.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Supply of?”
Instead of answering, Alastor shoves past him and storms into the pantry. The sounds of shifting cans and tossed boxes follow soon after. Niffty follows a few paces behind him, but stops in front of the door, which is only open a crack, still looking concerned.
Alastor’s frenetic ransacking is loud enough to bring Vaggie and Husk, who were scrubbing the lounge, into the kitchen. The hotel’s reopening is rapidly approaching, and they’ve all been spending the weekend deep-cleaning every nook and cranny in the building.
“Everything needs to be perfect,” Charlie kept emphasizing, as she obsessively fussed over every room, closet, and cupboard. The only person who could convince her to take a break was Vaggie, and even she couldn’t keep her down for long.
Her head pops in from behind the door. “What’s going on?”
Husk appears behind her, face set in its normal, apathetic disposition as he scans the room. His eyebrows furrow when he lands on Niffty, who’s still staring at the pantry, wringing her tiny fingers together. A loud clatter draws his eyes to the door, then back to her.
“Niff?” he says in a gruff, even tone that barely comes across as a question.
She looks at him. Points to the pantry. “I think he’s hungry.”
It’s an innocent enough statement. Small compared to the sheer dramatics of Alastor’s perceived hunger. Which is why Lucifer is surprised when Husk’s eyebrows shoot up in alarm. His arms uncross as he darts forward, skirting around Niffty and using a claw to ease the door open a little more, peeking inside. Whatever he sees makes his tail-feathers rise and his wings ruffle. Swearing, he scoops Niffty up, holding her almost protectively as he hauls her away from the door.
“Where’s his stash?” He demands, running to the fridges, opening them with the same intensity that Alastor had just minutes ago.
“Stash of what?” Lucifer asks in exasperation. He shares a look with Vaggie, who crosses her arms with a shrug.
“We’ve cleared most of Angel’s new drugs,” she says. “But I never really pegged Alastor as the type to—”
“No, his stash of meat,” Husk says, slamming a fridge closed and going to the next.
“Stash of…” Lucifer stomach drops. “That, uh…wouldn’t have been the meat in the freezer…would it?”
Husk’s eyes pop up from behind one of the fridge doors, wide with dread, like Lucifer had given him the most egregious of news. “What did you do with it?” he asks, though he sounds like he already suspects the answer.
Lucifer crosses his arms, nerves prickling defensively. “I was cleaning the fridges. It looked old and rotten, so I threw it out.”
“You what?” Husk and Niffty exclaim at the same time.
“You what?!” A garbled voice shouts from the pantry, so distorted with feedback he barely makes out the words.
Husk rushes forward, slamming the pantry door shut with his shoulder on his way, and grabs Lucifer by the arm, pulling him to the door. “We need to get out of here. Now.”
“Whoa, hold on,” Vaggie says, side-stepping him to get a better look inside the kitchen, as if searching for a proper answer in the stainless steel countertops and mopped tiled floors. “What’s going on Husk? Why’s Alastor acting so…like that? I know he doesn’t like anyone touching his stuff, but this seems a little excessive.”
“Yeah,” Lucifer agrees, slipping his arm free and standing next to Vaggie in solidarity. “If he’s so upset, he can just—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Niffty says, distressed, clutching onto the tuft of fur on Husk’s chest. “He’s got The Hunger.”
Lucifer squints at her. “The what?”
He glances at Vaggie, who shrugs again, looking just as confused as he is. Husk opens his mouth, but a loud, distorted shriek of static and feedback interrupts him as the pantry door jumps, like it’d been hit. He grabs Lucifer again, using him to herd Vaggie out of the kitchen. In the hall, his head whips around frantically, as if searching for something, before setting Niffty on the floor to shove a thick, wooden credenza nearby in front of the doors.
“That’s not going to hold him long,” he says afterward, striding back toward the lounge. “Come on, we need to get somewhere safe.”
“What are you talking about?” Vaggie demands, following at his heels. “What is this…hunger, or whatever the hell Niffty said. What’s going on?”
“He’s hungry,” Niffty says over her shoulder, like it explains everything.
Which it doesn’t. It very well doesn’t.
Behind them, the credenza squeals as it’s shoved across the floor. It’s not pushed completely out of the way, but there’s enough space for the door to open a crack. A pair of long, very long, spindly black fingers curl around the edge.
That’s all Lucifer see’s before he’s pulled into the lounge. By now, Charlie and Angel had heard the commotion and were leaning over the stair banister, staring down in confusion.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asks, gripping the polished wood railing with white knuckles. “Is everything okay? Did we run out of soap? That’s okay, I anticipated this, and I already made a run for more. I put them in the basement, let me just–”
“There’s been a change of plan,” Husk says, rounding the bar and bending down to rifle through the bottom cupboards. When he comes back up, it’s with an armful of weapons. Knives, guns, brass knuckles, a club…a deck of cards and a bag of dice, for some reason?
He hands Niffty one of the knives, but for once, she isn’t jumping up and down in excitement, giggling in her eagerness to use it. And out of everything, that’s what sends a chill running down Lucifer’s spine.
“What’s goin’ on?” Angel asks, getting from the railing, bemused expression becoming perturbed as Husk shoves a magazine into one of the guns and cocks it.
“Alastor’s got The Hunger,” Husk says, coming close enough under the second-floor balcony to toss the gun up to him. Angel bends slightly to catch it, but his eyes widen, all eight of them, flashing with panic.
“Where is he now?” He asks, rushing down the stairs, flicking the gun's safety off.
“In the kitchen, but it won’t hold him for long. We need to get clear.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, guys. Just - just hold on a second,” Charlie says, waving her arms wildly as she follows Angel down. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Al?”
“He missed breakfast, apparently,” Lucifer huffs with a wide shrug, sidestepping the congregating group to meet Charlie at the bottom of the stairs.
“It’s the cannibal sin,” Husk explains curtly, already trying to herd them farther away from the kitchen. “Every cannibal down here gets it if they don’t—” he’s interrupted by a stentorian CRASH as the credenza flies down the hall, crashing into the wall at the opposite end in a burst of cracks and splinters.
For a moment it’s completely silent as they all, simultaneously, turn towards the hall. Then, there’s a sound. Sharp but soft, like claws scraping gently against wood. Slowly, a shadow grows on the wall, getting bigger and bigger until a massive face turns the corner.
“Fuuuuck,” Angel says under his breath, hoisting his gun up.
A low, gravelly rumble builds in Husk’s throat, ears pinning flat on his head. He lifts his hand, a playing card held between his claws, wings spread like he’s prepared to take flight. Niffty grips her knife, lowering her shoulders as if bracing herself.
Alastor's head turns slowly towards them.
Lucifer doesn’t know how he could get more disturbing, but somehow, he did. Alastor’s smile is wider—wider than it’s ever been before—lifting so high on his face that the tips reach the top of his eyes. Displayed behind his curled back lips is a massive collection of razor-sharp teeth, thinner than normal, like they’d been cleaved into hundreds of needle-thin points. He observes them with eyes that are no longer there, just two empty, black voids where they should be, like the sunken sockets of a skeleton. His hair sways slightly as he moves, but there’s a honed quality to it, like even it had been sharpened. Black liquid, like blood, seeps from the corners of his mouth, from his eye sockets, falling down his face in dark trails that drip onto the floor, pattering softly.
As he pulls himself farther into the lounge, Lucifer can see that his body elongated too, much like the form he had when they first met, when he ripped apart the loan sharks that attacked the hotel. But he’s skinnier than then. His limbs are slim and bony, but long—unnaturally so. He reaches out with his hands, pulling himself through the hallway with a slow, easy grace that shouldn’t be as unsettling as it is.
His long, stick-thin fingers scrape against the floor, putting slim, barely there scratches into the wood.
Like the rest of him, his antlers had grown, becoming a large rack of countless, twisting black tines that gleam like polished obsidian under the light. They’re so big, they brush the ceiling, knocking into the chandelier, making the crystals tinkle together in a chorus of sharp, sweet chimes.
The closer he gets, the stronger the smell of rot and blood becomes. It sweeps over them, thickening the air, and Lucifer coughs, covering his nose. The others recoil from the stench too, faces pinching, hands coming up in an attempt to block it. Death is the word that comes to mind. This is what death smells like.
As his soulless eyes settle on them, somehow, Alastor’s smile gets wider. It’s more unnerving than any other of his smiles. This one has a…desperation to it. An eagerness that’d make the hair on the back of a lesser angel’s neck rise.
“Send him out,” Husk whispers.
“What?” Lucifer turns to him, voice muffled behind his hand.
“Send him out,” Husk hisses, eyes jumping between him and Alastor. “Teleport or - or beam him, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Just get him out of here.”
Lucifer looks back at Alastor, pursing his lips. He wants to ask why, but given what’s in front of him, it seems like a bit of a silly question. Yes, obviously, Alastor is going through… something, but to warrant a reaction like this?
All over throwing out a few pounds of gross, rotting meat?
It just seems a bit overkill.
He opens his mouth to say as much, but then Alastor surges forward.
He’s fast. Unnervingly fast. More so than Lucifer is expecting, pulling the rest of himself out of the hall with alarming speed. His jaw unhinges, falling open in an unnaturally large, gaping void that’s as black as his empty eye sockets.
“ Send him out!” Husk roars, hurling his playing card. It slices through the air and explodes in Alastor’s face, red smoke covering his eyes in a thick cloud that dissipates slowly. But it only makes him pause for a second before he’s darting forward again.
Angel squeezes the trigger, but even the bullets peppering Alastor’s skin doesn’t deter him. It makes him speed up.
Lucifer flings a hand out in front of Charlie, stepping between her and this creature. With a wave of his other sharp wave of his other hand, Alastor disappears in a flash of dazzling red smoke, the tip of his claws barely disturbing a wisp of Angel’s hair before he’s gone.
It’s deathly silent for a moment. Angel stares ahead, clutching his gun to his chest, petrified over how close he’d come to losing his head. Niffty peers through the feathers of Husk’s wings, having been covered by them the moment Alastor had charged.
He better not have gotten any of that goop on me, Lucifer thinks as he brushes off his shoulders, checking for black stains on his pristine white suit.
A shriek from outside startles the rest of the group out of their stunned silence. Vaggie and Charlie tear their eyes away from the spot Alastor had been, turning to watch as Husk runs to the hotel’s double-doors and locks them. Niffty bounds after him, and together, they set about locking all the windows and closing all the blinds, gradually casting the foray into darkness.
“What. The fuck. Was that?” Vaggie hisses. She doesn’t have her spear, but her hands are curled in front of her, feet apart and shoulders boxed, as if she were holding it and preparing to charge.
“It’s - it’s the cannibal's sin,” Angel says, collapsing onto the couch with a hand pressed over his heart, as if to calm it. His gun drops onto the cushion next to him, but his fingers stay curled around the handle, prepared to pick it up at a moment's notice.
Lucifer cocks his head. “The what?”
Husk sighs, finishing with the last of the windows, and tiredly trudges through the lounge, to the bar, and grabs a random unopened bottle of booze. He cracks it open and takes a long swig, before saying, “It’s uh…punishment, you could say. Specific to cannibals.”
“It’s called The Hunger,” Niffty says, popping up over his shoulder. “It makes them hungry.”
“Hungry?” Charlie repeats, eyes wide as she slides onto one of the barstools.
“Very hungry,” Husk confirms. “If they go without eating flesh for too long, they, well…turn into that,” he jabs a finger at the foyer as another shriek comes from outside.
“Maybe not exactly like Alastor,” Angel says with a half-hearted smile, taking the stool next to Charlie. “He’s an overlord, so it’s different for him. He’s a little more,” he chews on the words for a second, leaning forward on the countertop, “intense than your average flesh eater. But it’s the same gist.”
He smiles gratefully when Husk slides a half-full glass over to him.
“So, they’re punished for eating human flesh by…eating human flesh?” Lucifer summarizes, leaning against the bar with a dull rise of his eyebrows.
“Not…exactly,” Angel says, rubbing the back of his neck.
“It’s a deep, insatiable hunger,” Husk says gruffly, sliding a glass over to Vaggie, Charlie, Lucifer, and Niffty as well. “A need to consume as much as possible, but never feeling completely full. It drives em’ to insanity. To do anything to satisfy their appetite.” He scans the windows and leans his crossed arms on the counter. “He’s usually a lot better about keeping an eye on it.” He glances sideways at Lucifer, cocking an eyebrow. “And he usually has a stash prepared in case it ever comes out of nowhere.”
A pink flush tinges Lucifer’s cheeks and he looks away, picking at the counter. The same defensiveness as before rises up from his shoulders. “Well, how was I supposed to know all that rotting… slop was his?” He defends himself, crossing his arms. “It was stinking up the entire freezer.”
“It’s - it’s fine,” Charlie says, giving him a grim smile. “It was an accident.” But it falls as she turns to Husk, becoming serious. “How do we stop it?”
“We don’t,” Husk shrugs. “They’re ways to prevent it from happening, but once it starts, it doesn’t stop till’ they’ve eaten their fill.” He points to the door. “Once he realizes there’s no one here to eat, he’ll head to the city.”
Charlie gasps, hands flying over her mouth. “No. All those people. We - we can’t just let him kill them. We need to do something.” She’s half risen out of her seat when Angel puts a hand on her shoulder, easing her back down.
“Hey, they might have a chance,” he assures her, though the smile on his face isn’t as convincing as he’s trying to make it. “There’s usually a—” his phone buzzes from his pocket. “Ah, see, that’s probably it now.”
As if setting off a chain reaction, the rest of their phone’s buzz as well. On the screen, in bright, flashing red and yellow colors, are the words: HUNGER ATTACK. SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER.
“It’s been a while since there’s been an attack, but it happened often enough in the past for em’ to make a warnin’ for it,” Angel says, pushing the button to end the alarm, and taking a sip of his drink as he leans on the counter with the lower set of his arms. His expression is a little more confident this time. “The alert is city wide. Besides,” he smirks, waving a hand flippantly, “he’s so big they’ll see ‘im comin’ from miles away.”
“But what if they don’t have a phone,” Charlie stresses, wringing her fingers together. “What if there’s nowhere for them to go? How - how will they—” Vaggie takes her hand, giving her a reassuring smile.
“It’s okay, babe. It sounds like they’ve got a system in place for this sort of thing.” Her smile falls slightly when Charlie doesn’t return it.
“But what about Alastor?” She asks, looking towards the door. It’d gone silent outside. “Is he going to be okay? If it’s meant to be a punishment, it - it can’t be good for him, either, right?”
“Well, I can’t say that I’ve ever gotten it,” Husk says, pouring himself a glass, “but from what I’ve heard…well, it’s not exactly a good experience.”
Charlie’s face twists in distress and the sliver of guilt lodged in Lucifer’s chest lances into a bleeding cut. He looks down, wincing. Why she cares so much about Alastor is beyond him. He didn’t even know Alastor was a cannibal until now, which is kind of silly considering he ate those loan sharks. But it’s certainly not raising his opinion of the demon, nonetheless.
Why does she want him around so much? He can help but grouse.
He understands Husk, Angel, Pentious—even Niffty. Sure, they all had their quirks, but they’ve never come off as necessarily bad.
Alastor though…
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he waves his hand, materializing his hat and jacket right there in his palm. This earns the attention of the group as he strides to the door, sliding his arms through the sleeves.
“Uh, Dad,” Charlie says, rising off her stool to follow him. “What, uh…what are you doing?”
“Going to get him,” he says, fixing his hat on his head, making sure it’s snug.
“What? Dad, you heard them, he’s—”
“He’s just a sinner, Charlie,” Lucifer says with an easy grin, tossing his cane in the air and catching it again with flourish. “I’ll go grab him before he makes too much of a mess and be back lickety-split! Easy peasy. Who better than me?” He waggles his eyebrows, leaning up to her on his tip-toes.
“Well,” she taps two fingers together. “Just…be careful. And don’t hurt him. He’s not in his right mind.”
“Is he ever?” She gives him a look, and he holds up his hands. “Alright, alright. He’ll be fine. I promise.”
She holds onto her uncertainty for a moment longer before it melts into relief. “Thank you,” she says, pulling him into a tight hug.
Lucifer isn’t expecting it, but once he overcomes his surprise, his smiles, warmth blooming in his chest. It melts the yarn-ball of emotion lodged there. The defensiveness, agitation, bitterness becomes a gooey, mellow mass as he returns the hug.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“We’ll scrounge up… something for him to eat until he gets back,” she says. Her smile is back, as big and bright as before, and it makes his lungs swell with emotions.
This. This is why it’s all worth it.
For her.
With a tip of his hat, he unlocks the door and steps outside. The courtyard is empty and any evidence that Alastor was out here is gone, despite a few lacerations in the stone and dirt. And the busted fence far below, marking the entrance to the hotel grounds. That’s a dead give-away.
Sighing, he adjusts the lapels of his suit and begins the long walk down the road, twirling his cane. As far as Hell goes, it’s actually a pretty nice night. It’s late, so the blazing red sky is bruising into a darker purple. The heat never truly goes away, but it’s transitioning from dry to humid, which isn’t as bad, he supposes.
As he gets to the city though, he slows his pace, squinting down the road in suspicion. It’s quiet. And empty. Every street, usually littered with demons of all kinds, is completely deserted. There are no beeps or blaring horns from cars, no clamor of conversation, no bustle of any life. Within the span of one alert, Pentagram City had become a ghost town.
Damn. This Hunger thing really is no joke. If all of Hell can agree on this one thing long enough to make an alarm for it, maybe it’s a bigger problem than he gave it credit for.
It goes to show that demons can work together—from being eaten, at least.
Thankfully, while the streets are deserted, it’s not hard tracking where Alastor went. Despite being empty now, an unlucky few hadn’t been quick enough to escape the Radio Demon’s sudden appetite. Lucifer’s nose pinches as he follows a trail of blood down the street. There’s nothing left of the victim(s) other than a single shoe. They’d been torn apart first, judging by the blood, scattered guts, and innards, but ultimately, gobbled up.
The trail leads him down a handful of streets, getting thicker to indicate when Alastor found more victims, and thinner when his prey began going into hiding. Is Alastor too stupid to look inside buildings for his next meal? Or is he too famished to even consider a thought outside of eating whoever is in view?
He frowns at the thought, rubbing his wrist uncomfortably. While he still thinks Alastor should’ve labeled his shit before stuffing it in the freezer, maybe he should’ve asked before throwing it out. Or run it by Niffty. She’s been here longer than him. Despite her rapid-fire attention span, she still knew a surprising amount about how the hotel works and everyone within.
He follows the gory path through a twisted, metal fence with an open gate, leading into a park. During the day, Lucifer imagines it’d look quite lovely. While perhaps not as beautiful as the flora on Earth–though he can’t say for certain if that’s true, the last time he saw Earth was in the Garden of Eden, which was quite lovely–Hell had still developed life of its own. It’d gone from a barren wasteland to a functioning city with trees, parks, and some semblance of a society.r
A smidgen of beauty to be found in a place meant for the wicked.
Surprisingly, the thought is comforting.
Night had completely fallen by now, casting the park in dark shades of maroon and purple. His boots scuff softly against the cobblestone walkways , and he takes a brief moment to admire the blooming bushes that line the path. Most of the trees are thick leaves–coarse as they are to withstand Hell’s blazing temperature–but some are bare, coming out of the ground like the twisted, deformed hands of a skeleton breaking free from its grave.
The farther he ventures, the thinner the trail of blood becomes until it stops altogether. He examines the ground, searching the brush for any more indicators of where Alastor had gone, but sighs in frustration when nothing crops up. The blood trail had led him off the path, and the shadows are dark enough to give everything a purplish-red-black tinge.
“Where’d you go?” He mumbles under his breath, brushing aside a few low-hanging branches, hoping he’s going in the right direction.
He only stops a handful of minutes later, when he hears an indistinct murmur of static. The breeze flowing through the leaves brings with it the stench of rot, making his stomach turn in on itself. Looking around, he searches for the source, following the buzzing sound until he looks…up? There’s a soft thump from behind and a shadow falls over him.
He turns in time to watch Alastor emerge from the shadows, the contorted bones protruding near the trees revealing themselves, not as twisted branches, but antlers. The long, slim trees were not, in fact, trees, but thin, wiry limbs. The cavity of his eyes zero in on Lucifer, and despite their emptiness, he can’t help but get a sense of eagerness from them.
His nose pinches in disgust as Alastor draws closer, revealing smeared blood down his jaw, speckled across his face, and splattered along the front of his shirt. Now that he’s closer up, he can see the way Alastor’s body contorts, chest and ribs protruding beneath his shirt, dipping down into a sunken, curved stomach. A skeleton dressed in nothing but skin. He’s hunched over, arms nearly as long as his legs, bloody knuckles brushing the grass.
“Ah, there you are,” Lucifer says, craning his neck to look up at him. “Yeesh, looking a little worse for wear there, aren’t ya? Gross.”
Alastor cocks his head. He says nothing, but the static surrounding him is tangible enough to prickle Lucifer’s skin, peppering his face with tiny zings; buzzing around his ears like a swarm of insects. He imagines, for a regular demon, it might be painful. For him, it’s a little uncomfortable, at most.
Which seems to surprise Alastor. He tilts his head to the other side, as if Lucifer is the strange, surreal creature here–which makes him snort. Then the static gets louder, harsher, and without warning, Alastor surges forward. Expecting this, Lucifer side-steps, avoiding the maw teeth as they snap the open air where he’d been.
Despite not getting his prey, Alastor’s smile broadens and the eagerness surrounding him intensifies, shaking his limbs. Like Lucifer was an enticing morsel. A particularly clever rabbit to hunt down properly.
“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he drawls, brushing loose dirt off his coat. “How about you stop the theatrics and come home? Charlie’s worried.”
Her name doesn’t spark any clarity, but his voice spurs Alastor into action again. With an excitable shriek, he lunges forward, hands out as if to cage him in.
“Alright, nap time for you,” Lucifer waves his hand in front of Alastor’s face. “Go to sleep.”
The effect is immediate. Alastor slows, swaying on his feet. His shoulders drop, head dipping, and suddenly he’s falling forward, rapidly shrinking to normal size. Still, Lucifer stumbles under the sudden weight as he catches him.
“Oof, alright, you’re small again. Great.” He can carry him easily enough, but makes himself a little taller anyway, just to balance it out.
“You sure caused a lot of trouble today,” he grumbles, scowling down at the demon, but he can’t hold his annoyance for long. Alastor’s face, resting between his shoulder and chest, is peaceful. Smile small and serene. His softened hair falls in his face, partially covering his closed eyes. He looks relaxed. Probably the most relaxed Lucifer’s ever seen him, despite his near constant composure.
He sighs. “I guess it’s not… all your fault,” he admits, turning to find the trail he’d taken to get here. “But put your stinky, rotten stash somewhere else next time.”
Alastor doesn’t respond, as expected, but Lucifer feels his deep, heavy breaths against his chest. His suit is torn in a few places—otherwise holding up remarkably well given his transformation—but through the fabric, his skin is ice cold. Another side effect of The Hunger, maybe?
“I did promise Charlie you’d be okay,” he sighs, and with an awkward snap of his fingers, his coat materializes around Alastor’s shoulders, blanketing him. “There.”
When he makes it out of the line of trees and stares down the street, calculating how long it’ll take to get back, he shakes his head. “Yeah, fuck that.” With a mere thought, they disappear in a swirl of red smoke, reappearing inside the foray of the hotel in the blink of an eye.
Husk, in conversation with Angel in the lounge, startles, wings flaring out in surprise, causing Angel to choke on the sandwich he’d been eating. He turns, snarling, but when Husk’s eyes land on Alastor, they widen.
“Oh. You got him.”
“I said I would,” Lucifer puffs his chest smugly. “All safe and sound, as promised.”
Charlie leaps off the couch, nearly causing Vaggie to fall off, as she’d been resting her head in her lap. She stops a little bit away from Lucifer, like she doesn’t want to get too close, just in case, but still strains on her tippy-toes, as if to get a good look at Alastor.
“Is he okay? Did anything happen? How bad was it? Was it really bad?” She looks down, noticing his coat, and tilts her head. “Uh–”
“He’s fine,” Lucifer says before she can bring it up, heading for the stairs, also opting not to comment on that last bit. Charlie gets so sad when it comes to sinners dying, especially in gruesome ways. Best to leave that one until later. “Where’s his room? Cause he’s going there or I’m putting him on the floor.”
“I’ll show you!” Niffty volunteers, scrambling down the bar and scurrying up the stairs too fast for him to keep up.
“Rosie called,” Vaggie says after him. “She’s sending a care package.”
“It should be here soon!” Charlie adds.
“Awesome,” Lucifer says, unsure of what else to say. “I’ll, uh, just put him to bed then. Be back in a bit.”
Niffty leads him down a string of winding halls until they come across a room Lucifer thinks is close to Alastor’s radio tower. Maybe. It’s hard to tell after taking so many turns. But when she opens the door, swinging it wide for him, he huffs, rolling his eyes.
Yep, this is definitely Alastor’s room.
Of course he’d have a swamp in here. Of course.
Thankfully, there’s still a quarter of actual room, with floorboards, a dresser, and a bed. A fireplace, guarded by two plush armchairs, casts a green glow over half the room, and given the garish display of bones decorating the bar, it’s not surprising to see skulls on the mantel and bookshelf. And a pair of wide antlers hanging on the wall.
Weird.
He carries Alastor to the bed, setting him on the soft, red sheets—this guy and his red. But as he wiggles his arms out from under him, letting go, Alastor immediately stirs. His face twists, smile becoming uncomfortable. He twitches, fingers curling, antlers growing, body elongating. The prickling static builds up again and Lucifer lurches forward, grabbing his wrist, urging him to go back to sleep.
Instantly, Alastor settles, breaths becoming deep and heavy again as he slumps against the pillows.
Great.
Grimacing, Lucifer turns to the door, but Niffty had already scurried off. Glancing between Alastor and his escape, he groans, succumbing himself to a long wait. How long did Charlie say that care package is going to be? Soon? How soon?
He’d rather not be stuck here for an indeterminate amount of time, staring at Alastor’s twisted sense of decor, if he can help it.
Which he can’t, apparently.
Whatever, if he’s going to be stuck here keeping the baby asleep, he’s not going to do it uncomfortably. Crawling onto the bed, he settles next to Alastor, switching his grip from his wrist to his hand. It seems like the best option, rather than slapping his hand on whatever exposed skin is available. Most of which is Alastor’s face, which would be…yeah, no. That’d be weird.
He’s still cold though. Not as much as before, but enough to warrant concern. Heaving a deep, put-upon sigh, he stretches forward and pulls the extra blanket at the end of the bed, doing his best to cover Alastor with one hand.
When it’s more or less satisfactory, he leans against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. When nothing of interest makes itself known, his eyes tilt down to Alastor. Still asleep. Lucifer rests his head in his palm, tilting slightly. Hmmmm. His smile isn’t as creepy when it’s relaxed like this, and his face isn’t as annoying when it’s not leering over him. Terrible haircut aside, his hair looks soft. Would it feel like regular hair? Or fur? His antlers had shrunk down to small, curved little nubs, and Lucifer feels the sudden impulse to touch the tips. To test their sharpness.
As if sensing his observations, Alastor’s ear twitches, flicking slightly.
Cute, Lucifer thinks.
Then blanches. No. Not cute . Not cute. Nothing about Alastor is cute.
His ear flicks again. A few times, in rapid succession.
Dammit.
Lucifer tears his eyes away.
It’s unclear when someone will come by to check on them—either when they notice he’s missing or when Rosie’s package arrives—so he gets comfortable, stealing a bit of the blanket to cover his legs and grabbing one of the extra pillows to support his back.
As the minutes tick on, it gets…surprisingly relaxing. There’s a faint gurgle of running water from the bayou, not enough to be annoying, but a soft, soothing sound. A faint breeze rifles through the tree’s, warm and pleasant. The quiet sound of crickets in the distance. Fireflies flutter lazily in the air, and as he follows them, his eyes get heavier and heavier.
Maybe there’s something to this whole “bayou in the room” thing. How the fuck Alastor got it in here, Lucifer wants to know. He has questions. But, ultimately, it makes for quite the ambience.
He glances sleepily at the door. What’s a few minutes to rest his eyes? May as well soak it all in now. This is probably going to be the last time he’s ever stepping foot in Alastor’s room.
He leans against the headboard, taking a deep breath of that warm, marshy air.
Is this what it’s like on Earth? It’s…beautiful. Is the last thing he thinks.
He falls asleep to the sound of crickets and the feel of Alastor’s warm hand in his own.