Chapter Text
Lucifer was on his knees.
Not by his own will.
The chains that held his wrists kept him anchored to the ground—heavy, burning, glowing with a light that offered no comfort. Around him, all of Heaven was watching. Not as his family, but as witnesses to something greater.
His sentence was delivered without hesitation.
Cold.
Undeniable.
Absolute…
For having introduced evil to Earth, he would be cast out. Condemned to watch, eternally, what humanity would do with his “gift.”
Balance demanded equilibrium. If there was good, there was evil. If there was Heaven… then its opposite had to exist.
They called it Hell.
And they condemned him as its king.
Lucifer tried to speak.
Rationally.
To explain.
To make them understand that he never intended to corrupt, but to give choice. The opportunity to decide. His voice did not tremble at first, but it became more urgent with every word that fell onto deaf ears.
He searched the council’s faces for doubt, for any sign… anything that would show they were still listening.
He only found indifference. Then he looked at the faces of those he had also considered his family.
Their gazes were enough.
Cold.
Distant.
Unrecognizable.
The chains reacted first.
The heat rose instantly, burning the skin of his wrists until it ripped an involuntary gasp of pain from him. Lucifer tensed his arms, trying to break free, trying to escape the chains, escape the pain.
His wings moved, searching for escape.
“Wait!”
The word never finished forming.
The first spear pierced his wing.
The impact was dry.
Brutal.
The wet, tearing sound echoed louder than any voice in the room. Lucifer screamed, his body giving in to the pain as the wing tensed unnaturally, pinned to the ground by the force of the strike.
Then another.
And another.
The spears did not hesitate. Did not miss.
They pierced flesh, bone, feathers, pinning him in place as if his very existence had to be contained, immobilized, punished.
The air left his lungs.
The pain came in waves.
Hot.
Overwhelming.
Unbearable.
Lucifer could barely lift his head.
Just enough to see them.
To see how they were looking at him.
Disgust.
Fear.
Hatred.
And worse… disappointment.
The chains tightened suddenly and then pulled.
Violent.
Sudden.
His arms were yanked toward the ground with such force he felt his joints give in.
The ground disappeared.
Lucifer fell.
The chains still burned tightly, but it no longer mattered. His body stopped responding. His wings pierced, useless hung limp as the air roared around him.
The air was not air.
It was friction.
It was pressure.
It was speed devouring him.
Then fire appeared.
Not like a spark.
Like a presence.
It clung to his body violently, wrapping around him completely, sticking to his skin, devouring feathers, flesh, everything it found. Lucifer screamed again, the sound broken, torn, while the heat consumed him without giving him space to think.
He tried to move.
Tried to do something.
His wings did not respond.
The feathers dissolved within the flames.
The pain filled everything.
And still… the ground kept approaching.
Too fast.
Impossible to stop.
The impact was absolute.
There was no transition.
No cushioning.
His back hit the first ring of Hell with a force that left nothing intact.
The sound was dry.
Brutal.
Final.
Something inside him broke completely.
But he did not stop.
He bounced.
Not upward.
Downward, as if gravity was still pulling him.
The earth gave way beneath him, breaking, opening, creating passage as his body tore through it.
Ring after ring.
Layer after layer.
Each impact was a new beginning of pain.
Each break a confirmation that he could still suffer more.
Each descent deepening the pain until it became unrecognizable. With every collision he could hear the crack of his body.
His body was no longer form.
It was failure resisting in real time.
And still, despite everything…
He remained conscious even when he reached the last ring.
The world stopped moving.
But the pain did not.
Silence did not come.
Something worse did.
Clarity.
There is no turning back… because even after being attacked, even after being burned and thrown down, a very small part of him still clung to the hope that this was some cruel joke.
Lucifer was barely aware when it happened.
That new pain.
Different.
Worse.
Much worse.
It started like a tickle inside his body.
Then something pulled.
From within.
Lucifer tensed.
His fingers dug into what remained of the ground beneath him.
“What…” his voice came out like a broken whisper.
He felt it before he understood it.
His soul.
The pull was soft at first.
Almost… curious.
As if something was testing.
Measuring.
And then… it pulled.
It was a tug.
Violent.
Wrong.
As if something inside him something essential was being ripped out without care, without precision, without mercy.
Then he screamed.
Not like before.
This was not just pain.
It was tearing.
It was loss.
It was feeling his very existence breaking from the inside.
His soul.
They were separating it from his body.
Lucifer arched or tried to as the sensation intensified, spreading through every part of what he was, shredding him in ways his mind could barely process.
“No!”
The word broke in his throat.
The final pull came like a rupture.
And everything… went out.
————;-;———-
Lucifer… was nowhere. And at the same time, he was everywhere.
It was a formless sensation, without edges, as if his consciousness had been poured over something infinite and, at the same time, compressed until it became unrecognizable.
There was no up or down. No distance. Only fragments of existence floating without order, colliding with each other like misaligned echoes.
At first, he didn’t think of anything concrete.
He couldn’t.
Thoughts didn’t hold; they were born incomplete and dissolved before becoming ideas. It was like trying to close your hand around smoke. Like trying to remember a dream while still dreaming it.
And yet…
Something didn’t fit.
Not like pain.
Not like fear.
But like a lack.
A void so simple… that it took too long to be recognized.
There was an interval impossible to measure because here time didn’t exist, or perhaps it existed in too many directions at once in which Lucifer simply… was.
Floating.
Thinking without thinking.
Existing without reference.
Until, at some point he couldn’t distinguish as a beginning, an idea formed completely for the first time.
Broken.
But complete.
“Body…”
The thought didn’t come calmly.
It came like a collision.
As if something inside him had just remembered it was supposed to be tied to something.
Lucifer tensed.
If ‘tensing’ even had meaning here.
His consciousness contracted in on itself, searching for an edge, a limit… something to define him.
His body.
Suddenly, the absence stopped being abstract.
It became evident.
Unbearable.
Because now that the idea existed… he could no longer ignore it.
He didn’t feel it.
He couldn’t find it.
It didn’t respond.
“Where… is my body…?”
The phrase came late.
Too late.
And with it came the breaking point.
Not confusion alone.
Urgency.
A primitive, desperate impulse, born not from thought but from something deeper: the need to fit back in.
To be whole again.
Lucifer tried to search for it.
He didn’t know how.
There was no direction.
No distance.
Only him… extending in all directions at once, without finding anything that belonged to him.
“Where is it…?”
Again the thought broke.
But this time it left something behind.
Panic.
Silence didn’t help.
There was nothing to distract him. Nothing to stop him. Only his mind bouncing against itself again and again, with no escape.
Fragments began to filter in.
The condemnation.
The faces.
The hatred.
He wanted to run.
He wanted to move.
He had no legs.
No wings.
Nothing.
Where is his body?
Where is it?
Where!?
Where!?
He didn’t know how long he remained in that state, searching without stopping.
Because something… pulled.
Not his mind.
Him.
A violent, brutal tug, impossible to ignore, as if an invisible force had decided he had floated enough. That he had been… outside for too long.
And then… impact.
Not against the ground.
Against himself.
———-“-“———
His eyes snap open.
Air rushes in violently, irregularly, as if his body had forgotten how to breathe properly. Lucifer sits up too fast, one hand clutching his chest as he gasps, desperate for air that doesn’t feel like enough.
It’s not enough.
Nothing is enough.
His heart pounds hard against his ribs, too fast, too strong, as if trying to compensate for something that is no longer there.
Pain returns without warning.
Not like before.
He had felt weak… numb.
But it is there.
Present.
Reminding him of what happened.
The machine.
The pain.
The tearing.
The sensation of being ripped from the inside out.
And slowly, the conclusion arrives before he can stop it.
He died.
Technically… he died.
The thought doesn’t come as drama.
It comes as logic.
Cold.
Undeniable.
The soul leaving the body.
That is death.
And even though he knows it shouldn’t matter, even though he has experienced something similar before, even though he himself has tested his limits, even though his existence does not function under the same rules as others…
This was different.
This was not his choice.
Not controlled.
Not… his…
His body trembles.
Not from pain.
But from what that horrifying realization implies.
Because it could happen again.
And others can try.
And maybe…
They would succeed as well.
Lucifer feels suddenly exposed. Vulnerable in a way he hasn’t felt in millennia.
Like prey surrounded by predators who have only now begun to understand they can bite.
Air doesn’t come in properly.
His vision narrows.
Dark at the edges.
His breathing breaks again.
Fast.
Shallow.
Useless.
Air doesn’t fill his lungs.
It doesn’t reach him.
His vision starts closing in at the edges, darkening little by little as his thoughts begin to race, tripping over each other without order.
The idea repeats.
Again and again.
They can do it again.
They can try.
And if they try again… he would go all in, because they would know he wouldn’t be able to resist.
His chest hurts.
Too much.
His mind runs.
Too much.
And nothing stops it.
Until.
Pain.
Only pain.
Sharp, precise, alive… a spark that anchors him violently back into something he can still call reality.
Lucifer barely has time to look down before he understands what is keeping him grounded.
Eden.
Its fangs buried in his hand, firm, desperate even, as if the creature is trying to drag him back into the world by force. Their eyes meet in that instant.
And that contact saves him.
The pain gives him shape.
Gives him edges.
Gives him something that isn’t the horror of his thoughts.
Lucifer breathes… or tries to. Air comes in in broken pulls, clumsy and fractured, as if his body has forgotten how to belong to itself. He forces himself to keep breathing, to mimic it, to survive it.
One… two… one… two…
The world keeps spinning too fast at the edges of his vision. Shadows that aren’t there. Movement where there is nothing. Black flickers like memories that refuse to leave.
“I’m fine… I’m fine…” he murmurs, more to the air than to himself.
Eden loosens.
Not immediately.
Not hurried.
As if waiting for a signal, a certainty, something that tells it he won’t be lost again.
When it finally releases its bite, Lucifer doesn’t feel the movement.
And that is what scares him.
His hand is still there… but it doesn’t feel fully like his. Numb. Distant. As if his body took too long to remember it should hurt.
Golden blood appears slowly, glowing against his skin like a contradiction made real.
Eden, after releasing its bite, doesn’t move away. Instead, as if the act of helping him is instinct itself, its body carefully winds around Lucifer’s arm. It isn’t restraint… it is support. A small living anchor, warm in its own strange way, keeping him present when everything in him threatens to drift away again.
Lucifer breathes shakily.
Air comes in, but it doesn’t stay.
And his mind, in contrast, doesn’t stop.
The disaster.
The destruction.
The chaos.
The misuse of his power against his will.
The violation of something that should never have been touched…
“They’ll see it.”
The thought lands fully formed, heavy and absolute.
“They will know what happened.”
And then, beneath it, something worse begins to surface.
And then came the deepest blow.
Fear.
The thought did not hurt like guilt.
It hurt like terror.
Because Heaven did not forgive mistakes… but it did seek examples.
Lucifer had already been that example the one that showed what happens when someone rises up.
And he still felt the remnants of that fall like a scar that did not belong to the body, but to the soul.
“No… no, no, no…” his breathing broke again, faster now, more disordered.
His chest tightened.
The world began to tilt again.
If they blame him…
If they decide this was too much…
If they decide they need a new example so no one ever dares to rise again, and if they decide to use her as a warning…
Charlie.
The thought cuts through him like a blade and gives way to horror.
“They’re going to punish me…” he whispered, broken. “It’s going to be like last time… not again… not her… not my girl…”
Edén clung tighter to his arm, restless, sensing the change in his pulse.
Lucifer didn’t notice.
He couldn’t.
“I can’t… I can’t…” his breathing became disordered again, losing the rhythm he had only just managed to hold seconds before.
The thought was not rational.
It was pure instinct.
The same instinct that had kept him alive centuries ago: anticipating punishment before it arrived.
The second panic attack came worse than the first faster, crueler as if something inside his chest had learned exactly where to press to break him. The world narrowed at the edges, the golden blood on his hand pulsing like an open wound in his mind, and his thoughts… his thoughts spilled over.
The echo of wings pierced through, of light turned into punishment, of a divine voice passing judgment without listening. Centuries… and he still feels it. It still burns beneath skin that he can barely recognize as his own now.
This is what happens… when you make a mistake.
When they decide you made a mistake.
“No…” he gasped, his voice breaking. “Not again…”
And if they don’t just come for him, and if Heaven decides they have been too merciful with him, and if they want to punish Charlie as well…
“Don’t touch her…” he whispered, more to himself than anyone. “Not her… please…”
The world closed in on him.
Again.
Too fast.
Too strong.
And then.
Soft darkness.
A hand covered his eyes before he could see more, before he could keep falling into that spiral he knew too well.
His body was gently pulled backward before he could even understand it, and suddenly his back collided with something solid… alive.
A chest.
A heartbeat.
A refuge.
Alastor.
A familiar scent wrapped around him ancient, dark, strangely comforting like old wood, like smoke, like home.
“Shh… mon ange…” The voice enveloped him before thought could form.
Before panic could respond.
Lucifer tensed anyway, trembling against him.
“Focus on my voice… stay with me…” Alastor’s voice was low, steady, enveloping. “Breathe with me.” His thumb began to move over the wounded hand, slow, constant.
Lucifer tried.
Failed.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
It was not an order. It was a certainty.
Alastor’s lips descended onto his hand, kissing the bite mark with an unsettling devotion, as if he wanted to erase any trace of pain that was not his.
Another kiss.
Slower.
More intentional.
“Inhale… slowly… with me… one…”
His thumb began tracing soft circles over his hand, marking the rhythm.
“They’re going to come…” Lucifer insisted, desperate. “They’re going to decide… they never listen, they never listen…” his voice cracked. “I don’t want them to touch her… not Charlie… not my girl.”
“They won’t.” The answer came immediately.
Firm.
Dangerously calm.
Lucifer trembled.
“No… Al,” he denied weakly. “You don’t understand… they-Heaven never listens… they never do…”
The hand over his eyes stayed, but the other one pulled him closer now, just enough to press him fully against Alastor’s chest.
It held him.
It caged him.
It claimed him.
Alastor’s fingers interlaced with his, firm, possessive, as if marking something that belonged to him… or protecting something he refused to let go.
“I’m not going to let anyone touch you,” Alastor added, lower. “Not you… not anything that is yours.”
The answer came low.
Controlled.
But there was something underneath.
Something dangerous.
Lucifer tried to shake his head.
“You can’t know that… I didn’t know the first time either… I thought-”
His voice broke.
I thought they would love me enough to listen.
The thought did not come out, but it weighed everything down.
“They would have to go through me first.”
Silence.
One second.
Two.
Lucifer gasped, but something in that sentence… in that certainty… cut through the panic like a crack of light.
“Al…” his voice sounded smaller. “I’m scared… I don’t want to fall again.”
The confession came out broken.
Small.
Honest.
And that…
That seemed to change something.
Alastor’s grip tightened immediately stronger, closer as if that single sentence had given him permission not to hold back anymore.
His nose brushed the curve of Lucifer’s neck.
Inhale.
Slow.
Deep.
“I know…” he whispers against his skin.
His lips follow the path of his breathing, soft kisses, almost reverent, moving from his neck up to his jawline.
“But you’re with me now…” A kiss at the corner of his lips. “And that changes the rules.”
The hand over his eyes does not move away.
On the contrary.
It remains firm, shielding him from the world, as if Alastor were literally blocking anything that wasn’t him.
“Breathe with me, mon cœur… that’s it… again.”
Lucifer tries again.
The air comes in.
He trembles.
It leaves.
And this time… it doesn’t fully break.
“That’s it…” Alastor murmurs, softer again, but without losing that tension underneath. “I’ve got you.”
His fingers intertwine even more tightly with Lucifer’s, squeezing just enough to remind him he’s there.
That he is real.
That he is not leaving.
Lucifer clings.
Without shame.
Without thinking.
“Don’t let go…” he whispers.
And Alastor… smiles against his skin.
A smile Lucifer cannot see.
But he can feel.
“Never~”
No pause.
No doubt.
Only truth.
The trembling begins to ease.
Slow.
Painful.
But it eases.
“Breathe with me, mon cœur…” Alastor murmurs, his voice low, brushing his ear like a secret. “That’s it… slowly… there is no rush.”
Lucifer obeys without question. He has no strength for anything else.
“You are not alone in this,” Alastor continues, lower now, each word measured. “Not this time. Not again.”
His thumb brushes Lucifer’s cheek, wiping away a trace he hadn’t even realized was there.
Lucifer exhales, long, shaky… and without realizing it, he fully collapses against him, resting all his weight on his chest. As if he is finally accepting he does not have to hold himself up alone.
Alastor catches him without moving.
As if he already knew this moment would come.
His arms wrap around him better, adjusting him with an almost automatic ease, guiding him until he is seated securely in his lap safe, contained, unreachable by anything that is not him.
“There you are…” he murmurs into his hair.
Lucifer lets out a small, exhausted laugh.
“You’re… ridiculously good at this…”
“I am excellent at many things, mon ange” Alastor replies lightly, though his hand never stops stroking him. “Caring for you is simply one of my favorites.”
That earns another laugh, softer.
More real.
And for a moment… everything falls silent.
Not uncomfortable.
Not tense.
Just… still.
Edén shifts slightly, settling against Lucifer’s cheek, its cool scales contrasting with the steady warmth behind him. Lucifer opens his eyes slowly, as if returning to the world requires effort.
And the first thing he sees… are those red eyes.
Waiting.
Always.
“Al…” he murmurs.
“Mon amour…” comes the immediate reply.
And in that exchange, so simple, so loaded… everything else loses weight.
They watch each other in silence, as if afraid that any word might break something fragile between them. Lucifer studies Alastor’s face, lingering on details that were not there before, and quickly something catches his attention.
Lucifer lowers his gaze slightly, noticing the physical difference in Alastor how he seems… bigger. More solid. More grounded. As if he had rebuilt himself around a single idea: protection.
And that realization hits him with a dangerous softness.
He swallows.
Because if he thinks too much… everything comes back.
The void. The fall. The judgment.
Heaven…
His breathing falters slightly, but this time it does not spiral. This time there is something anchoring him. Something steady.
Alastor.
Still, the question remains, lodged and insistent.
Lucifer takes a deeper breath, feeling how it costs him a little more than usual, and finally breaks the silence that had wrapped around them like a refuge.
“How long…?” Lucifer asks.
His voice is barely a thread. Fragile. As if afraid the answer might break him again.
Alastor does not answer immediately.
Lucifer feels, more than sees, the faint curve of his smile against his temple. Then the almost distracted brush of fingers moving a strand of hair away from his face.
“Hm…” Alastor hums lightly. “It seems your family has a certain affinity for miracles on the seventh day, doesn’t it, mon amour?”
Lucifer blinks, confused for a second.
“What?”
“A week” he finally replies, with a softness that contrasts sharply with his earlier tone. “Barely seven days.”
Seven.
The word settles in his chest strangely.
Seven days.
Not centuries.
Not millennia.
Not another eternity floating in nothingness.
Seven.
And something inside him… loosens.
The air leaves his lungs in a trembling breath, almost broken but this time not from panic.
From relief.
Lucifer lets out a low, disbelieving laugh before he can stop it. It is soft. Worn down. But real.
“That…” he shakes his head slightly. “That’s… probably the best joke I’ve heard in a long time…”
“I am flattered,” Alastor replies, leaning in slightly.
The kiss comes without warning.
Soft.
Warm.
Too real.
Lucifer responds on instinct, gripping lightly onto his clothing as if he needs to confirm he is still there, that he will not vanish if released. The contact lasts only a few seconds, but it lingers like an echo.
And then Lucifer pulls back abruptly, frowning.
“I haven’t brushed my teeth in seven days.”
Silence lasts half a second.
And then Alastor laughs.
Not his loud, theatrical laugh. No.
This one is lower. Closer. More genuine.
And Lucifer… cannot help but laugh too.
The soft sound of his own stomach interrupts the moment, pulling another amused exhale from him.
“Well…” he murmurs, wiping away a tear he is not sure when appeared. “I suppose that answers one of my immediate priorities…”
“Ah yes,” Alastor replies, a playful edge in his tone. “Basic survival. Always recommended.”
Lucifer snorts, and his gaze drifts almost instinctively toward the window.
He stops.
Frowns.
Darkness.
Sealed.
Closed.
Before he can say anything, Alastor’s shadow slides through the room with natural ease, curling around him like a living creature seeking contact. Lucifer, still half distracted, lets his fingers brush it, stroking it with an automatic familiarity.
“The windows?” he finally asks, looking back at Alastor. “Since when are you a hermit?”
“Since certain… variables decided to become unpredictable” Alastor replies lightly.
He says nothing more.
He does not need to.
Lucifer understands.
And does not press.
Because, for now… he does not want to break this.
The door opens shortly after, small demons entering with a tray that looks far too large for them. Lucifer watches them and a genuine smile slips onto his face, light, warm.
Alastor takes the tray and places it carefully in front of him, still not fully letting go, as if even in something as simple as serving food… he needs to maintain contact.
“Eat, mon cœur.”
Lucifer opens his mouth to protest.
He has questions.
Too many.
But Alastor does not give him the chance.
Another kiss.
Quick this time.
Strategic.
“We will talk later,” he murmurs against his lips.
Lucifer looks at him, somewhere between offended and completely defeated.
“This is manipulation.”
“Absolutely~”
And yet… he takes the sandwich.
Lucifer chews slowly, more out of obedience than real hunger. Still, each bite seems to ground something inside him, as if his body is slowly remembering how to exist again.
Alastor does not move away.
He stays behind him, close enough that Lucifer can feel every breath, every subtle shift. His arm remains around him, firm, present… almost as if he fears that if he loosens his grip, Lucifer will simply disappear.
“After you decided to scare all of us with your little… beauty sleep,” Alastor begins lightly, “I made sure to keep my promise.”
Lucifer raises his gaze slightly, still mid-bite.
“Promise…?”
“To take care of you,” Alastor replies softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I healed your wounds… as much as possible.”
His thumb traces distracted circles over Lucifer’s hand, right where Edén had bitten him earlier.
“And I kept anyone from disturbing your rest.”
Lucifer cannot help a small smile.
“Anyone…?”
“Anyone” Alastor repeats, and there is something in his tone that leaves no room for doubt.
A pause.
“The Sins called” he continues, slipping back into that almost conversational tone. “Insistently. I had the… courtesy of answering.”
That surprises Lucifer.
“You… answered my phone?”
“Let us not abuse narrative liberties” he replies with a slight grimace. “Let us say I tolerated technology long enough to prevent them from invading this ring in masse.”
Lucifer lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“That must have hurt more than any injury.”
“Indescribably.”
But his hand never stops stroking him.
Never.
“I assured them you were… alive,” Alastor adds, a little lower now. “That you would wake.”
Lucifer goes still for a second.
Because there is something in that sentence… in how it is said… as if he had not been completely sure.
As if it had been more hope than certainty.
Lucifer swallows.
“Thank you.”
Alastor does not respond with words.
Only tilts his head slightly and presses a kiss into his hair.
Lucifer continues eating, slower now, processing everything.
“And the hotel…?” he asks after a moment. “Why did you say it was full?”
“Ah,” Alastor smiles, a particular glint in his eyes. “It seems our dear Charlotte’s little experiment yielded results.”
Lucifer frowns.
“Results…?”
“A sinner was redeemed.”
Silence falls heavy.
Lucifer freezes mid-motion.
“That’s not possible.”
“And yet” Alastor replies lightly, “it happened.”
Lucifer blinks, stunned.
“I… thought I had imagined it… when I came out of the machine…”
The mere memory makes his body tense slightly.
And Alastor notices.
Because his grip tightens immediately.
Firmer.
More protective.
A low sound, almost a growl, escapes his chest.
Lucifer hears it.
And can’t help a small, surprised laugh.
“I’ve never heard you do that before…”
“Consider yourself fortunate.”
But there’s no real annoyance in his voice.
Only… something darker.
Something not directed at Lucifer.
“The machine” Lucifer continues, slower now, “what happened to it…?”
The question comes out small.
Almost fearful.
Alastor is silent for a second.
“It lost control,” Alastor finally answers. “Thanks to a certain… meddler with theatrical tendencies.”
Lucifer doesn’t need him to say the name.
“Vox…”
The air seems to cool slightly.
“He tried to overload it” Alastor continues. “It was… dangerously close to exploding.”
Lucifer’s breath catches.
“If that had happened…” Lucifer murmurs, his mind racing too fast, “it would’ve wiped out half of Hell…”
There’s horror in his voice.
Genuine.
But when he looks up.
Alastor is smiling.
Not mockingly.
Not exactly.
It’s… pride.
Pure.
Untouched.
As if that possibility… fascinates him.
Lucifer stares at him, incredulous.
“Alastor, that’s not-”
“Extraordinary” he interrupts, leaning slightly. “Absolutely extraordinary.”
Lucifer nudges him lightly with his shoulder.
“This is not the time for that.”
Alastor laughs softly, conceding, and places another kiss in his hair.
“As you wish, mon ange.”
Lucifer hesitates for a moment before speaking. His fingers still idly toy with the fabric of Alastor’s suit.
“Al…” he murmurs. “Charlie… is she still mad at me?”
There’s something small in his voice.
Something… uncertain.
Alastor notices immediately.
He always does.
His thumb begins tracing slow circles over Lucifer’s hand before he answers, his tone light… almost playful.
“Oh, mon amour… quite the opposite.”
Lucifer blinks, surprised.
“…She’s not?”
“I’d say she’s been dangerously close to breaking the door down more than once” Alastor continues with a crooked smile, “begging to see you.”
That… wasn’t what he expected.
Lucifer frowns slightly, curious.
“That doesn’t make sense…”
“Oh, believe me” Alastor murmurs, “she wouldn’t stop asking about you.”
“Elaborate” Lucifer says, frowning a bit more.
Alastor’s smile doesn’t disappear… but it changes.
It sharpens.
Darkens.
“You see…” he begins, leaning slightly toward him, “during your… absence, my instincts decided to take certain liberties.”
Lucifer raises a brow.
“That’s never a good sign.”
“For the rest of the world, certainly not.”
Alastor’s grip on his waist tightens slightly.
Subtle.
But firm.
Lucifer falls silent.
Because there’s something in the way he says it…
“But… you knew that I-”
“I knew you would come back” Alastor interrupts softly. “But as you know… sometimes instincts don’t listen.”
Silence.
Heavy.
Intimate.
“When you fell asleep…” Alastor continues, “they stopped listening to reason entirely.”
Lucifer swallows.
Now he understands.
His gaze travels over Alastor… slower this time, and now everything makes sense.
The size.
The antlers.
The constant tension in his posture.
“That’s why…?” Lucifer murmurs.
Alastor smiles.
“Protection mode.”
Lucifer lets out a small exhale.
Half touched.
Half… slightly concerned.
“Let me guess… you didn’t let anyone get close.”
“I told you, I didn’t let anyone bother you,” Alastor continues, as if he hadn’t been interrupted.
Lucifer lets out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“Not even Charlie?”
The answer is immediate.
And comes with a faint growl.
Lucifer blinks.
And then he can’t help it.
He laughs.
“Alastor…”
“She was a potential threat” he replies, completely serious.
“She’s my daughter.”
“Precisely.”
That only makes him laugh more.
His forehead drops briefly against Alastor’s shoulder.
“You’re impossible…”
“Efficient.”
Lucifer shakes his head, still smiling.
“And then?”
Alastor exhales softly.
“Eventually… I regained enough control to keep my promise.”
His hand rises, tucking a strand of Lucifer’s hair behind his ear.
An unexpectedly gentle gesture.
“That’s when I was informed of everything that happened in my absence.”
His smile tightens.
“And I must say…” he murmurs, “I was not particularly impressed.”
Lucifer already knows where this is going.
“Al-”
“Her handling of the situation was… deficient. Clumsy.”
Lucifer opens his mouth to defend her.
“Don’t even try,” Alastor cuts him off, looking directly at him. “Not in this state.”
Lucifer watches him for a second.
And then… smiles.
Soft.
Tired.
“That’s how children are,” he says with a small shrug. “No matter what they do, you have to love them.”
Alastor narrows his eyes.
“That is not a valid excuse.”
“No,” Lucifer admits. “But she’s still my daughter.”
Silence.
Then Alastor looks away, muttering almost to himself:
“A spoiled princess who should learn to behave as such.”
Lucifer raises a brow.
“Well… someone sounds like an angry father ready to punish children.”
Alastor glances at him.
“Don’t rule out the possibility that I will discipline her.”
“Oh, please, I’d love to see that.”
“Careful what you wish for~”
That breaks the tension.
Again.
Laughter returns.
Softer.
Warmer.
And when it settles, Lucifer lowers his gaze, his fingers fidgeting nervously.
“I want to see her.”
Alastor watches him for a second.
Evaluates.
Then nods.
“As you wish, mon cœur.”
His shadow is already moving before he says anything.
Slipping out of the room.
Alastor disappears into the shadows, reappearing seated beside him… though one hand still rests against his back.
“She won’t be long,” Alastor says, beginning to gently stroke Lucifer’s back.
And he’s right only seconds pass before.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Hurried.
The sound of someone running down the hallway.
And then the door bursts open.
“DAD!”
“One knocks before entering, Charlotte,” Alastor interrupts instantly, his tone sharp but perfectly controlled.
Charlie freezes in the doorway, breathing hard.
Tired.
Disheveled.
Eyes glassy.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, timid.
But her gaze is already fixed on Lucifer.
And it doesn’t move.
For a moment, no one speaks.
Lucifer feels something tighten in his chest seeing her like that.
Smaller.
More fragile than he remembered.
Charlie takes a step.
Then another.
Hesitant.
As if she’s not sure she’s allowed to come closer.
“I…” she starts, but her voice breaks and she begins to cry.
And that’s all it takes.
Lucifer opens his arms.
Without hesitation.
Her reaction is immediate.
Charlie throws herself at him, crashing into his body, clinging as if afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” the words tumble out, broken by sobs. “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know you were down there, I didn’t mean to, I… I yelled at you and then-”
Lucifer hugs her tightly.
Despite his own exhaustion.
Despite the lingering ache in his body.
“Hey… hey…” he murmurs, stroking her hair. “It’s okay… it’s okay, sweetheart…”
“No!” she denies, tightening her grip. “It’s not okay, I was horrible to you and I ruined everything, and you… you-” she sobs, “you must hate me, I’m the worst daughter-”
“Charlie.”
His voice is soft.
Firm.
She stills.
“Look at me.”
Charlie hesitates.
But obeys.
She lifts her head, tears still falling.
Lucifer smiles at her.
Weak.
But completely sincere.
“I don’t hate you.”
The words break her.
But this time… in relief.
Charlie lets out a choked sound and hugs him again, even tighter.
Lucifer tenses slightly from the pressure.
And before he can say anything—
“Careful.” Alastor’s voice cuts in, low, firm but softer this time.
Charlie freezes instantly, loosening her grip as if shocked.
“I’m sorry!” she pulls back quickly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”
Lucifer lets out a small laugh, shaking his head.
“I’m fine, really…”
He studies her for a moment.
And something inside him tightens.
Because now that she’s closer… he can see how exhausted she is.
But not in the same way as before.
It’s like that weight, that fear… vanished the moment she saw him.
And that… makes him feel guilty.
He opens his mouth.
Ready to apologize.
“Lucifer.”
Alastor’s tone stops him cold.
Slow.
Dangerous.
“If you apologize, our dear Charlie will apologize for another ten minutes,” Alastor continues, leaning slightly toward him. “If she apologizes one more time, I swear I’ll tape her mouth shut.”
Lucifer blinks, hiding a small laugh.
“You wouldn’t,” Lucifer adds with a smile.
“Try me~” Alastor replies with a grin.
Charlie, who had been watching the exchange in silence, blinks.
Once.
Twice.
And then her eyes light up.
Literally.
As if all the pieces suddenly click.
“Oh!”
Lucifer goes rigid.
No.
No, no, no…
“Oh my stars!” she says louder this time. “You two…?”
Silence.
Thick.
Dangerous.
Lucifer feels panic rising.
“Charlie-” he starts, suddenly nervous, unsure how to approach it since their relationship is secret.
But then a hand takes his.
Alastor.
Firm.
Steady.
Lucifer looks at him.
And Alastor… smiles.
Soft.
“Yes.”
Simple.
Direct.
“We’re in a relationship.”
The world stops for half a second.
“AAAAAAAAAH!!”
Charlie literally jumps.
She lunges toward them again, but this time Alastor raises a hand.
“Careful with your father.”
She stops short, barely restraining herself before hugging them more gently, trembling with excitement.
“I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT!”
Lucifer covers his face, embarrassed.
Alastor sighs, but there’s a curve to his smile.
“Now everything makes sense,” Charlie continues, talking too fast. “Everything! Alastor’s behavior, how worked up you were, how you wouldn’t let anyone get close to da-”
“Charlie.”
“I’m so happy!” she continues. “Really… Dad…” Her voice softens. “I’m glad to see you happy again.”
“Come here” Lucifer murmurs.
He’s the one who pulls her in this time.
Alastor too.
A shared embrace.
Calmer.
More real.
Until.
“Well, now that that’s settled,” Alastor begins, “you’re grounded for two weeks.”
Charlie pulls back sharply.
“WHAT?”
Alastor smiles.
“It shows you’ve never been punished, doesn’t it, mon ange?”
“Hey!”
“Prefer three?”
“WHAT?!”
“Three weeks. No phone,” Alastor adds.
“THAT’S ABUSE!!” Charlie protests. “Dad, say something!”
Lucifer laughs.
“I’m not getting involved in that battle.”
Charlie looks at him, betrayed.
“Dad!”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
Absolute betrayal.
Charlie sighs.
Defeated.
“Fine… fine…” She turns toward the door. “I’m leaving before it becomes four weeks.”
She turns, but before exiting.
“I’m going to tell Vaggie you’re awake.”
And she’s gone.
Fast.
Before Alastor can add more time.
The door closes.
And silence returns.
But this time… it’s different again.
Lucifer lowers his gaze.
Uncertain.
His fingers fidget with the bedsheets, betraying what he doesn’t dare say aloud.
“Are you… sure?” Lucifer murmurs finally. “About… making it public.”
Silence.
“We still have time to tell Charlie not to say anything,” he adds more quietly. “We could… keep it between us a little longer…”
Lucifer doesn’t look up.
Not until—
Alastor makes him.
His hand rises with deceptive softness, taking his chin, lifting it until he has no choice but to meet his gaze.
And what he finds isn’t mockery.
Not play.
It’s… something heavier.
More real.
“Lucifer.”
“When I found your blood in that machine” Alastor begins, “and didn’t find you…”
Lucifer goes still.
“It was one of the worst experiences of my existence.”
A pause.
“It was… comparable to the day I lost my mother.”
That hits him.
Hard.
Lucifer blinks, stunned.
Because he knows.
He knows what that means.
“I held you…” he continues, quieter. “And for the first time in a long time… I couldn’t do anything.”
His thumb brushes his skin.
“I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t bargain. I couldn’t… manipulate the situation.”
A soft exhale.
“The only thing I could do… was stay with you and calm you.”
Lucifer feels something tighten in his chest.
“And when your breathing stopped…”
That’s when the smile appears.
But it’s not his usual one.
It’s… sharper.
Darker.
“My instinct decided the world was no longer worth it.”
A heavy silence.
“I felt a thirst for blood… indescribable.”
His thumb stills.
“But I controlled myself.”
A slight tilt of his head.
“Within reason.”
Lucifer lets out a small, nervous laugh.
“That sounds… concerning.”
“Oh, it is,” he replies, without a trace of guilt.
And yet his gaze softens again.
“Because in that moment, I understood something.”
He leans closer.
Their foreheads almost touch.
“It’s not that I couldn’t live without you.” A pause. “It’s that I don’t want to.”
The air grows heavier.
More intimate.
“These past months…” Alastor continues, “have taught me to love in ways I never thought possible.”
His hand slides down, tracing his cheek.
“And now that I know what this is…” his eyes gleam with something dangerous, “I will not let it be taken from me.”
Lucifer swallows.
“Al…”
“I’ve regained my soul,” Alastor interrupts with a small smile. “My staff is restored… and my power has grown considerably after the battle.”
His tone shifts.
Becomes… darker.
“So yes.”
His fingers tighten slightly on his face.
It doesn’t hurt.
But it’s felt.
“I’m completely sure.”
His smile sharpens.
“I already made that mistake, and look what happened,” he murmurs. “I won’t make it twice. Because now I have everything I need to make sure no one”
His voice drops, low, dangerous.
“tries… no, doesn’t even think about harming you.”
Lucifer blushes.
And, against all logic, smiles.
“That side of you…” he murmurs, “I love it~”
“I figured.”
There’s no more distance.
Not really.
It breaks on its own.
Naturally.
As if it was always meant to disappear.
And when they kiss, it isn’t rushed.
Not desperate.
It’s… deep.
Slow.
Loaded with everything they didn’t say.
With what they almost lost.
With what they chose.
Until.
Ring.
They pull apart slightly.
Lucifer blinks.
“Seriously…?”
Alastor’s shadow appears beside him, offering the phone with a mock bow.
“Punctual, as always,” Alastor comments.
Lucifer looks at the screen.
And sighs.
“The Sins…”
He answers.
On speaker.
And the silence shatters.
Voices.
Many.
Too many.
“LUCIFER!”
“YOU’RE ALIVE!”
“ANSWER WHEN WE CALL!”
“YOU’RE AWAKE!”
“HOW ARE YOU?”
Lucifer pulls the phone slightly away with a grimace.
“I’m alive, thank you all for the collective concern…”
“You don’t sound dead… that’s good,” a sluggish, sleepy voice murmurs.
“Belphegor…” Lucifer recognizes, sighing. “Hello.”
“Don’t ‘hello’ me. Come to my ring tomorrow,” Sloth replies flatly. “Full check-up. I don’t trust ‘I feel fine.’”
“I am fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Belphegor cuts in. “Next.”
“I WANT TO SEE HIM TOO!” another voice jumps in, more energetic.
“Move, Beelzebub, I’m talking.”
“NO, ME! LUCIFER, YOU HAVE TO COME EAT WITH ME!” Beelzebub insists.
“After the check-up,” Belphegor corrects. “Priorities.”
“We can do both!” Beelzebub adds. “Check-up and then food!”
“That sounds acceptable.”
“I haven’t agreed to anything yet…” Lucifer tries.
“I’d pay to see you,” Mammon adds. “Or maybe I should charge.”
“We’d like to see you too, Lu,” Leviathan adds.
“This feels like a conspiracy,” Lucifer tries.
“It is,” another elegant voice says. “And a very well-organized one.”
“Ozzie…” Lucifer murmurs.
“Darling, you are required to survive. Losing key figures is inconvenient,” Asmodeus says smoothly. “Tomorrow. Check-up. Then… dinner.”
“I’ll bring alcohol,” a rougher voice adds.
“Satan…” Lucifer says.
“What? It’s an occasion.”
“Since when do you celebrate anything?”
“Since you’re not dead.”
A small silence.
Lucifer smiles.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Satan grunts.
“Then it’s settled,” Asmodeus resumes. “Tomorrow we all meet. Agreed?”
Everyone on the line agrees instantly.
“I don’t get a vote, do I?”
“No,” they all say at once.
Lucifer sighs.
“Fine… tomorrow.”
A small chorus of approval follows.
And then.
“By the way,” Asmodeus says, curious, “the person who’s been updating us these past days”
Silence.
“Oh…” Leviathan adds. “The one with the sing-song voice.”
Lucifer glances at Alastor.
“Are you bringing him?” Asmodeus asks, clearly interested.
Lucifer turns his head.
Their eyes meet.
Alastor smiles.
“Yes.” A pause. “I’ll formally introduce my partner.”
Silence.
One second.
Two.
“EXCUSE ME?” Beelzebub shouts.
“PARTNER?” Satan says, serious.
“Oh, this just got interesting~” Asmodeus murmurs, delighted.
“Lucifer has a partner,” Belphegor notes, as if recording data.
“Don’t make it weird,” Lucifer mutters, already blushing.
“I WANT TO MEET HIM!” Beelzebub shouts.
“He better be worthy” Satan growls.
“SINCE WHEN AND WHY AREN’T WE MONETIZING THIS?!” Mammon.
“Please don’t monetize it,” Lucifer mutters.
“Everything gets monetized, Lulu!” Mammon adds.
Alastor lets out a low laugh as Lucifer partially covers his face in embarrassment.
“What a scandal…”
The call goes on for a few more minutes until Lucifer yawns and rubs his eyes.
“I believe our king could use some rest” Alastor interrupts, gently but firmly. “He’s tired.”
Immediate silence.
“He’s right,” Belphegor says. “Use the ointment I sent.”
“I will” Alastor replies. “Thank you.”
“Rest, dear,” Asmodeus adds.
The line fills with goodbyes.
Soon after, the call ends.
Silence again.
“I’m tired…”
The complaint comes out in a whisper.
Broken.
Almost childlike.
Lucifer lets his head fall back against the pillow, as if his own weight is too much.
“I slept for seven days…” he murmurs.
He sinks into the sheets, exhausted, and the world seems to tilt with him. Seven days of sleep, and still his body trembles as if he survived something he doesn’t fully understand.
“I slept… so much…”
“And not enough,” Alastor replies, soft as a promise. “The body remembers what the mind insists on forgetting, mon cœur.”
Lucifer doesn’t answer.
He simply turns, seeking refuge in the mess of fabric he built… an imperfect nest.
And then he notices it.
The scent.
His breath stills.
“You smell like you…” he whispers, with a small, almost disbelieving smile.
He sinks deeper.
Lets himself, for a moment, exist only in that: warmth, fabric, presence.
But peace is brief.
It always is.
Because the question is still there.
Waiting.
And the smile fades.
Slowly.
Because he remembers.
The question.
The one he’s been avoiding since he woke up.
Since he came back.
He knows he has to ask.
Even if he doesn’t want to.
Even if fear tightens his chest.
Alastor senses it.
Of course he does.
“What troubles my angel…?” he murmurs, close, too close, as if his voice is born against his skin.
Lucifer opens his eyes.
Hesitates.
And still asks.
“What… happened to him?”
The fragility of his voice contrasts with the weight of what it names.
Alastor doesn’t answer.
Not immediately.
But his smile grows.
Slow.
Deliberate.
He rises from the bed unhurried.
Every movement calculated.
Elegant.
As if he enjoys this.
Lucifer follows him with his gaze.
Curious.
Tense.
Alastor approaches the closet.
Opens it.
“I had planned to give it to you tomorrow…” he says, amused. “But why deprive ourselves of a little satisfaction?”
When he returns, he’s holding a box.
Simple.
Too simple.
The shadow behind him stretches, trembles, twists in a silent joy that feels… unsettling.
As if celebrating too soon.
Alastor places the box on Lucifer’s lap.
His fingers brush the fabric lightly.
“Open it~”
Not an order.
But not a suggestion either.
Lucifer obeys.
Slowly.
His hands don’t shake… but something in his breathing does.
He lifts the lid.
And for a second, he doesn’t understand what he’s seeing.
Dark surface.
Broken screen.
A tablet…?
Understanding hits like a blow.
Like an inevitable echo.
And with it, the room contracts.
Shadows awaken.
Crawling along the walls like creatures that have been waiting for this moment.
“Do you like my gift…?” Alastor whispers, his voice laced with a sweetness that borders on wrong.
Lucifer doesn’t respond.
His hands move on their own.
And what he pulls from the box isn’t a tablet.
It’s the head of that sinner.
The screen shattered.
Cables spilling from what used to be his neck.
The screen… destroyed beyond repair.
The silence in the room isn’t empty.
It’s heavy.
As if the air itself is listening.
Lucifer looks at the severed head… then at Alastor.
His expression doesn’t change immediately.
He just blinks.
Slow.
Too calm.
And then… he smiles.
Not warm.
Not kind.
Not gentle.
It’s ancient.
Like something that remembers being a god… and no longer caring.
His eyes, faintly lit by the dimness, glow red with emotion.
“You outdid yourself… my love.”
His voice is low.
Not praise.
A verdict wrapped in silk.
Alastor tilts his head, as if receiving a gift.
“Only the best for you, mon ange~”
Lucifer lets out a short laugh.
Not happy.
Not innocent.
Almost satisfied.
“And here I thought you’d been… reasonable.”
Alastor approaches unhurried.
As if the space between them no longer truly exists.
He takes Lucifer’s hand.
Doesn’t squeeze it.
Claims it with absolute calm.
And kisses it.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“I was.”
Another kiss.
Same hand.
Deeper in intent than gesture.
“Within reason.”
His lips brush his fingers.
His eyes lift.
And there is no doubt in them.
Only decision.
“And what was reasonable… was making sure I brought you the severed head of this one and any fool who thinks they can lay a finger on you without consequences.”
Alastor kisses Lucifer’s hand again before gently almost insultingly taking the head away.
As if it’s worthless.
“Tell me,” he murmurs, “what would you like done with this?”
Lucifer watches him.
And for a moment, he’s soft again.
“Nothing left.”
A whisper.
But final.
Alastor smiles.
And fire is born.
Green.
Alive.
Hungry.
It consumes the remains without resistance.
Devours without leaving a trace.
And when it’s done, the air feels… lighter.
Calmer.
More intimate.
As if something has been closed.
As if an invisible threat no longer exists.
Alastor brushes the ash from his hands before lying back down beside him.
Lucifer is already struggling to keep his eyes open.
“Thank you…” he murmurs, barely audible.
Alastor gathers him.
Adjusts him.
Claims him against his chest like something precious.
Like something his.
“Always a pleasure.”
The words fall like a vow.
His hand moves along Lucifer’s back in slow strokes.
Protective.
“And if you ever need me to kill someone for you…”
A pause.
His voice lowers.
Darker.
“It will be an honor.”
Lucifer lets out a small, tired laugh.
“I’ll keep that in mind…”
A soft movement runs through his body.
Eden appears.
Slithers.
And, to Lucifer’s surprise, coils against Alastor’s chest.
As if it belongs there.
“That’s new…” he murmurs.
“We’ve grown familiar” Alastor replies calmly.
Lucifer doesn’t question it.
He doesn’t have the energy.
He curls in closer.
Presses closer.
Seeking warmth.
“Sing to me…” he whispers.
Alastor smiles.
And kisses his forehead.
“As you wish.”
The humming begins.
Low.
Ancient.
Almost… forgotten by time.
Lucifer closes his eyes.
Sinks.
Slowly.
Safely.
“I love you…”
The confession slips out before sleep takes him.
Instinctive.
Real.
Alastor holds him a little tighter.
As if he’ll never let go.
“I love you too”
Another kiss.
Softer.
Longer.
And as the melody fills the space
and the shadows finally settle,
Lucifer falls asleep.
Safe.
Protected.
And Alastor… doesn’t let go.
Not even when he closes his eyes too.
Fin.