Chapter Text
For as bright and flashy as Lucifer tends to dress, he can be quite difficult to spot at times.
It’s been exactly a week since the “incident” and Alastor has seen neither hide nor hair of the short king. Not that the demon was going out of his way to look for him, of course. In fact, it’s not until early morning around breakfast time that Alastor first hears about Lucifer’s whereabouts.
The regular hotel gang were in the kitchen. Nifty was sitting at the kitchen counter, her little legs swaying in the air. Charlie and Vaggie are finishing up some pancakes while Angel and Husk are busy preparing the dining table.
“Oh good morning Alastor!” Charlie turns to greet him when he enters the kitchen. There is a cute pink “kiss the cook” apron over top of her shirt. Her blonde hair is messy and standing up in all different directions, as if she had just gotten out of bed.
The other residents grumble out a greeting as the deer demon makes his way to the cupboards, reaching for his signature coffee mug. He hums in approval when he finally pulls out the red mug with the words “Oh Deer!” printed in bold lettering. He turns to the freshly brewed coffee pitcher and pours himself a generous helping. Straight black coffee, just how he likes it.
“You’re just in time for breakfast!” Charlie beams at him. Leave it to the Princess of Hell to be this chipper in the morning. “Vaggie and I made blueberry pancakes. You’ll join us, won’t you?” She throws him those large puppy-dog eyes yet again.
He takes a sip of his coffee, enjoying as the warm, earthy texture invades his mouth. “I’m afraid not, dear Charlotte,” he shakes his head, trying to ignore the crestfallen look on the blonde’s face. “This coffee is plenty for me, thank you.”
“Man, some real party pooper over here, just like that short King,” Angel Dust jokes as he sits down at the dining table with a large pile of pancakes on his plate.
Alastor turns so fast in response that his neck snaps, causing everyone in the room to cringe from the noise. “Lucifer was here?” he questions the spider. There is a slight hint of desperation in his voice that he hopes the others don’t notice. Husk still narrows his eyes at him anyway, the ever observant bastard.
“You guhf miffed him!” Charlie tries to speak with a mouth full of pancakes as syrup drips down her chin.
“Babe, I love you, but please don’t talk with your mouth full,” Vaggie gives an endearing sigh as she forces the blonde’s mouth to close.
Vaggie turns to face him, not hiding the look of slight disdain on her face. It’s been no secret after all that dear Vagatha was never fond of the Radio Demon. In fact, she always made it very clear to others that the overload was not to be trusted. The only reason she even allows his presence in the hotel at all is because of Charlie. Smart girl, she was wise to be cautious.
“What she meant to say was that you just missed him,” she nods in his direction, though there is a wary look in her eye. As if she was suspicious about why the demon wanted to know the King’s whereabouts so suddenly.
“How unfortunate of him to leave before breakfast then!” he jokes, as if meaning to ease some of the tension in the air.
Internally, however, the demon is seething with barely concealed anger. The King just so happening to leave the room right before Alastor enters is no mere coincidence. He must have been purposefully avoiding him. No doubt he was still embarrassed over Alastor walking in on him during a vulnerable moment. Perhaps he was afraid the demon would hold it against him? Alastor would even be inclined to agree with him if it weren’t for that silly pang of disappointment in his chest telling him otherwise.
Does the great Radio Demon actually miss him? He almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of the situation.
“Oh it’s normal! Dad doesn’t eat anyway,” Charlie pipes up, breaking him from his train of thought before shoving another pancake into her mouth.
Hm, interesting. Alastor’s ear twitches with interest at the new information. Charlie didn’t seem all too concerned over the idea that her father doesn’t consume food, suggesting this was rather normal for him. The Radio Demon makes a mental note to bring it up later when the others are not around.
“Well!” He says, putting down his now empty coffee mug. Now with a newfound urge to find the King even more. “This was a rather delightful chat but I must be on my way now. Lots of errands to run today, I’m sure you understand.”
He doesn’t miss the suspicious glance that Husk throws his way. The two lock eyes and an unspoken accusation hangs in the air between them. Alastor simply narrows his eyes at the display of disobedience, ever so slightly increasing his grip on the invisible leash around the bartender’s neck. Husk winces at the warning, choosing to stand down and face the other direction.
Alastor hums in approval at the reaction. Serves the lowly demon right for trying to meddle in his affairs. If Alastor had a newfound fascination with the King, surely that was his business. Husk should be grateful he didn’t tear him apart limb from limb for that little stunt.
With a dramatic wave of his staff, he bids the hotel staff adieu as he exits through the kitchen door. One rosy-cheeked angel the only thing on his mind.
———
Alastor walks down the main hallway till he stops at a door with the devil’s signature design. The design is simple: a golden snake coiled around a red apple. Quite basic if Alastor says so himself, but it serves its purpose.
He raises his hand to the door and knocks once. Imagine his surprise when the door fully opens by itself, as if inviting him inside. The room inside was dark, only dimly lit by the red light from outside. Clearly the King was not home.
He flips on the light switch and the room is suddenly bathed in light. The room hasn’t changed much since Alastor last saw it. Rubber ducks and various articles of clothing litter the floor. The sheets on the King’s bed are rumpled and dirty. Dried blood cakes nearly every crevice of the room. The room, quite plainly, looks like a murder scene.
The Radio Demon contemplates calling in Nifty and Husk to clean the room, but he stops himself. His lip suddenly curls into a sneer as he grows sour at the very idea. The notion that Alastor was the only one privy to the King’s condition filled him with a sick sense of satisfaction unlike any other. The dark secret shared between the two felt like a deeply shared connection. Alastor knew a side of the King that no one else knew. If Nifty and Husk were made aware of things, it suddenly wouldn’t be as special anymore. And Alastor realizes he wasn’t too keen on sharing that special secret.
It’s with a sigh that he materializes a garbage bag and cleaning supplies in his hands. Normally he would be above doing such tasks, however the demon would make an exception.
He decides to start with picking up the clothing scattered around the room. He picks up a red and white vest and narrows his eyes as he studies it. The offending article of clothing was dirty and ruffled, the shirt reeking of the sweet, citrusy smell of angel blood. The shirt was clearly well-worn and littered with rips and tears, noticeably around the sleeve area. Alastor’s eye twitches just slightly at the implication but decides it best not to ponder for long, lest his thoughts begin to derail.
With a snap of his wrist, the demon teleports the shirt into a safe location to be locked away. Look, it isn’t stealing, okay? Alastor could be considered many terrible things, but ill-mannered was not one of them. He was just making sure none of the other residents came across any damning evidence that showed the king’s weakness. He was just being a gentleman!
Next on the docket, he turns his attention to the fallen angel’s messy bed. First things first, Alastor comes to the quick realization that the blood-soaked sheets were simply too far gone to even attempt washing.
“We won’t be needing these!” he announces as he unceremoniously yanks the sheets off the bed. Considering Lucifer's mental state, Alastor suspects the king wouldn’t even notice that they were gone in the first place.
What the demon wasn’t expecting, however, was the absolute myriad of red and white feathers being disturbed by the action and flying across the room. Alastor swats his hands in disgust, trying his best to avoid the barrage from touching his face.
“Disgusting,” he practically gags at the giant pile of feathers that eventually settle to the floor. If the radio demon didn’t know any better, he would have suspected the king to have gutted and defeathered a poor hell-chicken on his bed.
‘Lucifer Morningstar and a chicken are practically the same thing anyway’. He thinks to himself and proceeds to chuckle at his own cruel joke.
Was the fallen angel really so self-destructive that he was plucking out his own wing feathers? Alastor supposes it wouldn’t be that far of a stretch to assume, seemingly way more tame compared to other things he’s seen the devil do.
Or perhaps he’s overthinking things? It’s not like Alastor has a plethora of knowledge when it comes to angel anatomy. Maybe angels just shed a god-awful amount of wing feathers in a short timeframe. Charlie’s girlfriend was a fallen angel herself, maybe he could ask her about it?
No no, that’s a terrible idea. Alastor decides he would rather chew off his own arm than stoop low enough to ask Vaggie of all people for help. He supposes his curiosity will have to go unanswered for now.
He then grabs a broom and sweeps all the offending feathers into one large pile, humming a tune to himself while he works. Perhaps in another lifetime he would have made a killing being a crime scene cleaner. He makes a mental note to tell Nifty one of these days that he can see the appeal.
With a dustpan in hand, he neatly sweeps the plumage away in one fell swoop. Except….
A lone feather lies by itself on the floor, practically taunting him. Should he really get rid of all these feathers? Sweep them all away and pretend like they never existed? The single, pristine white feather contrasts nicely with the red floor, almost like it was challenging him to get rid of it. His hand begins to twitch involuntarily as he stares at the feather, like it was whispering dark secrets to him.
Alastor steals a quick glance at the door, back to the feather, then promptly swoops down and picks up the offending object, quickly stuffing it into his coat pocket like some dark, forbidden scripture.
He loudly clears his throat as if to clear some of the tension in the room. Silly really, considering he was entirely alone. However his heart was racing wildly, like he consciously knew what he was doing was wrong. Since when was Alastor ever concerned about morals? Is it really stealing if Lucifer clearly discarded it?
Damnit all to Hell! This Hotel and all of its “sunshine and rainbows and touchy-feely” crap was starting to get to him. Alastor is starting to lose his roots, becoming soft. Weak. This isn’t how the fearsome radio demon is supposed to act. Maybe tomorrow he needs to go out and murder some people, claim some new territory, maybe even acquire a few new souls? Something, anything to remind himself he’s still the same, grotesque monster he always has been and will be.
But is that truly the case? Here he is now practically cleaning up the King of Hell’s private bedchambers after a depressive episode. Since when does Alastor care enough about the literal devil to help him?
No, he doesn’t care! Alastor takes the broom in his right hand and violently launches it across the room in protest, the broom instantly snapping in half as it hits the floor. He growls to himself in anger, his hands coming to rest upon his head and tightly gripping his hair. He begins to tug hard on his hair, seemingly using the pain to try to ground himself.
His eyes wander over to the yellow bloodstain on the wall and his breathing begins to quicken. Alastor feels a sudden tightness in his chest as his mind begins to race. Memories begin to assault his mind before a giant fog glazes over, stopping all trains of thought. It's almost as if the thoughts are so painful that he can’t remember. What is wrong with him? He’s seen blood before. What is so different this time that’s causing all these unpleasant feelings?
Sadness; an emotion that doesn’t come often. It suddenly hits him like a truck as his breath hitches, a few traitorous tears slipping down his cheeks. His head swirls, tormented, like a thunderstorm yet he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the bloodstain on the wall.
“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” Lucifer’s sudden voice snaps the demon out of his stupor.
The fallen angel looks pissed. His eyes sported a bright red and his demon horns have emerged from his head, his demon tail rapidly flicking back-and-forth in anger.
“You were avoiding me, I had no choice,” Alastor shrugs nonchalantly.
At least pissing off Lucifer was better than him harming himself. Alastor is about 72.8 percent sure the king won’t kill him. He does have the princess’ favor after all.
“And that involves snooping through my room because….?” Lucifer demands.
“Simply clearing up evidence, sire,” Alastor responds. “I can only imagine what this would do to the hotel’s reputation if anyone saw the sight of this room! My my, I’m sure people would assume you murdered someone in cold blood.”
There is a devilish grin on the radio demon’s face that is being tremendously forced. Alastor isn’t above pushing people’s buttons; why, he’s practically an expert! However, it feels suddenly wrong and unnatural.
There’s a small traitorous voice in his head telling him to drop the act, to go over and help Lucifer. To fix it, to fix him.
Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him. Fix it. Fix him.
Alastor’s eye twitches in annoyance, the thought becoming louder and more insistent. Lucifer doesn’t deserve his pity; he definitely doesn’t deserve someone to fix or coddle him. This is silly.
“I don’t believe you,” Lucifer says, arms crossed in irritation. “Sinners like you don’t do things out of the kindness of their hearts. You’re looking for blackmail, aren’t you?”
Blackmail? Alastor is shocked to find that the idea never even crossed his mind once. This was obviously the logical reason to snoop through the King of Hell’s room. Was he truly doing all of this to get back at him?
Conflicting voices suddenly roar in his head, torn over what he should do. Should he continue to play this up and see where it takes him? Or should Alastor give into the strange urge and admit he was just trying to help?
No, he can’t show weakness.
“Such an accusation!” He gasps, a hand over his mouth in mock surprise. “To think I would stoop so low as to steal your belongings. I don’t need any ‘blackmail’ as you say. Simply knowing you’re this far off the deep end is enough to satisfy me for a lifetime.”
Lucifer visibly flinches at this and Alastor knows he’s struck a nerve. The angel reacts by suddenly tightly gripping his gloved arm, his long claws digging into the fabric. Alastor briefly wonders if the old wounds were still there.
The king then begins to dissociate, a faraway look in his golden eyes as he stares blankly in front of him. He instinctually tightens his grip on his arm, claws digging in even further. Alarm bells begin to go off in Alastor’s head as he realizes that Lucifer was once again beginning to regress. He needs to stop this now before the situation gets out of control. He needs to say something drastic, something absurd enough to grab the man’s attention.
“I would like to make a deal,” Alastor says.
Fuck, why did he say that??
Fortunately enough this seems to do the trick. Lucifer rapidly blinks his eyes into focus, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It’s almost music to the Radio Demon’s ears when the devil throws his head back and bellows with laughter.
Alastor tries his best not to break into a nervous sweat. His smile remains cool and collected but his heart underneath was nearly about to burst out of his ribcage. Seriously, a deal with the devil himself? Being bold is one thing but this was pushing it way too far, even for him. He supposes if he was going to double die, being killed by the devil himself seems like a fitting end.
“I’ll give you one thing, you do have a good sense of humor,” Lucifer says, body still vibrating with laughter. “A depraved sinner being so bold as to ask the literal King of Hell for his soul. I’ve erased other sinners in the past for much less. What makes you think you’re so different?”
There’s a dangerous glow in the angel’s eyes now, almost like they were taunting him. As if challenging Alastor to make one wrong move so he could pounce. The demon’s grin strains and his ears shrink back in intimidation. He needs to de-escalate this quickly.
“Your soul? Heavens no,” Alastor laughs, dramatically waving his arm in dismissal. “You think so low of me, your majesty.”
Now that Alastor thinks about it, maybe a deal with Lucifer wasn’t entirely a bad idea. He’d have to really manipulate this, sure, but perhaps this could end up working in his favor. This could allow him more insight into Lucifer’s “condition” and satiate that annoying urge of his to get involved. And if Alastor was able to benefit from this too? Why, that would just be an added bonus.
Lucifer narrows his eyes, “What do you expect to gain from this then? Fame? Money? Power? I know you’re up to something.”
“What I want,” Alastor responds. “Is for you to reach out to me for help whenever your little self-destructive tantrums get out of hand.”
The fallen angel scoffs at the request, yet Alastor notices the subtle nervous flicker in his eyes. Good, he’s actually considering it. Alastor just needs to reel him in more.
“What makes you think I need your help?” Lucifer protests. “I’ve managed this on my own for thousands of years. I can handle myself.”
Alastor quirks an eyebrow, “With all do respect, your majesty, I’m not exactly sure how ‘well’ handling yourself has turned out.”
Lucifer narrows his eyes and growls, “Oh you tacky motherfucker.”
The Radio Demon has to literally bite his tongue to stop himself from retaliating back, welcoming the familiar taste of strong iron. Rilling up Lucifer was doing him no good. He needs to think of a different approach.
That’s when the idea suddenly hits him. If Lucifer was going to keep acting like a scared animal, all he needs to do is corner him; give him an ultimatum.
“In exchange,” Alastor pretends to look disinterested at his nails. “I won’t tell Charlie about your ‘issue’. It’ll be our little secret, hm?”
Lucifer sighs deeply and his shoulders sag in defeat. The fallen angel takes off his white hat and combs a gloved hand through his hair in stress.
Hook, line, and sinker.
“I was afraid you were going there,” Lucifer chuckles softly. The King refuses to meet Alastor’s gaze, instead choosing to stare directly at the hat in his hands. “I have to admit, you played this smart; you know I can’t refuse. I know you’re not doing this out of the kindness of your heart. What do you want in return?”
Hmm, a gracious offer, for sure. If the King was so insistent on giving him something in return he would be stupid not to take advantage of it.
“Oh nothing extravagant,” Alastor dismisses him with a wave. “Just a simple favor! What’s a small favor between friends after all?”
If Alastor didn’t know any better, he could have swore there was literal steam coming out of the devil’s ears. The demon grins when he hears the other man muttering a string of expletives to himself.
“One thing,” Lucifer raises a finger. “I’m not your friend. Two, I won’t kill anyone for you or do anything that could jeopardize my daughter’s dream. Understood?”
“Crystal clear,” Alastor grins. “So, do we have a deal then?”
Alastor raises his hand to the fallen angel; dark, foreboding green mist flooding from his hand. He morphs into his eldritch form: his antlers double in size and black tendrils sprout from his back.
Lucifer meets him halfway, tightly grasping the radio demon’s hand in his own.
“Deal.”