Chapter Text
She’d criticized, well, maybe not outright, but she’d questioned, and that alone had been enough to raise her father’s hackles.
So she’d tried a softer angle, she’d looped Vaggie in, hoping she’d see it too: that curl of protectiveness that had tipped into something darker. Vaggie had hesitated, wary as always, but it hadn’t taken much convincing. Not when Alastor had been small and sweet and heartbreakingly quiet, all big eyes and tentative movements, looking every bit the victim her father said he was.
It was hard to argue with that.
And for a moment she’d been convinced.
Still, littles had duality. They always had. They weren’t one thing or the other, not innocent or monstrous, not broken or whole. They were both.
Every visit made it clearer, even to her father, though he refused to say it out loud. She saw it in the way his mouth tightened at certain sounds, the way his wings shifted when Alastor smiled too wide or stared too intently at nothing at all. He frowned at anything that reminded him of the older Alastor and Charlie felt a guilty flutter of relief each time those pieces surfaced. Relief that they were still there. That nothing had truly been erased.
And then, suddenly, they were gone.
No static hiccups or too-wide smiles, no shadows curling at small hooves…just softness.
That was when the unease really set in.
It wasn’t that she wanted big Alastor back in place of the small one. She didn’t want the little to suffer for the sake of the older, didn’t want him forced to “age up” or carry weight he couldn’t hold yet. It was just a piece now missing, and she hadn’t realized how important it was until it vanished.
She was content with her father helping him. She trusted he fathers experience. But helping meant both sides, it meant room to breathe. And if the older Alastor wanted out, wanted a voice, Charlie wasn’t comfortable with that being denied, even if it was wrapped in kindness, even if it was justified as protection for the little she’d come to adore.
Standing outside her father’s door, hand hovering just shy of knocking, Charlie swallowed.
Something had shifted.
And whether her father wanted to admit it or not, she wasn’t sure they were helping anymore or just deciding which parts of Alastor were allowed to exist.
The door swung open before she could knock, she startled, letting out a small sound as her dad laughed softly at her reaction.
“Charlie! Great news,” Lucifer said brightly. “Alastor says he’s up for a walk to the lounge as long as his Daddy’s there to protect him.”
He said the last part angled toward Alastor, voice warm, and Charlie’s smile faltered just a fraction. She couldn’t help but wonder when exactly Alastor had decided her father was the one who needed to protect him from the world.
“Well— that’s great Dad,” she said quickly, forcing the cheer back into place. “But I actually had a few more questions about—”
Lucifer sighed, the sound weary despite the smile. He reached out and ruffled her hair, affectionate but distracted, and the air around them felt anything but light.
“Sweetheart,” he said gently, “I’m a bit tired of the questions. Really… is it—” He paused, studying her in a way that made her chest tighten. “Do you want my attention? I know I’ve been busy with Alastor, but this is important—”
Her face heated immediately. She shook her head, hands lifting in flustered denial. “No— Dad, of course not. That’s not— I just—”
She trailed off.
Alastor had shifted closer to Lucifer, smaller somehow than he’d been even the first night, fingers curled into her father’s sleeve. He looked up at Charlie with wide, uncertain eyes, ears tipped back in a way that made her heart ache.
This wasn’t the moment.
Pushing now would only frighten him and in turn dig her father’s heels in deeper.
Charlie exhaled slowly, running a hand through her hair. “Sure,” she said, voice gentler now. “Let’s head to the lounge.”
Lucifer’s smile returned immediate and relieved. “That’s my girl.”
He scooped Alastor up without asking, one wing flaring protectively as they stepped into the hall. Alastor made a small sound and melted into the hold, face tucking into Lucifer’s shoulder as if the world beyond the room were suddenly too much.
Charlie followed a step behind, watching the way Alastor clung, the way her father’s posture subtly shifted, not just to shield, but to angle, to close space, to quietly block any path that didn’t lead back to him.
She told herself she was imagining it.
The unease still settled heavier in her chest.
The lounge was empty, of course it was. She was certain her father wouldn’t have agreed to sit otherwise.
She took a seat anyway and watched fondly as Alastor looked around, curiosity flickering cautious and small. He never let her father slip fully out of his line of sight. Still, the paper dolls helped: those ridiculous little cutouts Niffty had taken to hiding all over the hotel, tiny grinning figures taped behind lamps and tucked into plant pots, placed with hopeful insistence as if Alastor might wake up one day and recognize them.
He spotted one peeking from beneath a cushion and made a pleased sound, tugging lightly at Lucifer’s sleeve to point it out.
Charlie smiled despite herself.
Then she looked at her dad.
He was watching too intently.
“Listen,” Charlie said carefully, keeping her voice gentle. “I know you said this was about care, that control and care can look similar, that this is past informed consent, but I just…” She hesitated, then pushed through. “Dad, he can’t be little forever.”
Lucifer turned to her, a sad look crossing his face before it was smoothed away with practiced ease. “He simply isn’t ready to be big.”
Charlie’s heart sank.
“I understand what you mean,” she said, trying again. “Really. But Vaggie and I talked it over, and we think… we think we can watch him until he ages up naturally. Then we can talk to him about what he wants, about a regression schedule, about finding a caregiver he actually clicks with.”
Lucifer looked away.
She caught the glint of disappointment before it vanished, his expression settling into something cool and neutral as he turned back to her.
“Listen, honey,” he said, tone shifting, “the hotel is amazing, I’m so proud of you, I really am, and I’ll always be here for you.” He paused, then added, almost casually, “But I think it’s time I get back home. Back to the palace.”
“O— oh. Of course, Dad,” Charlie said quickly, words tumbling over themselves. She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Of course. I get it.”
He studied her more closely then, gaze sharp beneath the affection.
“But,” he continued, “I can’t leave Alastor here. I hope you understand.” His voice softened, patronizingly kind. “I’m sure one day you and Vaggie could care for a little— when you’re more grown up. Or at least when you start to respect the way things should be done.”
Her heart dropped straight through her chest.
“Dad— no,” she said, standing abruptly. “You need to leave him here.”
Lucifer was already rising, Alastor’s small hand clasped securely in his own. Alastor looked back at her, wide-eyed and quiet, those same soft, searching eyes that made her chest ache.
“You can visit the palace,” Lucifer said smoothly, wings already unfurling, “when you’ve remembered what’s right. And I’m only a phone call away, okay, apple?”
“Dad— NO!”
The golden portal bloomed behind them, bright and humming. Alastor startled at the light, then relaxed when Lucifer murmured something too soft for Charlie to hear. He stepped through without resistance.
And then they were gone.
The lounge felt cavernous in their absence, paper dolls grinning from their hiding places like cruel jokes.
Charlie stood there, fists clenched at her sides, breath shaking.
~~~
This wasn’t what he wanted.
Not really.
Lucifer told himself that as the portal sealed behind them, the hotel’s warmth snuffed out like a candle, replaced by the familiar vastness of his own realm. The palace rose ahead, it’s spires cutting clean lines through the red-lit sky. Home. Or what passed for it now.
He adjusted his hold on Alastor, instinctive and practiced, tucking the little closer when he felt the faint tremor run through him. The child made a small sound, uncertain but not frightened, and settled again with his forehead pressed to Lucifer’s chest.
See? He’s fine. He’s safer with me.
He’d finally settled him. Days of careful routine, quiet voices, controlled stimuli. Progress. He’d thought (had hoped) that Charlie saw it. That he’d finally convinced her he wasn’t the monster she’d started to look at him like, all too-long stares and suspicion where trust used to be.
But Charlie was too far removed from how things used to be. From what worked.
He could forgive that. Truly. Sometimes it felt like a lifetime ago that he, Lilith, and Charlie had been whole. That version of their family sat frozen on his mantle now, trapped in a single smiling photograph.
Charlie hadn’t lived the old ways the way he had. She hadn’t seen what happened to littles left to their own devices: to false choices disguised as freedom.
It wasn’t about erasing who Alastor was, only about stopping him from sabotaging himself all over again. He’d already had his turn, unbidden and unchecked, built on chemical suppression that had silenced every smaller voice that might have objected. Was it really so wrong, then, to suppress him in return? To tip the scales the other way? To let the little one thrive, to give him the chance to simply… exist?
If Charlie truly believed Alastor capable of balance, of neat and equal duality, she was mistaken. Some halves demanded restraint while others deserved protection and Lucifer had decided which of them was more worthy of being kept safe.
And yes, he could admit it, at least to himself that he’d always liked the idea of having a little. That wasn’t new, he’d hovered around caregiver circles for centuries, watched others raise small souls with structure and devotion and results. He and Lilith had talked about it once. A dream shelved for later that never came.
Now later had arrived in pieces.
And perhaps that was why he clung so tightly to the picture forming now, because it was fragile, because it felt like something he could finally keep.
Alastor would do well in the palace. He would be protected, he would want for nothing and he’d be free to exist without the radio demon exacting its constant toll, without a well-meaning daughter led astray by doubt and questions, and without anyone challenging the way
Lucifer knew things had to be done.
Lucifer stroked Alastor’s hair absently, thumb tracing the soft line of a freckle, constellation-bright. The little sighed, content, fingers curling tighter in Lucifer’s coat. Yes. He would thrive here.
And what a nice cage it would be.
Where all that mattered was safety. Structure. Him.
Lucifer’s gaze lifted to the highest tower of the palace, where one balcony remained untouched by time or bitterness, a place he hadn’t stood on in far too long.
For perhaps the last time, he thought, a quiet resolve settling in his chest, he would call Lilith home.
Not to argue, not to reminisce.
But to help him finish what he’d started.
Because this time, he wouldn’t let what he loved slip through his fingers again, even if it meant holding on a little too tightly.