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It had been about six years since the end of the world. And things were… well, good enough to be getting on with, weren’t they?
Lucifer Constantine made his way down the sidewalk of L.A. None of the nutters were out, but that didn’t mean much. He had business, and normally, if that were the case, something was bound to pop out and derail things.
Said business hung from a bag on his shoulder, collected with some difficulty from the far side of the city. Maze had offered to do it, but she was best put to use guarding the others… or locating other lost souls out in this wreckage. The fact that his back and feet were bloody killing him was no reason to put the survivors in danger.
Merging souls with the devil, as far as Constantinian decisions went, was probably one of his most boneheaded moves. It had helped both John and the Morningstar fight back the Doomsday Beast, and Dear Old Dad, and a few of the bitchy little pre-creation cusses that always seemed to pop out when things were unraveling at the seams.
It also left him quite up the duff with the children of both his former selves. Lucifer Morningstar and John Constantine… procreating. What a terrible idea.
The growth of their children had been slow. Achingly slow. Slow enough that Lucifer hadn’t realized they were pregnant until a few years into the apocalypse. With the swelling life pushing against the waistband of his pants, he hadn’t know what to think, at first. Soon enough, though, the other symptoms started to catch up with him. He grew tired more easily. His dreams grew vivid and intense. He had the occasional, inexplicable, raging boner. And he was starving and violently ill in turns.
Lucifer never would’ve thought he’d appreciate sporting a gut, but trading his waistline for getting rid of morning sickness turned out to be a deal he was grateful to make. Part of him, after all, was still John. And John had a fondness for children, and not just the children of people he cared about.
And so, as this dark, suited beast slouched toward the club, he pushed his shirt up and caressed his distended belly. One of their children shifted at his touch, and he could feel the warmth of their power likewise in response. Infernal, Celestial, and Arcane. They would be something. If they ever bothered to stop bloody well gestating.
He was just approaching the door when his senses (John’s first, and then Lucifer’s) picked up on something behind him. Waiting. Not for him, obviously. No one wants a collective devil/disaster magician on their ass. It was waiting for someone to open the door. He could feel its desire to feed on the innocent. That he had three squirming innocents in his belly wouldn’t register with this kind of thing… yet. Eventually, though, that would be a problem.
With a grunt, he turned, one hand supporting the heft of his belly as the other rose to meet the challenge. Circles and glyphs interlocked, burning in midair as he uttered ancient tongues Lucifer had always known and John had taken pains to study. The energy of two powerful souls combined, the logic and the fire—first it drew the creature out, the whole mashed up conglomeration of body parts and drool and hate. Then, it burned the damned thing away until there was nothing but another shadow of ash reflected against the nearby buildings.
Done. Lucifer turned back to Lux, with its remaining windows boarded up and magic sigils scrawled all over the walls, and opened the door.
On the other side, Maze waited for him, knives at the ready in case he needed her out there. As did Trixie, who looked at his exposed belly (which he quickly tugged his shirt back over) with worried and expectant eyes. The urchin kept saying he’d pop any day now. Eve was near the bar, which had been turned into a medical facility of sorts, with Raphael, who looked like he might altogether collapse. His affable nature had already burned down to the wick.
He had other siblings alive out there. Probably. The ones who hadn’t made the poor choice to join the Beast. Or the poor choice to fight it.
“Luce!” Eve spotted him and rushed over. “Did you find it?”
“Shore ‘nuff, luv.” He handed her the bag of medical supplies, which sagged in her arms. “Lots of creepies lurking about the hospitals now, though.”
“You can’t blame them. Other than for being lazy hunters,” Maze said.
“I can bloody well blame them.”
“C’mon.” Trixie tugged his arm.
Part of him still saw her as a gap-toothed seven-year-old, rather than the 20-something duking it out with the apocalypse. Bossy as ever, she directed him towards one of the booths and made him sit so they could bring him some food. There was never enough of it, even when Maze and a few of her siblings who’d crawled up to Earth went out to hunt and could sort through things that the humans could still eat.
He was ravenous, though. Probably came with being five beings in one, at the mo’. And as their protector, the survivors didn’t seem to mind this need. It bothered Lucifer, to a degree. He wondered if that was John’s inherent theatrical heroics at work, or the Morningstar’s self-abnegation.
Maze sat beside him, her legs spread wide as she gave his belly a little poke, which earned her a shove in return.
“Knock it off. Y’think I don’t have them bouncing around in there enough?”
“They need to get less comfortable. Move out already.” Maze crossed her arms. “I scented something last night when I was out. I didn’t have time to tell you this morning. It… It might be another angel.”
“Well, that could be good. Or bad. Probably bad.”
Trixie put a plate in front of him and ordered, “Eat.”
“I can head out tonight with Gabe,” Maze continued.
“She’s still hoping Michael made it out,” Lucifer muttered around a mouthful of something bland and undefinable.
“I’m not gonna be the one to tell her the Beast probably tore him to shreds.” Maze tapped a finger on the table. “Or that if the Beast didn’t, Azrael’s boys definitely did before this all got started.”
“If it’s one of them, though,” Trixie said, “one of your siblings, it could help. It’s worth it. I want to go.”
“NO,” Lucifer and Maze told her emphatically.
“I’m learning magic. You can’t protect me forever.” Trixie turned and left them in less of a huff and more of a domineering stride that she’d definitely picked up from Maze… and her mum. A bit.
Lucifer drew in a tight breath.
“We can’t,” Maze agreed.
“Maybe she’ll get her wish, I’ll pop these brats, and she can be satisfied with being a post-apocalyptic Mary Poppins,” Lucifer suggested.
Maze laughed. “Yeah. Let’s hope for that. I’ll look for some hot sauce when I’m out.”
Lucifer wiped his mouth and turned to her, gripping her arm tightly. “Maze.”
“What?”
“Be careful. It’s not getting any better out there.”
“Nope.” Maze rose and ruffled his hair. “But you’re getting more emotional.”
“You’d deny me that?” Lucifer huffed, trying to fix his mussed hair. “In my delicate condition?”
“Not a damn delicate thing about you.” Maze smirked fondly before heading off again. Likely to help Eve sort supplies.
This was it. As far as Lucifer could discern. Gabriel had flown over large swaths of land, and it was getting harder and harder to find survivors. They’d only been able to set up a handful of safehouses. The likelihood that any of the people he’d cared about, who hadn’t yet been found, would be.
He pulled out a cigarette. He wouldn’t smoke it. Trixie would have a fit despite him and probably the babies being completely invulnerable. But the feel of it brought comfort in a way. A stupid way. In the way fiddling with his ring or tugging at his cuffs did. In the way wearing a suit out in the wasteland, with his own waist blown out to nearly 50 cm, made him feel more normal.
As he sat back, looking at his meager kingdom, he rested his hands over his expansive middle, where the three of his children shifted in the small amount of room they had. One began to glow red, causing another to emanate purple, the other green. Bloody lightshow in there sometimes. Like a baby rave. Would they be able to survive in this world? They seemed powerful enough.
Exhausted from his trip and the expenditure of energy to fight the critters out there, Lucifer spread his legs and hoisted himself up so he could to his quarters above. Granted… it was also kind of the war room, when necessary. But it was empty now, and he was spent. On his way to his bed, he removed his tie, and his suit jacket, and released the belt holding up his pants that had no hope of pulling up farther and therefore hitched right below the swell of his gut like some kind of boring middle-manager in an office selling paperclips.
He kicked off his shoes and sank into his bed, where he curled over on a pillow and closed his eyes.
Let sleep come. Just sleep, and none of the dreams of the lost that haunted him.