Chapter Text
Angel Dust took a seat at the seedy bar, wiping a long strip of dust and grime off the counter surface and wiping it off on his skirt with a grimace. Valentino owned nearly every bar in the city, at least partially, and this was one of the worst of them. But after Cherri bombed a great deal of the better bars, Angel was forced to work at the less popular ones. It was well-intentioned; she thought it’d get Angel out of bar work for a nice break, but unfortunately for him, Valentino was determined to keep him on shift no matter what.
He’d been on stage for a good five hours straight and was finally taking a much needed break. He’s got more than enough stamina and skill for the pole, but the better the bar, the better the people, and the reverse applies all the same. The more high end clubs with wealthier occupants are greedy but still maintain a fair amount of dignity towards their special guest. In a run down place like this, the people aren’t just poor, they’re assholes. Of course, that’s to be expected of sinners in Hell, but these assholes wouldn’t know boundaries if it slapped them straight in the face. They’re constantly reaching out for him, flashing him like their afterlife depends on it, throwing anything from cum-ridden socks to full bottles of cheap booze. Needless to say, he’s gotten quite a few bruises in the past two weeks from the fans alone.
The bartender comes over to him finally and slams a chipped glass of some unknown substance on the bar in front of him. Angel takes it without asking any questions, knowing it’s on the house. The bartender gestures to a woman in a slate grey pantsuit across the bar with a nod. “A gift from the little lady over there. I think she’s willing to drop a pretty penny on you tonight,” he says, his voice gravely to the point of discomfort. Angel glances over at the woman. She has ram-like horns and pale white skin, her hair a bright pink that’s clearly the work of some fancy hair-dye. Angel didn’t know there were any hair salons that offered dye jobs in Hell; maybe she was Hellborn.
He rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to land him and took a big swig of the drink. It burned going down, more than it should, and he almost choked, but caught himself at the last moment. He scrunched his face in disgust and pushed the glass away. “I don’t know what that is but never give me it again,” he told the bartender. That’s the worst thing he’s tasted in years, which is really saying something considering how much crap he puts in his mouth on a regular basis.
The bartender scoffed and angrily grabbed the glass from the bar. “You’re one to talk. If you weren’t some fancy guest of honour I wouldn’t even be acknowledging you, faggot,” he growled, throwing the rest of the drink in Angel’s face and stalking away with the squared shoulders of bigoted tension. Angel yelped in surprise, skin burning as the drink made contact with him. He ran his hands across the affected area to get as much excess off as possible, but fur came off on his hands in the process. He stopped moving completely and stared at his hands, too stunned to even think about the homophobic bartender or the stinging burning in his stomach.
“That’s not supposed to happen,” he whispered out loud to himself. “That’s not good.”
He scrambled off the barstool and made his way to the bathroom as fast as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. There were only two stalls, one of them missing a door. He felt the drink trying to make its way back out of his mouth and collapsed into the doorless stall, gripping onto the piss-stained toilet with merit, not noticing how disgusting it was. He placed a still furry hand on his chest, heaving with effort to breathe as everything came out of him. The lastthing he heard as he passed out on the floor was the bathroom door opening behind him.
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Lucifer was walking through downtown streets after an exhausting meeting with the other Sins. Mammon and Asmodeus wouldn’t stop feuding about some “Fizzarolli” guy. Lucifer was too tired to care about what went on with the other Sins at this point. They were no longer running Hell together, just fighting each other in every petty way they could think of. He didn’t even know why he kept attending these meetings anyways; why were they even still set up to attend in the first place?
He took off his hat, ran a weary hand through his hair and repositioned his hat in place. Tonight’s meeting was more draining than usual with all the back and forth on the same topic. After the last two hours, he needed a fucking drink, and he needed it now. He didn’t care where it came from. He saw a bar just a few stores down and decided to drop in there to get a quick bottle to take on his way home.
He slipped in as inconspicuous as he could, not having the energy to deal with being ambushed right now. He looked around the place, grimacing at how run down everything clearly was. As he swept over the joint, his eyes caught on a familiar face at the bar. Angel Dust, a guest at Charlie’s hotel. He was staring at his hands in horror before heading to the bathroom. Lucifer furrowed his brows, knowing something was wrong. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he followed after him to see what was wrong. “This was supposed to be quick,” he mumbled to himself, running a hand over his face.
He went around the perimeter of the club to avoid bumping into anyone. He opened the bathroom door to find Angel Dust passed out on the bathroom floor, his chest and clothes dark. “Angel Dust?” he called, hurrying to the lanky figure. He dropped to his knees and hesitantly rolled him over on his back, setting his cane on the ground beside him.
He stared helplessly for a moment, not knowing what to do in this situation. “Shit,” he cursed under himself. “Shit, shit, shit,” he looked around the room and scanned the other man's body hoping to get any ideas. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he wasn’t about to leave his daughter’s friend passed out in a crappy club like this. He needed to get him out of here, but how?
He had no ideas. “Fucking damn it ,” he said, carefully picking up the other man, which proved a bit complicated considering how tall he was. Thankfully, he saw he passed a back door on his way here, so he wouldn’t need to walk through the crowd and be questioned. He pushed the bathroom door open with his back and scooted down the back wall to the exit door, carefully manoeuvring his weight to open the back door with his foot. Once outside, he wasted no time spreading his wings and taking off to his place.
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Angel Dust slowly opened his eyes, finding crust to have formed around the edges. He rubbed at them with one of his hands and flinched at the movement, finding his whole body to be sore. When he got the crust off, he peered up at an unfamiliar pastel yellow dome ceiling, his thoughts slow and foggy. He pushed through the pain and sat up, his temples throbbing. “Fuck,” he said, his throat sore and closed in on itself.
He looked around the room he was in. He was dressed in a red silk robe and laid on a soft king sized bed with a plush white comforter. There was a large wooden wardrobe across from the bed, next to it a pile of… rubber ducks? He moved to swing his legs off the bed but he couldn’t move them at all. Before he could register and start panicking, someone walked in to the large room, prompting him to look up from his faulty limbs.
“Oh thank fuck, you’re awake!” Lucifer said, picking up his pace with the tray of tea. “Here, drink this. I don’t know how much it’ll help but it can’t be any worse than what’s already happened. Speaking of which, what happened? Are you okay? Are you sore? Are you sick? Are you-”
“Woah big man, slow down!” Angel cut him off, coughing. He hesitantly glanced at the drink. “First of all, what is this?”
“Chamomile lemon tea. It’s been my best home ailment for centuries,” Lucifer answered. “But yo-”
“I’m fine. Just a little sore. What happened? Why am I here?”
“I don’t know what happened. I walked into Dancing Trance and saw you hurry to the bathroom. When I walked in there, you were passed out on the floor,” Lucifer explained, clearly concerned. “Do you remember anything?”
“I uh… I don’t know,” Angel’s thoughts were still blurry. He looked down as he tried to remember what had happened before he blacked out and caught sight of his chest, blackened and balding. His breath caught at the sight as it jogged his memory in an instant.
“My fur. It was falling out. The bartender threw my drink at me when I said it was gross. Called me a fag, too,” he explained, inducing a coughing fit from all the talking.
Lucifer flinched at the slur, but it didn’t seem too important at the moment. When Angel started coughing he placed a hand on his back and urged him to drink the tea. Angel took a sip as told once he caught his breath, pupils dilating at the taste.
“This is delicious!” He remarked, downing it as fast as he could with his sore throat.
Lucifer grinned. “Thank you! I’ve been mastering it for ages. Hopefully it makes you feel better,” he responded. “What happened before that guy threw the drink at you?”
Angel downed the last of the tea and let Lucifer take the cup from him to refill. “I didn’t order it. He said some lady ordered it for me,”
Lucifer raised an eyebrow as he handed the refilled cup to Angel. “Aren’t you gay?” he asked.
Angel nodded into the tea. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I am, and everyone knows that, obviously. I fuck dudes for a living, my sexuality is what I’m known for. And it’s no secret that I upcharge over three times more for the ladies,” he explained. He looked down at his cup, almost empty again. “How did you make this?”
“Age old recipe,” Lucifer answered offhand. “What was the drink?”
Angel shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But it tasted like shit and burned my throat. …and apparently it also burned my skin,” he said nonchalantly, returning to his tea with a smile.
Lucifer stared at him, concern evident in his face. “How are you so calm about this?” he asked, tone edging on incredulous.
“Hm?” Angel hummed, breathing in the scent of the tea. “It was probably just another roofie, I’m used to it. Can I get more tea?”
“You-” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose in worry and confusion. “You were given a mysterious drink that burned you inside and out and made you pass out in the bathroom. It made your fur fall out on contact, stained your fur and deteriorated your clothes. And don’t think I don’t know there’s more effects you’re not telling me,” he said. He took the cup from him again and poured the last of the batch. “And how are you fine with being roofied?”
Angel looked Lucifer up and down, surprised to see the one and only King of Hell was genuinely concerned for him. He took a small sip of the tea, looking away from Lucifer’s insistent gaze. “Like I said, I’m used it. This must’ve been something stronger than usual, I guess,” he hid in the tea.
Lucifer sat on the bed next to him, placing a gentle hand above his knee, though he couldn’t feel it. “That’s not something you should have to make yourself get used to, that’s something you should be able to be protected from. Why don’t you have bodyguards?”
Angel laughed at the suggestion. “Yeah, Valentino only cares about the money I bring him, he doesn’t give two shits about me . My actual safety and wellbeing are the least of his worries, I should know,” he tried to pull his legs up but he still couldn’t move them: a fact he was not going to worry about any longer than he absolutely had to.
Lucifer’s brows furrowed deeply, obviously upset by this. He took a deep breath and shook his head disapprovingly. “We’ll- what else is wrong with you? Is your stomach okay? Do you have a headache? You need to tell me everything , this is not a joke,”
Angel was silent for a moment, not sure what to think or how to feel. “I uh… my head hurts all over, my temples are throbbing, my throat is closed in and sore and my whole body feels tense and bruised,” he confided.
Lucifer nodded in thanks. “Anything else?”
“I can’t move my legs,”
“What?!” Lucifer exclaimed, hopping off the bed like it was suddenly searing hot. He peeled the blankets off of him, revealing his legs being strangely twisted and visibly bruised. He carefully ran a finger along the exposed skin and applied a bit of pressure. “You can’t feel anything?”
“Nothin’. Can’t move ‘em either,” Angel said, returning to his tea. Lucifer gave an incredulous look.
“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I try not to acknowledge any pain,”
“A lack of movement and sensation is the opposite of pain and also should not be ignored,” Lucifer argued. “Do your joints feel locked? Does anything feel out of place?” Angel shrugged and nodded. “You said your temples hurt? What about your back?”
“All over… why? You think you know something?”
“Is your throat dry?”
“Very, actually, yeah,”
“I think you had a seizure,”
Angel blinked. “What?”
“A seizure. Your brain freaked out and activated your whole body at once. It’s a lot more complicated than that, of course, but I think I know what was in that drink,” Lucifer explained.
“How?”
“It’s a liquid illness, a poison called Acid XA-L 13. I’ve seen it before, in Heaven. Satan created it during the war in an attempt at chemical warfare. It didn’t work so well for us, but it did work on us. The angels were immune, but the falling weren’t. Even the smallest of doses would take a living human in under a minute, especially because a human would be allergic to the only antidote,” Lucifer explained. He crossed the large room to a large cabinet and started opening one drawer after another.
“What’s the antidote?” Angel asked, going to take another drink of tea.
Lucifer turned around to look at him. “Don’t finish your tea yet. You’ll need it for the antidote and that’s the last of the pot,” he told him. Angel frowned slightly and set the cup back down in his lap. “Ah! Here we go!” he exclaimed, closing the open drawer.
He grabbed a tie and towel out of the wardrobe and returned to the bed, setting down a small pack of disinfectant wipes and a dagger on the nightstand. He laid the tie and towel on the bed and shrugged off his suit jacket. Angel Dust watched with shameless interest as he continued to take off his waist coat, button down and undershirt, leaving him completely shirtless.
His clothing discarded on the other side of the bed, he grabbed the tie and fastened it around his upper arm, tightening it with the aid of his teeth. He opened the wipes and wiped first his forearm and then the dagger blade.
“I’m gonna need you to hold the cup under my arm,” Lucifer told Angel Dust as he held the dagger to his skin.
“What, am I drinkin’ your blood?” Angel asked, holding the cup out. Lucifer simply nodded, carefully tracing where he needed to cut before breaking the skin. He expertly cut across a vein at a careful angle,clearly having experience, and the fluorescent white gold liquid started flowing from the incision and into the cup. He set the dagger back down on the nightstand and ran two fingers along his arm from the tourniquet to the cut, encouraging the blood out of his veins.
He pulled away once he was satisfied with the amount he got into the cup. “Drink that slowly,” instructed Angel Dust as he pressed the small hand towel to the cut. He loosened the tie with his teeth and refastened it around the towel. Angel took a hesitant sip of the bloodied tea and went immediately and involuntarily cross-eyed.
“Holy fuck,” he murmured to himself, wanting to chug the substance. Lucifer glanced up at him, Angel’s face giving him away.
“Slowly. It won’t work as well if you drink it too quickly,” he said again.
“But it’s so good,” Angel argued. “Why is it so good?”
“Fallen or not, I’m still an angel. Anything of Heavenly origin is supposed to be enjoyable to everyone, even the taste of our blood,”
“No wonder it was fucking golden,”
“It’ll counteract the effects of the poison in your system, but it’ll still take 10-12 days for it to fully work. You’ll need to drink it consistently for the best results, about every 8 hours. You’re also going to be bedridden for several days while the worst of it hits,” he begins explaining as he searches for proper bandages in a small dresser on the other side of the bed.
“You should regain control of your legs by the time you next wake up, the sore throat should take no longer than two or three days and the body aches should be gone within 4-5 days. After that, you’ll be extremely tired for another week or so.
“It’s also likely that your body will try to fight the blood for the first couple of days. The bathroom’s through that door over there,” he pointed to a large, dark red door on the other side of the room Lucifer came in on.
“Sounds like you have a lot of experience with this acid. Anything else, King?” Angel asked, struggling to control how quickly he drank the delicious drink in front of him.
“I got infected with it during the first war, but I haven’t dealt with anyone else having it myself. Most of what I know is passed down from everyone else that dealt with it first or second hand. As far as I know, that should be all,” he answered. “You’ll be staying under my supervision until I can be sure you’ve made a full recovery,” he stated. Angel Dust knew Valentino wouldn’t like that, but he figured he’d just have to trust that Lucifer’s name would be enough to make the man spare his life.
“I’m gonna need to find my own place to sleep,”