Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Lucifer was having trouble sleeping.
Well, not that this was anything new; he hadn’t been able to sleep properly for years (to be honest, he couldn’t even actually remember how much time had passed; years, centuries, millennia?), and when he finally did – after hours of agony, tossing and turning in his bed too big for a single person, his dreams were plagued by violent, distorted nightmares, not his own. Of a man screaming in agony, of crosses and nails and thorns, of weeping mothers and lost children. He rarely wondered if it was yet another punishment from Heaven; most of the time he tried not to think about it and tried to forget. With Lilith by his side, his nightmares, his life, his punishment, everything, weren’t so unbearable. He managed to find some consolation in her company, in her mere presence – but since she left everything was going so wrong, and it didn’t look like she was going to come back. This time she left for good.
That night, after yet another nightmare, Lucifer had left his room with the idea of ​​taking a walk or maybe eating something? Do something, anything really – in hopes it would ease his restlessness. Instead, he sprawled out on the hotel couch and turned on the television, putting on a random soap opera, just to have some background noise that would help him sleep, that would give him the illusion that someone was there with him. He was too tired to do anything but try to sleep again.
He was finally falling asleep when–

“One, two, three, four. Is it snowing where you are, Lucifer? If so, telegraph back and let me know.” Alastor’s voice made Lucifer jump back in fright, as he quickly sat up as best as he could. Ugh, he was indeed sloppy. In his defence he didn’t expect anyone to be awake at this hour, least of all Alastor. It was early. Surely it was still too early for anyone to be awake, right? An hour when normal people were still asleep – well, Alastor certainly wasn’t the definition of normal, Lucifer found himself thinking.

He brought into focus Alastor, who was wearing a red robe (extremely out of fashion, old and tacky – unlike Lucifer’s robe which was extremely classy!), in front of the television, today’s newspaper in one hand and a cup of who knows what in his other hand.

The television behind Alastor was glitching and making unpleasant noises.

“What…” was Lucifer’s sleepy and confused response, after registering what Alastor had said. More sleepy than confused.

Alastor tried again, his smile widened. “Rise and shine, Your Majesty! It’s 5.10 in the morning, the weather is dreadfully humid! It’s expected to be a rainy day with temperatures dropping mid–day.”

What in the Hell was he babbling about at this ungodly hour? Lucifer curled up on himself as he sagged against the couch feeling the weight of tiredness set deep into his bones. “Fuck off asshole, it’s too early. Let me sleep… another five or six hours.” 

Alastor hummed as he started talking towards the Hotel kitchen. “How unbecoming of the King to let himself go like this.”

Lucifer jerked his head upright, feeling insulted. “Ugh–! Fine. I’m up, I’m up.”

He trotted after Alastor, and together they entered the kitchen.

Lucifer threw himself gracelessly into one of the chairs, he briefly pinched his eyes, trying to relieve his impending headache. His posture left much to be desired.

With a flick of the wrist he made his breakfast appear before him. Pancakes with honey and whipped cream and sprinkles on top. Of course.

Alastor sat across from him, the newspaper abandoned next to his duck season cup, having started to eat something and Lucifer could only hope was dead – and! Oh God, it absolutely had to be his imagination, his sleep deprivation or something else, because there is no way that Alastor’s breakfast just moved.

“What is it.” Alastor’s tone was annoyed.

“Uh, what are you eating?”

“Why, of course venison!” Of course, silly Lucifer for asking. The mass of muscles and organs and bones was very recognizable, sure. “You look like you want a bite out of it.” Lucifer wanted to argue that he didn’t look like anything, but he had to admit there was a morbid curiosity in the back of his mind – he had already eaten occasionally some sinners together with Lilith, so he knew what to expect, but he never had raw venison.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Lucifer snorted, smirking just a little. “Are you offering?” Without another word, Alastor passed him his fork that was dripping with blood. Lucifer took it and bit the meat; and to his surprise the flavor was not like anything he expected, it was well seasoned and salted just right, with aftertastes of flavors that he wouldn’t imagine could be attributed to raw meat. It was good indeed, he had to give it to him.

He gave Alastor his fork back.

But there was no way in Hell, Lucifer would have inflated Alastor’s ego. Like he needed it anyway. “It’s not that bad. But I like a sweet breakfast better.” He resumed eating his pancakes with gusto, which were ten, no, a hundred, no, a thousand! Times better than Alastor’s dead animal.

Alastor scoffed. “A savory breakfast is better to start the day! Gives you more energy and all that jazz.” he took a generous bite of the venison and some blood spilled out his mouth, dripping down his chin. The blood was promptly wiped clean with a handkerchief – Alastor’s handkerchief apparently because no one had a napkin with their initials on it, much less one made out of silk.

“Maybe! But a sweet breakfast is better, cuz it’s sweet.” He said in a smatterer way – because it was obviously obvious, an indisputable fact! “Try it.” He shoved his fork full of pancakes in Alastor’s face, who snatched it from Lucifer’s hand. One bite and an explosion of sugar and saccharine and honey filled his mouth.

“Ugh – it’s disgustingly sweet.” he made a distasteful face, sticking out his tongue to further prove his point, while giving back Lucifer’s fork. “Only you could stomach it.”Lucifer couldn’t help but laugh at Alastor’s reaction. Alastor didn’t look as amused as Lucifer.

As Alastor finished his meal, he unfolded the newspaper to read it, and Lucifer couldn’t really help himself to remark that it was such an old man’s thing to do.
Alastor had called him a fool in retort.
With Lucifer who had finished eating and Alastor who had finished reading, Alastor put aside the paper as he stood up, picked up both of their plates and his cup, and placed them in the sink, then he started taking a few things out of the fridge. Sausages, bacon, eggs, butter and some bread. Lucifer absentmindedly watched Alastor make breakfast for everyone else. He was usually the one who cooked meals (normal meals, and for himself cannibal shit) for the Hotel staff, it was a shame that he absolutely refused to cook anything that even slightly resembled something vaguely sweet. Lucifer would love to try a dessert cooked by Alastor. Since the Hotel had become filled with sinners, after that whole fiasco with Vox, they’d decided to rely on an outside catering company, given that Alastor had categorically refused, saying that he would not spend all his days locked in the kitchen, slaving away for some nobody sinner. At least, he continued to cook for the Hotel staff – when he felt like it, or when he didn’t have a meeting with the other Overlords, or when he remembered.

Once Lucifer saw Alastor making coffee, he couldn’t help but vibrate with anticipation, Alastor coffee was always so good! He insisted his coffee was good because he made it ‘the old–fashioned way’, with a coffee grinder and a moka pot, but really it was because Alastor put cinnamon and chicory in it.

Alastor served the coffee at the center of the table (with a coaster for the moka, Lucifer noticed!) and Lucifer took a cup for himself, and immediately started to slurp it, contentedly.

Alastor made a noise, and Lucifer was sure that he was about to give him an earful about how rude it was to slurp while drinking, but to his utter astonishment Alastor was hunched over himself with his ears pinned backwards, pained, it seemed. But it was impossible, his pseudo homosexual break–up with Vox was weeks ago, even Lucifer, who hadn’t bothered to bandage himself, was healed by now. It lasted a mere second before Alastor recomposed himself.

He couldn’t help but worry. “Uhh, Bambi? You –”

“Ohh, this smells delicious! Alastor! What did you make today? I bet it’s amazing.” He was interrupted by Charlie who entered the kitchen, cheerful and in good spirits as always, especially lately. She was followed by Vaggi, who still seemed to be either not fully awake or unwilling to wake up. Husk and Nifty followed closely behind, Husk grumpy as always and Nifty rumbustious as ever. And even though Cherri and Baxter were technically not part of the Hotel staff per se, they had gotten into the habit of having breakfast with them anyway. Well, Lucifer wasn’t either, so it wasn’t like he could say anything.

The farce that Alastor put together in such a short time was impressive; he was jovial as if nothing had happened but his voice thick with static. “Just a classic American breakfast, my dear!”

Lucifer shot him an astonished look, and in return Alastor gave him a look that screamed shut the fuck up.

Alastor, ever the showman, continued his burlesque. With a twirl of his body, but not his head, he changed into his usual clothing while his handy dandy cane appeared in his hand.

“I’m off now, dearest! Ta–ta!” an echo of goodbyes produced from the alastor stick filled the room, before Alastor disappeared into the shadows.

Lucifer continued to drink his coffee, as he let the laughter and chatter fade into the background, while his mind drifted off to Alastor. Even if for a split second, he seemed to be in pain – no! Lucifer was sure he was, that couldn’t have been a trick of his sleep deprivation, not with Alastor at least, who didn’t let things like this slip out on purpose. If it were anyone else Lucifer probably would have just asked Hey, is everything a–okay?, and he would have received an honest answer, like, Oh, no Lu! I’m in terrible pain and agony, please help this poor poor soul overcome his struggle!

But obviously he couldn’t expect that from Alastor.

Lucifer couldn’t quite understand him, one moment he was a heartless conniving demon, always scheming and making deals to his advantage, and a moment later he was a dandy caring man, who made breakfast for everyone, and absolutely made sure everyone ate at least three times a day.

After finishing his coffee and saying goodbye to Charlie, he quickly locked himself in his room. He would have loved more than anything in Hell to help his daughter with her various bonding activities, stay by her side, giving her advice, reassurance and support, when needed, or literally anything Charlie desired… the problem were the sinners, there were so many of them, yuck, and Lucifer couldn’t stand them, with all their disgusting and questionable and deplorable behavior. So, he spent his entire days in his room, ignoring the sinners (what else was he meant to do? Disregarding them was the only thing he could realistically do) only occasionally coming down to eat, when he remembered or felt like it (not that Lucifer exactly needed to eat to survive, he was a seraphin, after all, pure light and all that, but it was something Lucifer enjoyed doing; it made him feel a little more human and less like the Devil who had condemned all humanity to a life of suffering and temptation). Or when Charlie called him specifically to solve some problem. Otherwise, he was content to stay in his room and make his ducks.

Especially since there was basically no one who respected him anymore, now most of the sinners constantly laughed at him, while making unpleasant and unwelcome jokes about him, his private and sexual life, and so on. He hated his punishment so much.

(At dinner, Charlie had once asked him what she should do to resolve a dispute that had arisen between two sinners, and that had been dragging on for quite some time.

Charlie wanted his opinion on the matter! He couldn’t fuck this up.

“Oh, uh… Well, first I’d cut out their tongues, so, you know, they couldn’t argue anymore, hehe. Then! Then, then... oh yeah! I’d rip out their nails, teeth, hair, and, um, maybe even some skin? And I’d make necklaces out of them and give the necklaces to one another, as a sign of peace.”

Alastor and Nifty were amused. The others not much. Looking at Charlie’s bewildered face he wondered for a moment if his choice of words were wrong.

“Yes! Dad – a gift, I’ll give something to them, to, uh… make amends. Anyway, thanks.”

Yes, that was definitely the right answer.)

So, he spent the rest of the morning making ducks, obsessively, meticulously and incessantly. Even though he loved ducks, they didn’t make him feel better, they rarely did, it was more of a temporary distraction, if the skies decided to have mercy on him. As the hours went by, he grew more and more frustrated with his work, each one of them was simply perfect, without flaws, all exactly the same, and Lucifer loathed it. As he felt his hands tingling from the turmoil, he knew that it was his cue to stop, as he didn’t want to take his frustration out on his work, as had happened many times before.

He glanced at the clock. A few minutes to noon, it was still early for lunch for his tastes, but a break would only do good – eating would do him good. Charlie always said so.

He teleported himself in the kitchen, and, of course, who else could be in the kitchen, if not Alastor, who was already halfway though with his lunch.

He made his presence known by groaning as loudly as he could as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Lucifer put himself in front of Alastor with childish emphasis. “You are such an old man. Who eats at this hour?” His tone was singsonging, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

Alastor sniffed, looking up at him. “Yet you’re here with me. What does that say about you?”

Lucifer huffed, indignant, and he pointed a finger at him. “Just because I woke up early today –!”

It was a solid defense.

Alastor’s smile turned quizzical. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, Lucifer.”

Lucifer trotted towards the stove, where a large pot resided. Most of the time, since the staff’s schedules weren’t always aligned, Alastor would prepare a large pot of food and leave it there, so that anyone could eat at any time, simply by taking a portion and heating it up.

Lucifer lifted the lid, and peaked inside. “So, what’s good?”

“Gumbo.” Lucifer loved the smell of toasted bread that the gumbo emanated. It reminded him of happy days with Lilith and Charlie, when she was still little, when she wanted to cook for them at all costs.

“Yummy.” Alastor’s smile widened, he prided himself greatly in his cooking.

Lucifer took a portion, sat down across from Alastor, and began to eat with gusto, but not before running a hand over it, to cool it from the warmth it had retained from the pot. Alastor couldn’t comprehend how Lucifer could prefer his food cold, when, in his very humble opinion, food was at its best when warm. Cold pancakes, cold meat, cold soup even! A shiver of pure abhorrence ran throughout his spine.

“Care for a drink?” He slid his tall blue glass towards Lucifer.

Lucifer smiled widely, accepted the drink and gulped it down without thinking twice, after all, everything Alastor made in the kitchen was good, mouth–watering!

He immediately regretted ever taking even a sip out of the drink. “Ewewew – what’s this!”

“A skylab cocktail!” Alastor told him nonchalantly. “Not of your liking I presume?”

Lucifer tried not to make a face. “No.”

Alastor hummed, but couldn’t help but snicker a little. “It’s an acquired taste.”

Lucifer shudders. “It’s – yeah, definitely, yeah. Something.” 

Alastor got up and went to the fridge, from which he took out an apple juice. He placed it right in front of Lucifer. Oh, Alastor was ever so compassionate.

Lucifer hesitated for a moment. There was no way Alastor had swapped the juice for piss, right? The lid still seemed to be tightly sealed, and Alastor wasn’t one to play pranks.

“Thank you for your pity, Bambi.” Lucifer took it and sipped greedily on the apple juice Alastor gave him.

“I am magnanimous after all.”

They both resumed eating. As Alastor finished, Lucifer was tempted to take another serving, but he knew better than that; Alastor was strict with food portions.

Leaving behind the thought of taking a second helping, Lucifer took a deep breath. 

Now or never.

Lucifer turned to face Alastor, who was boiling some water to make tea. “So! Um…” Alastor turned away from the kettle, to look at him questionly, and Lucifer decided it was best to get straight to the point, without beating around the bush. “You’re hurting, but I can heal you.”

Alastor placed a hand on the hip and ever so slightly tilted his head. “I see.” His smile was mocking. “And what would you like in return? A favor? A deal – perhaps my soul?”

Lucifer put his hands in front of him, in surrender, trying to placate Alastor. “What! Nothing of the sorts… I just, um. Want to heal – help you.” He cleared his throat, and tried again. Be more firm, Lucifer. “Let me help you, Alastor.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “Why help me. You hate me.”

“No! What! No – hahaha – I thought we were kind of, um, having a friendly squabble? Like, two friends that argue but they’re not really arguing, because, duh, they’re friends. I mean, of course, sometimes you get on my nerves, but it’s not that serious.” The only time he was actually irritated with Alastor was when he proclaimed himself as Charlie’s Father. “You… are you serious? You –”

Friends. Alastor wanted to laugh; he couldn’t even start to comprehend how foolish Lucifer was, but! He was making things easier for him in a way – he was practically offering himself on a silver platter. He could, no, he had to, take advantage of this small opportunity. The little charade Alastor had put on about his wound had worked better than he anticipated. He never expected the King to have such a compassionate yet stupid heart (he should pick his poison, in Alastor opinion); sure, he’d heard him during the rally, trying to interject what Vox was saying about Lucifer wanting sinners to suffer, but Alastor would never have imagined that Lucifer would come to him, offering his assistance, without Alastor having to grovel at his feet and lose his dignity – what was even more amusing was that Lucifer thought of them as friends!

Friends. The two of them. Ha!
What nonsense, they had nothing in common except a Hotel where they both slept in and pretended to care about. Lucifer must have been truly desperate for human connection if he had come to consider Alastor his friend. In the end, he hadn’t even had to do anything to get into Lucifer's good graces; he already was, and it had taken nothing on his end.
Oh… it was going to be so easy, and fun, especially fun to wrest Lucifer of his powers and status and claim them for himself (no!, nay, he would have made sure that Lucifer himself would give them to him, out of his own free will – oh, what a joke!), and with them at his service, no one else in all of Hell would ever dare to humiliate or ridicule him ever again – never again would he bow his head and submit. Alastor promised this to himself.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. “Oh, I’m sorry, where is my mind these days! I must have forgotten how much you hate sinners, how much they disgust you, and –”

“It’s not you, specifically. Just your action.”

“Lilith is a sinner. You are a sinner.” Alastor’s Mother always scolded him for being too insolent, and his insolence always got him in trouble with his Father.

The kettle hissed as Lucifer’s sclera turned red, and felt his demonic features kicking and screaming, breaking free at last, insulted – he honestly didn’t know whether to be more offended by the claim that Lilith was a sinner or that he himself was one.

What utter nonsense.

He saw Alastor reflexively cover his chest with a hand, and even though he didn’t seem scared or intimidated (why would he be?, after all there was nothing Lucifer could do to him – in fact, he seemed ready to lunge at Lucifer’s throat), something in Lucifer snapped. He didn’t want to lead with fear and rage, he never had, and above all he didn’t want to appear like the monster everyone thought he was. So, he forced himself to take a deep breath and to count down to ten.

An apology formed on the tip of the tongue, but it never went out. He couldn’t manage to do it.

His demonic features disappeared, as Lucifer pinched his brows. “Meet me in my room tonight?”

Alastor huffed, relaxing as the memory of being punished by his Father or Rosie for being too mouthy left his mind. “Very well. I will let you play the saint.” Alastor poured himself a cup of tea. “Oh. And Lucifer? Do try to be decent tonight.”

Lucifer hastily adjusted his robe. He forgot to change.

Alastor was nowhere to be found all afternoon, very convenient since both Vaggi and Charlie looked for him to help. He didn’t even show up for dinner – no Alastor, no food. Okay, so today was Lucifer’s turn to make dinner; he grimaced at the thought, it wasn’t arduous or laborious, or anything else of the sort, after all, it was just a snap of the fingers and wap, bap, boom, alakazam!, the food was materialized. The thing was, that it was always a little off, he never managed to perfectly replicate the dishes he’d eaten; there was always a lack of something.

Bland, that is.

“Dad, please can you make dinner, you know, warm?”

“Eh? Um, what, what do you need, Apple pie?”

“Dinner, Daad – make it warm. Please.”

Right.

At the witching hour, Alastor knocked three times at Lucifer’s door, while humming an old tune his Mother used to sing to him.

“Come in, come in!” Lucifer’s voice was far away and muffled by the thick door.

“Oh, so should I ignore the sign?”

The door swung open, revealing a pouting Lucifer covered head to toe with ducks, in a far too long pink sweater for him. “Duh! It’s just a tease – don’t be like that, I bet you have one too.” That he did not. “Make yourself comfortable.” He went back inside as he took the ducks off his hair and sweater.

Make yourself comfortable, he said. Difficult considering the absurd amount of ducks. Alastor wondered what ducks and circus had to do with each other. What an odd choice of pairing.

He looked around the room absentmindedly until his gaze fell on the pictures Lucifer had hung on the wall: they were different from the ones Charlie had hung in the Hotel lobby, these ones were informal, familiar, more intimate – loving. It stung, seeing something he never had. Alastor blamed the ache he felt in his chest on the wound. He redirected his attention towards Lucifer, who was sitting on the bed, with his legs crossed, looking at him expectantly, so Alastor joined him. Lucifer’s bed was extremely soft and plush, and Alastor hated how it sank under his weight, but he swallowed the witty comment that was rising in his throat, as he crossed his legs, wanting to stay polite.

He was a guest, after all his Mother taught him well.

Lucifer started chuckling, amused, as he rolled up his sleeves. Alastor’s poker face wasn’t as convincing as he thought it was.

“Okay, so! This is really simple. Real simple, ‘kay? You know mothers kiss their children’s boo boos and it should stop hurting but in reality does nothing? I mean, technically the placebo effect and all that stuff – anyway!” As he was speaking, he stood on the bed, all while gesturing with his hand. That always helped him with his nerves. “I just need to give you a peck and then you can go your way.” Lucifer said in such a way, like he reinvented the wheel.

Alastor made a face. “Very well.”

“It will be just a sec! Pinky promise.”

“Is it your chest, right?” Alastor nodded, as he began to undress. First his coat, then his bow tie, and then the first few buttons of his shirt. To Alastor relief, Lucifer was looking at everything else but him.

His relief died, replaced by a thought.

“Will it hurt?” It was a question that came to him reflexively, almost automatically, before he could stop himself. If there was one thing Alastor dreaded, it was pain. Even though his wound was months old by now, the pain didn’t seem to want to leave him. The cut had been so deep that it reached his bare bones, and never, in his life or afterlife, had he felt anything like that. Not even when Rosie had torn him apart.

He neatly folded his coat, alongside him. The repetitive and mechanical gesture brought him some relief.

Lucifer shrugged, taken aback. He imagined that someone like Alastor would thrive in pain. “Um, it shouldn’t. I mean, you could feel a sting? I do have to touch it, so…” a thought crossed his mind as he smiled smugly. “If you’re so scared you can hold my hand! Or, bite it? Is it a thing a cannibal would prefer… or –?”

Alastor queried an eyebrow. Was Lucifer yearning to touch someone? “Are you lonely, Lucifer?”

That seemed to offend Lucifer, or at the very least, took him by surprise. “Whaat! Excuse you? W, wha –! What even made you think something like that! Silly goose!”

His tone became more defensive, almost angry. “I can conjure entire universes! Planets and stars and its galaxies, I possess the gift of giving life – to think that someone like me could even feel lonely is utter nonsense!”

He sagged. “I mean… maybe. Sometimes.” Oh. That was just perfect for Alastor.

Alastor knew that the best way to get through Lucifer was to be vulnerable himself, manipulation with lies and falsehoods would get him nowhere. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the hot humiliation and shame and vulnerability.

Let the truth be told.

“I… feel lonely too. Sometimes.” What a pathetic thing, but he could bear it. As long as it benefited him.

Lucifer perked up. “Really?” Alastor nodded ever so slightly, stiffed. “Oh. I see.”

Lucifer offered him his hand and Alastor squeezed it. As promised, it lasted only a mere second. Lucifer’s hand lingered for a moment too long before letting go.

Before speaking, Lucifer waited until Alastor was fully dressed again, and for that he was grateful. “You were right this evening…” Lucifer admitted through gritted teeth.

Alastor’s ego gloated, he knew, of course, that he was right, but hearing it from Lucifer, Pride itself, was another kind of satisfaction, of victory.

“About?” Nonetheless, Alastor wanted to hear the truth spitting out of Lucifer’s lips. He had no intention of coddling him.

Lucifer gave him a shocked and astonished, almost betrayed look. Pride hurt. He hesitated for a moment too long, and then gave in, defeated.

“I’m a hypocrite. My view on sinners is… complicated – as it tends to mirror the one I have on myself.” He tried to elevate himself from them, but at the end of the day, he was just like them. A sinner too, just like Alastor said, and Lucifer hated that he was right.

“Sinners are – my fault, really! Every sin is mine too.”

Alastor hummed, and decided to mercy Lucifer with his ever so rightful opinion.

“You gave humanity free will, and what we do with it is entirely our responsibility. Furthermore, there are not only sinners, but also winners. All’s well that ends well, isn’t that right?” Lucifer didn’t seem convinced; in fact, he seemed a little sad. Whatever for, Alastor didn’t know. He found it extremely pathetic that the sin of Pride felt shame and regret, even sadness over past actions – it was all too human, an adjective that should never have belonged to a being like Lucifer. Alastor couldn’t understand it, Lucifer had been cast out of Heaven, yes but, wasn’t it better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven? Lucifer still was a King, he could rule, and be and do what he wanted, yet he whined, did nothing with his Kingdom, he let it go to waste, all while not realizing the grand opportunity he had been given, thinking it had been a punishment, but in reality it was a blessing. What an idiot. Alastor would not repeat Lucifer’s mistakes.

Nonetheless, he tried again, from another perspective.

“You focus too much on the sin and don’t allow yourself to see the person.” Lucifer tended to have a binary thinking, not just about this; about everything – perhaps it was his Angelic nature to dictate this. “I am a cannibalistic serial killer, but I also am a radio host, a musician and so on.”

An amused laugh escaped him. “Of course, I am not trying to speedrun to redemption. But there are plenty of people willing to change for the better. The Hotel proves it as it’s full as of right now.”

“It’s not that easy – I am Pride itself, the Devil.”

“And?” Alastor prompted.

Lucifer grimaced, before settling on an answer, even though he wasn’t entirely convinced. “I guess… a Father too?”

He was tempted to say that he was also a Seraphim, an Angel, but didn’t have the courage to do so. He partly felt the statement was still true, but who was he to proclaim himself holy when he had been cast out?

Alastor hummed.

Lucifer looked at him with expectant eyes. “Do you think – I could be redeemed?”

Oh, Alastor was having a blast; Lucifer was almost as funny and delusional as his daughter. Well, it’s no coincidence that there was the saying like father, like daughter, and the two of them represented it perfectly! If Lucifer expected sweet words, hugs and caresses, from Alastor of all people, he would soon be disappointed. His smile sharpened as equally sharp words formed in his mind. How could Lucifer realistically expect to redeem himself? What could he ever do to save his damned soul? To someone else, what he had done was outrageous (it wasn’t called original sin for no reason, after all), and the mere thought of seeking redemption was an affront, yet to Alastor, it was completely ironic entertainment; the one who had caused the damnation of all humanity, and condemned them to suffering from the pains of childbirth, to the toil and sweat of working the earth, now whimpered like a beaten dog, and wanted to return to the Heavens, tired of the eternal damnation he himself had caused – even if he wasn’t repent, Alastor was sure of that. Alastor thanked himself for his great sense of self–restraint, as it was the only reason he didn’t immediately laugh in his face.

In the end, Alastor knew delusional people tended to react badly to the truth (and Alastor knew he could be a bit harsh with his truths, Vincent was proof of it), so he opted for something safe.

“Charlie believes anyone can be redeemed.”

Lucifer made a noise that was a mix between offended and irritated. “Well, am I not asking Charlie, am I not?”

Alastor studied Lucifer’s expression for a moment, perhaps he had been wrong about him, maybe he wasn’t just a sad prick, who sought compassion from others.

Alastor hummed, thoughtful. “Fair enough.”

A gentler truth was still the truth nonetheless. “No, I don’t think you can be redeemed. I don’t think you want to be redeemed. I think what you wanted was comfort, but just to feel better about your whole fiasco with Eden. You are not sorry for your actions, you still deem yourself in the right.”

Lucifer blushed, from shame and from the truth that had been thrown in his face. “Okay –! Hell… well! What about you! Why don’t you wanna go to the pearly gates?” His tone high–pichted, like a child who had been caught stealing candies.

“I firmly believe that one must pay for the sins committed in life.” He continued, stating the obvious. “Besides, I enjoy killing, and I love more than anything the taste of human flesh. I am exactly where I want to be.”

“So what! I should live in this damned prison for all eternity and just roll with it!”

Alastor shrugged, it wasn’t his problem and he felt no empathy towards him. “What is it that a King can’t do?”

“I am no King.” Lucifer’s tone was gloomy, much like his posture, that was hunched, as if wanting to protect oneself. After all, what King was one without the desire to rule?

Alastor knew when someone wanted to end a conversation, but he wasn’t about to drop it.

“Lucifer –”

Lucifer spoke over him, almost shouting, with a strained smile, changing the subject. “Oh wait. Where are my manners? I didn’t offer you anything.”

No can do. Well, the least Alastor could do was play along.

“Do you have any Sazerac?”

Lucifer gave him a disheveled, almost maniacal look. “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’ loudly, as he got out of bed, and started pacing around the room, pensive. “Well, I have to come up with something! Guests are sacred, y’know?”

“Think of it, you could offer me a sip of your blood.” Lucifer looked at him as if he had solved all the problems in Hell.

With his own claws he carved a deep line on his wrist, and as the blood started to drip on the carpet, Lucifer made a glass of wine appear, filling it up with ease.

The wound closed itself.

Lucifer passed the glass to Alastor, who took it enthusiastically. “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” Alastor made the blood swirl, thoroughly unamused.

He sipped slowly. Lucifer’s blood was sweet, far too sweet for Alastor’s taste. He was about to express his indignation, when a wave of memories flooded him – the overly sweet water pie of his Mother’s mixed with his Father’s violent temper, bringing to light bittersweet memories, ones he wanted to forget, ones he thought he had forgotten in the last hundred years. He remembered what it felt like to be vulnerable and small, helpless and always afraid of the one who was supposed to protect him, his Father; the memory of his own blood (not tears, because he knew that crying would only make things worse: “Whatever are you crying for? I’ll give you a reason to cry.” Another slap, this time his nose bled.“I didn’t even hit you that hard, stop crying, men don’t cry. Never.”), as more vivid than ever. He also remembered one of those rare demonstrations of affection that his Father granted him, which consisted of buying him licorice. After his Father’s tantrums, his Mother always cooked him a water pie and kissed his forehead. Alastor liked to think it was to apologise for never standing between the two of them. Alastor hated water pies as much as he loved his parents, and he was glad he hadn’t had a water pie in over a century, as he was glad they were both dead.

He blinked hard and wondered, looking at Lucifer’s little mischievous smile, if this whole thing was intentional and he knew what he was doing giving him his blood, and if he hadn’t done it out of spite for the words said before.

Alastor cleared his throat, and forced himself to speak. “Divine.”

Lucifer hummed, pleased. “Thank you – um. I value the truth, and not so many are willing to give it to me.”

Good to know Lucifer wasn’t punishing him in some kind of way.

Alastor waved his hand in dismissal. “A trivial thing.”

Lucifer’s tone became more cheerful, light. Good. “Also, call me Lu! So I can call you Al.”

“Your wish is my command, Lucifer.” The latter whined indignantly and crossed his arms, pouting.

At the end of the day, he still was a buffoon with a crown.

He gulped down the rest of the blood in one go. Better to finish it all at once, so that these memories could be forgotten again.

His Mother always said that the quickest way to a man’s heart, it’s through his stomach. So! Alastor started cooking. He vaguely remembered his Mother’s recipe, which had blueberries in it, when they could afford them, that is.

Alastor always hated sweets. Any kind, really. He couldn’t understand how anyone could eat them, how anyone could love eating sweets; there was always only one flavor, which was, well, sweet, of course, and it didn’t matter what it was – honey, sugar, cinnamon, or whatever else, to Alastor it was all the same. Boring and repetitive at best, and teeth–aching at worst. Alastor always preferred strong, bold and bitter flavours.

Once finished, he took a cart (ugh, now he definitely looked like a busboy), and arranged the pancakes in a neat pile, in the center of one of the few clean plates that were left, and covered them with a lid, to keep them from cooling, next to them he placed, in some random bowls he found, some honey and whipped cream – he added a glass of milk, just to not let Lucifer choke on the pancakes. Surely, he would surely appreciate the overly sweet breakfast.

He teleported in front of Lucifer’s rooms, knocked on the door, and waited impatiently. It was just past five in the morning, but he was sure Lucifer was already awake; in fact, he’d probably never gone to sleep, just like him.

Lucifer slightly opened the door, and flung it open when he recognized Alastor. “Oh! Al, Alastor!” He rubbed his eyes awake. “What is it that you need?”

Alastor pushed past him. “Room service!”

As Lucifer closed the door he tripped over a duck. “Ack – what for?”

“Why, breakfast of course!”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, as he adjusted his robe. “You know I don’t eat salty food in the morning. And I was about to fall asleep.” It was a lie, but nonetheless he clicked his tongue, annoyed – really, this guy. It had been a full year since Lucifer moved into the Hotel, when had he ever seen him eat a non–sweet breakfast? Maybe Alastor was the sloppy one.

Alastor lifted the lid, revealing to Lucifer the perfect stack of pancakes.

“Oh –” Lucifer jolted in surprise and delight. “W, wait – why did you –?”

Alastor shrugged. “There’s a price for everything, nothing is free in life. And your price is pancakes.”

Lucifer’s smile reached his eyes, who were shining with joy, as he took the pancakes from the cart and threw himself on the bed, starting to eat them without having to be told twice.

“I can’t guarantee that these will be as good as my other dishes, but one can only try.”

Lucifer shook his head. “They’re fan–fucking–tastic!” He stuffed a bite of pancake into his mouth, which was comically large. “Gnam. Why don’t you like to make sweets? You’re good at it.”

“I simply don’t like sweet things, therefore I see no point in making them.” He brought the cart close to Lucifer, so that he could have a stable footing, and get his toppings and milk more easily.

Lucifer’s mouth was still full, though he tried to speak anyway, perhaps to thank Alastor, as he took the toppings and the milk and threw them all on the pancakes, and then went back to eating with gusto, and in between one bite and the other, licked both of the bowls.

Alastor wondered how one could eat so atrociously.

“Wasted talent, let me tell you.” He patted next to him, on the bed, motioning to Alastor to sit down, who complied. “Why blueberries though? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Alastor crooked his neck towards him. “Don’t you know, Lucifer? Blueberries have a high antioxidant content, which helps with aging.”

“Oh, you little shit –!” Lucifer huffed a laugh.

After that, the conversation died, and an awkward silence settled between the two of them. And when that happened, Lucifer always had a bad habit of oversharing. The fact that he spent the last seven, almost eight years alone didn’t help – he wished desperately to yap with someone.

He cleared his throat. “You know… Lilith used to practice cannibalism too, from time to time, it made her feel closer to the sinners or something like that.” He chewed on his lips. “And I joined her.” He took another bite of the pancakes, to shut himself up, so that he could no longer humiliate himself further than he had already done.

But was it really cannibalism if Lucifer was born a Seraphim? Alastor certainly didn’t care. “Oh, Lucifer, is this a subtle request to join me in my cannibalistic rituals?” He purred with amusement.

Lucifer smiled nervously, then lowered his head, as he started playing with his food – he didn’t want to impose, or make Alastor feel forced to invite him, or something else. This relationship with Alastor was new and refreshing, after spending so much time locked up in the Palace, alone. He couldn’t fuck it up.

“Maybe. If you’d like. If you want me to join – no pressure! Just, uh… offering.” He spoke in rapid bursts, panicked.

“Your wish is my command, Lucifer.”

Lucifer felt a pang of awkwardness hit his chest; it would be better to change the subject. Yes, that would have been the best thing to do. “Is your wound a–okay?”

Alastor gave him a mocking sugary syrupy smile. “Why? Is His Majesty worried?”

Or maybe not.

Lucifer scoffed, as he tightened his hold on the fork. Of course he was, Alastor could have died back there. And he was in pain, suffering… and no one knew. The situation Alastor found himself in resembled his own a little – well, not entirely, not exactly in every way, but broadly speaking, yes.

That blow should have killed him instantly; after all, not only was it an angelic weapon, but it was also imbued with the Holy Spirit.

Any other sinner would have died instantly, but not Alastor.

“Huh, you really are powerful.” Alastor perked up, as well as his pride.

He cupped his own cheek and turned away from Lucifer, putting on some kind of persona. “Oh! You certainly know how to make a man blush.”

Lucifer opened his mouth, ready to say some sarcastic punchline, when his phone started ringing.

He jumped up, ignoring the plate that fell to the floor thanks to his sudden movement, and ran to his cell phone.

“You shouldn’t waste food.” Alastor snapped, frustrated.

Growing up poor, and later living through the Great Depression, he’d never had the luxury of not finishing a meal, much less wasting it like that: his Father would first beat him, and then make him lick the floor, rather than let him waste the food he’d worked so hard to put on the table – that, of course, when he wasn’t wasting his hard–earned money on alcohol or prostitutes, leaving Alastor and his Mother suffer the pangs of hunger.

(That idiot of his Father even demanded another child. Alastor didn’t even know how he thought he could afford to feed another mouth, when he couldn’t even bother with the child he currently had.

“Mother, I’m hungry, please! Please, Maman…” He only complained when the pangs of hunger became too unbearable to ignore.

“I know.” His Mother inhaled slowly from her cigarette. They never had enough money to eat, but they always had enough money for the cigarettes she and his Father smoked. “If you’re so hungry, go to work, so you can bring some money home.”

Alastor started working at eleven, and fortunately, he remained an only child.)

Throughout his life, his meals were sporadic, never guaranteed, and he considered himself lucky if he managed to eat once a day; even more so when a hot meal appeared on the table, and not stale bread. This was also why he insisted so much on eating three times a day. He didn’t understand how Lucifer could be so indifferent to food waste, when Charlie was so adamant about it.
All the positive qualities Charlie had were inherited from Lilith. Obviously.

Lucifer didn’t even hear what Alastor said, who cared. It could be Lilith!

Maybe, after eight long years of wearing silence, she was calling him back, perhaps to tell him she was finally coming back to him, to Charlie! And then, once they were together again, they could be a happy family again – just like before. The thought alone brought tears to his eyes.

He answered, without even looking at the number that was calling him. “Hello! L, Lily – Lilith?”

An advertisement for a next–generation vacuum cleaner, financed by VoxTech, started ringing into his ears. Definitely not Lilith.

He hung up immediately, irritated, as he muttered to himself. “Hell. I can’t believe this shit… who the fuck gave my number to that Fox News guy?” If it wasn’t for the fact that Alastor didn’t even touch a phone, he would have definitely blamed him for this.

Lucifer turned to Alastor with a frown, who was as peeved as he was, and looked like he was this close to biting his head off.

Why, he didn’t know.

He approached Alastor, trying to crack a joke to break the tense atmosphere. “Can you believe it? A King that receives spam calls.”

As if nothing had happened, Lucifer picked up the pancakes from the floor and began eating them, as if it was nothing, while the honey, whipped cream and milk dripped onto his hands. Thank God the plate didn’t break, or he would have had to throw the whole thing away.

“That is disgusting. It touched your dirty floor.” Even though the gesture itself was extremely unhygienic, it managed to get a laugh out of Alastor – the situation was so out of touch.

He started to chew loudly and with his mouth open, just to annoy Alastor, who in retaliation, made a face and launched into a whole speech about how rude and ungentlemanly it was to eat in such a vulgar way, and that he should know better; especially since he was a King.

Lucifer laughed in his face, and bits of food fell out of his mouth.

It was all so domestic, so familiar… he couldn’t help but think of Lilith.

At some point Alastor had left, half indignant and half disgusted, but Lucifer didn’t even notice, and stayed locked in his room all day, feeling sorry for himself; thinking back to every memory of him and Lilith together, happy, at peace with themselves, in their little corner of Paradise, that they had managed to create for themselves, despite what happened.

He bursted into tears for how lonely he felt, and how much he missed Lilith, how much he missed everything about her – from her strange and funny laugh, to her way of always acting confident, no matter what, in every situation. He missed her kisses and her caresses and her singing too, which inspired not only sinners, but also Lucifer himself. He simply missed being with her.
But he would never hear her voice again, or lose himself in her eyes, because Lilith had left him! Even though in their wedding vows she’d sworn never to leave him, for better or for worse, she had abandoned him.

For all eternity. Sure.

Liar.

Traitor.

She was just like Heaven.

Heaven, who had abandoned him, ostracized him, and thrown him away. Discarded, like he was worth nothing.

Heaven…

Lucifer remembered every single moment, even before his birth – when he was still just a concept in God’s hands.

He was created from the most bright star in all of the Universe, from Andromeda and the Milky Way. The most beautiful and powerful seraphim, the closest to God, Her favourite – gifted with great power, besides Her, the only one who can create life.

Why, Lucifer had no idea. But despite that, he wasn’t born with a duty or a purpose; he just existed. Unlike his brothers and sisters.

In the beginning it didn’t bother him, Lucifer felt light, free, joyful – he liked to think that the others found him endearing, that they loved each other deeply and without end, even when they scolded him for making mess after mess, even when their tone grew harsher with time, and after the umpteenth time he made a mistake.

But never thought their love, and the love of Her Father and His Mother, would end over a stupid apple – over so little.

Eden echoed with life, yet at the same time so decadent and empty. After all, what was life without free will?

If anything, Lucifer had done them a favor.

Their wrath was unparalleled – to this day, he vividly remembered the angelic spears that pierced through him.

Despite that, he missed flying in the sky with his brothers and sisters.

But he would never return into their arms.

He summoned his phone and through tears and sobs and anguish he wrote to Lilith, and told her about his day. And he wrote to her, begging her to come home, to him.

He clutched his phone to his chest, imagining Lilith instead.

Even when he had no more tears to cry, he didn’t feel better, which was strange; it usually worked – since he’d faint or completely dissociate.

As he wiped the snot on his sleeve, he remembered what Charlie used to say during her therapy session, that he sometimes attended (just to watch!, he wasn’t really interested, but he had to at least pretend to be a present Father), always said it was better to talk about one’s problems and to not keep everything inside, because it was bad for the body and mind, and one could overwhelm themselves, and – explode? 

He didn’t know if it was literally or not, he lost focus most of the time.

But he didn’t know who to talk to about these things, and he couldn’t burden Charlie with these things – she was his daughter, for Hell’s sake! Plus, it would have been weird. And awkward.

So, he went to Alastor (at least this time he was dressed properly, he was sure Alastor would appreciate the effort).

He knocked on his door until he heard footsteps approaching, and some grumbling.

He jolted in surprise anyway, when Alastor shot the door open. “Alastor –! Uh. I, you… you answered! The door.”

Alastor gave him a look, and Lucifer was sure it was meant to be as conniving and mean as possible, but it wasn’t that much effective, not with a bonnet on his head and the sleepy look on his face.

Alasto pinched his eyes, sighing. “Lucifer… it’s rather late. What do you want?”

“Were you dreaming?”

What kind of question was that.

Alastor refrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Quite. It’s what one does at two in the morning.”

Lucifer fidgeted with his hands. Well, he had already woken him up, so he might as well be selfish until the end, no? “Can I come in?”

“No.” Alastor blurted out on instinct, his tone harsh.

Hell. Okay, all was not lost, he could still fix this.

He crossed his arms. “What is it? Are you having trouble sleeping? I know a remedy for that –” a yawn escaped his mouth that was promptly covered with his hand. Lucifer found it cute how Alastor’s ears folded back. “– Before bed you should drink chamomile tea with a drop of warm milk and a spoonful of honey. Or simply take an excessive amount of pills and! Goodnight!”

Lucifer blinked a few times. “Thanks?” He rubbed his arm. “Can I come in?”

Alastor sighed, giving up. What was the point in denying Lucifer anyway.

“Come in.” He stepped aside, letting Lucifer enter. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.”

Make yourself comfortable. As if it was easy, with a bayou that took up practically the entire room, and left no space for something to sit on. Also, strange, Lucifer was pretty sure he hadn’t put any bayou in when he rebuilt the Hotel.

With a snap of the fingers, Alastor promptly made it disappear into the shadows. And just like that, it was a normal room, just like anyone else’s. Well, except that it was heavily decorated with early 20th–century furnishings.

Lucifer found the antique decor beautiful.

“Cool shadow trick.” Alastor hummed acknowledging, while he took a pack of Lucky Strikes out of a drawer. He opened the pack and brought one of the few remaining cigarettes to his lips.

“Do you mind?”

Lucifer waved his hand in dismissal. “Nah.” He watched Alastor light the cigarette with green fire. “Uh, can I…?”

He passed Lucifer the package. “It’s toasted.”

Lucifer looked at him strangely, and Alastor shook his head.

Alastor sat cross–legged on the couch next to the bookcase, watching Lucifer take too many drags on his cigarette, trying to hold the smoke in his cheeks, simultaneously trying not to cough afterwards.

How silly.

He took a long drag. “I bet my left hand you don’t like whiskey.” If he had to put up with Lucifer’s company at this ungodly hour, he might as well indulge a little.

“You caught me.” Lucifer laughed lightly, and went to sit on the other side of the sofa from Alastor, legs spread apart and slouched, making himself comfortable indeed, ignoring Alastor glare for not sitting properly.

He was, after all, following what Alastor had told him to do.

Alastor sighed, resigning himself once again. After all, a guest was a guest, even Lucifer, unfortunately. “Apple cider?” He offered.

“Oh, uh, yes – thanks. Thank you.”

Alastor’s shadow appeared out of nowhere, startling him, smiling while offering him a glass of said alcohol. He took it, unsure whether he should thank the shadow or Alastor, while he watched the shadow take a bottle of whiskey and a glass from a cabinet, which contained much many more liquors, then pour the liquid into the glass and hand it to Alastor, who immediately sipped it, after a drag of his cigarette.

Alastor turned his full attention to Lucifer, now a little more awake thanks to the alcohol. “So. I take it that you need to talk?”

Lucifer’s breath caught, then nodded stiffly, his hands clenched around the glass.

“Out with it.”

Lucifer hesitated. It was harder than he expected, talking.

Alastor lost his patience quite quickly, whether because it was the early hour or the tiredness of the day, he didn’t know – by God, he wouldn’t let Lucifer drag this out. “The more you stall, the harder it will be to talk about it.”

Lucifer hesitated for a few more moments, before huffing, and through gritted teeth, he admitted: “It’s about Heaven.”

He didn’t feel like talking about Lilith. It was too much.

Alastor smirked. “Color me intrigued.” A drag of a cigarette and a sip of whiskey. “Go on. Tell me everything you need.”

After Lucifer stalled again, with a thoughtfully sad expression on his face, Alastor sighed and opted for something different. After all, he knew it all too well that it was a matter of pride.

He softened his voice, trying to sound comforting. “Lucifer, the past is in the past and it’s where it belongs. It can’t hurt one anymore.”

Lucifer looked at him a little stunned, he didn’t expect to hear such soft spoken words coming out of Alastor’s lips of all people.

He spoke slowly and carefully, weighing his words. “You know how I gave the Apple to Eve… and – the rest…”

Alastor hummed, and before Lucifer could let the conversion die, he asked him: “And you gave it to her out of the kindness of your heart?” He felt a bit like Charlie when she did her therapy sessions, and – oh, how good he was at this whole talking problems thingy! He didn’t understand all the fuss Charlie talked about every single day, multiple times a day.

It was easy peasy.

Lucifer shrugged and looked at himself in the and he looked at himself in the liquor. “It’s what I like to tell myself.”

“The truth will set you free, Lucifer.”

Lucifer looked uncertain. Alastor scooted over to Lucifer and offered him his hand, which Lucifer accepted.

Lucifer wondered if it was possible to love and hate someone at the same time. “I… I hate them. I hate even more the fact that they had decided to exclude me from the creation of Eden, of humankind. It serves them right, they had what’s coming from them, they should’ve known better than to treat me like a – cretin.”

It was so very fascinating how human Lucifer could act sometimes.

His tone became more scathing and mean, and his posture more closed off. “So what? I gave the apple to Eve, who cares? If it wasn’t for me nothing would have even started. Art, music, science –! Life itself as we know it! They should worship me. I should be their God.”

Alastor squeezed Lucifer’s hand, encouraging him to continue. Lucifer squeezed back.

“You were right, I don’t want to be redeemed, I did what I deemed right and I still have no regrets.” He took a sip of apple cider, to wash down his pathetic display (just like they did in the movies!), and oh God, it was disgusting – not even apples could save alcohol. He hoped Alastor hadn’t noticed his reaction, but the mocking expression on his face told him otherwise.

Whatever was the case, he didn’t say anything about it; however, and continued undaunted with this conversation, much to the misfortune of Lucifer, who hoped he was finished for the evening. “Why do you reject yourself as a King? You think yourself in the right, shouldn’t you accept this role with enthusiasm?”

Lucifer snorted. “Well, Bambi! It’s not that I wanted to be King. It was, y’know, kind of a punishment. That’s like. The whole point.”

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “But you can still make the best of it, and yet refuse.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, feeling a surge of anger. “I don’t want to be the King of this shit–show! Who would want this? I want Heaven and the Angels crawling at my feet, loving me! And instead I find myself Ringmaster of a disgusting Kingdom and I can’t even do anything about the sinners!” He jumped up from the couch, hectic, letting go of Alastor’s hand, in the midst of it.

“And I don’t want to – despite me hating all of this, I find myself not wishing to be cruel.”

Alastor looked at him blankly, and then started laughing, and Lucifer thought he had finally gone mad; lost his last bolt.

“You left Hell on its own, you let the strongest tyrannize over the weakest, and yet here you are whining about how you don’t want to be cruel.” Not that Alastor was complaining.

Lucifer huffed, he crossed his arms and sat back down. He felt like a child throwing a tantrum. “Will I ever hear a comforting word from you?”

“Perhaps when you deserve it.”

Lucifer hummed, pleased, but tried to deflect anyway, just for the love of the game. “It was Lilith who, uh, who was in charge of the Sinners. Not me! So, if you’re looking for someone to blame…”

“And? Blaming others won’t make you look better. Hell is your Kingdom too, and Sinners belong in your Kingdom, even more so since Lilith has left.”

“Thank you.” Lucifer smiled sincerely at him. “Please never stop telling me the truth… no matter how much I don’t want to hear it.”

Lucifer wouldn’t deny it, he liked to coddle himself and to be coddle, and this, apparently, gave people the impression that he couldn’t handle the truth, any truth. He couldn’t blame them, though, since he was the embodiment of Pride, he could understand fearing a bad reaction.

But Alastor wasn’t afraid, he was never afraid.

Alastor placed a hand on his chest theatrically and spoke just as dramatically. “Oh, Lucifer, it would be my pleasure.”

A beat passed. “Don’t you think less of me now?” He couldn’t help but ask – his opinion of himself was as high as it was low.

“No.” He shrugged. “If anything I found you rather intriguing.” It was the truth, after all, only Lucifer could entertain him, now that the Hotel had lost its initial charm.

“I am, I am, thank you.”

As Alastor finished his drink, his shadow appeared with an ashtray, where Alastor stubbed out his cigarette; the shadow took Alastor’s glass and then Lucifer’s too, along with his long forgotten cigarette.

“Uh, thank you, little guy.” He didn’t even know if it had a name, but the shadow seemed to appreciate it anyway. It beamed at him.

Alastor yawned, tired. Lucifer whimpered, mortified.

He stood up, taking the hint, ready to leave, when Alastor hushed him. “Don’t be dramatic now, it’s not the first time I’ve had a sleepless night. And it won’t be the last.”

Alastor invited him to sit down again and Lucifer lit up, doing so. “You have nightmares too?”

“Who doesn’t?” Alastor shook his head. “What do you dream about?”

Lucifer suddenly felt very embarrassed, and words were stuck in his throat. “Um, nightmares, stuff like that – bad things, you know…”

“Dreams are just that. Dreams. They can’t hurt you.”

Lucifer huffed and puffed. “It’s the memory of it that hunts me…”

“Tell me about them.”

Lucifer whined. It was pathetic, really. “Well, they all start with, um… Him, being on a cross, and – ugh, saying this outloud is silly…”

Alastor laughed up one sleeve. “I am familiar with the telling of Christ, yes.”

Lucifer released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank you. The thing is, I dream about that – those moments of Him being in pain and agony and, I dunno, I kinda feel everything He felt, ugh, it sucks.” He groaned.

He crumpled his face. “Then, there is my fall. Our.” He corrected himself immediately, because even when he knew perfectly well that it wasn’t fair, they had both fallen.

“I am – I was so scared. I’ve never felt pain in my entire existence before I fell. I didn’t even know the concept of death and – Lilith died.” He remembered perfectly how confused, scared, and alone he felt when he realized what kind of monster he’d become; he was even more scared, confused, and alone when Lilith didn’t answer him, and hadn’t answered him for what felt like an eternity.

He felt so guilty and desperate, and most of all – jealous. He wanted to die more than anything in Hell, he longed to close his eyes and never wake up again, it was something he deeply wished for and envied human souls.

“What was it like to die?” He broke out in a cold sweat, realising what he just said. “Sorry. Um, that was insensitive.” He had never dared to ask Lilith this question.

Alastor hummed, amused. “A little curiosity never hurts anyone.”

“Pretty sure it killed someone’s cat.”

“And satisfaction brought it back.”

Alastor told him how he was trying to dispose of the body of a man he’d just killed – who didn’t even try to hide his disgust for people like him, but who’d still followed him into the bayou with the promise of a good time – when a hunter shot him in the head; he told him how he hadn’t died instantly, no, he had remained lucid enough to feel the bullet in his skull and feel the hunters’ dogs tearing at his skin apart.

“Woah, straight up from a horror movie.” It wasn’t what he’d expected – he’d imagined Alastor had had a different death, one less violent, perhaps.

Alastor shrugged, he supposed Lucifer was right, his death had been violent – it was strange; but after nearly a hundred years, he had become indifferent to his own death, it no longer disturbed or angered him as it once did, and now it was simply a fact that happened.

Not knowing quite the right thing to say, Lucifer made a glass of whiskey appear in Alastor’s hands, as a thanks for listening to him and helping him. 

Alastor took a sip, content, and immediately regretted it, and regretted even more that he had swallowed it instead of spitting it in Lucifer’s face, like he should have done, to thank him for the disgusting drink he had given him.

His ears folded back, in disdain. “Lucifer! This is disgusting!”

Lucifer jumped. “Oh shit, sorry! I forgot I cannot replicate something I never had, soo that’s probably why it tastes…”

“Like engine oil?” Alastor offered, sarcastic.

“Yeah. That. Uh, since I never had it has taken on the flavor that I imagine it could have.” He laughed both nervously and awkwardly, as he changed Alastor’s drink to plain water. At least that way he couldn’t fuck things up. “Sorry, really. I just wanted to do something nice for you. As, ah, thank you, y’know?”

“You are forgiven. It was… thoughtful even though you were unsuccessful.”

That morning, once he returned to his rooms, Lucifer wrote to Lilith, happy as a child who hadn’t been caught stealing candy.

“So. Friends?” Alastor prompted.

“Duh. I already told you.” Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Really, you’re losing your touch, Bambi.”

“Close friends?”

“Why?” He asked carefully, with a grimace. “Is there something you want me to ask?”

Ugh, why couldn’t he be oblivious all of the time.

“No.” He shrugged. “I certainly can’t fathom a single reason why you would need my assistance or power.”

“Silly goose. I like you because of you, not because of something else!”

What utter nonsense. Alastor did not believe him, he couldn’t – after all, no one had ever wanted to be close with him for pure intentions.

“Come. It’s time for lunch.” He got up from the couch and started to walk towards the kitchen, then stopped and waited for Lucifer to catch up. “What would you like?”

They were eating spaghetti with seafood, per Lucifer’s request.

“Am I?”

Alastor hummed questionably.

“Your friend.”

“What do you think, Lucifer?”

Lucifer groaned. He was so pathetic. “It was a simple yes or no answer, asshole.”

“Do you really think I would cook for some nobody I didn’t care about? Come on, now, Lucifer, think.”

Lucifer smiled at him, and it reminded Alastor of one of those smiles that his equally naive daughter gives out.

What a fool.