Chapter Text
Major blood/gore and emetophobia warning!! Emetophobia warning will be reiterated directly before and after the scene. Please read with care!
—{ ♤♡◇♧ }—
Once the hotel was rebuilt, everyone decided to celebrate. Partying, drinking (Vaggie protested, but Charlie excused it: "We just won a battle against Heaven, Vaggie; let them have this, just for tonight."), and sending invitations out to any sinners who cared to visit the new hotel after seeing what exactly it was capable of.
After an hour or so of greeting a good amount of the guests, Alastor excused himself to his room. Charlie waved him off with a grin and went back to chatting with her partner.
Lucifer, however, wasn't having it. He'd noticed the telltale stench of an open wound, one that was taking far too long to heal. While Lucifer had to admit that Adam was quite powerful, and that angel-inflicted wounds took far longer to heal, he knew that he could help.
But if there was one thing Lucifer had learned about Alastor during his stay at the hotel, it was that Alastor was a stubborn prick when it came to requesting—and likely accepting—assistance. Luckily for Alastor, the guy had helped Charlie quite a lot, which led Lucifer to feel indebted. Thus, Lucifer decided that he was going to heal that damned wound, no matter what Alastor tried to do about it.
It had been a good few minutes since Alastor had disappeared up to what Lucifer assumed to be his room. Whether the demon had climbed all those stairs to get to one of the highest (and most inconvenient to get to) rooms of the hotel or had simply shadow-teleported up there, Lucifer wasn't sure. Either way, it didn't matter.
Lucifer began to follow Alastor's path, making a beeline for the staircase on the other side of the main room. He was careful not to bump into anybody, but he definitely made sure to avoid anyone who would try to stop him or talk to him. Successful in that portion of his journey, Lucifer continued on through the empty hallways, knowing the route by heart since his room was connected to Alastor's through a glass-walled corridor.
It wasn't the best design choice on Charlie's part, Lucifer had to admit, but in this situation, it came in handy.
Finally, he found himself next to his own room. A quick glance and turn to the left allowed Lucifer a view of Alastor's room, the door unceremoniously shut, an illusion of normalcy surrounding the silence that covered the corridor. He walked down the hall, a bit quicker than he'd been traveling before, ignoring the sight of his kingdom through the window on his right.
Charlie told him that it was beautiful. Maybe one day he could see what she saw in this God forsaken place.
Once Lucifer arrived at Alastor's door, he didn't bother knocking. The demon wouldn't answer. Besides, if he were unconscious, he couldn't allow entry. It was a strange train of thought, but Lucifer barely gave it the time of day.
He swung the door open, barely able to locate Alastor before those terrifying yet underwhelming black—what, tentacles?—shot out at him. And then they stopped, presumably because Alastor had figured that it may have been Charlie coming to check on him.
The man in question was facing Lucifer, but Lucifer noticed he'd been facing away from the door a second ago. His stance made that rather obvious. His suit jacket was laying on the bed that he stood next to, a few other components such as his bowtie sat atop it. Alastor was still wearing his undershirt, likely having been unbuttoning it to check his wound before Lucifer entered. That much was clear based on the basic medical supplies next to the jacket and two undone buttons on Alastor's shirt.
After scanning the small area surrounding Alastor, Lucifer glanced over the rest of the room. It wasn't the largest, and part of it was taken up by old equipment from Alastor's radio tower, but otherwise it was rather homely. A soft music was playing in the background, some type of jazz, the smooth notes coming from a small, old radio sat atop Alastor's dresser, which was tucked against the wall to Lucifer's right. The wood plank floor had a couple of carpets covering it, one by the bed and the other not far away, by a fire that crackled within its fireplace quietly. There was a loveseat facing the fireplace and a deer skull hanging above the blaze, something that would've disturbed Lucifer more if it weren't for Alastor being a known cannibal.
Lucifer took all of this in within a moment, and in that same moment, Alastor decided not to (try to) kill Lucifer. With a sigh, that ever-taunting smile remaining on his face, Alastor relaxed slightly and glared at Lucifer.
"What do you want?" he demanded, his voice crackling with that trademarked static. It seemed to creep into his voice during the first couple of words, which Lucifer took as evidence of Alastor forcing the radio filter. What for, he wasn't sure. A question for another day.
"Can you put those away?" Lucifer replied, eyeing the tendrils with a somewhat bored expression.
"What. Do you want," Alastor repeated, narrowing his eyes at Lucifer in an attempt to intimidate him. Unfortunately for Alastor, Lucifer knew he was far more powerful, so the intimidation was more comical to him than anything.
"To help," Lucifer said simply, though he knew it wouldn't be quite so easy to get Alastor to agree to the aid.
"Help." Alastor seemed to grin, more so than he usually did, as if he found the offer hilarious. As if Lucifer had just told the funniest joke he'd ever heard, in life or death. This was supported by Alastor chuckling a bit to himself, then raising an amused eyebrow at Lucifer. "You want to help me."
"Oh, get over yourself. I don't want to help you." Lucifer rolled his eyes and stepped further into the room, completely ignoring the weapons aimed directly at his chest. He shut the door then looked back at Alastor, a hint of disdain in his eyes. "I want to repay you for helping my daughter out with this idea of hers. Even if it's not the most promising venture, you've made her increasingly happy through your support. Because of that, I'm indebted to you, and I don't like that. So, here I am, offering to pay you back for what you've done for Charlie."
The Radio Demon had listened silently, expression unchanging. He considered it for a moment, then recalled the tentacles and spoke, his voice filled with noise. "And what, pray tell, do you believe you can help me with?"
Lucifer almost laughed. Was he trying to be funny? No, a quick scan of both his body language and expression—mostly the look in his eyes due to that smile of his being rather unreliable when conveying emotion—showed that he was being entirely serious. Lucifer didn't care what the reason was. Whether he believed Lucifer wasn't physically able to heal angelic wounds, or he was trying to hide it from him, Lucifer couldn't give two shits.
Instead of laughing, he deadpanned, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Alastor, seriously. I can smell the blood on you. It's annoying. It's like a damned cowbell—I can tell when you're around because of it. And I know it's from Adam, because you're powerful enough that a demon-inflicted wound would've healed by now. Plus, you wouldn't have let an Exterminator get a hit on you."
As Lucifer laid out all of his evidence, Alastor's expression did three things: it widened slightly, showing a genuine surprise that Lucifer had been able to tell; it soured, showing an anger at himself for letting Lucifer notice (and also at Lucifer for noticing); and faltered a bit in its aggressiveness, showing that he had considered allowing Lucifer's help, if only for a second.
"You're going to die if you don't get it treated," Lucifer continued, "and I think you know as well as I do that those—"he pointed at the bandages on Alastor's bed—"aren't doing shit."
"Lucifer, I do not want nor need your assistance," Alastor tried, but Lucifer felt a twinge of genuine frustration at the response. He stepped toward Alastor, not having to go very far due to the size of Alastor's room, and poked an accusatory finger at the Radio Demon's chest.
Just as he was about to tell Alastor off for practically condemning himself to a second death, the demon flinched, and rather obviously.
As quickly as Alastor had jerked back, his eyes widened in realization, same as Lucifer's did. They stood for a moment in silence before Alastor sighed.
"Fine," he muttered, spitting the word out as if it were meat that had rotted beyond its prime taste. Still, his tone was resigned, and he fell backward to sit down on his bed. Now, he was slightly below Lucifer's line of sight, which made Lucifer feel a bit better about this.
"Thank you," Lucifer responded, partly under his breath. He gestured to Alastor's chest, where he assumed the wound to be.
Alastor just stared at him, a sort of spite lingering in his eyes. Lucifer, growing more frustrated by the second, exhaled harshly and rubbed at his eye.
"Jesus, Al, could you cut it out with the egotistical bullshit?" he snapped. "I'm gonna fix that one way or another, but I can't do that if I can't see what I'm doing. So, you can either work with me, or I'll do this myself."
Alastor's eyes narrowed and he leaned towards Lucifer, voice dripping scorn. "As I said, Lulu," he growled, "I don't want your help."
Suddenly, Lucifer grabbed Alastor's shoulders and shoved him back, landing on top of him, holding himself up mostly with his legs. Gritting his teeth and doing rather well at holding back from murdering Alastor right then and there, he snarled, "Don't. Call me that."
"Ooh, struck a nerve, have we?" Alastor taunted, the grin that had been dullened a second ago now back tenfold. His eyes fell to slits, pupils boring through Lucifer's. "Lili call you that?"
Mentally, Lucifer tried to calm himself. He was here to heal Alastor, not fuck him up more. Still, this guy was unnervingly good at pinpointing people's insecurities and sore spots and jamming salt-covered knives into them, and then twisting.
"You are lucky," Lucifer spat, staring daggers right back at Alastor, "that Charlie likes you." And at that, he pushed himself up and off of Alastor, standing for a moment before sitting down next to Alastor.
The demon stayed laying down for a couple of seconds, the only sound being the nearly silent fire and jazz music wafting through the room. He then reluctantly sat up, Lucifer taking the chance to confirm Alastor's decision. "Now," Lucifer began, forcing a cool tone, "are you going to let me heal you?"
The word seemed bitter to Alastor. Maybe not the word "yes," but the act of agreeing to getting helped. His expression was hateful, spiteful, and clearly not happy with what Lucifer was doing, but he began to unbutton his shirt anyway.
Finally, Lucifer thought flatly, rolling his eyes and turning his body more to face Alastor.
A quick glance at the button-up as Alastor discarded it onto the floor told Lucifer that the bandages Alastor had slapped on that morning had bled through already. It was inconvenient, in a sense, because Lucifer would have to clean up the likely-dried-up blood that would have surrounded the wound by now. What's worse, if those bandages were fresher than a day's worth of usage, then Lucifer would be getting far dirtier blood-wise than he originally would have liked.
Either way, he reminded himself that this act of kindness was not about him; it was about his daughter, and ensuring Alastor wouldn't be able to hold all that she'd done for him over her head.
Lucifer's gaze followed the shirt, but returned to Alastor after a moment, only to end in a perturbed stare at the blood-soaked bandages that covered the entirety of Alastor's top half.
"Holy... Alastor, what in the seven rings happened?" Lucifer whispered, brow furrowed in a genuine concern for Alastor's well-being as he leaned in slightly to squint at the covered wound.
"Nothing you haven't reiterated to me thus far," Alastor replied, sarcasm lacing his voice.
"As if you would've told me had I not brought all of that up to you," Lucifer shot back, rolling his eyes.
Alastor gave a small chuckle as he began to unwind the bandages that wrapped his torso. They covered all of his ribs and ventured a good few inches below his twelfth ribs, wound up around his right shoulderblade, and double-knotted under his left arm to hold everything snug.
So overall, he was somewhat professionally bandaged, just not enough to actually convince Lucifer that Alastor was used to being hurt quite this badly—or, if he was used to such injuries, that Alastor was used to bandaging his wounds himself.
The deer seemed to be cringing a bit, wincing at both the sticky sound of the bandages being unstuck from one another and his open wound, but also at the feeling of such an action.
Lucifer hummed. "Looks painful."
Alastor paused in the removal, sending an annoyed glare over at Lucifer, who realized that his bad habit of not thinking before he spoke had caused yet another issue. "Quite the acute observation."
With a slight groan, Lucifer tried to fix his comment as Alastor resumed. "I didn't— Look, I didn't mean it in a patronizing way. Just trying to..." Lucifer hesitated, then sighed. Alastor glanced up at him, eyebrow raised quizzically. "I don't know. I spoke without thinking."
It was Alastor's turn to hum, the note flat and rather disinterested, as if he didn't believe the angel's explanation. Still, it was neutral enough that Lucifer didn't take it as negatively as Alastor may have meant it.
".... Sorry," he mumbled, reaching up to awkwardly rub at his neck as he, equally as awkwardly, glanced over at the old radio equipment Alastor had tucked at the front* of his room.
(*The front of his room is the wall/window that you see when entering the hotel, a.k.a. the face that looks like the deer's mouth.)
"Hm, that was unexpected."
"What?" Lucifer half-snapped, the word coming out more declarative than interrogative. He turned to look at Alastor, hand dropping to the bed.
Alastor was staring at him strangely, seemingly trying to solve a sort of puzzle. Had Lucifer said something wrong? Since when was apologizing a bad thing to do?
He stared back, but after a few seconds, the eye contact became incredibly uncomfortable to hold. So, he hardened his own gaze defensively, prickling up as he assumed the worst of Alastor. "Seriously, what?"
"Ah, apologies. It's nothing," the demon replied, waving his hand dismissively. Lucifer recoiled the slightest amount, not wanting to risk any stray blood getting flicked onto his white overcoat. Alastor seemed to notice, speaking as he finished undressing the wound. "If you're hesitant to get your clothing dirty, might I suggest you simply take the coat off, as I have?"
Lucifer tisked, a humorless smile crossing his face at the suggestion. "I don't need advice from you, Alastor."
"Very well, suit yourself," Alastor shrugged. He finished moving his bloodied bandages from his body to the palms of his hands, moving to stand up so he could dispose of them.
Lucifer stood quickly, blocking Alastor from doing so. "Ah— no. You, stay. You're just gonna hurt yourself more by moving."
"I appreciate the concern," Alastor began, "but I have been getting around just fine these past few days. I assure you, I'll survive a trip to the restroom and back."
"You were gonna leave this room looking like that?" Lucifer scoffed. "Someone might see you."
Alastor raised an eyebrow. "The gathering is on the main floor."
Lucifer paused, stuttering as he realized Alastor brought up a good point. "Well— I mean—"
"Exactly." Alastor stood, brushing past Lucifer, who almost forgot to move out of the way so he didn't get crimson on his white. "Now, excuse me as I—"
"Can you just listen for a second??" Lucifer snapped, slipping in between Alastor and his bedroom door. The taller narrowed his eyes at Lucifer, stopping suddenly as the angel stepped in.
"Lucifer. Move," he warned.
"Make me," Lucifer replied, eyes challenging Alastor to try it.
After a brief staring contest, Alastor growled quietly in defeat.
"That's what I thought," the angel muttered, relaxing a bit in knowing that Alastor wouldn't do anything.
"Here, then," Alastor said, shoving the pile of bandages toward Lucifer, who jumped back before doing a quick glance down to check his precious jacket. Alastor snuck in a disdainful eye roll before Lucifer began berating him.
"You inconsiderate fuck, I'm wearing white! Not everybody down here wears blood red all the time!!"
"Ugh, spare me," Alastor grumbled. "You wouldn't have to almost literally bend over backwards to avoid getting blood on your clothes if you weren't wearing them."
There was a slight pause as Lucifer squinted at Alastor suspiciously.
"Oh, for— You know exactly what I meant!"
"I d—" Lucifer faltered, then inhaled in realization. "OHHH my coat! Just say that next time, for Hell's sake..."
"Forgive me for not knowing I'd need to specify," Alastor stared down his nose at Lucifer as he stepped to the side to remove his overcoat.
"With sinners like Angel living here? Always," Lucifer muttered, pulling the red-trimmed jacket off and hanging it on the coat rack Alastor had stationed next to his door. He hung his hat next to it, then rolled his sleeves up and offered his hands out. "Alright."
Alastor had watched Lucifer with a slight suspicion, then lowered his own arms to give Lucifer the bandages that, despite Alastor's efforts not to let them, had begun steadily dripping blood onto his floors.
Before deciding to get supplies to clean his floors, Alastor took great pleasure in watching Lucifer's entire body shiver as the sopping bandages were entrusted to his care.
With a genuine grin snaking across his face, Alastor asked, "Uncomfortable?"
Lucifer considered glaring at Alastor, but reconsidered. He wouldn't give the demon the satisfaction. Instead, he forced a smile. "Nope. Lovin' this."
Alastor snickered, eyes never leaving Lucifer's face as he relished in the subtleties of the angel's masked sour expression. "Really?"
"Yep. Never better," Lucifer replied through gritted teeth. He paused, the stench of blood starting to give him a headache. "Can you—?"
"Ah, the door? Of course," Alastor finished for him, tucking one hand behind his back and reaching past Lucifer to open the door. He backed up and bowed slightly, offering his hand out as if inviting Lucifer to leave. "There you are. Don't get lost, now."
"Hardy-har-har," Lucifer responded flatly, turning around to enter the hallway.
Alastor wiggled his fingers at him in a wave, his smug grin unwavering as he watched Lucifer turn to descend the stairs to the nearest bathroom (a floor down, which Lucifer had to admit was also a bad design choice on Charlie's part, but whatever).
Once the angel was out of sight, he heard the door shut, officially closing Alastor off from the rest of the hotel. There was a slight twinge of relief as Lucifer decided he was glad to finally be out of that weird as fuck deer demon's sight. His smile was disturbing, sure, but his eyes were the worst. Between the usual calmness in them that just screamed "I'm insane" and the way they could change so quickly from that to "I'm going to tear your soul apart and broadcast your screams as an example for all that dare to oppose me" was indefinitely one of the scariest things Lucifer had experienced. There was always this sinking feeling in Lucifer's stomach when he felt Alastor's eyes on him. The ache tripled when the chills crawling up his spine were confirmed to have a reason for existing.
Still, after the previous—what, twenty minutes? It couldn't have been that long— of being alone with the guy, he didn't seem as bad as Lucifer had originally thought. Sure, he was a stubborn prick whose demonic animal would've better fit him as a bull, but he wasn't as unbearable to be around as he had when the two had first met.
As he finished this thought, Lucifer reached the end of the staircase, only to run into the hotel's bartender at the bottom.
The two stared at each other for a moment, Lucifer surprised to see Husk so early in the night and Husk surprised to see Lucifer without a hat or overcoat. Husk's eyes then descended to the pile of obviously used bandages Lucifer had staining his hands.
In a slight fit of panic, Lucifer tried to explain himself. "These, uh, they're.... It's not... um—"
"All due respect," Husk interrupted, holding up a hand, "I don't care."
Lucifer blinked. "Oh."
Husk blinked back, but more boredly than anything. He then turned and headed down the hall, stopping in front of one door in particular. Lucifer initially wanted to stay and listen, but quickly decided that it wasn't any of his business, and that Alastor was expecting him to return shortly.
"Eugh..." he mumbled to himself, eyes falling on the mess he carried with him as he turned to the bathroom on his right. There were two restrooms on this floor, one for the men and the other for the ladies. Lucifer obviously entered the one for men.
Immediately, he glanced around for a basin to dump the sopping wet pile of blood that he desperately wanted to get out of his hands so that he could stop thinking about the fact that he was literally carrying part of somebody's body with him.
As soon as he located a garbage bin, he hurried over to it and opened his hands, tilting them both up and out, allowing the crimson paper mache-esce monstrosity to fall into the bag with an unceremonious schlop.
Emetophobia warning! Skip to the next "—{ ♤♡◇♧ }—" for the end of the scene.
—{ ♤♡◇♧ }—
A disgusted shudder racked his body, a wave of nausea hitting him like a truck. He was about to lean over the trash can, but realized that doing so would just heighten his urge to puke. He rushed to the nearest stall and fell to his knees before the toilet bowl, his three meals from the day clamoring their way up his throat to escape.
Lucifer was a bit sad that he was losing the amazing dinner that Charlie and Vaggie had prepared for the party that night, but he figured it was better to spew his guts somewhere he could easily dispose of the remains rather than somewhere else (namely Alastor's room).
Lucifer coughed, the noise echoed yet somehow muffled at the same time by the bowl. The bitter taste stung his throat and tongue, lingering for far too long as Lucifer felt waves of sickly warmth wash over him. Pressing his forearm to his nose (his hand was still a bit covered in blood), Lucifer forced himself up, staggering for a moment as he fought off that weakness that always followed a "good" intestinal cleansing.
He made his way out of the stall, using his heel to flush the toilet because he didn't feel like getting the trip handle covered in blood. He found it sourly funny, how he was concerned about the flush getting bloody even after he'd gotten red handprints smeared over the sides of the toilet bowl and the bathroom tile itself, not to mention the bathroom and stall doors.
—{ ♤♡◇♧ }—
After washing his hands a good three or four times and still not seeing any of the stains lifting from his grey hands, Lucifer sighed in defeat and went to dry them with the towels hung up around the sinks.
Swallowing the urge to gag again as he thought about getting more of Alastor's blood on his hands when he needed to go back up and heal the damned guy, Lucifer exited the bathroom and started back up the stairs.
He faintly heard Husk talking, but all he could make out were the words "come out" and "valentine". Or was it "Valentino"? Ah, well. It wasn't his business, after all. The mumbles of the bartender faded to nothing, the only sounds now being Lucifer's heels hitting the wooden stairs as he climbed them.
Once again, he found himself opening Alastor's door without knocking. Only this time, he knew he was welcome.
He hoped he was welcome, at least; he was about to heal the deer of a fatal injury, after all.
Lucifer stepped inside and shut the door behind him, giving the room a quick scan. "Alastor?"
No response. That was weird.
"Alas—" he called again, then stopped as he saw Alastor laying on an area with bare wooden floors. A surge of panic filled him. Was he dead? Lucifer rushed over to the demon, nearly skidding to his knees next to him. "Alastor! Fuck, wake up!!"
"By Satan, calm yourself, Lucifer," Alastor hissed, furrowing his brow and waving at Lucifer, whose eyes widened as he leaned back to avoid being smacked in the face. "I'm simply laying on the ground so I don't get blood on my rugs or sheets. I am alive still."
"Yay," Lucifer muttered sarcastically, muscles releasing the tension they'd been storing for the past ten seconds.
"Oh, don't act so excited." Alastor rolled his eyes.
"Don't act so dead," Lucifer shot back. Though, he did feel a sense of relief that the demon was still conscious. Even if he'd never admit that to any soul, dead or alive.
Alastor chuckled. "As you wish." He sat up with a grunt, straining and obviously inflicting pain upon himself in the process.
Lucifer's eyes widened and he nearly went to shove Alastor back down against the floor, but the demon was already sitting up fully. "Are you fucking stupid??" Lucifer yelled, glancing between Alastor's annoyed face and his oozing wound. "Sadistic?? Do you enjoy potentially killing yourself through your own reckless actions—??"
"Can you not?" Alastor grumbled with an eye roll. "I'm fine."
"You realize that this is already difficult enough for me to treat, right?" Lucifer demanded, gesturing to the gash that stretched across Alastor's entire rib cage. "You constantly fucking it up even more is making this harder on both of us."
"I figured it would be easier to treat such a wound if I were sitting up," Alastor snarled. "Bandages work like that, Lucifer."
"Who said I was using bandages?"
This caught Alastor off-guard. He paused, a genuine confusion crossing his face before he covered it up with a defensive suspicion. "What do you mean?"
"Dear me, I thought you'd be less dense than this." Alastor's expression soured more, but Lucifer cut him off before he could demand an explanation or apology. "Angel-inflicted wounds upon demons are nearly always fatal. The areas touched by an angelic weapon will never be able to heal. Never. In instances of severed limbs, those demons will become handicapped. In instances of minor cuts or scrapes, those demons will forever have open wounds where that blade touched them.
"For you, you've been struck by Adam. Adam is powerful, extremely so. I would know; I dealt with him multiple times when I would visit Earth. That being said, he is a winner. He cannot be any more powerful than a sinner could be down here. Therefore, while the injury he inflicted on you would be fatal in most cases, you have me. I'm an..." Lucifer paused. "...I was an archangel. I'm a Heavenborn, which makes me more powerful than Adam. I have the power to heal angelic wounds."
Alastor stared at him, somewhat resigned. Yet he still managed to get a quip in. "Two paragraphs of talking, only to tell me things I already know."
Lucifer sighed in annoyance. "Listen. Alastor. You need help. You need my help. Whether you want to admit it or not won't change that fact."
"I've already told you—"
"And I've already told you!" Lucifer snapped, glaring at Alastor. The demon flinched back slightly at the sudden outburst, but Lucifer didn't back down. "I'm not leaving this room until you're not in danger of bleeding out all over your bedroom floor! Charlie gives a shit about you, and as much as it sucks to see how you two interact, you dying would hurt her far too much for me to allow it to happen. When I said I would do anything for her, I meant it. And if you care even half as much for her as she does for you, you'd let me heal you so that she doesn't have to go through the pain of losing someone she looks up to again!"
Alastor didn't say a word. He looked genuinely shocked at Lucifer's rant, but that hopefully meant it had gotten through to him.
Lucifer took a moment to calm his breathing before speaking again. "You mean... a lot to my daughter. I'm sure you know how she sees you. You're like a parent to her. You're a—" He hesitated, the words stinging him as he tried to say them. He looked off to the side as he forced them out. "A father figure. To her. You stepped in when I... didn't. I can't thank you enough for that. Not with words. So, please, just... let me help you. If not with anything else, then with this."
Lucifer felt a telltale sting in his nose, and he silently berated himself for being so soft. Was he so desperate for Alastor's cooperation that he was willing to shed tears in front of another living being for the first time in literal decades?
No, he decided, he was not. Lucifer was not desperate. If anything, Alastor should be the desperate one. It was Alastor's life on the line, not Lucifer's. Though, Charlie's happiness was possibly on the line, which was arguably the only thing keeping Lucifer alive right now.
Lucifer decidedly was not tearing up at the words he'd just spoken, he decidedly was not picturing Alastor actually giving a fuck about Lucifer, and he decidedly definitely was not picturing Alastor hugging and comforting Lucifer.
He was not doing any of those three things at all.
"Very well," Alastor said, a resigned tone to his static-covered voice. Though, Lucifer noticed, the radio filter seemed less prominent at the moment. Whether that was a good or bad thing, he wasn't sure, but it was definitely a thing.
Lucifer blinked, surprised. "Wait, what?"
The angel met Alastor's eyes, which were angled away from Lucifer. "I will cooperate."
Brow furrowed in confusion, Lucifer racked his brain to try and figure out what changed. He took in Alastor's appearance, scanning the wound that seemed to be dripping more blood by the minute. Had Alastor realized that Lucifer could actually help? Was he finally noticing how close to death he was?
Or had Lucifer's rant swayed the demon's mind? Did the fact that Charlie actually cares about him click?
After a brief scan of the rest of Alastor's appearance—fluffy ears angled back, spine bent backward slightly, neck tucked between his shoulders, hands planted behind him to stabilize his body, one knee angled up as the other lay bent on the ground, smile less cocky, and eyes averted—Lucifer put the evidence together and did nothing with the inference he created because fuck him if what he found was true.
“Oh,” Lucifer mumbled. “Thanks.”
“Let it be clear that I am not allowing you to heal me for your sake,” Alastor said, “nor for my own. This is solely for the purpose of maintaining Charlie's happiness and, therefore, ability to keep the hotel functional.”
“Duly noted,” Lucifer replied with a slight nod, still a bit shocked that Alastor had accepted the help.
Alastor hesitated, then shifted slightly so he wasn't leaning back. “... Alright.”
“Alright?” Lucifer parroted.
“Yes, that's what I said, isn't it?” Alastor asked, slightly snippy.
The hope in Lucifer's chest fizzled. “I was confirming, Bambi.”
Alastor let out a short, amused laugh, one accompanied by a thick static. Lucifer thought he heard some sort of laughing track behind it, too, but that could've just been his imagination. “That's a new one! ‘Bambi’, as in the animated movie from the 1940s featuring a fawn protagonist?”
“Specific,” Lucifer deadpanned, “but yes.”
The demon exhaled, a noise that resembled a sigh that a person would release after a good laugh. “Ah, such a touching story.”
Lucifer sniggered, a somewhat wicked grin spreading across his face. “Even when the mother dies?”
A screech of radio static pierced Lucifer's ears, the sound sending Lucifer wincing away from Alastor with a yelp. Just as quickly as it sounded, it disappeared, leaving Lucifer stunned with the balls of his palms planted firmly over his ears and staring at Alastor in disbelief.
The man in question was staring scornfully at Lucifer, eyes narrowed and smile twisted up into a disdainful glare.
Ah, so that was a line that Alastor didn't like people crossing.
“I seem to recall you being a thorn in my side about this pesky angelic wound across my chest,” Alastor growled, obviously trying to keep his voice void of anger—and failing. “Would you be so kind as to get rid of it already? You'd have thought that, after an hour and fifteen minutes, I'd be done ruining the hardwood floors of the bedroom so graciously gifted to me by Charlie.”
Lucifer hesitated, then sighed silently. “Of course. Must have slipped my mind.” He got back up to his knees and shuffled over next to Alastor, the demon seeming to regret his reaction slightly at Lucifer's response.
Without another word, Lucifer brought his hands up to the gaping, bleeding wound that tore up Alastor's scarred body. Alastor's eyes watched Lucifer's hands closely, likely to ensure Lucifer wasn't making the infliction worse.
“Brace yourself,” Lucifer muttered, wincing slightly as he placed his hands onto the gash itself.
“What f—” Alastor cut himself off by gritting his teeth, entire body tensing as he held back a pained noise that Lucifer was impressed he was able to suppress.
It looked about as cheesy as one would think: wind coming from nowhere snuffing out the fire and fluffing out the two men's hair, Lucifer planting his hands firmly across Alastor's chest, the angel's palms emitting a bright yellow glow that began spreading across the demon’s torso, the demon in question tensed up and doing all that he could not to let out a screech of pure and unfiltered agony.
After what couldn't have been longer than a couple of seconds, Lucifer realized that his power wasn't enough. It was restricted in this form. So, he unfurled his wings, horns protruding from his forehead as his scleras filled to be a bright red that left no trace of his irises or pupils.
As Lucifer's power increased, as did the pain. It seemed that the Radio Demon did have some sort of breaking point, as his antlers began to crack outwards and claws sharpen, but his eyes and jaw remained clenched shut. Once again, Lucifer felt genuine respect towards Alastor for being able to put up with this for so long.
Just when Lucifer was beginning to doubt himself, the corners of Alastor’s wound began to blend into the opposite side, beginning with the deepest layers of flesh and systems of veins and working its way up and in toward the middle of the wound.
A twinge of pleasant surprise filled Lucifer. He would never admit it, but doing this was taking a lot out of him. Seeing that his exertion was paying off was nice. He already felt the claws of slumber beginning to creep up his spine. But he forced them back, wanting to be able to remain conscious to see this through.
A quick glance up at Alastor's face and Lucifer could see tears. Genuine tears of pain forming in the corners of his eyes. His jaw was clenched so tightly Lucifer thought his sharp teeth would crack at any moment. His eyes were squeezed shut, forbidding any possibility of sight from making it out. And his claws were digging into the wooden floorboards, creating splinters that were sure to be piercing Alastor's fingertips by now.
But he didn't seem to care at the moment. After all, what were a few splinters when half of your chest was being forced to heal shut within a minute's time?
Lucifer's stare lingered on his hands, traveling up his forearm.
Strangely, he hadn't noticed until now: Alastor's “gloves” were nothing of the sort. Same as Lucifer's arms and legs, which faded to a grey color from the forearms and calves down. He briefly wondered if Alastor's legs were the same as his arms.
Shaking away the decidedly unwelcome thought, Lucifer returned his gaze to the task at hand. Most of the wound was closed, nearly there, nearly finished.
His eyes felt drowsy.
No, he couldn't. Lucifer forced them open wider, blinking, then squinted against the powerful gusts that whipped his short hair and wings around.
He hadn't noticed until it became more noticeable, but the corners of his vision had gotten blurry. If that weren't bad enough, they were now darkening.
Was he about to pass out?
A wave of lightheadedness washed over him.
Fuck, no, not yet… Not now. It's almost done, I just need a few more…
Gritting his teeth, Lucifer tensed his body, trying what he could to force himself awake.
Just a few more seconds and Alastor would be in the clear. If he could just close this last part of the wound, he could…
Could…
Wait, just—
Just a few more…
He blinked blearily, feeling his control over his body slipping.
Too much.
Every blink became closer in succession to the previous, and each one left his eyes less open than before.
The light stopped, and the room was almost completely dark. He could see the glow of red from below him, two deep red eyes that popped open in surprise. After staring down for a second, they met Lucifer's, a confusion filling them.
Then, Lucifer began to tilt his head to the side. What? No, it wasn't just his head. That became apparent when he felt his entire body hit the ground. There was no pain, though, no sound—just the beep of silence. Dead silence.
Silence and darkness.
It was pitch black now.
He'd never liked the dark.