Chapter Text
“Alastor!” Charlie, the sweet little parasite, never strayed too far behind Alastor when something was amiss. He couldn’t tell if he should be bothered or flattered.
Needless to say, he softly tapped his staff against the floor, twirling around to face the Princess herself, “Yes dear?”
Charlie spent all of one second gasping for air before she thrust her hand out at the offending—or lack of—wall.
“Sorry–I’m sorry!” She gasped, nearly collapsing before Alastor kindly handed her his staff, “The–The wall, someone broke it again! I keep–keep telling them to–to be careful but—”
“Dear Charlie,” he said softly, “you’ve allowed me to stay in this lovely hotel of yours. I am fullheartedly at your disposal, my dear,” ever the performer, he ended the sentence with a short, proper bow.
Charlie stared for a moment, clutching his staff as if it was a prized possession, “You… ha, you don’t have to treat it like that…”
Alastor composed himself, hand idly reaching for his staff as Charlie willingly handed it back, “Just—fix the wall, pretty please! Thanks Al!”
And just like that, she took off running again, this time calling for Niffty in her haste. He merely hummed, twirling his staff before stepping foot towards their little conundrum.
Progress with the Hotel was going flawlessly, the building had been rebuilt to be even better than before, more sinners showing up at their door hoping to be let in.
But they weren’t here for redemption. That was the true disappointment.
Sweet, naive little Charlie had built this hotel based on her dreams, her pride; one that no Demon in Hell would waste the opportunity to crush.
So Alastor supposed that he could play the protector, if only for a little while longer.
Though he wasn’t much of a protector when all he had to do was rebuild these d*mn walls.
But it’ll have to do.
It was a lovely—loud—day in the Hotel, all of the sinners here for destruction had left, and all he saw were the people he’d come to know most.
And Lucifer.
Yes, He gave the man a new category entirely.
Anyways: back to the wall.
Standing directly in front of it he could see the cracks, the dents and fallen debris. It’d be a pain, but it wasn’t like he’d fixed easier problems than this.
As he snapped his fingers, his magic took over the wall, and it started to rearrange itself.
Until he felt pain.
It stopped immediately, static lacing a room full of laughter as he keeled over slightly. No one but him could hear it.
“Bellhop?”
… How he hated being wrong.
Alastor forced his posture, gaze flying to the man himself, “Good morning, your Majesty.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, unamused, “The h*ll you doin’?”
“As straightforward as ever,” he chuckled, “Charlie requested my help in rebuilding this wall.”
“Right…” Lucifer stared, arms crossed as he eyed him suspiciously, “and you’re, like… having trouble?”
“Of course not,” he chirped pleasantly, “I am merely deciding the best way to rebuild all of the walls, since the materials you so desire are as tacky as this.”
For someone much shorter than him, he glowered splendidly, “Tacky? This is the finest material in all of Hell, I’ll have you know.”
“And yet you of all people could never pull it off.”
“Oh, don’t worry your furry little head off,” he said with intense loathing, “I could fix this wall up way better than you.”
And Alastor couldn’t help but find himself piqued.
“Oh?” He hummed, “Then do share, Sire. I’d love to see you in all your glory.”
He visibly huffed, glaring at Alastor as if he’d personally offended him—which, of course, he had—“You’d be lucky to witness something so heavenly. Now stop wasting my time and get to work or… something.”
“I’m afraid you’re the one wasting my time, Sire.”
Lucifer was enthusiastic at showing off his middle finger before stomping away. Alastor merely chuckled to himself, turning back to his original task.
The wall—he decided—would take some time.
And somewhere amiss the chaos, you could hear Angel Dust snicker,
“Oh, they’re so getting together.”
His door all but slammed open.
Alastor had been in peace, for once, reading a small book that Charlie thought he’d like, and who was he to deny her? He flinched lightly, book falling from his hands as his eyes snapped towards the door.
It was Lucifer.
Lucifer, in all of his glory, walked into the room like Pride itself, tail flicking wildly as he leveled Alastor with a stare.
“Show me.”
Alastor blinked, book purely forgotten on the floor, “Whatever must you mean, your Majesty?”
His expression slipped, huffing fiercely as he barged even more into his room like he owned it, “Holy energy,” he snarled, “you reek of it. And unless you f*cking ate an angel, I can only assume you’re hurt.”
Hurt.
That was the word he’d decided to use.
Before any sort of annoyance could knaw at him, he immediately hid it behind amusement, “Do define hurt, darling.”
“Adam got you,” he snapped, standing before Alastor’s chair, “and you’re trying to hide it.”
He leveled his smile, unrelenting, “I’m not trying to hide anything.”
Lucifer wasn’t having any of it. “F*cking—come on! Just ask for help like any normal mortal!”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Alastor mused, standing to his full height, “Me, on the ground, begging for your help?”
He stared up at him, gaze solid and posture strong, “I thought Charlie made it clear that it’s not like that here.”
Alastor narrowed his eyes, smile as fake as he could make it, “It was when I was alive.”
Almost all heat—all hatred his small body held for the Deer immediately dissolved.
“Fine,” he huffed, “how about this? I withdraw the holy energy, and you treat the wound. Great? Wonderful! Let’s try it.”
He was in no position to protect himself, not infront of someone like Lucifer. If he decided to use this weakness to his advantage, there’d be nothing Alastor could do.
But showing how insufferable the man could be; he could just force the procedure on him entirely.
Alastor hummed lightly, “Alright, Sire. But do be careful: if you happen to harm me on purpose, I will find a way to make your life hell.”
Lucifer, predictably, glared at his threat, “Like I’d waste my energy on you.” He set forward, only pausing when Alastor matched his pace with a few steps back. Lucifer sighed, “Look, it’ll be real quick. Don’t even have to take your shirt off, only your coat. Just… sit down or, something.”
Alastor eyed him suspiciously, staring—trying to see if there was something beneath the facade—but there was nothing. He narrowed his eyes at the man, slowly pulling off his coat as he made his way back to his chair.
“As you wish, Sire.”
“Cut that bullsh*t already,” Lucifer grumbled, arms folded as he waited for the man to get situated, “this might hurt a little bit, but it should take only a few seconds, then I hope I don’t have to talk to you for the rest of the day.”
Alastor hummed, “That feeling is mutual.”
Despite how annoyed he seemed at first, Lucifer was now hesitant. He slowly walked up to him awkwardly, hands twiddling as if he were a nervous five year-old, “Uhh… I have to touch you for this, so…”
“Go on ahead.”
Lucifer positioned himself slowly, refusing to make eye contact as he pressed his hand against Alastor’s clothed chest, despite the slight stiffness in his frame.
For the Devil himself, he was soft. Hand pulling tenderly at the wisps of angelic material, and though Alastor felt a short pang of pain in his chest, he brushed it off.
True to his word, the process had lasted merely twenty seconds.
Lucifer sighed in relief, readjusting his coat and hat as he made his way towards the door, “That should be all of it. I’m leaving now, later Bambi.”
And as he’d previously stated before; he left instantly after.
Alastor sighed himself, undoing the buttons on his shirt to check the wound again. It didn’t look nearly as infected as before. Wonderful.
Well, he’d just have to repatch it. He’s done it many times before he was practically a professional.
And this time, he could do it in peace.