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Lucifer stood outside Alastor’s quarters, wondering if he should bother entering. Personally, he didn’t really care that Alastor had been holed up for days, but Charlie was worried, and had begged him to check on the demon’s wellbeing. As he didn’t want to disappoint his daughter - he’d done quite enough of that in the past, thank you very much - he’d reluctantly agreed.
The things I do for her…
After the battle with Adam and his exterminators, and, Lucifer sourly thought, after all the work of rebuilding the hotel had been completed, the Radio Demon had oozed his way back into the Hazbin crew and back into Charlie’s good graces. He offered no explanation of his absence, not that Lucifer would have believed anything he claimed. On the surface, Alastor appeared to be his usual jovial, outgoing self, but the angel’s supernatural senses had told him otherwise.
He smells of stale blood and festering wounds, he moves slowly and cautiously, and pain is evident on his stupid face when he thinks no one is looking. He’s hiding an injury.
Alastor had cheerfully celebrated the hotel’s reopening with the others, preening when anyone mentioned how lovely the place looked as though he had had anything to do with it. He carried out his duties as usual the first few days. By the fourth day, however, it was evident to Lucifer that his condition was deteriorating. He skipped dinner and retired early to his quarters that evening, saying he could use a quiet night in after all the excitement. He didn’t appear until late in the afternoon the next day, and then only long enough to inform the others that he’d be taking a few days off and wished to be undisturbed. That had been eight days ago. Charlie had become increasingly concerned, then frantic.
I’m only doing this for Char-Char. Time to get this crap over with.
Alastor always warded his rooms, as is prudent when one is a powerful and hated Overlord with countless enemies, or just wants to keep nosy housemates from snooping. His spells were no match for Lucifer’s angelic powers, of course, but they were more than potent enough to keep everyone else out. However, something about them felt somehow off this time. Lucifer studied the wards, trying to put his finger on what was bothering him. They seemed weak and tattered, almost fragmented, as though a stiff breeze could disintegrate them.
Hmm. That’s not like him at all.
Grumbling in annoyance, Lucifer rapped on the door with his cane, shouting, “Alastor! Get off your ass and open this door! You’re upsetting Charlie, and if you keep your shit up, you’ll be answering to me!”
No reply.
“Quit playing games and open the damn door before I break it down!” The angel pressed his ear against the offending door and listened intently for a moment, but heard nothing.
Stubborn prick.
Running out of his limited patience with the demon, Lucifer briefly considered making good on his threat and obliterating the door just for fun, but thought better of it, as he didn’t want to have to repair yet another wall so soon after the hotel’s rebuild. Instead, he opened a portal and stepped through into Alastor’s quarters.
Nothing seemed amiss at first. The front parlor was dimly lit by the flickering of a single old-fashioned oil lamp on a small table next to a sofa. No fire was burning in the fireplace, and nothing looked glaringly out of place. The room had an air of disuse, however, as though its usual occupant had been away for an extended period. Strange, Lucifer thought. I wonder where he is.
Setting one of his fingers aflame as an impromptu torch, Lucifer made his way through the parlor, and peered into the darkness of the bedroom. “Alastor! Are you here, you bastard?”
A lump of blankets on the bed groaned, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, asshole! Where have you been? Charlie has been worried sick!”
The lump snorted. “Of course she has. Heart’s too soft.”
Lucifer bristled at that, his eyes reddening and his horns and tail appearing. Stalking towards the bed, he snarled, “Don’t you dare insult my daughter - holy Hell, what the fuck is that stench? It smells like stagnant water and rotting carcasses in here!”
A spindly arm emerged from the lump and waved vaguely towards the miniature bayou off the rear of the bedroom. “There it is, idiot.”
“No - it’s not the usual godawful swamp stink you have in here.” Lucifer leaned over the bed and took a good whiff, then recoiled in disgust. “It’s you! Fucking Hell! When’s the last time you showered? Wait - have you been lying there for a week?”
“Fuck off.”
“I’ve gotta see this.” Lucifer looked around for a light switch. Not finding one, he settled for conjuring a ball of light and sending it up to hover by the ceiling. “They don’t call me the Morning Star for nothing. Now, let me have a look at your sorry ass.”
The lump weakly protested. “Shut that damn light off and get out. Leave me alone.”
“No, I don’t think I will.” Steeling himself against the smell (he’d smelled much worse in Hell, really), Lucifer peeled the grubby blankets off of Alastor, and gasped in shock. The demon was curled in a fetal position on filthy sheets, still dressed in a blood-encrusted suit. Even though he’d wrapped his arms around himself protectively, a gaping wound was visible across his chest, its edges glowing ominously gold.
“Fuck, Alastor.”
“You saw it. Get out.”
“No. You need my help, or you’re going to die. Adam’s axe was sanctified, and I’m the only one in Hell able to treat you.”
“Let me die.”
“Fuck you. Charlie would never forgive me if I left you here to rot. Now, let me see, asshole.” Ignoring Alastor’s feeble protests, Lucifer rolled him onto his back and inspected the wound. It was badly infected, seeping putrid-smelling blood and pus. “Shit, that’s awful. How did you survive this?”
Grimacing in pain, Alastor hissed through gritted teeth, “Tough.”
“I have to give you that. Damn.”
A single tear slid down Alastor’s cheek. Seeing it, Lucifer felt a surge of empathy for the demon. “Look,” he said. “You hate me, and I hate you, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch you suffer or that I want you to die. This has to hurt like hell.”
“Does.”
“So, are you going to let me help you, or are you planning to die like the pigheaded bastard you are?”
After a long moment, Alastor whispered, “Yes.”
“Yes what? Help you, or let you die?”
“…help.”
“Good. That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said today. Now, fuck knows I don’t want to see your ass naked, but that suit has to go, and I don’t want to risk opening that mess further by trying to undress you.” Snapping his fingers (something that wasn’t strictly necessary, but Lucifer was a showman at heart), he stripped the demon bare. “Oh, you’re furry!” The demon did have a lovely hide, reddish brown dappled with cream spots. Lucifer caught himself wondering what it’d be like to stroke that fur, and, annoyed with himself, immediately banished the thought.
Alastor let out a soft snort that Lucifer thought might have been an attempt at a laugh. “Deer. Remember?”
“Well, that’s hard to forget given the whole antler thing. Now, here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll control your pain first, then start the healing process.”
“Start?”
“Yeah. I can’t pump as much power into you as I’d have to do to cure you completely in a single shot, as it’d kill you. It’ll take a few sessions.”
Another tear escaped.
Devil though he was, Lucifer had a kind heart, and loved his family and friends fiercely. He was startled to find himself suddenly wanting to protect Alastor. Why would I want to protect him? He’s my enemy!
Or, is he?
Dismissing that thought to be dealt with later, he gently laid his hands on the demon’s chest and invoked the healing powers that thankfully had not been stripped from him during the Fall. Alastor flinched away at first, whether from pain or fear Lucifer couldn’t quite tell. As the angel drew off his pain and began to seal the gash, though, the demon relaxed a bit.
“Are you OK?”
“Better.”
“Good. That’s enough for now.” Lucifer pulled out his phone and sent a quick message.
“Who…?”
“I’m asking Niffty to come clean up this shithole. You’re getting a new mattress, pillows, and bedding since you ruined yours by wallowing in them like a hog for better than a week. While she’s at it, I’m going to clean you up. Your bath is already drawn. You smell like a billy goat in rut, and I should damn well know. See?” Lucifer lifted a hoof and waggled it for emphasis, eliciting the ghost of a genuine smile from Alastor.
Gently lifting the demon and cradling him in his arms, Lucifer carried him into the bathroom, somehow managing not to drag his hooves on the floor, and settled him into the waiting tub. As he scrubbed Alastor clean, the angel was appalled to realize exactly how frail and helpless the formidable Radio Demon had become.
He can’t be left alone until he’s healed. He wouldn’t survive a fight with KeeKee, let alone some asshole Overlord. Shit.
Alastor evidently enjoyed being pampered, leaning heavily into Lucifer’s touch. He especially seemed to like having his hair and ears washed, and even smirked when the angel complained about his “fuck-ass bob” and his need for a better hairstyle. Lucifer found himself wondering how often anyone had been gentle with Alastor. Not often, I’d bet. At least I can give him this.
After his bath, Lucifer carefully dried the demon off, combed out his hair, and dressed him in luxurious silk pajamas and a matching dressing gown the angel had conjured. Alastor sighed happily as Lucifer carried him back into his room and laid him on his freshly made bed. Niffty had outdone herself making things cozy. She had even placed chocolates on the pillows. Lucifer made a mental note to reward her with a new set of insect-stabbing knives.
“You doing OK?”
“Yes - much better.” To Lucifer’s surprise, Alastor reached over and took his hand, raising it to his lips and kissing the back of it, then holding it between his own hands. “Thank you.”
Blushing a deep gold, much to his irritation, Lucifer replied, “It’s the least I can do. I owe you for helping my little girl. Now, try to get some sleep. I’ll be out in your living room.”
“Parlor.”
“Whatever.”
Alastor hesitated for a moment, then shyly asked, “Could you stay in here? With me, I mean?”
“Where? In the bed?”
“Yes… You don’t have to, but…”
“But you don’t want to be alone. Fuck it - I suppose I can do that much for you.” Switching into white silk pajamas, Lucifer slid into the bed and pulled the covers up over them both.
Alastor immediately cuddled up to him and buried his face against the angel’s neck.
The hell is he doing? Screw it. He needs the comfort, and it’s nice to share a bed again, even if it’s with him.
“Lucifer?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you too. Goodnight.”
Lucifer extinguished the light. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought that Alastor kissed his neck.
Dreaming…