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Relief…?
Comfort…?
No…
Pain…
So much pain…
In his darkened bedroom, Alastor stirred from his stupor, hoarsely whispering broken prayers and desperate pleas to whatever higher power had domain over demons that he would awaken whole and safe.
Damn.
He was still curled on his filthy bed, clad in his ruined suit, bleeding and in agony from the wound that the First Bastard Adam had dealt him in their battle. How long had he been there? Seven, eight days now? He couldn’t really tell anymore. His recollection of events was increasingly hazy as time dragged on, and he was having ever more difficulty distinguishing reality from the lurid fever dreams that gripped him.
The wound was infected, he could tell that much. Putrid and suppurating, it emitted an inescapable stench that offended even his nose. Its margins glowed an ominous gold, the taint of the angelic axe Adam had wielded, and seemed to the demon to be expanding rather than healing.
He wished it would finally take him and end his suffering.
I couldn’t be that lucky.
He vaguely wondered where the other denizens of the hotel were. Were they concerned? Searching for him?
Did they even notice his absence?
Were they relieved to be rid of him?
Husker will be happy…
Not that he really expected them to care about his well-being. No one did. No one had since Maman had died.
He wished Maman were there with him.
He cried out for Maman, begging her for help. For a miracle.
Mercifully, he passed out again.
He came to some time later, when he thought he heard muffled banging and shouting from the corridor outside his door. He wasn’t certain if someone was there or if he was hallucinating from pain and fatigue until the wards he had set for protection were disturbed.
Someone was there.
He heard the soft pop of a portal opening in the parlor. Only one pompous little prick could create portals. Only one self-important little ass would dare violate the Radio Demon’s inner sanctum.
Lucifer…
The angel barged into his bedroom, calling to him. Alastor managed to muster enough strength to ask him what he was doing there. Sent by Charlie, he said.
Figures.
“Fuck off,” Alastor told him, but the damned devil refused to fuck off, instead conjuring up a horribly harsh light and yanking the demon’s blankets off the bed. Needed to see the wound, he claimed.
You just want to see me suffering.
Lucifer rolled him onto his back. Alastor nearly blacked out from the fresh onslaught of pain.
“Get out,” he snarled.
The stubborn prick of an angel demanded that the demon submit to his healing. Only an angel could heal damage from a sanctified blade, he said. He was Alastor’s only hope.
“Let me die.”
Lucifer stood back, regarding him silently for a long moment, then turned to leave. “Fine, die, asshole.” Alastor watched him walk away, a new pain searing his heart.
This is it, then. Dying alone, in agony, covered in my own blood. Again.
Unbidden tears of grief welled up in the demon’s eyes.
His shadow manifested itself, grasping at Lucifer’s arm to get his attention. The angel looked back at the bed.
A single tear trickled down Alastor’s cheek.
Lucifer was suddenly at his side again, gently wiping away the tear while explaining the healing process.
Alastor found himself grateful for Lucifer’s help, and for his shadow’s intervention.
He didn’t want to die.
The angel removed Alastor’s ruined suit and laid his hands on the demon’s chest. As his pain ebbed and his wound began to close, Alastor gazed up at Lucifer in gratitude.
Beautiful…
Lucifer drew a warm bath and bathed Alastor with strong yet gentle hands. Alastor closed his eyes and leaned into Lucifer’s comforting touch.
No one other than Maman has ever been so kind to me…
Lucifer dressed Alastor in soft silk pajamas and carried him to the bed Niffty had made up while he’d had his bath. The demon sighed with pleasure as Lucifer carefully tucked him in between cool, crisp sheets. On an impulse, he kissed the back of the angel’s hand, then clasped it between his own in thanks. Lucifer just smiled as he gently brushed a stray lock of Alastor’s hair away from his face.
The angel stood up to go out and sleep in the parlor, but Alastor didn’t want to be alone. Stay with me, he requested.
Lucifer slipped into the bed. Alastor pressed against his side, grateful for the company and for the angel’s help.
As Lucifer drifted off, Alastor kissed his neck, whispering his thanks to him and to Maman. He knew she had sent him an angel.