Lucifer was dead.
He had to be. Dead, deceased, departed, it was the only explanation that made sense.
Way back when he'd fallen from heaven, he'd fallen a long, long time, especially when one considered time had only just been invented. Striking the ground in Hell was his first experience with pain and it was what one might call a learning experience. What Lucifer called it was painful as fuck; he'd woken up aching with it, terrified and alone with the unfamiliar taste of his own blood in his mouth and the knowledge that he'd never return to Heaven again. Since then, there were plenty of bad days in his life but that one would always be the worst.
Today, though, felt like it might be a contender.
Good God Almighty, he felt awful. A headache was rooted to the back of his skull, thumping with a dull throb that traveled all the way around his head up between his eyes, and there it sat, like the drumbeat of an oversized swing band. Speaking of eyes, his felt like overboiled eggs, plucked free from his sockets and crammed back in misshapen and abused. The rest of his body was reporting various aches and pains, his mouth tasted like the floor of a midnight taxicab in the Lust Ring but nothing compared to that awful headache.
If he wasn't dead, he sure wished someone would hurry up and kill him, and put him out of his misery.
Also, he was thirsty, parched, fucking unquenched and that left him torn. If he wanted a drink, he needed to move. But just thinking about moving added a new drumbeat to the throb in his skull, this one more along the lines of an eighties hair band.
The possibility of death didn't seem to be getting confirmed any time soon and Lucifer reluctantly came to the conclusion he wasn't actually dead, it was worse, so much worse. He was in the process of dying and there was no telling how long it was going to take, ages, an eternity, even five minutes was too long. So he might as well move and try to speed the process.
He managed to move one foot an inch to the left and a hand to the right, okay, it felt like he was in his bed at the hotel and that was an important consideration to any further plans of motion. The closest water source was the bathroom and if he managed to crawl in there, the magnificent fountain of its sink awaited him in all its glory. Barring that, there was always the toilet, and don't think he wouldn't go there, the damn thing was practically unused, it wasn't like he ever needed to take a piss. The way he felt, he'd quench his thirst in that porcelain grail like a hairless Scooby Doo without a second thought.
But first, moving.
Lucifer took a deep breath and peeled open his aching eyes. The first thing he saw through his pains was the nightstand and, more importantly, what was on the nightstand.
Sitting right in front of his boiled eyeballs like a precious gift from the Heavens above was a glass of water, cold enough that a few dwindling ice cubes still floated within and beads of condensation rolled lazily down the sides.
Without a second of hesitation, Lucifer clawed his way free of the blankets and grabbed it with both greedy hands, downing the entire glass in three gulps. He had time to regret his haste as the cold sent a new, unique spike through his headache and his stomach took an indecisive moment to choose if it was going to allow this. He belched loudly, which helped in the nausea category, less so in the headache area as a sudden burst of radio static flared, joined by irritable words.
"If you're going to vomit, I'll thank you in advance to do it off that side of the bed."
The floating word seemed supremely grouchy and unappreciative of being woken.
"Not gonna," Lucifer muttered, not entirely sure it was true.
"Then could you possibly not vomit more quietly? Some of us have the chance to sleep in this morning and would like to take it."
Lucifer turned around to find the source of that grouchiness; a hump in the blankets nearly in the middle of the bed that hopefully contained Alastor, since he didn't remember anyone else coming to his room last night. To be fair, his own memory was currently a smeary mess. It was a good bet (not that he was ever, ever betting again) that he'd lost his wager about not getting drunk on Angel's liquor offering and now he got to look forward to Alastor gloating about it. Lovely.
Today just kept getting better and better, now didn't it.
Aside from the thirst-quenching, the water did seem to be helping his headache slightly. Fractionally. Like, measured in single digits but still there. How the fuck did he get back to his room? Walking seemed the obvious choice and therefore, too simple. Left to his own devices, Lucifer was probably lucky he didn't end up asleep on the ceiling fan.
He tried to think around the headache to remember the night before and there was something about…cards? And chicken wings, there was definitely chicken wings. Singing? His memories were fuzzier after that, splintered off into little fragments and blotches, a torn-up drawing that was missing pieces and coming up to his bedroom did not seem to feature in any of them. Did Vaggie help him? Maybe Husk…except no, he was naked, which he might possibly have done himself unless Alastor stripped him off when he got here, entirely possible. He sincerely doubted Alastor would have helped him upstairs, how much less entertaining was that than letting him fall asleep in the lobby, right?
He really hoped it was either Alastor stripping him or that he did it himself, that it wasn't Angel trying to be helpful. He liked to think Angel wouldn't take advantage because consent was…was…
Fuck. It was something and it felt important somehow and Lucifer couldn't remember why.
Well, that was a ball of memory yarn he could untangle later. For the moment, 'right now' was enough to deal with, that and his headache. And Alastor, let's not forget him, surly as he was, maybe he'd imbibed as well and Lucifer could only hope his headache was a fraction as bad. Hell, maybe he'd get lucky and Alastor got most the gloating out of his system last night. Lucifer wasn't counting on it, luck and him were not often on speaking terms, if he ever met a leprechaun the damn thing would probably bite him. Something of an unfortunate family trait, Charlie—
Charlie.
Lucifer's sense of time was like an unwound watch, the only clue was the light coming in from around the curtains and his phone was nowhere around. "What time is it?"
"9:48am," Alastor mumbled, without any indication he'd looked at any sort of clock.
"Fuck!" Lucifer scrambled out of bed and nearly tripped over one of his own boots lying on the floor amongst the scatter of his clothes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, the interview, it was the morning show, fuck, when were they supposed to be here? He snatched up his pants from the floor and skinned into them, hopping from one foot to the other. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
The lump in the blankets moved, the staticky voice that came from within finding new reserves of surliness. "Did I somehow unawares sign up to be your alarm clock? If you want a wakeup call, you need to leave a request down in the lobby."
"Asshole," Lucifer groaned. He shook out his shirt and yanked it on, buttoning it, then when he hit the collar with two buttons left and no holes, unbuttoned it and tried again. "That interview is today, I told Charlie I would help!"
"Then perhaps you should be more considerate with your promises," Alastor said waspishly, buzzing out from his blanket nest. "I'd also like to know how I was to wake you when I myself was asleep?"
"You're the one who got me drunk," Lucifer accused, "you could help a guy out!"
"The idea that I could make you do anything is laughable and insulting, King of Hell."
Lucifer looked down at himself. Not exactly kingly at the moment. Trousers on and wrinkled and no underwear beneath, the mismatched buttons on his shirt, fuck, he was afraid to look in the mirror and see what atrocities made up his face and hair.
Okay, fine, this was fine. Desperate times and all that, he still had a desperate measure or two he could play. Lucifer held out his hands, palms up, and summoned up his power. Let it wash over him in a wave of pure golden light and sidestepped the whole mess of this to deal with later, leaving behind perfect clothes, pristine hair, and only the lingering remnants of a headache. Healing others was as uncomplicated as it seemed, he simply took that energy within himself and dispersed it, which he might have offered to a certain radio demon if he wasn't being a dick this morning. Not quite so much for himself; energy had to go somewhere, there was gonna be some backlash to deal with tonight but by then maybe he'd be better able to handle it.
Lucifer looked down at himself with jaundiced approval. May as well dress to impress, he'd went in for the total package, hat, coat, gold chains, the works. Probably there were going to be pictures along with whatever video they were taking and it'd be the first ones out there of him since he'd come out of his 'depression recluse' mode. May as well go in looking to shine.
Lucifer swept a hand down the front of his coat, chasing away imaginary wrinkles and asked without thinking, "How do I look?"
One sharp crimson eye appeared from beneath the blankets like an unfathomable creature come up from the deep. It swept over him and disappeared as quickly as it arrived, back to the fabric-y depths from which it came. "Like a cherub on their way to a pornography shoot or a defunct ringmaster in search of a penny circus, your choice."
It stung, more than it should. Alastor wasn't the only one who liked to look his best, Lucifer had pride in his appearance, too, and this morning he was in no mood for Alastor's brutal version of honesty or his peculiar sense of humor.
"You're such a fucking asshole," Lucifer snapped. "Get out and go sleep in your own bed if you're just here in hopes of enjoying my suffering."
A long moment of silence greeted that, but he refused to regret it. Alastor could treat him like a Petri dish of painful entertainment some other time.
"Very well." The lump in the blankets sank away, leaving behind a flat wasteland of sheets.
"Asshole," Lucifer muttered under his breath as he checked in the mirror to make sure his tie was straight, he never could get the damn thing right with magic.
His cane was leaning against the nightstand. He walked over to get it and proved he was only at about ninety percent of his normal grace by accidentally hip checking the corner. The empty water glass wobbled precariously, then fell off the stand entirely. He fumbled for it and caught it inches before it hit the ground, that was all he needed, a rug full of broken glass. Much as he'd appreciated the cold water when he woke, he—
Oh.
Lucifer bit his lip. Unless Niffty snuck in during the wee hours to stare at them while they were sleeping, yeah, there was a thought he never should have been allowed to have, the only way there could be a glass of still-cold water on his nightstand was if he either somehow conjured it in his sleep or Alastor recently left it there for him, and as much as his surly headachy side wanted to err on the side of him sleep conjuring, he suspected that was more about him being an asshole than anything to do with Alastor.
Yeah, okay, Lucifer'd pretty much been a bag of dicks to him since before he even opened his eyes and nothing Alastor did this morning deserved that. Like Lucifer had some kind of special privilege to the morning grouches?
He sighed and rubbed between his eyes where an ache still lingered despite his earlier banishment.
"I'll make it up to him tonight," he said aloud. Because those were the sort of promises that needed witnesses, even if it was only a toy skeleton duck.
Then he headed downstairs. Chances were this was going to suck nearly as much as the hangover, so may as well get started.
Lucifer supposed he should be grateful they were at least easy to find.
Vaggie and Charlie were already in the lobby, and it did not take any kind of special angelic power to see his daughter was also feeling queasy as a life raft. The pink of her cheeks were stark against the ghostly shade of her face, pale past their normal whiteness and almost to the point of translucent. Damn it all, if he'd gotten down here earlier, he could've helped with that, no way to do it now without the reporters seeing, assuming the guys with the recording equipment were them, a fair guess if Lucifer did say so himself.
The two of them were standing close together, a skinny demon with an oversized microphone in hand and a shorter, squat demon with a camera braced on his shoulder.
Welp, time to prove that Alastor wasn't the only one who could smile through anything.
"Good morning," Lucifer sang out. The reporter and the camera both swung his way and he forcibly kept himself from flinching. "Sorry, I'm late, heh, you know, important royalty stuff going on, always on the go, move, move, move!"
He gave them the ol' finger guns and both demons flinched like he'd actually shot them. Uh, that wasn't promising, now was it.
Nothing but wide eyes and silence greeted him back, the two of them shuffled together, shoulders bumping as they danced in a in a silent game of - You go first! - No, you!
The reporter finally took a hard nudge to the back and stumbled forward a step, clutching the microphone like it was his only weapon against the den of sins he'd stumbled into.
"No problem, your Majesty," the probably-a-reporter said nervously. He was a weaselly-looking guy, maybe literally from the look of his whiskers, who was barely taller than Lucifer. Oversized glasses perched on the end of his long nose, his eyes swimming enormously behind thick lenses.
He tried to bow and then changed his mind halfway down and stuck out his hand to shake, ending up in a weird combination of both.
Yeaaaah, okay, this was all kinds of wrong. Reporters in Hell needed to be ruthless and cunning, not weaselly and shaking. Lucifer had done plenty of interviews in the past, and yeah, Lil set them up, but this? These guys looked as if they'd arrived in Hell as recently as this morning. Someone out there had a nasty sense of humor and Lucifer was not in a 'ha ha' sort of mood. Even he could see disrespect when his face was rubbed into it.
This was an insult disguised as a concession and from the pleading look Charlie sent his way, she damn well knew it. Okay, for her they'd go through with this, but he'd be looking into this insult. Someone sent off an intern to do the job of a pro and that would need to be addressed, but Charlie was right about one thing; it wasn't this guy's fault. May as well get it over with.
"Oh, just call me Lucifer, we're not formal here, right?" Lucifer reached out and shook that limp hand, ugh, it felt damp even through his gloves. He turned on his thousand-watt smile, gritting his teeth behind it, and the reporter look torn between terror and melting into a puddle at his feet. Not a bad combo, oh, hell yeah, he still had it.
"Yes! Dad, this is Phil." Charlie stepped in with her own brand of nervousness and on her it was only charming. Call Lucifer prejudiced, (not a wise choice) but the difference was the determination behind Charlie's anxiousness. She was exactly where she wanted to be and the reporter looked like he'd rather be scrubbing bathroom floors in a Lust Ring brothel. "We're going to take a tour of the hotel and go over what we do here!"
"Sounds like a plan!" Lucifer said easily. He gave –was it Bill?— a slap on the back and then caught him when he nearly faceplanted into the carpet. "I can't wait to see the write-up you do!"
A subtle threat? Him? Nope, there was nothing subtle about it.
"Well, let's get this show on the road." Vaggie stepped up next to them and if she was nervous, it was hidden behind the cloak of her eyes. That right there was what Charlie needed, a spine of steel to shore up her own and Lucifer couldn't help smiling a little, a real smile.
He hung back a little, following behind the little cameraman who looked like Husk's cousin from another aunt, and watched Charlie and Vaggie do their thing, both of them with their own version of enthusiasm. It was so obvious that Vaggie wasn't simply following along behind the person she loved, she believed, in Charlie and in her dream, and it was such a rare and lovely thing to see here in Hell.
To be fair, Vaggie herself was a rare thing in Hell; he was the only person here even remotely similar, an angel come down from Heaven who could never return. He knew her story, but it wasn't exactly water cooler conversation, they'd never sat down together for a private one on one. Someday, maybe, when it was less raw for her…although in his experience, they'd be waiting a long damn time. Ten thousand years and it still wasn't up for idle chitchat as far as he was concerned. Still, it would be nice to talk to her, maybe.
They had at least one other thing in common, after all.
He watched them together, tagging back and forth as they walked through the hotel, showing off the lobby, the therapy rooms and everything in them. Idly, he wondered what it would be like if Alastor had come along. The two of them back here watching and he could almost hear the sarcastic little asides, murmured too low for the others to hear. Maybe a remark on that enormous microphone, 'Do you think our little visitor is overcompensating for something, hmm? You'll note my microphone remains true to life.'
Lucifer could see it so clearly and also, how much he'd be struggling not to laugh. Actually, it was probably better that Alastor wasn't here for other reasons. He'd recognize the insult of these two being sent for the interview the moment he laid eyes on them and Lucifer very much doubted that Alastor wouldn't take it out on them whether it was their fault or not. Lucifer could see it as clearly as the 'picture shows' Alastor despised, popping up out of the shadows and looming over them, all rolling static and laugh tracks and oversized teeth.
Unfair and also probably funny as Hell, and that Lucifer was even thinking that was probably a sign of Alastor's bad influence on him.
Yeah, better that Alastor wasn't here and yet, it didn't stop Lucifer from sort of wishing he was, standing right here at his side.
Okay, that was a thought best saved for later, tucked right back in with all the other things Lucifer was planning on thinking about on some distant plain of 'tomorrow'. For the moment, he needed to pay attention and actually help Charlie, if he could.
As it turned out, his help wasn't too necessary. To give their dubious reporter a little credit, he did ask questions and wrote down the answers in a little notepad. The cameraman was attentive, following Charlie and Vaggie along as they talked and Lucifer kept back, out of their way. Honestly, he was really only here for brand appeal.
Soon enough they were in the hallways headed to an empty guest room to give an idea of the accommodations. Lucifer tucked his hands in his pockets as he kept at their heels and his fingertips touched something that crinkled, balled up deep in his pocket.
Lucifer pulled it out with a frown, no wrapper or bit of trash should have survived the scouring he gave his clothes this morning. It was a crumpled bit of bright yellow paper with something written on it and he smoothed it out, reading aloud to himself under his breath, "I, Alastor, Radio Demon, Esq., do declare to believe Lucifer Morningstar—"
Oh.
It was like a paper key to unlocking the closed doorway of his drunken mind. Memory came flooding back in a tidal wave of disjointed moments and there were still a few puzzle pieces missing but this filled out quite a lot of the picture.
Lucifer stood outside the door of the guest room, distantly hearing Charlie extoll the virtues of a private bath as he briefly closed his eyes. Alastor not only looked after him the whole night, he'd indulged him, far more than Lucifer imagined possible and risking his dignity in front of an audience.
And what did Lucifer give back for that? He came on his pajamas, fell asleep, and then snapped at him the moment he woke up. Yeah, he was a real prince among kings, wasn't he, and what had Alastor done wrong to deserve any of that, aside from simply existing in Hell.
Even their supposed wager was a joke; losing meant he had to cook dinner with Charlie for a week, like it was going to be any sort of hardship to spend enforced time with his daughter?
Alastor was a shit, no question, prickly and prideful, and a pain in the ass, but Lucifer was the real asshole in their relat…his mind caught, trying to hold the word back, and he forced himself to think it. In their relationship, that's what this was. Enemies with benefits went out the window right around the time Alastor brought him a toy duck.
Footsteps were coming closer. Lucifer jammed the note back into his pocket and stood up straight, pasting his smile back into place as they came out of the room.
"…and that's our accommodations!" Charlie said. She all but glowed with happy excitement, the way she always did when she talked about the hotel, and hey, the reporter was still jotting things down, maybe whatever article he wrote wouldn't be a travesty, it could happen.
"Thank you, Miss Morningstar, this was very informative," the reporter said, what was his name again, Bill? All the nervousness of that morning crawled back up his thin face and he turned to Lucifer, the cameraman following over his shoulder. "Um, there is one last thing." He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folder, holding it out. "What can you tell me about this?"
And here it was. Lucifer sighed inwardly and took it. Blackmail, really? Before coffee? Keerist, sinners these days. Back in his day, demons had some decorum; you could expect some proper schmoozing before extortion, maybe even a subtle threat or two before they went all out on the blackmail—
Oh.
Tucked into the folder was a small collection of photographs and every one of them was of him and Alastor. Mostly, it was them standing together, nothing untoward about that; they both lived and worked at the hotel, stood to reason that on occasion they would find themselves in the same place. Sometimes Alastor was blurry and others he was as clear as anyone else, and Lucifer wondered absently why that was, something to do with his powers?
The last photo was the kicker, the coup de grâce, as it were. Lucifer tossed the rest to the floor, ignoring the scatter of them at his feet as he studied that one. Again, him and Alastor, but more specifically, Alastor carrying him upstairs, the time stamp in the corner of the photo put it at somewhere around the realm of three am this very morning. Alastor was blurred but it was visibly him, hard to mistake that shade of crimson and the Cheshire smile standing out from it. Lucifer was even clearer, good lens on that camera when there was no static to obscure it. His head was tipped into Alastor's chest, the pale blond of his hair bright against the indistinct crimson coat, his arms around what must be Alastor's neck. It looked less like drunken assistance and more like a carnal rendezvous, which was certainly what anyone else would think if they saw it.
Alastor carried him upstairs to bed last night. Yeah, when his memory went off earlier with the big reveal? It would have been nice if it included this part.
Lucifer lightly touched the pixilated blur of crimson, tracing it with his fingertip. Alastor carried him upstairs, because of course he fucking did, why did Lucifer even question it. Had he really thought Alastor would leave him sleeping in the lobby? Without that damned headache screwing up his thought process, Lucifer realized he didn't.
Of course, Alastor carried him upstairs to bed, to their bed, undressed Lucifer and settled him on his side before crawling in on his own…and Lucifer kicked him out of their bed this morning because he was in a bad mood of his own making.
Fuck. When he dug his own grave, he really did pull the dirt in on top of him, didn't he.
And then like a rotten cherry on top of a shit sundae, this asshole was here in his fucking hotel, in his Ring of Hell, using a private moment of them together as a threat.
Lucifer looked up from the photo at the reporter, all vestiges of a smile gone. Bill/Phil didn't look eager to see his reaction, not one damned bit. He looked terrified, like he expected Lucifer to tear his head off and drink his blood on ice with a sprig of mint and why not? None of them knew him, even Charlie was only getting to know him. Charlie…and…and Alastor, and at least they were honest with him about it.
"So," Bill/Phil cleared their throat awkwardly, looking anywhere but at him. "Is it true, then? You're fucking the Radio Demon?"
Behind him, Charlie and Vaggie both startled, Charlie already trying to step forward and Lucifer held up a hand, stopping her. He leaned into the microphone, all boring black, an oversized q-tip on a stick.
"Ahem," Lucifer coughed loudly directly into the mic and the cameraman winced in his headset, "this is my first live on-camera interview, and I could be wrong, but I think I am supposed to say no comment."
The reporter's eyes went suddenly hot and blue with electricity, tiny sparks traveling inside his pupils. "Don't blame you," he said, and his voice changed, went deeper and colder, laced with cruel humor. "I don't like to talk about it, either. Must be so disappointing for you the way he lays there like a corpse when you fuck him."
Lucifer stared hard into those sparking eyes and literally saw red, crimson washing over his vision like a memory of blood and the smell of brimstone filled his nostrils.
This one. This one, he knew this one. Lucifer never watched tv, it rotted the mind, and this one was why, one of the newer Overlords dragging souls into his possession.
As far as insults went in Hell, that was pretty tame, but this one dared to come into the hotel and give it directly to him? Not that it was about him, no, Lucifer knew what this was about, or rather, who.
Looked like Alastor's unnamed relationship, that Husk wouldn't talk about, that Rosie dismissed as better forgotten, wasn't as dead as they both assumed. Dragging itself out of the grave to come here to this hotel, and all Lucifer could think of was their first time together, Alastor accepting a painful fucking without comment and whoever taught him that was how sex was. Someone who left him confused that anyone might simply want to spend time with him, the same someone who'd attempt to slip an angelic knife between his ribs while in the middle of fucking him, and it was this one, hiding right in front of him behind a flimsy meat shield.
Well, if he wanted an interview, Lucifer would give him one.
"Really?" Lucifer let out a laugh and bared his teeth in a grin. "Think you got it backwards, pal, that hasn't been my experience at all. Huh, I must be the only person in Hell who could possibly keep up with him, he even wears me out. But then, I guess it depends on the quality you bring to the table." He leaned in and whispered directly into the microphone, "Usually when I fuck him, he's screaming my name, but results may vary, wouldn't you say…what was your name again? Box?"
Eh, a little exaggeration in the interest of defense never hurt anyone. At least one of them got their name screamed from time to time.
Lucifer tucked his hands back into his pockets, fisted that tiny post-it note as he shrugged. "Guess you didn't turn his crank. But then, Alastor isn't really into vibrators, he prefers the real thing, fresh meat," Lucifer nudged Bill/Phil in the ribs with an elbow and winked, "if you know what I mean."
The flare of electronic blue in Bill/Phil's eyes was blinding and Lucifer shoved the oversized mic aside, leaning in to talk directly to the much smaller one clipped to the collar of his shirt. "It's shameful to use your people like this, Box, were you hoping I'd kill the messenger? Too cowardly to even come down yourself? Tell me something, who are you really afraid of, little overlord? Me or Alastor?" Some of that blazing electric blue faded and Bill/Phil was backing up, stumbling backwards across the hallway. Lucifer followed him, until Bill/Phil was pressed up against the wall, and Lucifer grinned widely, let his eyes fade to pure crimson, his horns extended. "Because I know who should scare you the most."
The sudden smell of urine was strong in the air and Lucifer fought the urge to wrinkle his non-existent nose. Better to ignore it, it probably wasn't actually poor Bill/Phil's choice to be here.
He let his voice drop to subsonic depths and growled out through the airwaves without need of a microphone. "Now get out."
Lucifer stepped back and watched as reporter and cameraman both scampered towards the stairs, leaving him standing in dead silence. Ugh, there was a wet patch on the rug, a brand-new stain for Niffty to befriend.
A small noise caught his attention and Lucifer glanced behind him to see Charlie and Vaggie standing there, both staring at him with round eyes. His daughter, who he'd just gotten back, who he loved so much, and who just found out in front of a live audience, possibly along with the rest of Hell, that he was sleeping with her facilities manager.
Oh.
Oh, god.
Yeah, uh. That could…that could maybe have gone better.
"I can't breathe," Lucifer said thinly. Unneeded air was clotting in his throat, stuck beneath the swollen lump sitting in the middle of his chest. His lungs felt frozen, iced over inside him, and despite that, he was inhaling too rapidly, all but panting and all his mind would play were three words, his internal record skipping over and over. I can't breathe, I can't breathe. Please. I can't breathe.
"Come on." Small, strong hands caught hold of him, Vaggie, he thought, guiding him. Lucifer followed their pull, stumbling along, and he couldn't look at them, couldn't look at anything, there was nothing but the chant at the back of his mind, engulfing every other thought or emotion.
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breathe…
On to chapter 2!
Notes:Please go check out the lovely art oberveroftheinfinite did for this chapter!
Chapter 2Notes:I know, I know, another multichapter one. It just felt right to keep all the panic in one place. 😬
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I can't breat—
It was strange, really, how splintered a person could be inside their own mind. Lucifer wondered with distant interest if humans ever felt this way, like they were observing themselves from outside their heads or if it was meant strictly for angels created out of the unformed matter of the universe, in one configuration or another.
—can't breathe—
He doubted it. There wasn't much God, in Their infinite wisdom, left only to created angels.
It all felt so far away.
—can't—
Lucifer could feel a nauseating sense of motion that was gone as abruptly as it came, could taste copper pennies and panic, the heat of the tears trickling down his cheeks, but it was all distant, through layers of the fabric of reality, smothering him underneath cottony detachment.
—breathe—
His clothes were sticking to him, Lucifer decided, drenched in sweat, darkness blooming in his vision, like a wing draped over his eyes. His lungs felt too small, uselessly drowning without a drop of water. The world swayed sickeningly and he clawed for consciousness, distantly alarmed at the thought of passing out, alone and unwanted, the most hated creature in all creation, he couldn't, couldn't—
Words cut through the nebulous walls of indifference separating him from himself, somehow both oddly familiar and exotic, pushing through panic and directly into his head.
"Here, listen to me. Can you hear me?"
Lucifer couldn't talk, only nodded in pitiful relief. He could, he could hear something aside from his own inner, panicked chatter.
"Good, that's good." The vague sound of movement, a shoe scraping against the floor, Lucifer could hear everything, he couldn't hear anything, no, that wasn't right, I can hear you. I can hear you. "Can you feel my hands?"
He could, warm hands, fingers thin as twigs, gripping his tightly enough to border on pain. The discomfort cleared his mind a little, pushed some of that gray sense of nothingness back and again, Lucifer nodded.
"All right, you're doing very well. Now, take a deep breath for me, can you do that?"
Oh. Oh, he wasn't sure he could, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't—except it turned out he could, he could suck in a lungful of air and let it back out in a whoosh, leaving dizziness in its wake.
"Slowly," the voice cautioned, "no need to rush. Take another breath for me, would you? Like this."
He heard a long, slow inhale and mimicked it, drawing in air slower despite the clamor of his greedy lungs. He held it until he heard the other exhale and imitated them, slowly releasing it, then taking another, another, stringing them together and the world began to clear.
"There we are, you're doing terribly well. Can you feel the bed beneath you? There's a blanket, here." The hand holding his own moved, their joined hands lowering to touch softness, not the cotton wrongness in his own mind but of reality, a bed, a blanket, yes, he could feel it.
He could feel it. He was doing terribly well. He couldbreathe.
Lucifer realized his eyes were closed and opened them to see a face almost directly in front of his own, crimson eyes set above an upturned nose and a narrow smile. "Alastor?"
"Who else?" Alastor said. He let go of Lucifer's hand to touch his cheek and his fingers came away shining and wet. "Come now, your face is not one meant for tears." That slight smile widened into a smirk. "At least not ones I didn't cause."
That made him choke on a watery laugh, yes, definitely Alastor's level of asshole. Lucifer reached for Alastor's hand again with his own shaking one, caught it in triumph and pulled it back into his lap. Alastor went along with it willingly, let Lucifer grip his slim fingers and the world cleared a little more. Alastor was kneeling on the floor in front of him and Lucifer was sitting on a bed, not his own, and he frowned at the unfamiliar room.
"We're in one of the unused guest rooms," Alastor told him, answering his unasked question. He rolled his shoulders in a stretch and yawned widely, like a cat, showing all his teeth. "You do seem determined that I shouldn't sleep in today. I was in the middle of a perfectly lovely dream when your daughter's paramour came bursting into my room."
"Vaggie?" Lucifer didn't know how to feel about that. In the midst of his mental breakdown, Vaggie went to Alastor for help. What did that mean, did it mean something? More importantly, Alastor came. Lucifer said it aloud in the hopes it would make more sense that way. "Vaggie came to get you and you came."
Alastor waved that off. "Oh, it was simply easier to come than to try and fight off that one, she was rather determined." His eyes flicked away, seemingly interested in the empty bureau in the corner. "Besides, you've seen me at a rather humiliating low, helping you puts me out of your debt. At least you didn't require an orgasm." He smirked then, eyes glinting with unspoken promises of a more carnal nature. "Not that I wouldn't have assisted if that were necessary."
This guy. It was always checks and balances, debts and wagers. "You never owed me for helping you."
"No?" Alastor said disinterestedly. "I appreciate your reassurance, but I'll keep my own accounts, thank you."
"Then aren't I still in your debt?" Lucifer countered. "Last night, you were…and then I was…" He couldn't say it, his mind was settling but his voice was still shattered. "I…I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." More tears spilled despite his attempt to hold them back, humiliatingly hot on his cheeks. "You were so good to me last night and I was an asshole this morning, I'm sorry." He reached up and held Alastor's face in both hands, his thumbs tracing the sharp angle of his cheekbones as startled crimson eyes met his own again. "I'm sorry I made you leave."
Alastor sighed, though he didn't shake off Lucifer's hands. "Is that what has you in such a pathetic tizzy? Really, the mawkish display is quite unnecessary."
"But—"
"My dear, you were an utter twat this morning," Alastor said dryly, "That said, I think I speak for many when I say no one is at their best with their first hangover." He tsked, clicking his tongue. "I wouldn't like to say how I handled mine back when I was among the living."
Yeah, there was something to imagine, yeesh.
Then all imaginings winked out of Lucifer's mind as Alastor reached up and covered Lucifer's hand with his own, his smirk widening, showing the sharp line of his teeth, "You're not going to be rid of me that easily."
He said it like a threat and that place in Lucifer's chest that he didn't like to think about took it as an endearment despite the sense of wrongness that it came from Alastor, too much strangeness to handle, all wrong flavors mixing again in his head, strawberry glue and green tomato ketchup affection.
It was all too much to deal with after this morning, especially with the jittery sense of his sidestepped hangover pressing at the back of his mind.
"Oh, don't," Lucifer groaned and flopped back on the bed, covering his own face with his hands. "Don't be kind to me."
He heard Alastor move, the bed sinking as he sat on the edge, "To whom else would I ever be kind?"
That was entirely too much honesty to deal with right now. Of all the people in Hell, why would Alastor choose Lucifer for whatever seed of kindness his soul still possessed?
"I'm a mess, you know," Lucifer told him, because it was true. Ten thousand years of messes and mistakes, all packaged into one fallen angel. "I'm not even wearing underwear."
Alastor's smile quirked higher, his eyes all bright amusement. "Oh, yes? Well, I'm still wearing yours."
A knock on the door startled them both and thank fucking God for interruptions. It opened a crack, enough for someone, Vaggie, to peek her single eye inside and say suspiciously, "Everything okay in there? You didn't eat him or something, did you."
Another indistinct voice outside hissed admonishment but Vaggie was unmoved.
"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor scoffed, "I do have questions about your tastes." He gave Lucifer a poke in the side with a sharp fingertip, but it was a gentle poke. "A treat like this would require careful preparation."
Oh, this guy.
"I'm okay," Lucifer called to her, "uneaten and all."
Vaggie slipped a little further into the room, "Huh, he is. You actually managed to help him deal, never guessed you'd be the soothing type."
Alastor coughed and looked away, his ears flicking back as something fleeting and skittish crossed his face. "I'd never claim to be such. However, Niffty is prone to the occasional panic attack."
"And you help her with them?" Vaggie said skeptically.
Alastor shrugged. "Who else would?"
Who else, indeed. Who else was out there watching out for the Nifftys of the world and, yeah, she was creepy, but she deserved friends and comfort and safety like anyone else. Alastor was hardly the most sympathetic of figures and yet…well. 'He took care of what was his' was an awkward way to think of it. It didn't make it less true.
Lucifer looked away from both of them. He wasn't ready for the question, but it needed asking, "Where's Charlie?"
His daughter who just found out he and Alastor were. That they were. Well. He didn't know where they stood, they'd gotten Alastor for him but was it because of concern or that they didn't want to deal with him. She shouldn't have to deal with him, he was the parent, just another sign of how useless he was and—
Vaggie interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts. "Out there," she said, tipping her head towards the door.
"I told them both to wait outside until you were calmer. Which you are." Alastor stood, dusting off his clothes and summoning his microphone. "I'm afraid I need to be off."
Just the sight of the microphone made Lucifer ache a little, distance put up between them after a moment of closeness, and could he make up his mind, for fuck's sake? Here he was complaining in his head about Alastor's inconsistencies, and he kept a whole collection of his own, his own little assortment of issues lined up in his head like a set of mental tchotchkes, like he was trying to catch them all.
"You have to go?" Lucifer asked, couldn't help himself, pathetic as it was.
Alastor hesitated and there was something softer on his face than his normal mocking, "I'm afraid so." He started to lean down and stopped, his crimson eyes sliding to Vaggie still watching them suspiciously at the door. Instead, his hand settled briefly on Lucifer's head, gently tousling his hair. It helped but Lucifer still missed the almost-kiss that touch replaced. "I shall leave you in your daughter's capable hands."
Lucifer would not beg Alastor to stay, bit the inside of his lip to keep the words from spilling out. He couldn't, Lucifer knew that, and asking again would only hurt them both.
Still, he couldn't help but ask. "I'll see you tonight?"
"I believe so," Alastor said lightly, "Although I'm willing to wait until tomorrow for you to begin paying your debt with dinner? I suspect any meal will be better made after you both have a decent night's sleep."
Without another word, Alastor vanished into the shadows and Lucifer was on his own.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and told Vaggie, "Can Charlie and I talk alone?"
Vaggie nodded curtly and stepped out. Charlie was in the doorway in an instant, closing it behind her as she rushed in, already reaching out for him. Only to hesitate as she came into reach and Lucifer hated himself, that his daughter was afraid to touch him. He took her hands in his own and pulled her in for a hug, renewed tears stinging in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Lucifer said roughly, whispered it into her hair. Apologies seemed to be his theme for the day and he of all people knew this was what came from lying and keeping secrets. Nothing but weak apologies and the hope of forgiveness. "I'm so sorry."
"Dad?" Charlie's arms were surprisingly strong, squeezing him so tightly. So different from his earlier memories of her toddler years, her chubby arms around his neck, clinging to him until her mother came to take her away. "Dad, it's okay."
"It's not," Lucifer said. He pulled back and forced himself to look up into her eyes, he owed her that much, owed her so much more than that. "I should have said something before, you never should have found out like that."
"Dad," Charlie said. She settled next to him on the bed, curling up with one leg beneath her, and her eyes and voice were painfully gentle. "I already knew."
What?
"What?" Lucifer said, numbly. That…no. He'd heard her wrong, that was all, he wasn't quite back into his head and he'd misheard, perfectly understandable, people misheard things all the time even without being caught in a panicked spiral, it happened, it was a thing, he misheard her—
Charlie sighed softly and repeated it, "Dad, I already knew."
For a moment, his vision swam again, grayness swarming in the periphery. Lucifer pinched the back of his hand viciously and it cleared, "But…how?"
He shook his head again, still unable to believe it, was this some misguided attempt to make him feel better?
"Dad," Charlie blew out a long, impatient breath, dragging her fingers through her pale hair, "Look, don't take this wrong but are you kidding me? It was so obvious! The sketchpad and the looks, and who else would Alastor be buying a skeleton duck for? I thought you were going to kick Rosie out of the hotel! I'm not a genius but I can do basic math. 1+1 equals you two wasn't that hard to figure out."
Oh. Okay, he'd known they weren't as discreet as they could've been but—
"I even tried to catch you two together a few times," Charlie admitted. She made a little sound, rusty and small, and Lucifer realized she was trying not to giggle. "Not that I wanted to see! I only thought that might make it easier for you to talk about it, but Alastor is a slippery, I could never catch you together."
Yes, yes, he was, a slippery one, eeling his way through his unlife and leaving Lucifer clinging to him by his fingernails, trying to hold on, trying to follow where he wasn't welcome, only for Alastor to turn and come back to him. Alastor constantly coming to him and leaving him like the tide and Lucifer was left standing in the cold sand, watching the ocean and waiting for the tide to return.
He couldn't worry about that right now. He was sitting on the bed of one of the unused guest rooms with his daughter and Charlie was all earnest exasperation and warm affection, no anger or disappointment at all in her eyes that were a complex mix of his and her mother's. Tears were standing out in them and when she blinked, one trickled down to be wiped impatiently away.
"I was sort of hoping you'd tell me a different way," she admitted, and if there was a hint of hurt in that, it vanished as she rallied, "but I understand why you didn't. Look, I told you before, I'm okay with it. You and mom split up a long time ago. I'm not exactly sure what you see in Alastor but I'm not about to judge you for it." She gave him a tremulous smile. "Does he make you happy?"
"Absolutely not," Lucifer said immediately. Happy wasn't the right word, Lucifer knew every language in Heaven and Earth and everything in between and he still wasn't sure there was a word that fit. "He's an asshole. But. He makes me feel…like I'm okay. Like, he's always judging me but not because of who I was or who I should be, it's just me. He sees me. and, well." Lucifer shrugged, he didn't understand it himself, there was no way he could explain it to someone else. "Maybe I'm an asshole, too. Sometimes. So we make a decent pair, our own little bouquet of assholes, hm, maybe more like a corsage."
Charlie nodded and laughed, and her smile was radiant. She looked like him, he realized, and the ache in his chest was filled with warmth as she said, "That's all right, then."
Confusing and irritating, aggravating and freaking hot, that was them, and it was all right, Lucifer had to agree. "Now if only I knew what he gets out of this."
"Oh, I can tell you," Charlie said with a laugh. She lowered her voice, managing a hint of radio static and made a little jazz hands gesture as she said, "Entertainment! The world is a stage of ENterTAINment!"
Lucifer laughed, helplessly. Yeah, she was getting pretty good at that. "Not very romantic."
"I don't think Alastor is a romance kind of guy." She shrugged. "But I think he must be getting what he wants, I can't imagine him being with you if he isn't."
"That's true," Lucifer said slowly. Now that Charlie knew, now that he knew she knew, he felt a little lost. He'd never really pictured what it would be like to tell her and never imagined it going like this at all, nothing but uncertain paths around him. He latched onto the closest, the one that felt the most important to say, "I love you, kiddo, you know that, right?"
Her smile was worth any pain, any misery or fear or embarrassment, always. "I love you, too, dad." She hugged him and he was strangling again, pleasantly, his heart overflowing with love of her. Lucifer wrapped both arms around his daughter, breathing in the slight apple-scent of her hair, a gift from him before she was even born. Charlie pressed a kiss to his cheek and murmured, "I'll always love you. But," she drew back and wagged a finger at him, mockingly serious, "you're going to have to really help out with the cooking this week or we might have a mutiny on our hands."
"Deal," Lucifer said, fervently. He had a feeling Alastor would consider calling for takeout cheating. "Adjacent to that, how is your head?"
"Oh, god," Charlie groaned. "I thought I was going to die. Next time you and Alastor decide to flirt in public, leave me out of it."
"We weren't—!" Lucifer started indignantly, cheeks flaring hot. Charlie only looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and he deflated, eeesh, this was maybe the most embarrassing moment of his life even considering his recently televised event. "Yeah, okay, no dragging in innocent bystanders."
"It wasn't entirely an awful night," Charlie went on thoughtfully. "I've never been drunk before. That part was pretty fun, not sure if the morning after makes it worth it." Her smile went rueful, "And now Vaggie has about a year's worth of leverage to hold over my head."
He did not ask if it was her bra on the ceiling fan.
"Here." Lucifer ran his index finger over her forehead and pulled, tugging the last dregs of her headache free. Her sigh of relief was worth the tinge of pain he got before it dispersed.
"Thanks, dad. How are you feeling?"
"Think I might go lay down a while, I'm a little wibbly," Lucifer admitted. Seriously, what use was it being a king if you couldn't take a damn nap in the middle of the day.
"I think that's a good idea." She kissed his cheek again and part of him wanted to cry. Lucifer refused to let the tears well, he'd had enough crying for now and besides, there was always time later for more.
"Charlie?" Lucifer began, then hesitated. Eh, fuck it, nothing ventured, nothing gained, "Did he…what did Alastor say when you brought him here?"
"Nothing," Charlie said, "Vaggie only asked him to come and when he saw you, he asked us to wait outside." She bit her lip, considering, "It's hard to tell with him but I think he was worried, dad."
Worried about what was the question.
One last hug and they left the room together. To his relief, Vaggie was the only one out there and she was visibly relieved to see them arm in arm. Charlie gave him a kiss on the cheek and started towards the stairs and Vaggie began to follow until Lucifer said her name.
"Vaggie?" Lucifer called, softly. She turned around, her expression questioning. "Thank you. For. You know."
Vaggie nodded curtly, "One of the first things we learned working with sinners was that people get over a panic attack faster with the right person there and, well. I figured if I was freaking out, I'd want Charlie there."
Lucifer laughed weakly, "So you figured the best person to get was my bootie call?"
Her stern expression softened, only a fraction, but it was there, "No offense, sir, but I don't think you're really a bootie call kind of guy."
No. No, he really wasn't. The single digits of his relationships attested to that.
Yeah, that was a subject in need of a change.
"My name is Lucifer, you know," he said teasingly.
"I know, sir," Vaggie replied. But it was just as teasing and she smiled before turning around to follow Charlie, leaving him alone in the hallway.
He didn't even consider the stairs, or the elevator, either. Lucifer portaled directly to his room and flopped down on still-tangled sheets. He had enough juice left to toss up the 'do not disturb sign' with a flick of his fingers, he really didn't want to give Niffty a chance for any sleep-stalking.
What a fucking day already, headaches and reporters, and Box—
His eyes popped open and Lucifer sat up, panic settling thickly in his chest again. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, he hadn't told Alastor about Box showing up and what happened. Even if Alastor didn't hate television and everything to do with it, Vaggie dragged him straight out of bed to see Lucifer, there would have been no time for Alastor to hear about any of it, how could he possibly know? Now that he thought about it, Alastor mentioned Lucifer's panic attack being about this morning and nothing at all about the interview, he didn't know anything. And now he was out in Pentagram City where all of Hell knew, the last to know about his own damn life, fuck—
Lucifer started to get up, racking his mind for anything he could do, and stopped halfway out of bed. Alastor had been very, very clear how he felt about Lucifer trying to interfere with his deal, exploding glass and flying shrapnel clear. But this was different, this was Lucifer's fault, he had to—
He had to sit his ass down and wait. Alastor very likely wouldn't consider it different and besides, Lucifer realized, his soul sinking, even if he had a clue where to find Alastor, he'd already been gone for over an hour. It was ludicrous to think Alastor didn't know by now. Hopefully he was on Lucifer's page when it came to not killing the messenger.
"Fuck." Lucifer flopped back on the bed. He laughed, ignoring the faintly hysterical edge to it and pressed his knuckles against his eyes hard enough for phantom images to swim in his vision. "Why can't I do anything right?!"
The walls and ceiling had nothing to offer, the torn canopy held its silence about his incompetence, and God hadn't spoken to him in a long, long time.
There was nothing to do but wait. If…when Alastor came home tonight, well. Lucifer would know everything about how the future looked, whether he wanted to or not.
Fuck it. Lucifer yanked the blankets over his head and closed his eyes, ready to force himself asleep with a little angelic push. Maybe the backlash of his hangover wouldn't be as bad if it hit while he was asleep.
-finis