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They had been… involved for quite some time now. Not dating, per se, though it felt just as significant. Rosie had called it a “PQR” or something like that, some phrase that Lucifer could never remember. Charlie called it co-parenting. Alastor simply called it “belonging to each other, in one way or another.”
Lucifer called it coffee on a quiet morning. Little check-ins throughout the day. Cooking together as Alastor hummed along with the radio, absently reaching over to swipe a spot of batter off Lucifer’s face. Drunken laughter late at night, muffled to avoid waking the rest of the hotel, as they sprawled over each other on the sofa in the lobby. Slowly, slowly, coming out of their shells, sharing secrets one by one. Lucifer earned Alastor’s trust, gave him space to be unguarded and genuine, space to be Alastor and not just the Radio Demon. Alastor, meanwhile, coaxed Lucifer out of his depressive tendency to shut himself off from those he cared about when he needed them most.
All in all, they had a good thing going.
Lucifer stood in the middle of a hallway, sterile gray tile stretching as far as he could see. Both ends faded into shadowy nothingness. Occasionally, someone would walk down the hallway, fading in and out of his vision like a specter, clothes monochrome and faces blurred. Although he didn’t recognize the surroundings, the King of Hell knew exactly where he was: a nightmare. He needed to find Charlie.
While he didn’t entirely understand his ability to flit in and out of others’ dreams, Lucifer had long since figured out the gist of it. The dreamer needed to be someone he cared deeply about, someone who trusted him implicitly, for their subconscious to send out the SOS signal that would “summon” him into their nightmare. And yes, it only worked with nightmares. Additionally, and rather annoyingly, he had no access to his powers in the dream-world, although he could still use his wings, which came in handy when Charlie had dreamed about a very literal game of “the floor is lava.”
Her most frequent childhood nightmares, however, had been about the sinners themselves. She was so young, too young to be surrounded by the kind of people who wound up in Hell. Lucifer had sheltered her as best he could, but she still heard things she wasn’t meant to hear, as children tend to do. The day that baby Charlie woke up crying after a particularly awful dream about being chased by a notorious warlord who had recently appeared in Hell, despite everything Lucifer did to soothe her in the dream-world, was the tipping point- the day Lucifer finally answered the messages from Heaven that had been piling up on his desk, and agreed to allow the yearly extermination without interference, with a stipulation ensuring his family’s immunity from the slaughter.
What were a few irredeemable souls, after all, in exchange for his daughter’s safety?
“Charlie?” he called, hands cupped around his mouth. As he started down the hallway, the click of his shiny black boots was strangely dulled by the uniform expanse of gray that made up the floor, the sound flat and muffled but oh-so-present in the quiet of his surroundings.
“Char-Char? It’s okay, kiddo, I’m here. It’s just a nightmare.” He hadn’t been pulled into her dreams since she was a child- it must be something horrible, if her subconscious had summoned him after all this time. More and more of the hallway came into view as he continued, the blurry-faced background characters of his daughter’s dream appearing more and more frequently. Soon, Lucifer could hear their whispery, unintelligible voices, punctuated by the occasional unsettling laugh. He picked up the pace. The hallway started to branch off, twisting away into labyrinthine passages. He instinctively took a right, and found an unremarkable door, the same gray as everything else. Locked. Another one. Locked. Lucifer checked every door that appeared in the hallway, to no avail. After a few minutes of searching, he came across something new- a video screen embedded in the wall. Under a banner that read “LIVE FEED BROUGHT TO YOU BY VOXTEK,” he saw… Alastor? What was Alastor doing in Charlie’s nightmare, let alone undressed, chained up, panicking, surrounded by cameras, and- oh.
This wasn’t Charlie’s nightmare.
Alastor blinked in the blinding fluorescent lights. One moment, he was on his feet, dressed in his usual suit, though his microphone-topped cane was notably absent. The next, he was naked, solid ground swept out from under him as chains wrapped around his wrists and ankles, suspending him in midair, splayed and supine between four posts. The new position forced him to look up, at the windows lining the room, countless indistinct faces staring down at him. At the cameras in every corner, projecting his predicament to the screens on every wall. Cameras that shouldn’t work on him, but the video feed was perfectly clear, not a single glitch in sight. Alastor reached for his powers, but- no. No no no, please, not now- they were gone. He called for his shadow. No answer. Don’t struggle, don’t let them see you struggle, he admonished himself, over and over, but his deer instincts started to kick in, panic turning him primal as he thrashed against the restraints. The speakers crackled to life, that damn voice filling the room, the last person Alastor wanted to hear. A person who was undoubtedly broadcasting his terror, his humiliation, his weakness, to the entire Pride ring and beyond, to every corner of Hell.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show!” Vox crowed through the speakers, the figures in the window leering closer as Alastor kept kicking at the chains.
“The big bad Radio Demon, here for a once-in-a-lifetime performance! Tell me, dear viewers, what do you see? Someone who actually deserves the title of Overlord, or just a scared little deer?” The audience laughed, Alastor’s ears pinning back at the sound.
Then a hand, wrapping around the base of his antler, too tight, yanking his head back, throat exposed. Vox, leaning over him, face blurred around the edges but still smug, triumphant, leaning closer, too close. His tongue on Alastor’s throat, the Radio Demon struggling to get away, no no no too close too loud too bright too much stop stop stop STOP. Finally, finally, he drew back, but his claw traced along Alastor’s cheek, catching on something. Something thin and glowing-green, something that hurt as Vox slowly pulled it out of his skin. The stitches that kept Alastor’s smile in place, his last defense, the only bit of emotion he could keep hidden as his body language betrayed his panic. Bit by agonizing bit, he felt the stitches pulled out, felt his smile drop, too heavy to force back into place. Vox smirked, glancing down at the green thread pooling in his hand, before turning on his heel and disappearing from Alastor’s periphery, dissolving like a phantom as he walked away.
While he was still shuddering with disgust, cheeks aching from the loss of his smile, a movement at the window caught his eye. Lucifer peered through the glass, staring down at the chained sinner, but something looked off about him. It wasn’t the haziness that smudged his features around the edges, just like Vox; nor the dulled, almost monochrome shades that had replaced the vivid red and gold that usually detailed his outfit. No, it was the look on his face- cold, impassive disappointment.
Alastor stopped fighting the chains.
He stared back up at Lucifer, ears dropping, eyes wide in a silent plea.
Lucifer met his gaze.
Scoffed.
Turned away.
And then he was gone.
Lucifer- the real Lucifer, not the one conjured by Alastor’s subconscious- tried door after door after door, as the screens lining the hallway multiplied, blurry dream figures crowding around them to laugh at the broadcast. Finally, he burst through a door marked “STAGE”, skidding to a halt next to the deer demon. His suspicions were confirmed- unlike the hazy, faceless figures he’d encountered in the hallway, and the similar ones peering curiously through windows around the room, Alastor was in perfect focus. He wasn’t a background character in someone else’s dream, but the dreamer himself. Lucifer quickly got to work on the restraints, though Alastor didn’t seem to notice him, eyes locked on one of the windows above as his frantic thrashing resumed. His voice was barely audible over the discordant rattle of chains, “wait” and “I’m sorry” and “come back” gradually bleeding into a desperate stream of no no no please don’t leave please come back, broken only by a half-suppressed sob that felt as if it had been wrenched from Lucifer’s own chest. Alastor was too far gone now, too lost in his own nightmare to be reasoned with, at least until he was free of these damn chains. Lucifer redoubled his efforts.
Alastor’s hooves clattered against the floor as the first set of chains came loose. Loud. Too loud. A blatant reminder of what he was- a prey animal. He scrabbled to get his legs underneath him, but his muscles shook from fighting the restraints, and his breath came in stuttering bursts. Lucifer immediately shifted his attention to the upper set of chains, and within seconds, Alastor crumpled to the floor, holding his freed hands close to his chest. He felt himself pulled into the fallen angel’s arms as Lucifer kneeled next to him. He flinched back, thoughts reduced to an onslaught of instinct- need to leave need to hide need to get OUT- until suddenly, the world disappeared. The cameras, the audience, all of it, blocked out by a wall of red and white feathers. Lucifer gently cupped a hand under Alastor’s chin as he wrapped all six wings around the two of them, tenting over their heads.
“Look at me, Al. Breathe. You’re okay. This isn’t real, alright? Just a nightmare,” he murmured. Alastor still felt too exposed, too vulnerable, but Lucifer’s gaze never left his face, never trailed down his bare, shaking limbs, only looked him steadily in the eye.
“It… what?” he asked, processing the words. His radio filter was missing- another piece of his shield, his persona, stripped away. “This… isn’t real?”
“Mhm. Just a dream.”
“But you- in the window- you looked at me like- like I-” His breath hitched again, and he paused. “Why did you come back, if…” Lucifer cocked his head, before realization dawned.
“Ohhh, was there a- did you see someone who looked like me, but a bit… wrong? Like, fuzzy around the edges, or the colors seemed off?”
“Yes..?” Alastor said slowly, brow furrowed. Lucifer sighed.
“Charlie used to get that too, we called it a dream-double. Whatever you saw, it wasn’t actually me. I promise.” The angel lifted his other hand, tentative- he knew Alastor was a bit fickle about having his ears touched, and Lucifer didn’t feel like losing a hand today, even just in a dream- and slowly scratched at the base of the deer demon’s ear. After a moment, Alastor relaxed into the touch, letting out a long, shuddering breath as he leaned forward, cautiously tilting his head onto Lucifer’s shoulder.
“If this is a dream… how do I wake up?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Just go back to sleep.”
Alastor pulled back a little, his eyes darting left, then right, as if indicating the audience still obscured by Lucifer’s wings.
“Here?” His voice was strained, his smile making a brief reappearance, albeit forced, to accompany an incredulous laugh. Lucifer simply nodded.
“It’s okay, Bambi. No one can see you. I’ll stay right here until you’re awake,” he assured. Alastor gave him a conflicted look, but seemed to reach a decision, and then it was his turn to nod as he curled up and leaned fully into Lucifer, ceding control. Lucifer, for his part, wrapped his wings a little tighter around the sinner, one arm looped around Alastor’s waist to keep him upright as he kept running his fingers through the crimson fluff at the base of one ear. As the minutes passed in silence, he felt Alastor’s heartbeat slow, felt the tension drain out of the sinner’s shoulders, little by little.
A few more minutes, and he was asleep, their surroundings softening and blending together like watercolors as Alastor slipped away from the dream-world.
And then Lucifer was fading, fading, fading, as he returned to his own mind, his own body.
Ducky slippers scuffed softly along the worn hotel carpet. He raised a hand to knock, but hesitated, fingers curled loosely as he stared contemplatively at the door, eyes still bleary from sleep. Lucifer wanted to check in on Alastor, he really did, but at the same time, he didn’t want to interrupt any much-needed rest after that doozy of a nightmare. Fortunately, he didn’t have to make a decision, as the door swung open and he found himself face-to-face with the Radio Demon (or rather, face-to-chest, given their height difference).
“...are you serious?” Lucifer blurted, looking the sinner up and down. Alastor blinked owlishly back at him, clearly having just woken up.
“Is there a problem?”
“No, it’s just-” Lucifer laughed suddenly, startling himself. “Your pajamas look exactly like your suit. Going for a theme here, I see.” Alastor glanced down at his red-striped, black-buttoned pajamas, then back at Lucifer, before raising an eyebrow.
“I hardly think you’re in any position to criticize my choice of sleepwear,” he said drily, inclining his head toward the king’s outfit- bright blue star-patterned sweatpants and an oversized duck hoodie that matched the slippers, complete with a little beak and eyes on the hood, as well as wing-shaped sleeves. Lucifer shrugged, unfazed, and Alastor couldn’t stop a small, affectionate laugh from escaping.
“Well then, might I ask what you’re doing in the hallway at…” He leaned back, craning his neck at an unnatural angle to read the clock in his room. “...quarter past two in the morning?”
“Uh, checking on you? I mean, it’s the first time you’ve subconsciously summoned me, so I’m guessing nightmares like that aren’t exactly a normal occurrence, aaaaand why are you looking at me like that.”
“That was actually you?” Alastor asked, surprised. “Not just part of the dream?”
“Ah, yeah, I probably should have told you I can-” He was cut off by Alastor leaning down to pull him into a hug.
“Thank you, Lucifer,” he said softly, one hand resting on the fallen angel’s back, right over the spot where his two upper wings would connect to his body.
“Anytime, Bambi,” Lucifer replied, giving Alastor’s ear another gentle scratch, which earned him a contented hum before the demon straightened back up to his full height.
“Well, I couldn’t sleep, so I was on my way down to the kitchen for tea. Care to join me?”
“So…” Lucifer tapped his feet against the rungs of the bar stool, hands wrapped around a mug of peppermint tea. “Now that I think about it, that was the first time I’ve seen you without a smile.” Alastor looked lost in thought, gazing down at the chamomile-scented steam rising from his own “Oh Deer” mug.
“Yes, it’s permanent, if that’s what you’re asking. Just part of my demonic form, I suppose. It only goes away in that particular dream.”
“You’ve had that dream before, then?”
“Indeed,” Alastor replied, hesitant, a little tense, but much more open than he’d been just a few months ago. It was progress, at least. “A few times now, but never that… vivid.” He suppressed a shudder. Lucifer reached out, brushing his hand against Alastor’s.
“Well, if it happens again, you know how to find me now. And, Al?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re not weak.”
Alastor looked up from his mug.
“Seriously. I’ve never thought of you as weak. And I’m not talking about demonic powers, or soul contracts, or that Radio Demon persona. I’m talking about your tenacity- you’re fucking stubborn, you know that?” Lucifer said affectionately. “Your wit. Your weird moral code that I still haven’t quite figured out, but I know it exists. You’re a lot more than an overlord status and a trademark smile.”
Alastor silently twined his fingers with Lucifer’s, a wordless thank-you. Lucifer grinned, before adding, “Hey, while we’re here, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, my dear,” Alastor responded, taking another long sip.
“Alright, well, when I found you in the nightmare… I was trying not to stare, but…” Lucifer’s voice pitched up delightedly. “Do you actually have fawn spots? That’s almost as cute as the tail.”
Alastor choked on his tea.
Hours later, Charlie found them asleep on the sofa, a few stubborn embers still crackling in the fireplace as a soft melody trickled through the radio. “Let them sleep,” she whispered to Vaggie, retreating up the stairs. She only looked back once, smiling at the way Lucifer’s wings wrapped around the two of them, a shield from the rest of the world.