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“Please? Just for a few minutes to eat, then you can go right back under the covers…”
“I can’t,” Alastor whispered, sounding like it hurt terribly to speak, “And I am not hungry.” Lucifer wiped his hands over his face, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes to quell the frustrated tears swimming there. He knew damned well what depression looked like, felt like, and Alastor was drowning. Lucifer was just trying to keep him afloat, sending him a life vest when the storm got too choppy, waiting for the survival instinct to kick in. He felt like he was screaming “Just swim” while watching his lover’s head sink under the waves. Over and over.
“Alastor…love,” Lucifer sat on a chair, hovering next to the pile of blankets that hid his husband from the world, “I made you soup, broth and soft rice…it’ll go down easy, you don’t even have to chew but…” He choked; but you have to eat something. Even if Alastor couldn’t starve to death he could, and would, weaken, get physically ill, suffer…
Gently, the fallen angel scooped up some broth, three grains of rice. He pulled the covers back, revealing gaunt and exhausted features. Alastor’s smile was replaced by a terrifyingly blank expression, eyes wide and sunken, lips cracked. “Just a few bites,” Lucifer whispered, just resting the spoon against Alastor’s lower lip, “Sip this, and then we’ll get into comfy pajamas and I’ll read to you. HG Wells. How does that sound?” He held his breath, desperately awaiting any response. Sanguine eyes looked up to him, pleading for isolation, for silence to suffer. And then, mercifully, lips parted and broth silently swallowed. “Good,” Lucifer felt like weeping, “Great job baby. Is it good? Can you do a couple more bites?”
In any other state, Alastor would be threatening him with severe and painful punishment if anyone found out he needed to be fed. In any other state, he wouldn’t need it at all. But Alastor felt too tired to even think of anyone finding out, couldn’t summon the energy to contemplate feeling anything other than bone-deep exhaustion and numbness. Like pieces of him weren’t there at all.
Lucifer hummed softly, patiently spoon feeding the demon, whispered little praises until half the soup was gone. Alastor shook his head, sure if any more liquid went in then he would vomit. “Full,” he muttered. It was progress. The blond set the bowl on the nightstand, took thin and cold hands between his own, “That was perfect. Thank you for trying,” he kissed Alastor’s forehead, the tip of his nose, “Jammy time?” Alastor opened his mouth, nearly insisting he should have a bath first…but the thought of undressing going to the bathroom filling the tub soaking washing drying…the entire process made him feel like crying. He was sure he looked, and smelled, disgusting. He was normally so careful about hygeine…
“Jammy time,” he agreed, lips trembling, choking around the lump in his throat. He felt so heavy, tired, crushed by a throbbing ache in every nerve, sad, numb… Everything hurt. Lucifer’s kindness hurt when he helped him sit up, whispering nonsense about his day as he stripped off Alastor’s sweaty button-up, pulled a loose-fitting, soft shirt over his head. Fresh boxers. No pants. Gentle, sin-stained fingers scritched behind his deer ears. ‘Stop it’ Alastor wanted to scream ‘I don’t deserve any of this please just go away and let me ROT-’
Alastor pulled the blanket over his head. Felt Lucifer settle in behind him, curling like a comma, slotted perfectly against his body. Alastor felt the stickiness of his sweat, the coating of depression on his body, felt guilt of being so dirty and his lover was still holding him, pretending he didn’t look and smell a mess. ‘You’re so disgusting what the fuck is wrong with you haven’t bathed in days get the fuck up lazy ass-’
“I need to take a bath,” Alastor blurted out, FORCING his body out of bed, moving through the muck of exhaustion and the ache of his joints, “I’m sorry I’ll be done momentarily I probably smell horrible you shouldn’t have to-’ He stopped as something bumped into his back, soft arms wrapping around his waist. Lucifer nuzzled him, nothing but kindness, the genuine kind that made Alastor hate himself even more… “I’ll come with you,” Lucifer whispered, kissing him between his shoulders, “I’ll scrub your antlers.” His tone left no room for argument.
Lucifer went in first, hissing in pleasure at the steam and scalding tempurature, “Oof…that’s nice,” he put in a few drops of oil, filling the room with sandlewood and jasmine wafting up with the steam. Slowly, he opened his arms and legs, inviting Alastor to sit against his chest. Ears pinned back, he obeyed, letting himself settle against his lover’s chest as Lucifer’s arms twined loosely across his chest. “Isn’t this nice?” Lucifer whispered, soaking a sea sponge and squeezing the excess water along Alastor’s back, “We’ll have those muscles relaxed in no time. Like pudding.” He placed a noisy kiss between tiny antlers. Alastor tried to smile. It hurt. He let his husband rub bubbles against every inch of his skin, knots massaged out, oil on his antlers until they shined again. He obediently tipped his head to let the shampoo be rinsed out like he was a toddler again. Lucifer just hummed, whispered sweet nothings, little praises at each movement. When they were both scrubbed clean, he snapped them dry, slipped Alastor between fresh sheets. The lights went out, the room illuminated only by the fireflies in Alastor’s bayou.
After a few minutes, silence broken only by the cicadas and loon cry, Alastor rasped, “I’ll get up tomorrow. I’ll make breakfast. I promise.” Why did the promise make him want to cry? Why did the failure to act, to BE, feel like a crushing disappointment to his husband and their friends, his job. He tossed all of it aside because he felt awful which made him feel terrible. Lucifer shushed him, turning to pull Alastor to his chest, rubbing little circles over his back, “Shhh. Don’t think about it now. If you can, great. If you can’t, I’ll cook you a nice piece of toast with jelly. Sound fair?” Alastor laughed wetly, “You’ll just burn the toast.” “Yeah probably…how about a soft piece of bread-” Alastor hit him playfully, “Yes, fine, if I can’t make breakfast, then you can serve the hotel cold bread with jam.” Lucifer kissed him sweetly, rubbing his thumbs over Alastor’s cheeks, “I love you so much… You’re going to get through this.”
The smile on his face was small, but it felt real. Alastor wrapped his arms around Lucifer’s small waist, took a deep breath, and let the noises in his head fade. “Sing for me?” he whispered.
Lucifer smiled, kissed his forehead, “Of course.
La-la-lu, la-la-lu
Oh, my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you…”
He sang until the radio hummed. The beautiful, peaceful static hum of Alastor finally, peacefully asleep.