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Summary
Lucifer leans down, gaze dropping to where Alastor's hand is curled into his suit. His suit, which is quickly darkening with blood.
A thoughtful hum rumbles in the back of Lucifer’s throat. A smile curls quickly along his face, razorblade teeth glinting under the dim lighting.
“Now don’t you look like a deer in headlights.”
Or, Alastor finds out firsthand that wounds inflicted by angels do not heal so easily. Lucifer helps with that.