Archive of Our Own

Lucifer sits at the bar, some time after most of the Hotel’s occupants have gone to bed, but still a couple of hours before Husk pretends to be on his late-night shift to welcome Angel back from work. 

Lucifer and Husk have a tacit agreement not to comment on the other’s newly formed habits.

Or maybe Husk only keeps to himself because of the threat of whom Lucifer has formed his late night habit with. 

Lucifer stops kicking his feet nervously from atop his barstool, as shadows coalesce beneath the seat next to his, and Alastor fades back into existence upon it.

***

It did take some time. But eventually, texts and notes turned into knocks at Lucifer’s door. 

On the first occasion, Lucifer opened the door tentatively, only to be hit with a barrage of complaints. A phone’s screen light is offensive to one’s eyes, Lucifer really ought to be more considerate of the fact Alastor already wears a monocle, so if the King was going to insist on updating him on his observations about the new guests before getting to his point – he wasn’t going to, and he didn’t really have one – then perhaps he’d want to do so over some tea in the staff room, while Alastor went over the Hotel’s various supplier contracts.

Lucifer expects the knocks, now, along with whatever gripe Alastor has about him as he shepherds him downstairs. Sometimes, Alastor accuses him of distracting him from his work with his texting (“If you are going to continuously speak at me, I’d rather have the option to ignore you in person, than have to put up with my phone’s incessant noises” – Lucifer tactfully does not tell him about the mute function). Other times, he will come by to inform Lucifer he’s amenable to discussing their day over a drink, since surely Lucifer will have one social misstep or another from today to agonise over, and Alastor would graciously be willing to listen in exchange for him re-stocking Charlie’s stationery – she does burn through it at a terrifying rate, and unlike food, magically summoned is just as good as store bought.

And yeah, of course Lucifer was apprehensive to begin with, okay, he’s not exactly a natural at keeping conversation flowing, or even at keeping up with the conversation in the first place. Also, how do people know when a conversation is over? How do you signal you want to leave? He is still learning how to be around others, and it’s a process not unlike thawing frozen goods on the correct setting in the microwave. It always takes longer than you think it should. 

Luckily, this is Alastor he’s dealing with – and, woah, okay, he’s putting “luckily” and “Alastor” together, and wouldn’t that be a terrible habit to fall into. The point is, he probably wouldn’t feel too guilty just walking out on him, confident that Alastor would do the same to him if he got bored or annoyed.

So far, so good, however. Alastor never looks at him with thinly veiled pity when he trips over his own words or says the wrong thing. Nope, Alastor just mocks him outright, which he finds much easier to deal with – and suspects that it’s Alastor’s own way of making light of it.

***

“I wonder if we should have rethought the location of the Hazbin Hotel when we rebuilt it,” Lucifer wonders out loud once he has Alastor’s attention – which seems to be before he’s even fully materialised on the barstool. “Do you think more people would have dropped in to check things out if we weren’t on top of a hill?”

“Must I remind you that this is the Pride ring, not Sloth?”

“I’m serious! A higher footfall should lead to more people deciding to give the Hotel a chance, and a higher footfall is what you get closer to city centres.”

“Perhaps,” Alastor shrugs, “but the price of that – on top of extortionate rent per square meterage -”

“We don’t pay rent, wise guy -”

“Oh of course, how could I forget your Royal privileges.” Alastor shushes him with one finger. “No, no, the real price to pay for leaving our lovely hilltop, would be the exposure to the heart of the chaos, the ruin and devastation that animates Pentagram City every day.”

“Don’t you thrive in chaos, Mr. Radio Demon?”

“Naturally! You, however… Not so much, hmm? Isn’t that why you stayed away for so long? And even now, you find maintaining a distance from sinners comforting. It’s no wonder you struggle to fully understand your daughter’s commitment to helping them.”

Lucifer sputters uselessly for a moment, but at the end of the day, Alastor is right. He would hate to live even closer to all of it than he already does, without the thick palace walls and wards protecting him – from seeing what he’s caused. He shutters the thought away, refocusing on the conversation at hand – something in what Alastor just said niggles at him.

“Don’t you mean “us”? You said “them”, do you forget you’re one of them?” Lucifer asks.

“Ah, but I am not just any of them, Sire, and I am certainly beyond Charlie’s helping anyway.”

Lucifer laughs at that. “I’m glad you’re being realistic about all this, Alastor.” Alastor bows his head in fake humility. He goes to add something, but Lucifer returns to the topic at hand. “Still…I’m here to do what’s best for Charlie’s dream.”

“Very touching, Sire,” and Alastor’s tone is mocking, but his gaze is gentle as he peers down at Lucifer. Gentle, but dangerously perceptive, and Lucifer holds back from squirming under those eyes – crimson, framed by long, long lashes…

“Shall I grab us some drinks, then?” Alastor asks, snapping Lucifer out of it.

Alastor steps around the bar to gather some bottles. “A fruit juice mix, your Majesty? I gather that’s your usual,” he asks, and Lucifer sticks his tongue out at him. Alastor sighs, lifting a bottle of some sort of spirit his way with an eyebrow raised, and Lucifer shrugs because, sure, why not. Alastor fiddles with the mixing instruments, and a drink is passed his way. 

Lucifer almost spits it back out. “This is disgusting!”

It’s Alastor’s turn to shrug from where he still stands across from him. “I don’t do sweet things – as, I recall, you are well aware – so this kind of mixture is beyond me.”

“Couldn’t you have just stuck to a basic cosmo or something?” Lucifer pulls a face, but drinks it anyway. It’s actually tolerable once you get past the initial sticky sweetness.

“A what, now? That sounds like something ridiculous, you’ll have to show me how it’s made another day.” Alastor places an elbow on the counter before him, and leans his head against his palm, which brings him closer to Lucifer’s level. “But in the meantime, don’t let this go to waste, be sure to finish it! Although when you do, do not count on me to make you a new one, since you’re so ungrateful.”

Lucifer rolls his eyes as he takes another sip. As he does, his eyes catch on Alastor’s ears – he’s grown to like them, as they’ve been the most reliable source on how Alastor is feeling at any given moment. Like right now, a quick glance confirms that Alastor isn’t actually annoyed at him. They look so soft. Does Alastor brush them, to make them that shiny? He wants to reach out to touch them – and is barely held back from doing so by his phone buzzing in his pocket. 

He reaches for it, bringing into his line of sight – only to have it drift out of his hand, straight past the point where he could actually read the notification.

“What the heck,” he exclaims, before noticing the shadow tendril wrapped around his phone and dangling it just out of reach.

“Tsk, tsk, your Majesty, how rude, no phones at the bar counter,” Alastor chastises him.

“That’s bullshit, we use our phones here all the time,” Lucifer protests.

“Why, the company I keep certainly refrains from doing that before me, but perhaps his Majesty believes he is above modern social etiquette?”

They’re just scared of you, he does not say. “Can’t you just keep yourself entertained for two seconds?”

“Not everyone hears voices to keep them company, following extended isolation, Sire.”

“You are insufferable. Fine, fine. What are you drinking?”

The conversation returns to Hazbin Hotel business before moving on to lighter and trivial matters, as seems to be their habit. 

He only remembers the neglected text later, when he’s back in his room. And in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. It really wasn’t anything demanding his immediate attention. If anything, Alastor seemed pleased after he’d agreed to ignore it, and that… that was nice.

That too, becomes a pattern. On the occasions his phone does buzz during their evening chats, Alastor does not acknowledge it if Lucifer doesn’t. But if Lucifer dares to pull his phone out of his pocket, inevitably, his shadow will pull it away – or swallow it whole (getting it back that time was interesting.)

***

It’s late, and Lucifer and Alastor are playing catch-up on work. 

Charlie wrote thank you notes to every sinner who showed an interest in their latest Open House event, but she never got around to sending them out. Alastor sits on one side of the couch, folding the notes and sticking them in their envelopes, before passing them to Lucifer, who writes down the addresses while sitting next to him. 

“Isn’t it kinda late to be sending these out? And how did we even get everyone’s address?” Lucifer mutters. 

“Better late than never,” Alastor replies, visibly unimpressed with Lucifer’s attempt to wriggle out of this. “A thank you card is quite refined, and I really do wonder where our dear Charlotte got her good manners from -”

“Bite me -”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” Alastor shrugs, “and we had guests fill in forms on arrival with some basic information.”

“But did they actually consent to us using their private information to send them mail?”

“This is Hell, your Majesty, it is only appropriate that there are no data protection rules for us to worry about.”

Before Lucifer can respond to that, his phone chimes. It’s not Charlie’s particular chime – and he cannot recall who else he would have assigned a particular sound to.

He ignores it – but then the phone continues to chime with increasing frequency. Either someone’s an insane double-texter, or it’s one of the group chats he’s in. And there aren’t many. 

His curiosity gets the better of him and he pulls his phone out.

He catches a glance of his screen. Shit, and – ah, little shadow tendril, your arrival was greatly anticipated.

“Alastor, my phone please.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Alastor tuts at him, “we’ve been over this! Unless your short term memory truly is going to waste at an alarming rate, in which case, I’m sure I can find the time to teach you basic appropriate conduct again. ”

“Alastor. This may be important.”

“And why would that be?”

“It’s the Sins,” Lucifer sighs – hopeful he actually misread the notification.

Alastor bristles at that. “And? As far as I’m aware, they’re unrelated to the Hotel, and that is your priority at the moment.” His mild tone is betrayed by the way he slams down a pile of envelopes on the table, evening the stack out.

“ And, they’re actually all talking to each other about whatever is going on, so I really should check in.”

“Hmm... I really would have thought that a task assigned to you personally by Charlie would take priority… But the Sins! Of course. They are inherently too important to ignore, aren’t they,” Alastor scoffs.

The shadow tendril drops the phone.

It is the Sins. Fiddlesticks. Lucifer’s social battery depletes instantly – but he did not just argue with Alastor for nothing, so he has to open the chat now. They can’t possibly have anything that important to say, a quick flick through to get the gist of it and he’ll leave them on read. 

Oh. Nevermind – it looks like something pretty big went down in Wrath after all. And, oh no, it looks like all the other Sins made it to the big show, while he once again shone by his absence. 

Nope. He really does not want to have to deal with this. He locks his phone once more, and looks up – and is shocked to find Alastor has pulled out his own phone. 

Oh, well, he supposes it’s fair for him to check his phone while Lucifer checks his. He clears his throat. He's done now… he’s free… They can resume their envelope stacking… 

Except, Alastor keeps typing away at his phone. And yeah that’s. That’s fine. Of course he has friends too, other people in his life. Wait, does he? Maybe that little blonde woman from a while ago. Yeah. 

He sits still for about one second. And then he picks up some letters from Alastor’s side of the table and folds them aggressively, loudly tapping the envelopes against the wooden surface as he seals them. He clears his throat again.

“Could it be?” Alastor remarks, “Our King of Hell, falling victim to something as mundane as a cold?” 

“Har har, no it could not be, because as a matter of fact I cannot -”, and he is cut off by his phone chiming again. 

It occurs to him that he really should ask for a rundown of what happened – it sounded truly upsetting, and he knows the Ars Goetia at the heart of it all personally. So he quickly pings a separate message off to Ozzie alone, the one most likely to take pity on him and give him a debrief.

He raises his head again, an automatic apology on the tip of his tongue – but Alastor has his own head down, reading a message on his phone again. Sure. Uh huh. Yeah he gets it, he’s got other people to text, so does Alastor. No big deal.

But the thing is, Alastor mentioned he does not let just anyone have his number, so who could he possibly be having a chat with, right at the time he now regularly spends with Lucifer? That blonde woman – Mimi, was it? – must need something again, is all. But Alastor didn’t want Charlie to have his number, wary about her asking him for things by text, surely he wouldn’t let Mimi access him like that?  But who else could he have – who does Alastor know that he’d actually text?

***

After that, Alastor’s phone starts going off constantly in the evenings. 

“Do you need to be somewhere,” Lucifer asks at last, eye-twitching.

“Why ever would you think that?” Alastor asks smoothly. 

Lucifer refuses to rise to the bait, “Oh, no reason! I would simply hate to keep you here if someone else could really use your attention tonight.”

“While I’m well aware that many would love to have it, I do not give it freely.”

“Oh yeah, uh-huh, you mean like your phone number?”

“Precisely,” Alastor grins at him, pleased with himself. 

Ugh. He’s infuriating.

***  

After some exchanges with Ozzie, Lucifer feels dreadful. He had been invited along to the events in Wrath – a trial, a trial is what it was – but he did not acknowledge the invitation or show up, and it ended up impacting someone he cared about.

One he hadn’t spoken to in quite some time, granted, but someone he thought of rather fondly all the same. He never would have turned up purely out of a sense of obligation towards fellow royalty, but Paimon’s son was a good kid. He could have done something. 

Lucifer takes a cold, hard look at himself in the mirror and laughs humourlessly. No, no he probably wouldn’t have, they would have all looked to him for direction and he would have panicked and escaped. So there’s no point in dwelling over that.

So he does what is in his power, and summons a sheet of paper to write to Stolas, the dishonoured Goetic Prince of Hell who Satan sentenced to 100 years of banishment. 100 years of nothing, and Lucifer empathises with the emptiness the prince will face. Even at his lowest, Lucifer had still retained his powers and his home, but it had all meant nothing to him, with Charlie gone. He knows Stolas has a daughter too. Being separated from her for the next century will be a greater punishment than the prince could have possibly deserved. 

Lucifer struggles to find the words. For all he has to say, it is not his place to say it. 

He wrestles with the text a little bit, finally putting to paper that he was moved by what Stolas did. Lucifer has been around long enough to have his suspicions about Stolas’ motivations - they were dreamers, the two of them. He asks Stolas to confirm to him that he’s found somewhere safe to lie low. Actually – he lets Stolas know that he’d be welcome to visit him in Pride, if he can find a way to get here. He could even stay with him, there’s plenty of room here. They could catch up, and if Stolas wants to help around the Hotel for the sake of keeping busy, Lucifer will make sure no harm comes to him during his exile.

It’s not a very long message in the end. Lucifer folds it in half in the manner he is accustomed to, before realising he has no idea where to send the note. He can’t sense where Stolas is all the way from Pride. He’ll need to step into Wrath for a moment to get it delivered. 

He decides to go find Charlie to let her know he’s heading out to Wrath for a bit, and also to see if she’s got cute envelopes among her boxes of stationary - Stolas would appreciate something fancier than the plain white envelope he’d snap into existence.

As he walks down the hall leading to the stairs, Lucifer senses he’s being watched.  

He turns around sharply, only to see Alastor’s shadow, peering around a corner right at him. 

He used to think the little guy was dangerous, in the same unhinged way his owner seemed to be, but now… He waves at it. The shadow stares straight back at him, his creepy grin giving nothing away – that must run in the family. Intrigued, Lucifer approaches it, and it grows agitated.

Not aggressively, as Lucifer initially expected. It seems to be bouncing, almost, up and down and side to side, kind of like an excited puppy actually. 

The surprise gets a chuckle out of him. The shadow stops its wriggling at that – before slithering closer, keeping to the wall. It stops when it’s in front of Lucifer, only waist high, and after a brief pause, it scurries away.

Huh. Guess he’ll never know what that was about. Except, as he returns to his journey to the staircase, the shadow pokes around the corner again to beckon him to follow. He hesitates – he’s on a mission, here – and the shadow laps around him, determination all over its surprisingly expressive non-features, herding him towards the opposite hall.

Lucifer doesn’t especially want to go down there, but the little guy is kind of endearing. He might as well find out what he wants. He’s halfway down the corridor before he realises he’s being taken to Alastor’s door. Could something be the matter with him? 

Speak of the Devil – wait, no, not him, the other guy – he spots Alastor leaving his room down the hall. Lucifer realises how this might look, and has no idea how to explain his presence on this side of the floor. 

“Alastor! Fancy seeing you here,” he forces a laugh.

“Yes, well, I happen to live here – can I help you?” Alastor’s signature grin stretches wide, and he comes to stop right before Lucifer.

“Uhm, no, actually, funny story, I ran into your friend -”

“Not my friend,” Alastor cuts in, shooing his shadow away from Lucifer with one hand.

“Sure, whatever, and anyway I just happened to follow him, I guess,” Lucifer finishes lamely.

“You do that often, following strangers wherever they’re going?”

“You get two guesses to figure out the answer to that.”

Alastor’s eyes are full of glee, but he does not attempt the guessing game. “And you’re absolutely positive you had no other reason to be here?”

“...Yes?”

“Now, don’t be shy, it’s unbecoming of a King, please do go ahead,” Alastor says expectantly.

“Excuse me, I don’t follow.” Lucifer is missing something, this is becoming glaringly obvious, but he has no idea what it is.

“No, really, your Majesty, I’m rather pleased you’ve decided to revert to more sophisticated means of communication.”

No sooner is he done speaking that his shadow plucks the note from Lucifer’s hand and places it in Alastor’s waiting one. 

“It let me know at once, you know, when it saw you come down the hall to bring this over,” Alastor explains. “But apparently you became hesitant near the stairwell? No need to be embarrassed, now, but I thought I’d help you out by coming to collect this myself.”

Oh this is a nightmare.

The shadow is circling around the two of them, chittering delightedly, no doubt proud of a job it believes to be well done. Alastor motions for it to stop, and goes to open the note.

Lucifer feels stuck, as the scene plays out in slow motion before him. He has no choice.

“It’s not for you!” he blurts out, around the lump in his throat and the knots in his stomach, and why, why does he feel like he ’s the one who just royally fucked up?

The shadow looks like it just crashed into an invisible wall. Lucifer can almost hear the wounded cry its sharp-edged mouth cannot produce.

But its reaction is nothing compared to Alastor’s. 

The demon has frozen, every line in his body dangerous tension - but for his hand, which spasms around the note, barely avoiding tearing through it. His pupils glide from the piece of paper to Lucifer, and his grin imperceptibly shifts from its pleased, teasing shape, to something glacial.

A squeal like a microphone clattering against the floor shrieks around them, jerking the shadow back into motion. It rushes to hide behind Alastor, where Lucifer can no longer see its expression. 

“Oh, my. I see.” Alastor steps closer, towering at his full height over Lucifer. “Of course, the King must have so much correspondence to see to - how silly of me to presume -”

“Uh, no, no I can see why you’d think -”

“Yes, of course, you’re correct, it was perfectly reasonable to presume, given no one has seen you write any correspondence other than at Charlie’s request, or for it to come to me.”

“There simply wasn’t any need until now,” Lucifer asserts.

“I would argue your Kingdom could do with some more active messaging from its ruler, but agree to disagree. So,” Alastor says, free hand resting on the cane he pulled out of thin air, “who have you decided to torment with your asinine day-time commentary now?”

Lucifer winces. That came out a lot sharper than was warranted. But who knows, maybe Alastor really was fed up with his messaging. Surely Alastor would have just told him? He would have stopped. But, could this be why Alastor had been texting more, lately? Was he so bored with him he needed to seek entertainment elsewhere even when they were together in person? The thought stings.

“That’s none of your business.” He glares up at the sinner. “But I will generously let you know that it’s someone I hold in high esteem. Someone of importance, actually, and I do really need to get that message to them. You see, I save my vapid thoughts for someone whose time I can afford to waste!”

The dial-eyes immediately switch into place, and the corridor is plunged into darkness.

“Of course, your Majesty, I would be foolish to expect anything else! In fact, I am honoured that you choose to bestow upon me your most inane ramblings – although, ‘choose to bestow’ is an exaggeration, is it not.” he clenches his fist around the note, crumpling it with finality. “It is only natural that it is for me, your humble servant ,” and the descriptive is more hiss than words, “to come grovelling if I wish to receive them, since even your worthless thoughts are not freely given!”

Lucifer gasps in an open display of disbelief. So him sharing his thoughts is a nuisance, but Alastor feels like he is being forced to beg for the time of day? He just can’t win – Alastor will take everything in bad faith. 

“Have you ever considered, just once, not attacking me for every word I say? This is exactly why I’m better off writing to others, even though I’m stuck here with you!” He rubs the space between his eyebrows. De-escalate, Lucifer, Charlie believes in you. “Just give me the note back and I’ll be out of your hair. Listen, that person’s been going through a rough time.” He softens his tone. “They could really use some support. I just… I want to be there for them.”

This has the opposite effect than intended.

A lightbulb shatters behind him as Alastor rasps, “Who is it, Lucifer?”, and any warmth left in the corridor is sucked out to wherever the light has gone too.

“If I tell you, will you give me the letter back?” He could absolutely make it reappear in his own hands, but there’s a risk Alastor will find a way to burn it down if he does. And he really can’t be bothered to write it again. 

Alastor’s silhouette glows a faint green, as the possibility of a deal dangles before him – but against all odds, he shakes his head. 

“No – I can find out for myself.”

And Alastor opens the note.

“What the FUCK, Alastor!” Lucifer leaps forward to retrieve it, but Alastor’s spine contorts unnaturally with loud cracks, as he twists and extends out of his reach.

It’s a short note. It only takes Alastor a moment to absorb its contents.

And he starts laughing maniacally, one hand hiding his face as he shakes his head.

“Oh my, your Majesty, this is just.. Pathetic.” He spits the word out, full of vitriol. “How dreadfully boring your little life here must be! To be rushing to the aid of someone you never even mentioned, imploring them to come stay with you like this…You must have been so lonely this whole time! And I thought it was the depression brought on by the absence of your dear wife, good to see the pain can be eased by any other royal! Why don’t you invite all your little royal friends over, hmm? Don’t tell me this is the only one you have, why, someone as fun as you.” 

Lucifer’s own appearance twists with his fury, the flame between his horns beating back the chill in the air. “That message was private and confidential and you are not entitled to any of it. What the fuck is your problem, sinner?”

“Is that so? You must excuse the confusion – you see, with the way you leave your phone out for all to see, how could I have known this particular message wasn’t for a mere sinner’s eyes?” Alastor’s voice crackles, thick with static. 

“Oh ho ho, that is just rich coming from you!” Lucifer snaps. “Shall I just help myself to your mail, then?”

“As the Hazbin Hotel’s most devoted facilities manager, as I’m sure your daughter, at least, appreciates,” and Lucifer’s flames now illuminate the entire corridor, “most of my mail is Hotel business, and you’d be most welcome to actually lend a hand. There isn’t anything else of importance,” Alastor finishes pointedly.

“If you’re going to be an asshole about the messages you do receive, allow me to relieve your inbox further!” He is impossible , why does Lucifer bother messaging him ever?

“Oh don’t feed me any excuses, your Majesty. You have made abundantly clear that you are more intent on reconnecting with the Sins and others of greater status lately.” His tone is strained, something unknowable and unnatural forcefully bent into something mild – quite the opposite of his frame, bent entirely out of shape. “Although, I can only understand. It is rather beneath your station, to entertain me, a lowly sinner. I appreciate I only happened to be the most powerful one here, so I do hope I imparted an improved view of our lot on your Majesty, in the time you afforded me.”

Lucifer is utterly lost. There’s a lot to process in the cruel words Alastor so casually cut him with. He might parse Alastor’s true meaning at some point. 

But not now, not when his every cell is yelling at him to tear him apart .

“Alastor. Give me the note back,” he demands with a voice that crawls through the cracks of the earth to haunt the nightmares of the living.

He will not ask twice. And still, Alastor looks like he’s about to refuse – Lucifer would not put it past him. 

But then Alastor is taking a step closer.

Lucifer does not temper the hellfire catching on his breath. Let him burn. 

Alastor leans down sharply and yanks at the lapel of Lucifer’s jacket. For a split second, Lucifer is too shocked to breathe. Some underused part of his brain is hit with the realisation that Alastor used his name, there, at the height of his rage. 

And then Alastor is shoving the note directly into the inside pocket of his jacket. He hesitates, holding on to the shorter man still. Lucifer looks up – Alastor steps back in haste, releasing him.

Alastor turns on his heel and vanishes, as Lucifer falls backwards to teleport himself downstairs. 

He cannot sense Alastor anywhere in the Hotel anymore.

*** 

Lucifer drags himself down to the bar on autopilot one evening, after several consecutive evenings sat in his room in shock.

The past couple of days have felt like the ones where they’d stopped messaging each other because of Charlie’s pager. But so much worse.

He pours himself a lemonade manually, just to keep his hands busy. Even tops it with a fun little umbrella. 

It used to be fun when Alastor was mad at him. Ok, sometimes Alastor crosses the line, takes a nice long running start and vaults over it, even, but when it’s not entertaining it at least breaks him out of whatever stupor he’d have inevitably fallen into that day. He’d come out of it more… present, in his own body, and able to connect with Charlie in ways he can’t when he’s buried deep, deep within himself.

So why… why does this time hurt? 

Beyond the fact that Alastor went for the jugular at several points. The words he’d wielded as weapons were devastating, but the pain came from their intention. Alastor had just wanted them to hurt, as much as possible.

But he’d been like that when they’d first met. Lucifer is unsure why the strategy is so much more effective now .

He nurses his lemonade at his usual seat and loses track of time – the next thing he knows, Husk is walking towards the bar.

Ah shit. It must be later than he realises. 

“Hey buddy…” Lucifer calls out in greeting. “Glad you’re here, ‘bout time you took your shift! Guess I can leave now,” the joke is weak, and made weaker by the absence of conviction in his delivery. 

Husk nods gruffly at him and steps behind the counter as Lucifer magics his glass into the dishwasher. 

“Well… good night, then,” Lucifer gets up. 

“Wait – ah hell, your Majesty, you don’t have to leave. ‘Specially because you look like you’ve been waiting for a bartender this whole time, and well. One only just showed up.”

“No – no, I couldn’t.” Husk stares him down. “What about Angel?” Lucifer argues. 

“He’ll get a read on this even faster than I just did,” emphasizing ‘this’ by gesturing towards all of Lucifer.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

Husk chuckles, cracking the first smile Lucifer has seen on him all day. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, uh… I guess a Shirley Temple.” Husk’s smile drops instantly. “What? Don’t you guys realise I don’t get drunk? There’s no point in me burning through the Hotel’s stock.”

“A Shirley Temple though…?”

“There’s more mixing in that than what I’d just mix for myself…”

Husk sighs and gets to it, but Lucifer does overhear his muttering, “You might be beyond helping after all.”

Angel walks in as soon as Husk sets Lucifer’s drink in front of him, and Lucifer changes his paper straw into a fun twisty straw. 

“Awww Short King! So kind of ya to join us,” Angel calls as he struts over. He hoists himself onto the bar counter, laying on his stomach, peering down at Lucifer while shoving his chest fluff in his face. “What’s the occasion?” 

This rubs Lucifer the wrong way, Alastor’s taunts about his alleged elitism still stinging. “Does it have to be an occasion for me to hang out with you guys? Can’t I just spend time with you and have it be normal?”

Husk and Angel exchange a glance over his head. For a moment he worries they’re going to appease him with some lame excuse, but he forgets who he’s dealing with. 

“If by “you”, you mean good ol’ Husk here and myself, then yeah, yeah ya don’t hang out much.” Lucifer deflates. “But,” Angel moves on swiftly, and Lucifer is grateful for his lack of emotional attachment to his first point, “why do I get the feeling this ain’t about us two?”

Lucifer looks up at him miserably. “Do I really not spend time with anyone here since I’ve moved in?”

“I wouldn’t say anyone, one person here been takin’ up a lot of your time…” Angel says carefully, like he’s concerned Lucifer himself is not aware of this. 

Lucifer groans. “Ignore that. Listen. I don’t mean for it to come across as - I spent some time away, and coming back can be… I mean, I have nothing against you guys, it’s just that sometimes –”

“Naw, don’t hit us with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ spiel, King, you can break our hearts, it’s okay.”

“Angel, leave him alone,” Husk cuts in, and stoically endures Angel pulling at his cheek mumbling ‘you sourpuss, you’. “Charlie is happy you’re here, and she wouldn’t be unless you showed your face ‘round these parts. So,” he finally bats Angel away, “what’s gotten to you?”

“More like who,” Angel stage-whispers. 

“We know who, Angel, I’m trying to be constructive here.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here the one time I am!” Lucifer huffs.

“Right, sorry, your Majesty.” Husk’s attention returns to Lucifer. “Okay. So I take it you’ve been criticised – actually, hold up, this is the boss we’re talking about – you’ve been belittled and mocked and had your self esteem torn down. Care to share over what? Not being social enough with us lot?”

Lucifer shakes his head, the straw in his mouth dragging to and fro in his drink.

“Yeah, encouraging you to spend more time with us feels out of character for him.”

“Ooh, tall, dark and handsome got a possessive streak?” Angel purrs.

“He’s an overlord, you figure it out. Though I suppose he’s an odd one, he doesn’t really do the whole territory thing the others have got going on.”

“Ya sure about that, Husk?” Angel asks sweetly.

There’s a pause. Lucifer looks up from where he’s re-twisting his curly straw into a duck shape, to find the other two staring at him, heads cocked at identical angles.

“Wha –”

Husk clears his throat. “Don’t worry about that. Help us out here, what did the boss lose his temper over this time?”

Lucifer hesitates. “A letter. To… a friend,” he tells his drink. 

Angel cackles. “Hah! I told ya.”

Husk appears pensive for a moment. “Tell you what, your Majesty. I don’t really wanna know the details, and also I don’t wanna get into trouble for overstepping.”

“Speak fer yourself!” Angel sputters. Husk ignores him.

“What I can say is this – I’m sure the Princess would be happy you’re keeping in touch with… other people. With all due respect, I agree, it’ll probably do you some good.”

Lucifer shrugs. He hasn’t heard back from Stolas, but he can’t blame him. He struggled to find the energy to message anyone back for a long time too. Until – well. Alastor .

“So, listen,” Husk takes his shrug for the invitation to continue it is, “the boss has a short fuse, he’s had your attention for a while. I know it’s just a letter, but yeah, I can buy that that’s all it took. Especially, if, well… I suspect you have friends in high places.”

Lucifer winces, but Husk just nods and lowers his voice. “If there’s one thing he can’t stand, it’s reminders that he’s not the most powerful being in Hell. Though, he seems alright with you, now.”

Lucifer considers this, drowning out Angel in the background choking on a disbelieving, “‘Alright’? Short King out here drowning his nerves in a drink, and you reassure him by saying the other guy is ‘alright’ with him?” and Husk’s response of “That’s barely a drink, Angel, he’s fine,” as Angel shakes him back and forth by the shoulders.

He knows that Alastor’s pride took quite the hit when he assumed the message was for him, only to be told it wasn’t. And yeah, he seemed sore about the whole royalty schtick, but if that’s just him projecting his own issues... Lucifer can’t help who he is. Husk must have been around the man for quite some time and could probably say more – but Lucifer understands what he is being told. Alastor is a private man, and enough damage has been done. 

So he focuses on the two men before him. 

“Thanks, guys. I hope it’s okay if I uh. Make more of an effort to… hang out, I guess, and not just – HEY,” he exclaims, as Angel pulls him into a hug. 

Lucifer gives in, and gets dragged into Angel’s chest fluff. He lets himself sag into it, admittedly this is pretty comfy. Angel pats his head, laughing.

“See? There ain’t nothing this bit of fluff can’t do for ya.”

It’s nice for a moment – but it is short lived, as suddenly Husk shoves Lucifer off. 

“Awww, Husk, darlin’, don’t be jealous now, you can have your turn,” Angel croons. 

Lucifer has an apology on the tip of his tongue, but a flash of red catches in the corner of his eye. 

He and Angel follow Husk’s gaze to see Alastor entering the bar area, his signature grin plastered on, but a crease between his brow denoting his displeasure. 

“Nuh uh, Smiles, it’s clearly our turn at the bar,” Angel wags his finger, at the same time Husk grabs him and says, “All yours, Boss,” before dragging Angel away.

Lucifer does not move from where his head plonked against the bartop.

The silence is charged as Alastor approaches. He takes his usual seat, facing the bar next to Lucifer. Lucifer says nothing. 

“You look like shit,” Alastor says at last. 

“Thanks, and there isn’t even any alcohol in this.”

“My mother used to say, God helps those who help themselves - no wonder He abandoned you.”

“Fuck off, if you’ve just come over here to rub in how abandoned I am –”

“Oh please, I’d rub that in by leaving you alone.” A beat, space for the unsaid.

Lucifer squints up at him. “Maybe, but then you’ve come to make me feel like shit about some other damned thing, what else would you be here for?”

“You’re just going to have to use your imagination. Or, oh here’s an idea, consider every other evening I chose to spend like this, no mockery included!”

“There’s always some mockery included,” Lucifer replies immediately. “I don’t even need to consider anything.”

“Hmm. Fine, you got me. What can I say, you just make it so easy,” Alastor says, some of his usual amusement returning to his voice.

Lucifer kicks him, and Alastor snaps around to face him instantly – but the sharpness in his sneer fades as quickly as it appeared as he peers down. 

“For all the time dear Husker spends wiping down the bar, it’s still entirely unsanitary. Sit up now, or your hair will be sticky,” he grimaces.

Lucifer tries to glower at him, but with his face squished against the surface of the bar - which, oh yikes, probably is a bit gross - he suspects he just looks like he’s pouting. 

“Tell me why you’re here,” he demands. 

Alastor turns back to face the counter. He does not fidget, but he probably would be were he anyone else. “I am the facilities manager, you see, is it really so strange for me to check in on the facilities?”

“Uh huh. Didn’t realise facilities managing required a night shift, you should let Charlie know if you need help.”

“That will not be necessary,” Alastor glares at him. 

“I’m waiting,” Lucifer insists, and, because he senses this will bother Alastor to no end, he rubs his cheek on the bar counter for emphasis.

“Will you stop that? Oh for goodness sake. It’s pure coincidence I’m here. However, on the off chance I have had some thoughts about the other day, I might be willing to share them, if you sit up this instant.”

Got ‘em. Lucifer slowly raises his head, in case anything did get glued to the smooth wooden surface, but no, all good. He sits up. Bats his eyes at Alastor for good measure, and the demon recoils. Who is easy to rile up, again?

“On reflection,” Alastor eventually does say, “it may be in the best interests of the Hotel to maintain, ah, diplomatic relationships. Who knows, if the Hazbin does shelter that little acquaintance of yours, perhaps he’d do the Hotel a good turn one day too.”

Lucifer doesn’t even know which messed up end to pick up first. “It’s not about collecting favours to cash in –”

“But why not? It could be! In any case, I’ve given Charlie my best word that I’d protect this Hotel, and so, after some consideration, I agree that we should cultivate good relationships with anyone whose good side it might come in handy to be on.”

“Alastor, literally what does any of this have to do with –”

“Now now, don’t lose your pretty little head, your Majesty, I will spell it out for you. In summary, you should continue to write to your friends, and tell them about the Hotel – you have my blessing! But do let me know who your contacts are, it might come in handy after all.”

Lucifer brings his hands together as if to pray. God give me patience. 

“Screw all that, Alastor.”

“I beg your pardon, I must have misheard –”

“That’s all fucked up, Alastor. That better?” He takes a calming breath. “I don’t need your blessing to write to anyone – as a matter of fact, do you have a clue how much paperwork I actually deal with on the day-to-day?” No, no one has any idea how much rests on him, as King of Hell, and he keeps it that way intentionally. Alastor doesn’t really care, anyway. 

Whatever. This issue is a footnote in the grand scheme of whatever the hell Alastor just served him.

“Alastor. You read some of my personal correspondence, against my wishes. Do not do that again, ever. I can forgive one crossed line, but that line is very much there now. Understood?”

Alastor does not take well to being told to or not to do anything. It’s painfully predictable, really.

“You approached me with that letter, and I don’t recall you generously offering any good explanation as to why! Although you did imply I simply was not important enough to be worth the time. Needless to say,” he barrels on before Lucifer can interject, he did try to explain after all, “you were no saint in our delightful conversation either!”

“I’m not a Saint at all, haven’t been in a long time, big part of this character actually”, Lucifer says, pointing at himself. “But two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“Most things in Hell work on the basis that one wrong calls for another, can you be certain that rule holds true every time?”

“Shut the fuck up for one single blissful second, will you? Fine, listen, if you need to score a point so badly.” Lucifer can sense a migraine coming on, but perhaps conceding a point is the only way forward. Both of them are far too prideful to outright admit to a mistake, but perhaps he can distract Alastor with something else. “It would be… incorrect, for you to be left with the impression that the Sins, or other royals, are my favoured correspondents.”

“Oh?” and bingo, Alastor’s eyes latch onto his with the intensity of the predator he is, “and what would the correct impression be?” Alastor reminds Lucifer of his shadow in that moment, the air of excitement strangely familiar. 

“That they’re a royal pain to deal with, I can tell you that for free because they’re all well aware of that fact.” He knows that’s not what Alastor was asking to hear, but that’s all he can give him right now.

Alastor hums, lips tight with dissatisfaction. Lucifer snorts at the display.

“Well if you want more wrongs, here’s one for both sides of the scoreboard: our phones. Charlie’s got a lot of brilliant ideas, but one of my personal favourites is the practice of mindfulness. I think I do want to practice being more present when I’m. Well. Present.”

“So glad to see you finally see the light. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Between you and me,” Alastor lowers his voice and Lucifer leans in, “I’m glad good manners keep them away – I hate the ridiculous noise they make.”

Lucifer smiles, and lets Alastor preen about being “right” for a moment.

Alastor’s smile tightens at the edges, as his trail of thought leads him elsewhere. “Tell me, your Majesty… would you have told me who the letter was for, if I’d just handed it back to you?”

“Yes, obviously.” The question is unexpected, coming from Alastor, who no doubt realises how easy it would be to lie about what-ifs. But the truth is all he has to offer. 

Alastor considers this. “Would you have allowed me to read it, had I asked?”

Slowly, Lucifer shakes his head. “No, probably not. But you should know - it would have been to protect Stolas’ privacy more than my own.”

Alastor tilts his head to the side, like he’d never considered a third party’s emotions could be involved. Chances are, he hadn’t. 

“I see,” Alastor says at last. He glances at Lucifer from the side, and looks back down. “All information is useful, down here, as I’m sure you’re aware. And so, all information comes at a price.” He sighs. “It is of no use to me what Prince Stolas is up to these days. I sense I may have made a bad bargain. Ah, well, it can still happen to the very best of us, lesson learned.”

“A bad – you got that information for free,” Lucifer spits out in disbelief, anger returning – before Alastor gives him a pointed look.

Oh. 

Lucifer rather thinks that a couple days of Lucifer avoiding him is cheap for what he’s done, but it’s not about intention, it’s about how the recipient takes it, wasn’t that another thing Charlie teaches?

On the grand spectrum of apologies, this one is so weak it barely makes the line at all. But Lucifer knows he’s not going to get anything better from Alastor. 

And on this occasion, it might be enough.

“Fine, so long as the lesson truly is learned,” he replies. “As for me, I’d rather make crystal clear that I wasn’t offering Stolas a place to stay so that we could form our separate club away from everyone else here. He’s hurting, I don’t know if he’s got anyone looking out for him… It’s what friends do.” Before he can stop himself he blurts out, “And I don’t have that many of those,” and okay, that’s a bit embarrassing, so he moves swiftly on, “unlike you, apparently, you have so many people clamouring for your attention that you have to hide the fact you have a phone. And that’s still not enough to stop it from going off all the time!”

Hmm, not his smoothest deflection, but it’ll do. Now that he’s thinking about it, though, if Alastor’s phone buzzes the way it does around him all the time, everyone would know he has one by now. And he’s fairly certain the others at the Hotel, who work alongside him, don’t.

What gives?

And as if by divine intervention - as if He would ever bother - he hears Alastor’s phone go off. 

Alastor, the little shit , pulls it out and smiles when he sees the notification. Lucifer glares at him, and Alastor laughs, his real laugh, the one that invites Lucifer to laugh along, and says, “I jest, your Majesty.”

Holding his gaze, Lucifer reaches into his own pocket, pulls out his phone and sets it down further along the counter. “Shall we set these aside while we finish up here?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows in surprise, but leans past Lucifer to set his own device next to his. “Very well,” he whispers as he passes Lucifer’s ear, and Lucifer bites his lip, violently killing off any possible reaction.

“Shall I make you a drink then, your Majesty?” Alastor gets up and steps behind the bar.

“Yes please…” Lucifer glances towards Alastor’s abandoned phone. “Ah, Husk mentioned a new bottle came in from Bee, special order for me. It’s probably just around the back, behind the main shelves, do you mind checking for me?”

Alastor vaguely grumbles something about how he wasn’t made aware of this, but goes around to where Husk piles up the delivery boxes.

“I can’t see it.”

Alastor’s phone vibrates against the bartop. Bingo. Lucifer hastily leans over, the notification only reads: Rosie: As agreed. Text #56. 

What? 

“Keep looking, it should be back there. If you find it I’ll tell you about some other recent news from the Sins.”

He doesn’t have any recent news, but the bar doesn’t have any bottles from Bee so it’s all good.

“Are you absolutely sure Husk confirmed that order was delivered?” Alastor calls from behind the shelving.

Alastor’s phone buzzes again: Rosie: As agreed. Text #57. 

“Yeah, yeah… definitely,” Lucifer calls back, distracted.

And again, but this time the message is a bit different: Rosie: I’m sure my doing this far later than initially agreed will be worth the story behind it, Mister, which I am sure you’ll tell me very soon . 

Buzz buzz: Rosie: As agreed. Text #58. 

Lucifer’s eyes widen as things slot into place. Did Alastor ask a single friend to – 

The phone is batted away by a sliver of shadow, while a screech of feedback has Lucifer looking up to see Alastor glitching in and out of darkness, wearing a shocked expression not too different to the one displayed when he found out that letter was not for him.

But this time, Lucifer laughs good-naturedly. “Alright, Mr Scary Radio Demon, the gig is up!”

***  

It took everything in the Devil’s arsenal to get Alastor to… well, maybe not confess, but at least not directly deny that yes, he did want to give Lucifer a taste of his own medicine, and so he’d put a friend up to texting him repeatedly when they spent time together.

Lucifer would have thought this Rosie person would have found this job extremely irritating - but it seems she was more irritated when things stopped for a bit. (“Her business is everyone’s business,” Alastor explained). Reading between the lines, it sounded like she did not approve of Alastor’s reading his letter.

“It’s kind of a surprise to hear you have decent friends outside of the Hotel.”

“Rosie is far beyond decent , thank you very much. She is one of Hell’s most distinguished inhabitants, and you would do well to remember that our merry little group of friends owe her their lives.”

“Yes, yes, I know…” Lucifer is well aware of his debt to Cannibal Town, but he’s only just discovering how great Rosie sounds personally. 

And she’s a friend of Charlie’s too, so he should be delighted, but instead something feels… off. 

He wants to know more about her – no, more specifically, he wants to know more about her in relation to Alastor. 

“And uh, so lately, have you just been in contact for those texts, or, uh…” Has she been texting about other things? How often are the two in touch? A million questions flood his mind, but he can’t get them out. 

He’s aware that the emotions swallowing him up are less than graceful, and he hates the idea of anyone seeing him out of sorts this way. He wrestles to get it under control. 

Before he does something impulsive like grab Alastor’s phone to go through all those texts himself.

But then Alastor huffs in soft laughter. 

Lucifer takes in the sheepish edge to Alastor’s smile, the excited tilt of his ears, the familiar mocking in his crimson eyes - an expression that says, “ Ah, you seem to get it now. ”

His emotions are less than ideal. But the person concerned doesn’t seem to mind. 

It’s a lucky thing it’s Alastor.

~fin~