Note: Brief mention of eating babies. Depiction of panic attacks. All the good stuff. Any mistakes will be corrected later on, as this is not beta-read.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Alastor narrows his eyes at the clock tower in Cannibal Town's square, watching it move its infuriatingly slow hand with a sneer-like smile. He exhales through his nose and stands up rod-straight; tapping his shoe to an old-timey tune that only just quells the impatient monster within.
Truthfully, it hasn't been that long since he sent that paper boy to look for Rosie, but Alastor is not in the mood to be patient. Seeing that "closed" sign on her store's door almost sent him into a frenzy, and he had to retreat to the pavilion to clear his head. He looks down at the ground under his feet, faced again with the realization that his shadow is still nowhere to be seen.
Taking a deep breath, Alastor turns around and leans over the rail, drumming his sharp fingers on the wood. While he is going to have a stern word with that thing when it comes back for sure, he is more frustrated with himself for not thinking of this outcome. His insipid Shadow wreaks havoc wherever it goes, but it also, funnily enough, keeps Alastor grounded. Sane, even. He has never gone without it for more than a day or two, and now it's clear that it shouldn't be away from him for far longer than that. Sending it to follow Beelzebub and Mammon was a terrible mistake.
But how could Alastor have known that it would take so long to get back to him? How difficult is it to find out the identity of the sire? Lucifer and the Sins are hardly discreet; it should have heard a hint, a name, anything in the first hour of spying!
'Unless it really was captured?' Alastor thinks, brows furrowing. He pushes himself away from the railing and starts pacing, folding his arms behind him. 'But the Sins and Lucifer would not have simply kept quiet about it if that were the case.'
And Alastor thinks that's a fair assessment. Despite being far more powerful than him (and everyone else for that matter), Lucifer is laughably, almost endearingly, easy to rile up. Pregnant or no, he would have swooped in to give Alastor a piece of his mind, at least. And while less forgiving than Lucifer, Beelzebub and Mammon have shown to be reactive, silly, and well, dumb. Who in their right mind talks about their family member's big secret in public? Especially when there are beings with enhanced hearing around, like him and Husker? He is sure that Charlie would have heard them too, if she hadn't been so busy trying to comfort a distressed Vaggie. In short, the three of them are loud-mouthed, impulsive idiots.
… But then again, that is just the three of them. There are four more Sins Alastor hasn't met yet, and based on the news clippings he has collected over the past few months, Alastor surmised that all seven have already made contact with each other at some point already. Is this their doing, then? Are they a more intelligent, austere bunch compared to the three stooges he has met so far? If they are, what does that mean for Alastor in the long run?
Snarling, Alastor hides behind a wooden column and grips at his hair so hard he ends up ripping out some strands from his scalp. He hates this—this feeling of not knowing. His Shadow's whereabouts, the identity of the abomination's sire, his intentions toward Lucifer. He is not acting like his usual self, and that both aggravates and frightens him. He can't let this go on! He simply can't.
"Alastor?"
At the sound of the voice, Alastor quickly comes to grips and fixes his hair and suit. Peeking from behind the column, he eyes the newcomer before gaily waving and greeting, "Rosie, my dear! How lovely you look this fine afternoon. How are you and this darling little town of yours?"
Rosie's black eyes crinkle at the sides as she giggles, covering her mouth with a dainty hand. The sight of his friend in high spirits lifts his own, somewhat. "Oh, Alastor, you charmer! You're such an ace when it comes to flattery, aren't you?"
"It's not flattery if it's the truth, my dear," Alastor says, skipping down the steps to meet her. He holds her hands in his, leading her to do a little spin and dance with him. "Why, one would be hard pressed to find anyone else with such sublime wit and power, and the fashion sense to match."
"Oh, stop, you fiend," Rosie says, laughing as he dips her. They straighten up, and Rosie's eyes go soft as she looks at him. "But seriously, Alastor, it is so good to see you. I was thinking about visiting—just to check up on you and the Princess. But I thought you needed some space; all things considered."
Alastor doesn't need to ask to know what Rosie is referring to. He holds a hand to his chest—still an annoying habit, even now—but he keeps his smile wide as he says, "And I appreciate you respecting my privacy, Rosie. Though I will admit that I have not been a very good friend as of late; I should have come around myself and checked on you and your people. There were a few casualties among the Cannibals, weren't there?"
"Yes. There were," Rosie says somberly, smiling sadly at the ground. She looks around and Alastor follows her line of vision. Quite a few Cannibals were out taking walks and hanging out. "Why don't we take this back to the shop? I closed today because I had things to do, but we can talk in the parlor over coffee."
"Coffee would be delightful, thank you," says Alastor, beaming. His ears twitch as they make their way toward the Emporium. "You had things to do, you say? Ho, ho, it seems you deliberately made it vague for me to guess! How fun. Let's see—oh, were you stocking up on more finger food? Those are always a best seller. I'm particularly fond of the fish people variety—such an interesting flavor! Or maybe you're having a sale, of sorts? I'm not too knowledgeable on the process, but I'm fairly sure there's an exorbitant fee to pay to declare and register for such things—"
"Actually, it's not related to my shop," Rosie interjects as they arrive at the Emporium. She fishes out her keys from her pocket and unlocks the door. "It's about the town. You know, Overlord things."
Alastor blinks; one corner of his mouth lifting as he follows her inside. "I see, I see. Just administrative things, I assume? I suppose the clock tower in the square does need some maintenance."
"Well, there's that," Rosie chirps, not missing a beat. She leads Alastor to the back of the store where her private parlor is. "Why don't you take a seat while I prepare the coffee? It won't take too long."
"Take your time, dear," Alastor says, watching Rosie vanish through another door. With a smile that's slightly more strained at the edges, he sits down on the sofa, tapping his foot to the same tune as earlier. His right hand moves on reflex, but he pauses when he realizes that he is not holding his staff, as it is still in disrepair from his fight with Adam.
Alastor snarls a little at that, leaning back against the sofa. He needs to find a way to fix that blasted thing. Not only is it a conduit for his powers, but it's also an efficient and convenient walking stick. And it being a microphone makes it perfect for an impromptu singing showdown. Oh, how he misses twirling it while walking around town! Simply moving his legs is not enough for a lovely stroll through Hell's death-infested streets.
Not that he has been doing any sort of walking or strolling in the past few months, mind. In fact, Alastor is sure he hasn't set foot outside the hotel grounds in a long while before today—the few so-called "spars" with Lucifer, notwithstanding.
The curdling bitterness of his self-imposed isolation calms at the thought of those silly fights, and he smiles softly to himself. They were a suitable distraction to his previously spiraling health, he admits. Now, if only his ego can boast any sort of recovery.
"What are you smiling about?" Rosie's voice (and the smell of coffee) pull Alastor out of his thoughts. She sets down the tray on the coffee table in front of them (how apt!) and sits next to him, smiling and blinking her hollow eyes at him. "You lookin' forward to coffee that much? Then again, it's the good shit from Sloth."
"Thank you for the coffee," Alastor says when Rosie hands him his mug. He swirls the fragrant brew for a few beats, watching the chaos in the cup for a few beats. "And I don't know what you mean. I am always smiling, aren't I?"
"True, but that doesn't always mean you're in a good mood." Rosie takes a sip of coffee before saying, "What's that you always say? A smile is a tool that inspires friends and leaves enemies guessing?"
"No truer words have been spoken," Alastor says, a little wistfully. One of the very, very few things his miserable father said that ever made sense. He recovers quickly, however, and flashes Rosie a sharp, charming smile. "In fact, I believe this philosophy of mine has helped your people immensely in the past century, hasn't it?"
"It has made us a lot more intimidating," Rosie says, grinning. "Maybe it's the teeth? Or the dissonance between smiling and feasting on human flesh? Whatever it is, it's definitely made us more popular… though not popular enough, it seems."
"Oh?" Alastor's ear twitches. "Do I detect a tone of resignation there, Rosie dear? Are you having trouble of sorts? You know I'm always willing to lend a helping hand."
Rosie opens her mouth to speak, but to Alastor's surprise, she pauses. She stares at the cup of coffee in her hands for a few beats before sighing and shaking her head. The smile she soon gives him after seems off. "It's okay, I got it covered. If I ever need your help, though, I'll tell you, hm?"
Alastor blinks. That's… different. He doesn't know how to feel about different. He continues to smile, however, as he says, "Very well. Please don't hesitate to reach out."
"Sure, Alastor," Rosie says, and her smile this time is softer, more genuine. It quickly takes a sharper edge as she leans back, waving a hand in the air. "And anyways, I'm not the one with the problem, aren't I? What's got you casting such a dark cloud over my bright little town, my friend?"
Alastor's strained smile further tenses. He looks away, drumming his fingers on the side of his mug. "Am I that transparent?"
"Hey," Rosie says, placing a hand on his forearm. This forces Alastor to look at her, and though her eyes are an endless void, he can see the kindness in them. "I know you don't like feeling vulnerable, Alastor, and I get it; I'm an Overlord, myself. Showing weakness in front of your enemies—and even your friends—can have irreversible consequences. But you have nothing to fear from me. Did I ever judge you? For anything?"
"I do not fear you," Alastor bites back, and he winces slightly. He glances at Rosie, and she doesn't even blink at his tone. Sighing, he says, "I apologize. I did not mean to snap. I know you will not judge me; that is why I'm here to seek your counsel in the first place. But I'm not hesitating out of fear. It's…"
Rosie blinks and tilts her head, prodding, "It's?"
Alastor sighs again. He drinks his coffee, nearly finishing it, before placing the mug back on the tray. He feels the familiar zing of energy from the drink, making his pupils dilate.
After a few beats, he turns to her and asks, "What does it mean when someone is always in your thoughts?"
Rosie blinks once. Twice. Then, with wide eyes, whispers, "Oh, shit. Erm. I suppose that depends on what they're doing in your thoughts, I guess? Or what you're doing to them? Fuck, that didn't sound right—but then again—"
"H—They are being an absolute menace." Alastor grits his teeth and stands up. He starts pacing the length of the room, heedless of Rosie's wide-eyed stare as she tracks his movements. The anger that had been simmering beneath his skin upon his arrival is slowly returning, and his eyes turn into dials as he goes into a full rant. "They are idiotic, egoistic, and have revolting taste in interior decor! They have years of unchallenged infamy and access to nearly unlimited power, but they act like such… such a buffoon! It's insulting, Rosie. To think I have to defer to such a blundering fool! I fantasize every day about ending them—strangulation, maiming, the works! But no matter what I do it's still not enough to quell this festering rage inside of me! I'm going crazy just thinking about it!"
"Uh." Rosie taps a finger on her chin. "Well, is that all you feel about them? In that case, then you must really hate—"
"And yet," Alastor cuts her off; his speech almost warbled by static. He takes short, shallow breaths, and he grips the front of his shirt—right where his holy wound had been not too long ago. Had been slowly disappearing… all thanks to him. "And yet, despite these murderous thoughts, I cannot bring myself to put them into action. I have not once hesitated to end a miserable life—be it whim or necessity. But beyond it being near impossible for me to do so, I simply… do not want to try."
The room goes quiet for a few beats; the only sounds being his sharp breaths and heart beating wildly in his ears. He clenches his fist and beats at his breast, as if demanding it to stop, lest he tears out his own ribs to force it to. The thought makes him bark out a laugh—him, threatening himself with death when not a few months ago, he had fled when Adam proved to be a more powerful opponent than he had anticipated? What a joke!
But now he just wants it to stop. His heart is beating for a new reason beyond sustaining his life force.
And it's all because of him. Lucifer fucking Morningstar.
"He is the bane of my existence. The reason why I'm—why I'm like this. I despise him so," Alastor whispers into the silence; his hands shaking as he stares down at them, wide-eyed, like he is a felon finally confessing his crimes to an unseen, but expectant jury. He tightly grips his head, uncaring that his claws are breaking skin and drawing blood. "Yet I despise his absence more. His past attempts to provoke me infuriated me to no end, but now that he is ignoring me, dismissing me, I find myself wanting to destroy everything and everyone that dares to utter his name. I have always been sure of my place in this world—both worlds—but for the first time in my life, I do not know what to do. I feel so conflicted and confused, and I fear I'm turning into someone I can't recognize. And it's all thanks to that—that loathsome little—"
"Alastor. Breathe, please," Rosie says softly in his ear, making him jump. His breathing resumes when she draws close, and he has to process the fact that he had even stopped breathing in the first place. When she reaches out with her hand, his ears draw back in response. Seeing his reaction, Rosie pauses, but lets her hand hang in the air; a silent question floating between them.
After several beats of heavy breathing, Alastor nods shakily. He closes his eyes as she pats him on the back—quick and featherlight touches that don't linger, but unquestionably there.
"...Thank you," he says quietly. He averts his eyes from the soft smile on her face and adjusts the lapels on his tailcoat. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. It's just… this is ludicrous, isn't it? I'm losing my mind over a halfwit, for god's sake. But who is the real halfwit here, I wonder?"
"I don't think it's either of you," Rosie says quietly. When he turns his questioning gaze at her, she just shrugs. "I mean, I haven't met this person, so I can't speak for them, but in your case, you're good, Alastor. It's no big deal."
"No big deal?" he echoes, guffawing incredulously. He starts pacing again, throwing his hands in the air. "Haven't you been paying attention, my dear? I very much hate him. I loathe him so much that if I were a lesser demon, I'd combust from all this rage building up inside me! Yet I absolutely can't find it in me to do something about it. This isn't like me at all!"
"It's because you don't actually hate him, Alastor. At least not completely," she says after many beats of silence.
Alastor turns around to gape at her. "Excuse me? Do I have to explain it all over again? I absolutely—"
"Loathe him, yes, I just heard you say it many, many times. That doesn't mean you don't like him, too!"
"...I am unsure if you're being serious or not."
"Look at this face. Does it look like it's not being serious?"
"Do you really want me to answer that?"
"Well, I am, Mr. Grumpy Pants!" Rosie stalks over to him to poke him once on the nose. "You can hate and like someone at the same time. It's no big deal!"
Alastor scrunches his nose, both for her touch and the insane idea she is trying to drill into his head. He can hate and like at the same time? "That doesn't sound right. Those are opposing sentiments. How can they co-exist? And how do you know which of them prevails over the other?"
Rosie shrugs and shakes her head. "It doesn't have to sound right because it just happens. Emotions are complicated like that. And sometimes one emotion is stronger than the other, but other times, they're all so equally intense that you don't know where one begins and one ends!"
The corners of Alastor's smile twitch as he ponders this. "So what you are saying is that I may both hate… and like him? And that is perfectly normal?"
"Yes! That's exactly what I'm saying."
"... Is that even possible?"
"It is very possible, my friend!" Rosie loops her arm with his; her hollow eyes somehow blazing as she sweeps her free hand over an imaginary horizon. "Think about it: love-hate relationships are all the rage in these parts, aren't they? Everyone here starts out as enemies. Heck, that's how my first husband and I started!"
Alastor stares at her. Love? He can barely accept liking Lucifer! Now there's a chance that he may actually love him? "Impossible," he says, mostly to himself.
Rosie ignores him, seemingly lost in nostalgia. "I mean, he was the man who spent all my family's fortune and drove this town to near bankruptcy. Why wouldn't I hate his foul-tasting guts? If he hadn't been such a beast in the sack I'd completely regret it!"
Alastor squints at her. "And you… don't?"
"Well, a little. He was an idiot, but so was I. Prenups should be a thing! Lesson learned," Rosie says, and her chipper tone at recalling one of the most disgraceful events in her family's history just makes Alastor stare at her even harder. "But that's life, isn't it? It's all about making mistakes and moving forward, guns a-blazing."
"I don't make mistakes," Alastor scoffs, gently breaking free from her hold. "I pride myself in being several steps ahead of my enemies and beating them to the punch. If others fail to control their life, then they simply lack preparation."
Rosie shakes her head, smiling softly. "You can't always be in control, Alastor. For as long as there are people around you making choices you're not aware of, you're bound to be caught off-guard at some point," she says. Seeing Alastor bristle, she holds up her hand placatingly. "But that's okay. We don't know what the future holds, but hey, we're still here, aren't we? It's like a box of finger food. You'll never know what kind you'll get, but you'll still reach for a treat anyway, right?"
"I do enjoy the fingers," Alastor says quietly, staring down at his feet contemplatively. "Except, perhaps, the furry ones. It's quite a pain to get rid of all that hair between my teeth."
"But you still eat the furry ones, right?" Rosie asks. At Alastor's silence, she snaps her fingers. "Well, there you go! Just because the process isn't enjoyable, it doesn't mean it's a bad experience overall. Especially if the end result suits us just fine."
"... I suppose," Alastor concedes, furrowing his brows. His smile twitches as he looks away, looking like he swallowed something sour. "Can't I just avoid finger food moving forward and be rid of all this complication once and for all? I don't exactly need them to survive."
"I mean, yeah, you can," Rosie says easily. Then she raises a brow at him, smiling knowingly. "But do you want to?"
Brows furrowing further, Alastor looks down at his hands. Does he? On one hand, he can avoid interacting with Lucifer from here on out. It will undoubtedly be difficult to resist the temptation, but Alastor has experience in denying himself his immediate whims and wants to achieve a greater goal. He has also been in Hell far longer than he has been acquainted with the reclusive king, so it wouldn't be such a profound loss.
But on the other hand, the very idea of not even catching a glimpse of gold hair and apple-red cheeks ever again…
"... I'm afraid I don't know," Alastor admits quietly, like the confession is physically painful for him to say. He pats at his chest, one, two. "I suppose I just didn't expect finger food to have such an impact on my life. It was just a small thing that I indulged in, as I had nothing better to do. But it grew and grew without my knowing, and now I am unsure if I can live without it or not."
"Well," Rosie says softly. "Doesn't that mean it's worth taking the time to find out?"
Does it, Alastor wonders. Is this thing with Lucifer worth seeing through? Is it worth setting aside his rage and reservations just to find out what said "thing," is, and if it adds value to Alastor's life? Is it worth walking down this path, not knowing if it will ever lead him to an undiscovered paradise… or to a place worse than Hell itself?
Oh but didn't it feel grand, he can almost hear a voice in his head say. To feel the pain ebb away? Even by his hand?
Alastor grips at his chest tightly—a once pulsing pain there now forgotten like a bad memory. Didn't it?
"... I would like to think so," Alastor says after several beats of silence, nodding to himself. "Very well. I shall let this… feeling stay. If only to find out if it's worth all this trouble or not."
Because that's what should matter the most. Regardless of his misgivings, if this emotional attachment to Lucifer can be beneficial to him in any way, then Alastor should have no qualms in tolerating it. He had braved his father's fists and endured his mother's martyrdom; compared to those, this should be a walk in the park.
'A rather tacky, hellish park,' he thinks to himself with a sneer, imagining the fairy lights and other carnival nonsense that is sure to be in store in the foreseeable future. 'But a necessary sacrifice for the greater good, if that.'
"And that's all you can do for now," Rosie says, nodding. "Is that all that's been bothering you, Alastor? Or is there something else you'd like to tell good ol' Rosie?"
"I think that is the bulk of my concerns," Alastor says. Standing up straighter and smiling more smoothly, he adds, "Thank you, my dear friend for helping me see things clearly. Truly, you are a bright gem in this dark, desolate place we call home!"
"Aww, stop it." Rosie laughs, swatting the air. Then, with a sharp grin, she stands next to him and loops her arm around his again, leading him back to the loveseat. " Sooo, since everything's all fine and dandy for now—"
"For now," Alastor echoes.
"—why don't we catch up with each other a little? I mean, you didn't get to go to the Overlord Summit last time!"
Alastor's eyes light up momentarily before they dim. Well, when one is on the verge of Double Death, they tend to miss the important events, don't they? Still, he laughs. "Oh, of course, that silly meeting. What charts and numbers did our dear Lady Carmine present this time?"
"Well, she did present numbers, but there's a whole lot more than just that."
"Oh? Do tell."
"Gladly. You're going to love this, because we're finally going to stop pussyfooting around Heaven, finally. Time to give the holier-than-thou fuckers a taste of their own medicine. But ugh, unfortunately it's because of a program that those stupid Vees have proposed…"
Something is wrong.
Lucifer paces the room frantically, his hand cradling his growing belly. Recently, he has started to feel tiny slivers of consciousness growing inside of him, further cementing the reality of his situation. Belphegor says it's just "the twins growing their brains, you fucking moron," but to Lucifer, it means more than that. He had first felt it long ago with Charlie, and now it's happening again.
His kids are here. Their souls.
"Oh, fuck me," Lucifer had blurted out when he first felt it—felt them. He had been arguing with Razzle—something, something about them being watched. He knew he had created Charlie's pets to have a healthy sense of paranoia—they wouldn't be very good guardians without that, would they?—but seeing it for himself at his most irritable wasn't exactly welcome at the time.
He had been about to tell Razzle to grow a pair and leave the evil spirit haunting them alone, but he was interrupted by a sharp kick in his tummy. Two kicks, for that matter, with the second one being softer—almost like a polite tap, even. The very idea would have been hilarious if it didn't cause him to start hyperventilating.
Because the twins had just kicked him. That meant this shit was very, very real.
"Not that I had any doubts," Lucifer later told Belphegor on the phone. She had been too lazy to come over after his fifty-two missed calls, but she called him a few hours later to ask him why the fuck he was bothering her. "I mean, all that science stuff you and Ozzie yap about does make sense every now and then—"
"Excuse me?"
"—but theory is very different from reality. And the reality is I really am fucking pregnant again. What the fuck."
"Congratulations, you have finally accepted the reality of you fucking up again," Belphegor had praised blandly. Lucifer throws a duck at the door to express his rage at her impudence. "So, if there's nothing else for you to unnecessarily report, can I go back to sleep now? I have patients to diagnose irresponsibly tomorrow and I feel like only being an hour late to each appointment this time."
"Wow, look at you, being all hardworking!" Lucifer had said, genuinely surprised. "Felt like doing a little throwback for old times' sake?"
"Ha-fucking-ha." That had been his only warning before the line went dead, and Lucifer had been so incredulous that he threw his phone away somewhere.
That had been a few days ago. Once the panic had settled down, Lucifer started reaching out little by little to the twins with his own mind—nothing overwhelming, of course, but he had thought about introducing them to some polka pop at some point. He decided to postpone the cultural lesson though, because what's the point if his kids are still too dumb to appreciate good music?
So for the past few days he has just been sitting in his room, "listening" to the nonsensical thoughts that form in the underdeveloped minds of his kids. He is so enraptured by the calm simplicity of it all that he forgets to eat sometimes, though fortunately, a tray of food always seems to appear by his side every time he feels some physiological need like going to the bathroom.
Then today, as he contentedly listens to the twins "arguing" with each other, he feels it: that sudden spike of dread in his gut.
Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.
He takes shallow breaths, in and out, as he paces the room. He vaguely notices his shadow growing in size, but he doesn't pay that much attention. He continues to rub his tummy, the awful feeling making him more anxious by the second.
"H-Hey, if that's you two messing around, quit it," he tells his bulging belly in the mirror, wagging a finger. "I know you're probably getting impatient in there, but you need to stay and develop your bodies completely. Unless you want to be freaks of nature! Well, if your father is who I think it is, then you're bound to be a bit like that, anyway.
"Still, cut it out and be nice to daddy, okay?" Lucifer almost pleads, which is crazy because while the twins may already be here, they're still too dumb to even understand what he's talking about. "Be good little ducklings. Stop it. Now. "
Silence. And that shouldn't be too alarming, but it is. Not when Lucifer has been listening to them blab on and on since they first kicked him.
That means they feel it, too.
But what is it?
"Oh, man," Lucifer says, taking shallow breaths. After a few beats he starts to laugh at his pathetic reflection; his right eye twitching as he grasps the sides of the full-length mirror. "Oh, shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit, I feel like throwing up. What the fuck is this? It's almost like the time when—"
Lucifer pauses. He swallows, watching as his face in the mirror shows a man that has just been bitch-slapped by a bit of clarity.
It's just like the time when Charlie had been hurt by Adam.
Charlie is hurt.
He condenses his magic in his hand, and a portal in the center of the room starts to form. But he aborts this as the light bounces on something in his periphery, and he sees his phone lying pathetically on the carpet floor. He almost dives for it, stepping on innocent rubber ducks on the way to retreive it.
Lucifer swears when the screen won't light up, and he zaps it with a bit of electricity to power it up. He shakes it frantically, yelling with a demonic voice for it to turn the fuck on, dammit!
As if on cue, Razzle pops into the room, holding a tray of myrrh and yogurt. His wings stop flapping when he finally takes a good look at Lucifer, bleating in alarm as he flies to Lucifer's side.
Their joined shadows grow larger and larger till it travels up the walls, and a pair of eyes look down at them from the ceiling, observing.
"Come on, come on, come on, come on, come on…" Lucifer mutters to himself as the screen loads. VoxTek's stupid logo flashes, and the company's stupid jingle grates his ears. "SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SHOW ME—"
There. Notifications. His inverted-colored eyes watch in horror as a growing list of unseen messages and missed calls litter the screen. Some of them are from an unknown number claiming to be Morrie, whoever the fuck that is. He sees a few voice messages from familiar names, and it takes him a few beats to realize that they're Charlie's friends from the hotel.
Oh, Father. What happened?
"Hello, Your Majesty, this is Vaggie, Charlie's girlfriend. I apologize for messaging you all of a sudden, but I got your number from Charlie's phone because—"
"G-Good evening, Your Majesty! King Lucifer sir. Um. This is… This is Angel Dust. You know, from the hotel? Hazbin Hotel, that is, ha, ha! Y-Yeah, we haven't exactly talked much but uh, listen, I have something to confess—"
"Christ, what am I even doing—oh, shit, uh, Your Majesty? Yeah, uh, this is Husk. The bartender from Charlie's hotel. Sorry for calling out of the blue, but uh, I just thought you'd like to know that the cat's out of the bag—"
"—Charlie just found out about your little secret, and she hasn't left our room in days. I mean no disrespect sir, but how can you keep something like this from her? I thought you wanted to start over and do better—"
"—I promise I did not mean for Charlie to know! I mean, fuck, I wanted to tell her, but I wasn't really gonna, I fucking swear. It ain't my secret to tell, fuck, I'm so sorry but seriously, what did you think was going to happen—"
"—but I would just like to say that it was an accident. Angel and I have been discussing it, and unfortunately Charlie overheard. We didn't mean for this to happen, but she was going to find out eventually, right? I honestly don't know how you thought you could hide it, to be honest. No offense—"
"—of course, I understand that you are in a delicate position, and I'm sorry if this is stressing you out. That's the last thing that I want, but—"
" —when you keep big secrets like this from your own family? These things don't just stay hidden, ya know? You were gonna have to tell her some time —"
"—but all of this could have been avoided if you both just sat down and talked like you were supposed to—"
"—please, sir, you need to at least answer her calls—"
"—and tell the truth straight to her face—"
"—and stop running away like a fucking coward—"
"... Dad?"
The ground stops shaking underneath his feet. Lucifer blinks his eyes until they return to their normal color, and he can feel the horns on his head receding bit by bit. His wings had come out at one point as he was listening to all those voice messages, and he is just about to put them away—
"Dad, are you there?"
But he doesn't. Instead, he slowly sits on the floor, covering his face with his first set of wings. He stretches out his bare hooves, and he covers those too with his third set of wings.
He takes a deep breath and presses play.
"H-Hi, dad!" comes Charlie's breathy, shaky voice. There is a pause before he hears her laugh. A forced thing. "Um, so. I know we just spoke a few hours ago, but I… I just needed to talk to you about something. Like, no pressure if you're not up to it! I know you just told me you needed more time and I get that. I… I get it.
"But I just wanted to let you know that I kinda found out already? I mean, assuming that you being pregnant was the secret and not something else? Though I don't know what else could top this—like besides dying—because WOW, you're pregnant! HAHAHAHA… Haha. Ha…
"...
"... What the fuck, dad. What the ever loving fuck? This—This is what you're afraid to tell me? That you're somehow pregnant? I thought… I thought you were dying! Or maybe Heaven is harrassing you over what we did to Adam! I thought… GOD! I thought it was a secret worth keeping! Fucking pregnant, like what—"
"... Is it mom's? Or—damn, what am I even talking about? It's probably not hers, right? Is that why you didn't want to tell me? Like, it would be nice if it was, but damn, I'm not a child! I know you and mom had an ugly fight. And you know it wouldn't have been a big deal if it wasn't. Or at least you should know.
"… You know I wouldn't judge you, right? I love you more than anything. I will always be on your side… You know that, right?
"...
"Or maybe you don't. That's why you were afraid I'd see you differently. That's why you kept this from me. You don't trust me, do you?"
"Was it all just a lie, then, when you said we were going to find the truth about mom together? Were you just going to push me away again in the end? Were you going to leave me again?
"...
"...
"... Dammit, dad. What do I need to do for you to open up to me? For the first time in my life, I want to feel like I matter enough for you to tell me things. About you, about mom—about anything! But you can't even give me that. Why?
"This isn't fair, dad. I only ever want to make you proud, but you don't even give me the chance to do that. I'm so tired, dad. So tired. It's like no matter what I do or say, it won't be enough for you. I won't be enough for you. It's not fair…"
("This is not fair, Father. Why am I being punished for this? I… I only wanted to prove myself to you. Isn't that why you put the tree in the garden? I thought it was a test! Lilith thought so, too. I… We only wanted to make you proud!
("Is knowledge not meant to be shared? I only did what I thought you would do. I did what I thought was right! I did not know it would bring Evil into this world. Believe me, I didn't!
("You cannot do this to me, Father. I deserve a chance to make it up to you! It's not fair! It's not fair!"
("..."
("..."
("...Fine. Have it your way. If you cannot see my side, then I will simply make you.")
Gadreel's head shoots up suddenly, blinking as they look up at the shaking chandelier above them. They sit up on the sofa, voice trembling a little as they say, "W-What was that?"
"What was what?" their companion asks. Gadreel turns towards Bernael who is arranging the ornamental vases by size. Or color. Actually, Gadreel doesn't know what he's doing.
"Didn't you feel the tremors? It was like an earthquake or something," Gadreel says, frowning.
"Tremors? Oh, aren't those common in this ring? It's been a thing since the rapture, I think." Bernael says, glancing over his shoulder. "Why? You getting dizzy or something? We probably still have some frankincense left over."
"No, I'm okay. We should save that for Lord Lucifer. Lord Belphegor says morning sickness comes and goes." Gadreel looks up, frowning at the ceiling. The crystal chandelier above them is still swaying, coating the parlor in a moving kaleidoscope of pretty lights. "I just thought that the shaking came from upstairs, for some reason."
"Upstairs? Like where Lord Lucifer is?" Bernael asks. After a few beats, he shrugs and goes back to rearranging the vases. "Do you think we should check up on him?"
Gadreel pauses before shaking their head. "No, I think we should leave him be. He's been real quiet the past few days, like he's meditating. I don't wanna disturb him over something silly."
Bernael snorts and turns back to the vases. "Yeah, I think you're just imagining things. He wouldn't do something so dangerous, anyway. Not when he's expecting."
"I guess. It's just." Gadreel pauses, looking down at their feet. They swallow. "It just reminds me of back then, you know? All of Heaven shook that day, too."
"... I wouldn't be too worried about it. Plus, that was a long time ago," Bernael says after several beats of silence. Frowning at the small vase in his hand, he puts it in the center of the mantle—right beside a taller, thinner version of it. Probably from the same collection. With a satisfied smile, he adds, "I'm sure this has nothing to do with it."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," Gadreel says, sighing. They relax on the sofa, staring up at the twinkling crystals on the chandelier. "It should be just fine."
Charlie narrows her puffy eyes at her phone screen, mindlessly scrolling Envee. She runs a hand through her hair, tutting when her fingers catch on more than a few knots. She knows she probably looks like shit, but she isn't in the mood to feel particularly vain at the moment.
In fact, she hardly feels in the mood to do anything but begrudgingly accept whatever food Vaggie insists on shoving in her mouth. But that's because it's Vaggie and she's amazing and Charlie loves her so, so much.
Still, it's a near thing.
Charlie sighs. After a few more useless scrolls, she finally turns the screen off and throws her phone carelessly on the space beside her. She rolls on her back; staring vacantly up at the canopy. Several beats pass, and her dull eyes slowly invert color, and with lightning speed she reaches for a pillow and throws it at the door, snarling.
When it lands ineffectually on the floor, she screams and sobs into her hands; her hooves kicking off the covers onto floor.
Dammit, why can't she just get over this? It's not the first time her father has disappointed her. Why does it feel so much worse now than it did growing up?
'Because he promised,' a distant voice in her head says.
Charlie freezes and looks around. Blinking the tears away, she hesitantly calls out, "H-Hello?"
For a few beats, there is silence. Then, a familiar black wisp appears under her door, and Charlie doesn't even bother to wait for the newcomer's body to properly form before falling back onto the bed, scowling. "Go away. I'm not in the mood."
"Oh, I could have told you that." Alastor waltzes in like he owns the place, and if Charlie had been even a teensy bit more irritable, she would have thrown a fireball at him. Or something. "But my goodness, dear Charlotte! No time for even a bath? Grief does indeed dull the senses, doesn't it? Literally in this case." Alastor pinches his nostrils together, causing his voice to sound more nasally in the end.
"What do you want, Alastor?" Charlie asks. She blindly reaches for the covers, deciding that she'll just ignore him under them until he goes away. When she recalls kicking them off of the bed, she growls and turns to hide her face in a pillow instead. "I'm pretty sure I told everyone to leave me alone."
Alastor tuts, wagging a finger in the air. "Correction: dear Vaggie told everyone in your stead. You, on the other hand, decided to hole yourself up in your room to wallow in self-pity in private—"
"Clearly not so private anymore," Charlie grumbles.
"—instead of being proactive and confronting the issue head on," Alastor finishes with a flourish. Charlie just ignores him. She flinches a little at the sudden high-pitched sound of static, opening her eyes to see Alastor staring down at her from her side of the bed. "You know, I seem to recall a similar event happening just months ago. Almost the same circumstances, too. But instead of running away from your own shortcomings, you are mourning the doomed relationship you have with your father—"
"Alastor, stop," Charlie sits up, her eyes inverting color for a brief moment. She growls at the smug expression on his face and starts pacing the length of her room. "Look, I know you're not the biggest fan of my dad. He's not exactly my favorite person at the moment, either. But this is none of your business, all right? This is between family and—"
"And?" Alastor prompts after several beats of silence. Charlie turns to see him looking at her expectantly, though his smile now is seemingly sharper. "Do continue your little tirade, your highness! I'm curious to know what's going on in your head."
Charlie pauses. Then, she turns away, scowling. "I don't need to tell you anything, Alastor. Like I said, it's none of your business. "
"Oh, I believe I've made most things around here my business since the day I agreed to help you on your little quest for redemption!" Alastor says, appearing in front of Charlie in a cloud of black smoke. His smile doesn't waver even as she turns away from him once more. "And who knows? I may even help you fix this little problem with your deer father. Hell knows there's much to fix!"
"Why do you even care?" Charlie asks, almost snarling. "You two never hid the fact that you hate each others' guts. You're no better than him at letting go of this stupid feud you have going on. In fact, if I remember correctly, you started this whole mess in the first place."
"... Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You were unnecessarily rude to him the first day you met! Don't think I didn't notice. Why do you even hate him so much, Alastor? Really, you should grow the fuck up!"
"Me? Grow up?" Alastor echoes; his voice becoming almost too garbled by static to understand. A crackle of feedback later, a disembodied audience laughs. "Oh, goodness! I don't have a grudge at all. Not in the slightest! If anything, he is the one with a grudge. I'm just indulging the poor deer, lest he feels ignored and starts acting out again. And we know what happened the last time he decided to be a little attention-seeking lout, hmm?"
"What are you talking about?" Charlie demands sharply.
"Why, the very root of this entire ordeal, of course!" Alastor laughs, though Charlie can see that there is no humor in his eyes as he glares at Charlie's nighstand. She follows his gaze, and a small picture frame of her and her dad greets them. "If your father weren't such a vapid tart, he wouldn't be in this unfortunate situation. I suppose no one is perfect, but at his age, he should have been more careful!"
Charlie turns her head to look incredulously at him. Not that he notices, because he's too busy glaring daggers at her dad's photo. She blinks down at her feet, trying her best to quell the rage building up inside her at Alastor's words.
Her dad is a tart? Well, it takes two to tango, doesn't it? Why isn't Alastor taking responsibility for what they both caused? She is about to ask him this—the venom in her mouth building up—but she stops herself as a memory hits her:
"Princess," Husk calls out to her when she runs up the stairs to her rooms. The urgency in his normally apathetic voice gives her pause, and she turns her misty eyes to see him at the foot of the stairs; an almost desperate look on his face. "C—Charlie. I know what you're thinking, and I just want you to know that you have every right to feel the way you do. Your dad fucked up and has a lot to answer to.
"But—But do me a favor, okay?" he pleads; desperation leaking from every word. "No matter what happens, don't ever mention the kid to Alastor. He knows the kid's his, and he doesn't like it one bit. He almost went into a frenzy from hearing me and Angel talk about it. It's… It's probably why your dad's staying away in the first place. Just wanted you to know."
'I know he can be cruel,' Charlie thinks; her eyes searching his smiling face. 'But I didn't expect him to be so…'
"... You know, I can be a gracious individual. Despite your father's flaws, I did offer my assistance. It's such a shame he didn't take me up on my offer," Alastor laments almost wistfully, though the snarl-like edge to his smile can tell you that he is anything but wistful. He licks his lips; his bright eyes gleaming in the dim room. "I've been around the block, but I've never had an actual fetus before. It would make a good stew, I would think."
A stew? He wanted to make his own child— Charlie's sibling —into fucking stew?
"You son of a bitch," Charlie mutters quietly under her breath; her nails growing sharp as she clenches and unclenches her fist.
"What was that, my dear?" Alastor asks, turning his head. "Even with my sensitive ears, I couldn't quite—"
Alastor cuts himself off as he just barely dodges Charlie's enlarged claws. Charlie watches as he turns towards her bed, which she had crushed under the heel of her large fist. Dazed, he turns his wide eyes on her as she stalks towards him; her hair like a fiery mane as it floats behind her menacingly—a feature that she knows is only slightly overshadowed by her glowing, inverted eyes.
"What—" Alastor braces himself against the wall; his eyes eyeing the only exit in the room. But Charlie blocks that too with her fist.
"Charlie?!" Vaggie's voice sounds frantic from the other side of the barricaded door, which moves and shakes ineffectually from her efforts. "Charlie, what's going on?!"
"I've been patient enough with you, Alastor," Charlie says, her voice going deep and demonic. She stands before him, and she can see that he is trying his best not to look cowed, but his flat ears and strained smile speak volumes. "You're a sadistic fuck who doesn't know when to shut up, but even then I tolerate all of that because of everything that you've done for me and the hotel. Even when you tricked me into making that deal with you, I forgave you. When you insulted auntie Bee, I defended you—and I would have with or without that fucking deal. I forgave you, dammit—I forgave everything.
"But I'm not going to let you talk shit about my dad anymore, not when this entire ordeal " she echoes his earlier words, mocking him, "is your fault, too!"
"... What?" Alastor seems to have forgotten his fear, because now he is rising up to meet her level; his eyes turning into radio dials. "And how is this shit show my fault, your highness? Your father is the sole executor of his own fate! If not for his meddling and neediness, he wouldn't be in this situation! I offered a solution and he dismissed me! Like I'm an inconsequential insect—"
"Offering to eat his baby isn't a solution, you sick fuck!" Charlie roars into his face. "No matter how I feel about my dad, I know that's messed up at least. I'm warning you: if you dare touch a single hair on that child's head, I'm going to skin you alive."
Alastor's eyes go round for a few beats before hardening again. "I knew you were kind to a fault, but I had no idea you could be so naive. You do understand that abomination can challenge your claim to the throne, don't you? And as a child of Hell, do you think it would grow up to be as compassionate as you are? What if it becomes more powerful than you?"
Charlie falters for a moment. Seeing the triumphant look on Alastor's face brings back all the anger again, however, and she says, "Shouldn't I be asking you that question, Alastor? Are you afraid of it becoming more powerful than you?"
"... What do you mean by that, princess?" Alastor asks after several beats of silence.
"Like you don't know, you hypocrite." Charlie rolls her eyes. After a beat, she scoffs and smirks a little cruelly at him. "You know for someone who constantly criticizes my dad for being a terrible father, you sure are—"
Charlie cuts herself off when she feels a sudden spike of energy from the other side of the door. She removes her hand just in time before the door is blown to bits; a bright light engulfing the room and blinding them.
"Charlie!"
Charlie freezes at the voice. She looks up and sees her father, dishevelled and pregnant, standing on what remains of her bedroom door. His visage suddenly grows blurry, and it's only when the tears start falling down her face does Charlie realize that she's crying. "D-Dad?"
"Oh, my sweet baby." Lucifer runs to her, and she too runs to meet him halfway. They catch each other in a tight embrace, and Charlie wails loudly into his arms as she feels his own tears fall on her skin. "Charlie, oh, my duckling, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, forgive me—"
"Dad, how could you," Charlie sobs into his chest. She feels his bulging belly touch her chest, and the thought just makes her cry all the more. "How could you hide this from me? Why don't you trust me? Why?"
"I'm so, so sorry, Char-Char. Your father is a coward." Lucifer runs a hand through her grimy hair, bending down to press his forehead against hers. Charlie wants to thrash and push him away, but she can't. Not with the baby in his belly, and certainly not when she loves him more than she resents him. "I don't know if I deserve your forgiveness, but I never meant to hurt you. I promise."
"But you did," Charlie says, sniffling. Her bottom lip trembles for a moment before another round of sobbing leave her lips. "You always hurt me. Stop hurting me, dad."
"I promise. I promise I'll stop," Lucifer vows, holding her close. "I swear on my life, I will stop hurting you, Charlie. I swear."
"You better fucking stop," Charlie says viciously, though she burrows closer to chase after his warmth all the same. "You better."
That was close.
Alastor materializes in his rooms, panting and clutching at his chest like a lifeline. His undead heart is still beating fast, and he knows that can't be healthy, but this is fucking Hell. Who the fuck gets a heart attack here?
'What a disgraceful way to go after everything,' he thinks to himself. With shaky steps, he walks to the nearest armchair to fall into it, breathing deeply. He turns to the hearth, which is cold and dark. 'Perhaps I went a bit too far.'
In all honesty, Alastor had simply wanted to push the girl into action. It had worked before, so he understandably thought it would work again. He hadn't meant to be so abrasive, but her recalcitrance had gotten on his nerves. Perhaps he had been the naive one, but he had not expected her to feel so much compassion for Lucifer's abomination, nor did he think that she would easily be so violent with him.
… She will forgive him. Alastor may have tested her today, but he knows that she is too kind to hold a grudge. And with Lucifer's return to the hotel, they may be able to resolve their conflict. Alastor will use that opportunity to express his regrets then.
But he can't really focus too much on the princess at the moment. Because he's back. Lucifer is finally back.
And if Lucifer is back, that means…
He turns when he senses a presence beside him. True enough, a black wisp stands just a few ways behind the armchair, looking oddly severe.
Alastor stands up, but he doesn't approach his shadow. Straightening his back, he waits for a few beats before he speaks:
"So," he begins. With a snap of his fingers, the hearth comes to life, and his back is coated in a green light; eerily offsetting his now shadowed face. "I suppose you have the answers we seek?"
Notes:I'm aliiiiiive ; u ;
Wow, was this chapter difficult to write. Ngl, I struggled with some writer's block on this, mostly because it never turned out the way I wanted no matter how hard I tried :(( Alastor's talk with Rosie in particular troubled me the most because it hit a little too close to home, oops. I also didn't know whether to end it with Lucifer returning to the hotel or not, but I did want Charlie and Lucifer to finally reunite in this chapter at least, so there. She was originally supposed to infiltrate the palace, but with her being barred entry, I couldn't find a realistic way of getting her there xD
Alastor kinda messed up at the end too, but I hope you give the guy a break, even though it seems as if he's not really learning his lesson xD In his defense, Charlie has always forgiven him, but this time he pushed a little too far :P I personally just want him to feel like he's losing powerful allies, which will make him cling to Lucifer more xD it's for plot, I swearrrr. And also, Alastor is kind of an arrogant idiot in canon, so this is still IC imo :)))
Next chapter we'll finally get Charlie and Lucifer to have a heart to heart ; u ; communicate for once, you idiots! *shakes fist* There also might be a flashback or two, idk xD The twins will be born in a few chapters, too, I think. I do want the lunch and interview with Vox to be after that. We'll see.
Again, thank you so, so, soooo much for taking the time to read and being patient with me ; u ; I'm grateful that you're all still here despite the sporadic updates. I'll do my best to update more regularly by October-ish!
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, guys! See you in the next update <3
EDIT (09/19/2024): Okay, I think I completely forgot to point this out at first, but the voice messages part of this chapter was very intentional, and I have my reasonings for why it happened, which will be revealed next chapter. All I can say is, despite my undying love for the show, I do not think the characters are perfect. I'm writing this because someone voiced their concern over this part of the chapter feeling "artificial," which is perfectly valid, but I hope you give me the benefit of the doubt, at least until the next chapter comes out :)))