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From the very beginning, Alastor knew that it wasn't going to be a good day.
He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, which was nothing new, but his problems had diminished significantly since his... relationship with the king began. He couldn't and didn't want to admit it for a long time, but Lucifer was the person he wanted to spend eternity with, if they were given the chance. If anyone had asked him, he would never have revealed that the mere presence of the fallen angel helped him sleep better, that he loved it when the shorter man stroked his delicate, cursed deer ears. Nor would he admit that he loved it when his partner? lover? beloved? did it every night.
Lucifer read him like an open book, which just a few months ago would have given him goose bumps. After all, allowing such a thing only meant that the king knew all his weaknesses and could exploit them in any way he wanted. Some time ago, Alastor realized that this was the first time in his entire life and in his second life in hell that he didn't care that someone held the key to all his secrets, to his most vulnerable, delicate, and pitiful version. If Lucifer wanted to use the information he had gained to hurt him, he would have done so already.
“Are you all right?” the sleepy voice asking the question immediately snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at the king who was rubbing his eyes to chase away the remnants of sleep. “You've been restless all night, are you having trouble sleeping again?”
That's exactly what he was talking about a moment ago.
Alastor smiled gently and pushed aside the blanket he was lying under. “It's nothing you need to worry about, Your Majesty.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes and sighed, also deciding to uncover himself and start the day.
“When will you finally stop calling me ‘Your Majesty’? I've told you so many times that there's no need for formalities between us.”
“Then what should I call you, sire? What's wrong with ‘Your Majesty’? After all, that's your title, isn't it?” Alastor got out of bed, stretching and taking his coat from the closet. He couldn't even remember when Lucifer's closet had become their shared closet.
“Yes, yes, but you know, it feels strange when my partner calls me in the same way like random sinners do.” Despite his previous actions, Lucifer seemed much less eager to leave the warm bed than Alastor.
“In that case, I'm waiting for suggestions.” Alastor's smile got wider as he buttoned the last buttons of his coat.
“Well... as far as I'm concerned, you can even call me Daddy,” Lucifer raised his eyebrows suggestively and laughed when he saw the terrified look on Alastor's face. “What? You wanted suggestions, so—”
“Absolutely not,” Alastor interrupted him mid-sentence, not wanting to hear the rest. “I'm going to breakfast. You won't be eating if you say something like that again.”
He turned toward the door and walked out quickly, hearing Lucifer's laughter behind him.
The kitchen was a complete mess. It seemed that Lucifer's beloved daughter, despite her age, still hadn't learned how to cook. Alastor looked at the burnt mess, which, according to the witnesses present in the kitchen, was supposed to be pancakes, and felt that the pressure he had been feeling in his head since morning was about to turn into pain.
He sighed as Charlie apologized for the mess for the tenth time in a row and smiled at her, trying to hide his irritation.
“Don’t worry, Charlotte. Everyone makes mistakes but maybe next time try to stay away from the kitchen, alright?” He raised a brow at laughing Angel Dust who, in some kind of self-awareness, remembered that he also isn’t the best cook in the building and decided to not comment. “Now why don’t you sit down and I’ll prepare everything for breakfast."
His shoulders sagged in relief when Charlie didn’t try to insist for what would be the eleventh time already that she will clean the mess she made. As if being summoned by the word “mess” Nifty appeared with a wide grin plastered to her face as she looked around the kitchen. Alastor knew that she loved cleaning but he was sure he could do it on his own, since he began to do so anyway.
“Nifty, dear, why don’t you look around to see if roaches aren’t hiding in the corners? I’m sure I saw one when I was walking down the stairs.” Luckily, she didn’t have to be told twice and immediately abandoned the idea of cleaning the kitchen. Alastor resumed his actions and in a few minutes everything came back to its previous state.
He decided to make pancakes, too, since Charlie wanted to eat them in the first place. He wasn’t a fan of sweet breakfasts but it seemed like that feature was in Morningstar genetics: Lucifer also loved sweet breakfasts and that fact was a part of Alastor’s decision to prepare such a meal.
After everyone ate, Alastor felt the pain in his head becoming more pronounced. He resisted the urge to wince at every loud sound and hold a hand against it.
Charlie was standing in the middle of the room, presenting her ideas for activities they could do together today. Fortunately, Alastor had a few things to take care of and didn't have to come up with another suspicious excuse that no one believed anyway, as Charlie pretended not to force him to do something he didn't want to do.
He took his staff in one hand and was about to leave the hotel when he felt a hand on his back. He turned around and gave Lucifer a questioning look.
“Where are you going?” Lucifer asked, probably to find out when Alastor would be back.
“I have a few things to take care of. It won't take long,” he put his hand on Lucifer's shoulder when he saw that everyone else was busy discussing the activity Charlie had come up with. “Unless the meeting with Rosie gets longer than expected. You know how unstoppable she is when she starts talking!” He plays a laugh track and smiled wider, but Lucifer didn't laugh.
“Are you sure everything's okay?” The king frowned, his expression one of concern. “You've been kind of... absent since this morning. And you seem paler than usual.”
Alastor hadn't expected him feeling unwell to be so obvious. He hoped that the fallen angel was the only one who had noticed. He could show weakness when they were alone, but he couldn't bear the humiliation of doing so in front of everyone else.
“There's nothing to worry about, sire,” Alastor removed his hand from Lucifer's shoulder. “I feel as well as ever.”
He didn't like lying to him. Alastor, the Radio Demon, didn’t like to lie. Pure comedy. But it was true. When it came to a rare situation in which he lied to the fallen angel, he felt some kind of guilt he didn’t know was possible.
The meeting with Rosie didn't happen. It turned out that some urgent matters she hadn't known about beforehand had come up, and she was forced to cancel the meeting. It was a shame that this only became clear when Alastor was already at her door. The pain in his head was now stronger, so he decided to return to the hotel as soon as possible, since he had nothing else to do outside its walls anyway.
Of course, nothing was going his way, because why would it, and Vox appeared out of nowhere when Alastor was already halfway there. He regretted not simply using his shadows to teleport to the hotel, but whenever he had a migraine, using teleportation made him dizzy and nauseous.
He hoped that whatever he wanted would be taken care of quickly. He didn't have enough strength or time to waste it on an obsessive TV.
Vox decided that today was the perfect day for a duel, but Alastor had a different opinion and decided not to get provoked. He exchanged a few words with Vox, which were meant to insult him, and decided to use teleportation after all. Vox was left stunned and with hurt pride.
By evening, the headache was no longer ignorable. It pulsed behind his eyes, deep and rhythmic, bringing with it unwelcome flashes of memory. They were loud, sharp, white-hot.
He redirected himself toward the bar. If nothing else, it was quieter there.
What had been pressure became sharp, invasive pain, impossible to fully escape. Alastor sat rigidly at the bar, fingers digging into the polished wood as the world narrowed unpleasantly. His vision blurred at the edges. Static crackled faintly around him.
Gunshot.
The memory struck without warning, overlapping with the pain until he couldn’t tell which was which. His breath stuttered. He forced it steady, swallowing back the sharp, involuntary sound that tried to claw its way out of his throat. He remembered very well how he died and even if he could forget it somehow, his body refused to let him. Suddenly he wasn’t in the hotel anymore. He was lying on the wet grass in the forest, feeling the pain in his head he didn’t know was possible. The last thing he remembered were sharp, cruel teeth and relentless dog barking. He woke up in hell after that, in that stupid deer-like form he despised.
He knew it was Hell’s mockery. From time to time he got those awful migraines as a reminder of how he died, so he would never forget it.
“Whiskey,” he told Husk, voice strained but controlled. The drink did nothing.
He barely noticed Lucifer’s presence until it was impossible not to.
Lucifer stopped short when he saw him.
“…Alastor?”
“Yes, sire, your eyesight is still good enough to recognize me,” Alastor muttered, eyes closed, teeth clenched.
“What’s wrong?” he asked and Alastor felt his skin crawl at the sound of concern in Lucifer's voice.
“Nothing is wrong. What makes you think something is, Your Majesty?” Alastor didn’t even try to hide the irritation in his voice.
“Hm,” Lucifer took the half-empty glass away from Alastor and handed it to Husk, who pretended to not pay attention to their conversation. “Maybe the way you sit here like you’re about to pass out and throw up, all at once? And how you behave weird the whole day?”
Alastor winced, even though Lucifer wasn't speaking loud at all. The King seemed to notice that and immediately lowered his voice to almost a whisper.
“Come to my room? It’s late anyway.” he offered and Alastor sighed, nodding. He didn’t have the strength to argue with Lucifer and the idea of a warm bed and quiet room sounded awesome. They stood up and Alastor let himself be led to the fallen angel’s room with half-closed eyes. His ears were pinned to the back of his head and he decided to not force them to be up.
When they arrived, Alastor immediately sat on the bed, forcing himself to breathe steadily through the nausea and sudden dizziness caused by pain in his head. His hand instinctively made its way to his forehead, fingers brushing over his usually invisible death mark, which was now faintly glowing, as if being proud of the pain it’s causing.
“So…” Lucifer began, giving Alastor a glass of water to drink. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“My head hurts.” Alastor mumbled, setting the empty glass at the bedside table. There was no point in pretending that nothing was wrong anymore. He wanted to lie down as soon as possible but the thought that he had to change into something more accustomed to sleeping made him sigh again.
“Yeah, no shit,” Lucifer rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers, changing Alastor into his sleeping clothes without being asked to. Alastor gave him a look but he was grateful. “What? Don’t tell me you wanted to sleep in those uncomfortable clothes?”
“They’re not uncomfortable. But they’re meant to be used during the day…”
“…And the day is clearly over,” Lucifer finished for him, gently but firmly. He gestured toward the pillows. “Lie down.”
Lucifer guided him back with a hand at his shoulder, careful and steady. Alastor allowed it this time, easing down onto the bed with far less grace than he’d like. He lay stiffly on his back at first, hands folded too neatly over his stomach, as though he were bracing for something worse.
Lucifer kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed beside him without ceremony. He hesitated only a moment before settling down as well, turning onto his side to face Alastor.
“You don’t have to perform,” he murmured. “I know you’re hurting.”
Alastor let out a thin, humorless breath. “Old habits die hard. Apparently slower than I did.”
Lucifer winced at that but didn’t comment. Instead, he shifted closer, their shoulders brushing. When Alastor didn’t pull away, Lucifer slid an arm around his waist, drawing him in carefully, as though he were something fragile instead of one of Hell’s most dangerous overlords.
Alastor tensed for half a second then he relaxed. His body betrayed him, leaning into the warmth, his forehead dropping against Lucifer’s chest. The static around him softened to a faint hum.
“…You’re warm,” he muttered softly.
“Perks of being able to control my temperature,” Lucifer replied softly. “And being alive. I guess?”
Alastor snorted weakly, then went quiet again as the pain flared. His ears twitched, flattening against his hair without his permission. He grimaced, noticing too late.
Lucifer noticed immediately.
“Oh,” he breathed, almost fond. Slowly he lifted one hand and brushed his fingers through Alastor’s hair, careful to avoid tugging. When his fingertips reached the base of one ear, he paused.
“May I?”
Alastor didn’t answer verbally. He closed his eyes and tilted his head just enough to allow it.
Lucifer smiled faintly and began to stroke the ear gently, thumb tracing slow, soothing motions along the soft fur. The reaction was immediate — Alastor’s breath shuddered, tension bleeding out of him despite his best efforts to stop it. A quiet, involuntary sound slipped from his throat before he could catch it.
He didn’t seem to be entirely aware of that, the exhaustion and pain doing its job.
Lucifer rested his chin lightly atop Alastor’s head, holding him as the static finally quieted.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “You’re not alone in it anymore.”
Alastor didn’t reply but he curled closer, breathing slowly.