Archive of Our Own

It was a well and true surprise a lowly radio host managed to bag even half the man he had wrangled into his hard earned favor. Well, a different type of bagging than what he was strictly used to. The weight of a dead body emptied of its precious organs was like coming back home after a long day of work. Dead bodies didn’t necessitate the fickle and unpredictable nature of human feelings that made navigating conversations so captivating and draining all at once. A headache waiting to be unveiled.

By all means, dead bodies were much easier to deal with in the long term than a living, breathing human. A dead body could be dumped when it rotted with no strings attached. The bayou eager to swallow it whole. There was no conflicting thoughts and crossing lines that blurred the edges of reality until it spun a web that one was too stuck to get out of without ripping it all out in a mess of whatever was unfortunate enough not to die with it.

A crossed line was all it took. A misstep along a river bank that set him tumbling headfirst into the water. He should have been smarter than a passing thought he made the mistake of giving too much attention.

Blonds weren’t new. Especially not rich, white ones. But this one gave him a strange feeling. A prickle that tingled unpleasantly along his skin. It was like looking into the eyes of a predator that wasn’t interested enough to pounce.

It was interesting.

Fascinating.

It was something he shouldn’t have taken a second glance at. They stayed out of each other’s way, how it should have remained but didn’t because even a monster still somehow had the smallest speck of white in his ink drenched heart.

Alastor didn’t just let anyone waltz into his private life and look at him like he was a pricey display piece that was fascinating to take apart and sew back together. Especially not targets he planned to gift a surprise invitation to an unwilling dinner over a nice glass of hard whiskey and a fresh homemade meal. No, his private life was a carefully cut slice of cake that was taken and hidden from the rest of the guests, the malformed part no one needed to see otherwise the illusion would be ruined.

He wanted to kill the man known as Mr. Magne that had recently come into town about a month or so ago with his daughter in tow. It was an itch that festered underneath the skin begging to be scratched but left untouched knowing it would be left bloody and raw. A man of that status and wealth took careful preparation, more so than the simplicity of taking care of Mimzy’s stalkers from the bar and creepy fans that wrote her love letters she read with a laugh and then burned in her fireplace.

He wanted to kill him so desperately for the way his skin unwilling itched and prickled with goosebumps. It was blasphemous someone he never spoke to gave him such a feeling of deep seated dread when their eyes met across the street or in the market shopping early Monday morning. The man was dangerous, there was something deeply wrong and unsettling about him and Alastor hated the affect it had on him.

It was disgusting.

Then, in all his careful planning drawn out over five months, he made a fatal mistake. A sloppily drawn line in an otherwise perfect plan. He agonized over it until it very well started to swallow him up in its oppressive jaws. He couldn’t, shouldn’t, have risked anything regardless of his own flimsy moral compass. But his mama wouldn’t have approved if he ignored a little girl left playing alone without anyone to watch over. Mama wouldn’t have forgiven him if anything happened to a child he could have helped.

Speaking with his intended target had never been his intention, but he didn’t exactly get a choice anymore when he stumbled upon Mr. Magne’s daughter lost and alone in the darker part of town in the late hours of the evening with only a few streetlights illuminating the shortcut through the park where Mimzy was performing that night. He was a serial killer, yes. A murder. But he didn’t harm children.

It disgusted him to his very core, made him physically sick that anyone could think to harm a child but he knew people that would. Just like how he killed grown men, others did much worse than a knife in the throat of a child left alone.

He remembered when a neighbor had came running up to him once and yanked his arm towards his house, Mr. Baker, scolding him about leaving his grandmother alone when she had been dead long before he had been born. It took years before he realized what his neighbor had done for him, what he saved him from. All he knew was that Mama had been in tears when Mr. Baker told her. She hadn’t let him out of her sight again after that.

A serial killer was far from a model citizen, but he has his mother’s word to abide by and guide him when he was uncertain of where to go next. He would apologize to Mimzy for missing her show later. Possibly even buy her a drink they both knew was watered down to save money to make it up to her.

The white of her dress was stained and he truly hoped her father wouldn’t be upset about it. A few dirt and grass stains were healthy for children. Everything he’s seen of Mr. Magne was a polite but awkward man that reeked of danger beneath an innocent face. Maybe it was from a distance, but his blue eyes didn’t suit him.

He could very easily get arrested just talking to her and knew he needed to hurry before a patrolman saw him and thought he looked suspicious. After all, he only passed as white, but a closer look was all anyone truly needed especially at night. He knew where their house was and offered to take her back, the quicker the better really.

It was necessary he had to stalk his targets to some degree to learn their routes and mannerisms to formulate the perfect plan. Disposing Mr. Magne’s body would be the most difficult part, while there was a river running behind the mansion, it was also too close. And while a boat would certainly work, it would also be very suspicious and lead him to getting arrested far sooner than he liked.

Charlie recognized him immediately by his voice alone from the radio she said her daddy played when he was working. It was a very impressive feat for anyone but especially a young child, five at the time. She chatted enough for the both of them the whole way back. Introducing herself and asking eager question after question about his job and what he did, how it worked and where he hid in the house to speak so clearly to her dad everyday.

It made him laugh once or twice, the imagination of a child was an extraordinary thing, and it didn’t hurt to humor her bubbly excitement. It was actually quite pleasant to meet such a big fan. Even if her interest would probably wane in the coming days due to a child’s fickle interest in new and exciting things.

“Your the man that stares at daddy a lot.” Charlie said bluntly in a way only a child could be. It startled him. “Daddy said I can trust you. I dunno why. Your strange.”

Children were more keen at noticing things then most realized. They could tell if a person had good or bad intentions. A feeling in the gut or a prickle at the back of the neck. Of course, it mattered little when their parents refused to believe them and forced them near whoever or whatever they subconsciously knew they should be as far away from as possible.

“Daddy told me to call him if I needed help. I didn’t need to.” She beamed up at him, skipping along without a care in the world, “Thank you for helping me, Mr. Altruist.”

Alastor almost laughed at the absurdity. How could she call her father without a landline? And then, how could her father ever hope to get to her in time? Annoying rich families thinking nothing can touch them. What a stupid lot. It was surprising she knew his last name. She must listen more than he initially assumed. Hopefully she hasn’t heard the crass things his coworkers snuck in to play. Disgusting music that painted desires of the skin in a light he found himself venomously disliking.

He cleared his throat. “There’s no need to thank me, dear Miss Magne!”

She pouted at the use of her last name, puffing up her cheeks like it would have been proper to call her by anything but. Alastor expected her to complain about it, perhaps demand he call her something else but she did none of the sort. Truly her manners were inspiring for someone so young. He was certain she would go a lot of places.

Instead, she kept the conversation afloat by her lonesome. Managing a one-sided conversation rather masterfully. He listened for the most part. Gaining information about her father was really his only motive to humor her bizarre questions. She certainly seemed fond of her father’s siblings, Uncle Monmon, Aunt Bee and Uncle Ozzie. He assumed she’s interacted with them the most due to her mention of three others she was happy to talk of but the fondness wasn’t fully extended as with the other three.

Really the girl shouldn’t openly admit so many things, but she was only a child blissfully ignorant to the people that would want to get under her father’s skin. After all, people liked killing for money. It was a good motive, but not for him. Money was as good as a material only that it kept the bills paid and food readily available. It was useless to him otherwise.

Debts were better paid with lives after all.

The transition to the Primrose district was stark. It was unnatural how perfect everything was. The eerie symmetry and spacing between each tree and hedge. It wasn’t a place he wanted to be caught at after dark. Patrolmen jumped to conclusions before they thought to ask questions, and being seen with a wealthy man’s daughter was even worse if someone got the wrong idea. Thankfully, Charlie wasn’t eager to linger around the streets and immediately bolted towards the cast iron gate that led into the walkway of the estate, but not before grabbing him by the wrist and pulling him along with a surprising amount of strength that made him stumble. His feet slipping from underneath himself as he scrambled to follow or slam his chin on the stone path.

Alastor cursed under his breath at the abrupt manhandling, smudging his monocle from where he prevented it from marrying the walkway. His skin itched where she held it. Her grip never once wavered even when she bounded up the stairs towards the open French doors, letting the porch light guide her so she didn’t trip. Hopefully she wouldn’t drag him inside. He really didn’t want to explain himself to an angry father. He’s had enough experiences with those to last him well into the afterlife and then some.

He wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or not that there wasn’t a chance to knock before two abnormally small, chestnut goats rushed to meet them. Their hooves clacking along the wood as Charlie crouched down to greet the little bleating devils with open arms, letting him go and quickly wiping off the disgusting film of another humans touch on his vest. Their matching red bow ties glittered in the artificial light and swearing there had been the barest glimpse of crimson burning in their thoughtless eyes.

It occupied his mind for a second before passing off the glow as a trick of the light as the sensible thing to do.

Alastor rubbed his wrist with a constrained wince. A little girl, a child, shouldn’t have enough strength to drag a grown man around and not even be the slightest bit winded. Where the hell had she gotten the strength from? The thought was unwelcomely cut off by the hurried clicking of heeled boots on hardwood floor, Alastor purposely took a step back as Mr. Magne came rushing out and scooped his daughter up quick enough to make him spin to regain his balance or tumble down the stairs. His rosy cheeks were wet with tears.

Mr. Magne’s hair was frazzled, blond strands sticking out every which direction from where it was slicked back. His pink striped vest and dress shirt were wrinkled from what Alastor could only assume was a frantic search for his daughter when he realized she had gone missing. Standing across the street didn’t do the man justice in how short he actually was, and without the heels he’d be even shorter. Alastor bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.

“Charlie, sweetheart, where did you run off to?” Alastor could admit he admired how Mr. Magne kept his voice steady when it was painfully obvious he was distraught. It was hard to make out his expression with his face buried in Charlie’s hair. Hopefully he wasn’t suffocating her from how tightly he was holding her.

Alastor cocked his head at Mr. Magne’s arms. Having assumed from afar he wore gloves but was sorely mistaken with his dress shirt rolled up. His skin was grey, like the life had been burnt out of it. Could he feel anything in his hands? Did a fire burn the sensitive nerve endings? Oh, how he desperately wanted to know now.

“I went on a walk around the park!” The naive response only an innocent child could give only made him hug her tighter. Perhaps he was punishing himself for letting her out of his sight. Alastor knew his mother had and he hated every second of it.

Mr. Magne kissed her hair and kept her tucked securely underneath his chin and turned to face his unexpected guest. Alastor had been mistaken that Mr. Magne’s blue eyes hadn’t looked right on his face because of where he had been observing him from, but his eyes didn’t look right at all. The blue was so out of place it was drawing all of his attention as Mr. Magne thanked him profusely for bringing his daughter back home. It wasn’t the redness of crying that made the blue appear unnatural. No, the feeling persisted every time he looked the other man in the eye.

“I’m a pretty shitty cook but I can make pancakes if you’d like some.” Mr. Magne offered, snapping Alastor out of his thoughts and pointedly avoiding thinking about how he hated his blue eyes. Focusing on the purple eyeshadow certainly helped. It reminded him of Mimzy.

“Pancakes!” Charlie cheered, kicking her legs much to her father’s amusement.

It was then he realized he was waiting for an answer.

Normally, he would have declined the invitation, both not wanting to over stay his welcome and not wanting to potentially be arrested but Mr. Magne was a man of mystery despite all his careful observing. The man was a shut in when his daughter hadn’t dragged him out or when he was lingering in the farmers market. Looking a gift house in the mouth wasn’t something he did, even if the consequences were potentially cataclysmic if Mr. Magne decided his stay hadn’t been welcome when he had been the one to invite him.

Like a fool, he accepted.

He doesn’t even like sweet things and Mr. Magne’s were somehow even sweeter than the ones Mimzy made on the occasion they ate breakfast or brunch together when they weren’t too busy.

Regretfully, the conversation had been nice, and the pink apron even funnier. Alastor learned more than he thought possible, a target that didn’t even think to shield itself was laughable. He got the long awaited reveal of Mr. Magne’s real name, though he seemed to slip up on his last name as though he needed to correct it. Running from his past perhaps? There were an unhealthy amount of blond businessmen that were rich with blood on their hands, and dear Lucifer was certainly filthy with it.

Yes, for some reason there was a woman out there that thought naming her son after the Devil was a good idea. To say it didn’t fit was an understatement. Alastor was more of a devil than he was.

“Your a dancer.” Lucifer told him when Charlie went to play in the garden outback with her goats. Safely fenced in by sturdy stone walls and the sanctuary underneath a canopy of trees.

Alastor was lucky he hadn’t accepted another helping of pancakes or he might have choked on them. “What?”

“The way you stand.” Lucifer explained, like it made any sense. How the hell… “Dancers typically stand subconsciously with their feet pointed outwards. It gives a better range of motion in the hips.”

How was he supposed to respond to that? He was right, but what was he supposed to say? Alastor bristled at how effortless he was read, like a book he knew was slammed closed. It wasn’t Lucifer’s fault he could see how his feet positioned themselves, didn’t mean he had to be pleased about it either.

Lucifer stood with a flourish, offering his hand with a grin that made the red of his cheeks lift into his eyes. “Care to dance?”

Alastor raised a brow. Throughly unimpressed. “Asking a man you just met to dance? Have any shame? Besides, it’s late and there’s no music.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “You don’t need music to dance. You have a long way to go if you still rely on music to guide your feet. Dancing is meant to be enjoyed no matter if there is music or not! Either alone or in company! And in my experience, in company is better.”

If you asked Alastor, he would say dancing alone was far better. There was no need to worry about being judged or the mistake of tripping over your dance partners feet. It was freedom to dance in solitude to nothing but the music you enjoyed and didn’t like sharing for the very same fear of dancing with another.

It was a literal dance with the Devil. A dance he shouldn’t have taken. Should have refused his target and walked right out the door with a smile. The taste of the forbidden apple he had foolishly bitten into before thinking of the consequences.

Lucifer’s grin widened as Alastor accepted his hand. Mentally preparing himself for the disgust of other’s touch against his person. But the disgust never came. It was a comfort instead, like he was touching a beacon of light. It was like standing in a church with his mother underneath the sun shining through the windows.

He found something entertaining.

Someone that kept his attention more than he thought ever would. It was distressing how it consumed his entire being, filling his thoughts until it scribbled all over each other and he didn’t know what to feel. Horrific whiplash that made him both want to rip apart Lucifer’s skin and simultaneously keep that awful part far away from him. He wanted to touch and taint him with the wetness of his own warm blood smeared on his pale skin but another part despised the thought so violently it made him nauseous.

Alastor couldn’t trust his own mind anymore. He had relied on his careful way of conducting himself for years and now a rock was jamming the gears. Making a clustered and jumbled mess that had been so refined it had been a well oiled machine working without a second or double crossing thought.

The lack of maintenance had finally caught up to him. It was the feeling that it gave throwing him off balance. Throwing him overboard without a life jacket so the only thing he could do was drown in the overwhelming confusion of it all.

The rush when their eyes met on the street was intoxicating like whiskey had never been.

No, his private life was a carefully maintained and well oiled machine. It didn’t have bumps or lumps running the delicate machinery ragged from pulled lines and fried wires. He was neat down to his core and now he wasn’t. There was something horrifically wrong with him and he hated it.

It would have been easy if it was something he could tear out of himself. Ball his beating heart in his fist and pull until the tubes connecting it to himself were snapped and crushed in his palm in scorching mush.

Alastor liked to people watch. Often drinking coffee or a nice glass of whiskey while he did so. Whether it was at his house, a bar or the radio tower watching his coworkers. He liked observing and learning the mannerisms of those that passed by day to day.

This also applied to when he went out to eat with friends, the few he chose that were acceptable to take up his time, and Mimzy had the same habit he did. So it came as no surprise when she started talking about what she’s seen and heard of the new family that moved into town.

“He’s quite the looker. And his daughter, oh! She’s such a sweetheart.” Mimzy gushed over her lunch. Alastor chuckled into his drink, rolling his eyes at her antics. The bitter taste of coffee washed over his tongue. “But her daddy is the real charmer. That man reeks of it.”

He rose a brow, “Have you spoken to him?”

Unlikely, it would be the talk of the town if that was the case. He eyed the dark swirl of his coffee as the coaster welcomed its partner.

“No, but I can tell. A silver tongued, blue eyed snake. Oh, it’s a pity his wife passed, but a bonus for those of us looking to get hitched. The single ones are always the most desperate after they’ve gotten a taste of that married life.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust, “Ugh, marriage. How awful tying yourself down to someone in your prime. Until death do us part, sweetheart, death ain’t soon enough.”

Hopefully she wouldn’t be on this for much longer. The white hot flush burning at the back of his neck was almost as distressing as his heartbeat hammering in his chest as he struggled to stomp down the sudden wave of anger. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

“I heard you’ve been seen around town with him, Alastor. What’s he like? Looking for anyone?” Mimzy asked. Well, she didn’t ask for things, more so demanded in a way that made it sound like she did, but certainly never ask.

“I believe that’s none of your business, darling.”

“Oh, stop being such a charmer.” She waved him off. “You don’t need to keep up a cover story or whatever with me, doll. Just, is he single?”

Alastor sighed, cutting into his egg with a knife. The gooey yolk spilled out, smearing the bacon in viscous, salty yellow. “I don’t believe so. But we aren’t exactly chatty with each other either.”

Mimzy huffed but ultimately was quick to forget about it. Moving on to someone else that caught her eye. It gave him time to put a clamp on the possessiveness that surged up. Making him lightheaded in the rush. 

That discernibly wasn’t healthy. What was wrong with him?

Lucifer also called him by the wrong names for several of their encounters. It didn’t help those meetings had been quick and he wasn’t given time to correct the short man before they were being interrupted by one thing or another.

Alfred, Alan, Alberto, Alexander, and Alexis were the most common just to name a few.

It rubbed him the wrong way for weeks. It made a violent itch fester something fierce underneath his skin horrible enough to burn and consume his thoughts. It bothered him until he realized Lucifer just couldn’t remember a name to save his life, and that was almost what it came down to.

He called Mr. Cassidy down the street Mr. Capacity, and Mrs. Beth was horribly named Mrs. Meth. It made him wonder who Lucifer had been talking to him about on the few times their paths crossed when he couldn’t remember most of a conversation that was happening right in front of him.

Alastor saw Lucifer and his daughter around town even more after that, always together. It was like his eyes had been opened and he always saw what he was subconsciously looking for. It was annoying to be minding his business then suddenly his eyes were drawn to white moving far too close to the ground to be considered clouds.

Maddening and an irritable inconvenience.

He still needed to kill him. That should have been the only thing he focused on, and for a moment, it was. He buried himself in finding out an exploitable weakness. Poking at different things but nothing stuck, not until he stopped looking at Lucifer himself and instead broadened his vision.

He laughed at how he missed the obvious. It followed Lucifer around like a little duckling. The one thing the man cared for more than himself.

Lucifer’s weakness was his daughter. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

Late one night, he saw some men surround the head of the Magne family. Sneering at the blond man and his pristine white suit. Alastor expected his target to be killed for him and it angered him that someone else was going to get the satisfaction of spilling his blood. At least he was a hunter that wouldn’t waste precious meat and organs. His mama taught him to use everything and he did.

It was that night Alastor knew he should have left the family alone. Scraped it to the back of his mind where it would die in a festering and mind numbing curiosity that couldn’t be stated but wise to be left alone. Sadly, human beings were drawn to what they couldn’t have.

Lucifer was left unharmed and with a smile leering on the side of sneering malice. The kind man was gone if only briefly, leaving behind a man that knew how to fight and mock his opponents with a savagery a military man would admire.

Control was very vital to a conversation. To control a conversation was to control everyone and how they thought by leaving tiny thoughts that would linger for days in their brain to maul over and subconsciously take hold. Alastor loved control in situations, if one controls the flow, one controls it all. Combing this with his innate showmanship, and the end result was typically snide remarks and questions that were often jabs disguised as backhanded compliments that cracked at their carefully maintained surface.

Lucifer threw his carefully treaded control on its head when he invited the radio host over for tea in the estate’s parlor. There was also a pot of coffee for Alastor as he disliked tea with a passion which he was thankful his host had taken his preferences into consideration with the mix of overly sweet treats and meat sandwiches. Unfortunately, the color scheme of white, gold and red spread from its owner to the decor like a leech. While apples could be quite tasteful, the redundancy of them was starting to get on his nerves.

“Have you heard about the murders going on recently? They call him, The Bayou Stalker, or something.” Lucifer shrugged, clearly trying to remember if that was correct or not before giving up and devouring a cookie. Charlie had already came in and stole a plate of them when they were freshly made and shared them with her goats. Alastor was positive she shouldn’t have. Who knows how goats act when given sugar.

But Alastor had a part to play. A vital one to keep both his image and preventing him from becoming a suspect. “Are you worried he’ll target you?”

Friends, he almost wrinkled his nose at the word, are supposed to worry about each other, yes?

The window was open, letting a pleasant breeze wash through the room’s stuffy air. It was blissfully cold brushing along his skin. Alastor sipped at his drink, the ceramic burned his hands but it was more cathartic than anything.

Lucifer laughed like an ignorant fool. Waving off the concern like he was above the danger. Alastor’s eye twitched at being disregarded so dismissively as a threat. Not that Lucifer would know. “No, I’m worried about my daughter but I don’t think I need to be concerned after all. The victims have all been grown men. Whoever it is, he doesn’t have children as their target.”

“He could still come after you.” Alastor reiterated but it was more like beating a dead horse. If anyone was going to kill this insufferable man, it was going to be him.

Lucifer upturned his head with a smile, looking over at him with an unhealthy hue of yellow tinting the whites of his eyes as the blue shifted to crimson. Alastor blinked and swore he was something inhuman sitting across from him. The smile too twisted and cruel to be Lucifer’s as the air grew thin and suffocating. Horns twisted from his skull with fire dancing between them like a stage girl, and six wings that stretched towards home.

When he looked again, it was gone.

“I’d like to see him try.”

Lucifer had a weird apathy. He was weird in the things he found concerning or worrying. Like when he was working underneath his Duesenberg and it fell on him, and he refused to go see a doctor for what would have certainly crushed his ribs and caused hemorrhaging of another kind. Or the time he lounged in a chair on the back patio during a rainstorm, soaking his white dress shirt and slacks to the bone. Alastor had to drag him inside and dry him off before the idiot found a way to kill himself before he could.

The little man shared the appearance of a drowned rat.

It was like his life meant nothing to him. But anything involving Charlie? Alastor wished with a sickening glee he could witness what would happen to the sorry soul that dared harm or threaten his daughter.

He once asked the man if he’d ever think about running for president, a truly blasphemous thought but one he found intriguing nonetheless. Lucifer had nearly laughed himself a new set of lungs, saying the political nonsense would be unbearable, and then there was the subtly implied ramification of something else. Something likely due to the stumbling of his last name and the family he refused to speak of outside of a select few called aunts and uncles by little Miss Charlotte.

At one point, he was curious who Charlie got her bubbly lightness from. Though it was starkly obvious despite never meeting her mother who it came from. Something like that couldn’t be faked easily and Lucifer was like a book.

Lucifer often tooled away in his workshop, which is where Alastor found him late nearly every night listening to something playing on a record player while he tinkered away on a car or duck and existing in his own little world. The face of the Duesenberg Model J greeted Alastor from the door where he watched the other work. It was introduced December 1928. An expensive, excuse the uncouth language, fucking thing. And the only reason he knew the specifics was because Lucifer rambled away about the intricacies of how it all worked, even though the man seemed to prefer tearing them apart and rebuilding them. Lucifer was a speed demon alone but thankfully drove calmly when anyone else was with him.

In his humble opinion, Lucifer spent way too much time locked in the metal walls of his workshop littered with his strange fascination with rubber ducks. Though he had no idea how he manipulated the obnoxiously bright yellow rubber without any machinery that most certainly didn’t exist anywhere on the property, just simple wood working tools hung in front of his scuffed table. And Lucifer never worked on one outside of dressing them up in tiny outfits when Alastor was in the room, instead busying himself with chatter though he was still a bit awkward but he’s gotten marginally better.

Alastor once thought his awkwardness was a way of being polite because he wasn’t a fan of other skin tones besides his own, which was concerning considering how deathly pale Lucifer was compared to his daughter’s healthy flush. But no, the man was just awkward as hell and an apparent shut in back home.

Truthfully, it was very concerning that Lucifer never once got any tanner by the sun despite how often he was outside watching his daughter play.

It reminded him of a conversation that gave him insight into how the man thought.

“Hey Al, what is a racist? Is it those people that hate other political ideas besides their own? This lady at the library won’t stop talking about it.” Lucifer was too busy looking for a pot the radio host had purposely placed on one of the higher shelves. It wasn’t because he wanted the satisfaction of Lucifer asking him for help, no, that was incorrect and not at all his intention.

Then Lucifer had to scale the cabinets like a squirrel because he couldn’t find the stool Alastor had hid either.

Alastor had to pause before responding. He’s never been hit with that before. “That’s a fascist, my dear.”

“I thought that was hating the other sex for some dumb reason or another.”

“No, that’s sexist. What people are to your daughter.” Alastor corrected.

“Who’s doing what to my daughter?!” Lucifer shouted, accidentally knocking a pan down in his excitement where it clattered to the kitchen tile with a deafening clang. “HAHA! I FOUND IT YOU FUCKER!”

Ah yes, that had certainly been a…conversation. It was difficult to get the concept of racism into Lucifer’s thick skull. Somehow it was a difficult thing to understand. Especially with Lucifer’s bewilderment and the argument everyone was made of the exact same things; organs, skin and all. It was very exhausting…but endearing that he thought that way.

It was also far too late for this.

While the moon was out, it was hidden behind a thick wall of clouds as the beginnings of a thunderstorm threatened to drench the already wet and humid murkiness of a late July in New Orleans. He’d rather not be caught out in the rain. He might have brought a change of clothes but toting around his vest drenched in water would ruin it.

Lucifer had an uncanny ability to tell when someone was watching him, which is why Alastor knew he was being ignored.

“Charlie finally went to bed.” Alastor spoke, startling the shorter man into nearly knocking his head into the wheel well. His ever present smile widened at the reaction.

Of course, Charlie was already in bed and asleep with KeeKee curled up on her chest when he went to double check. Razzle and Dazzle looked up when he opened the door but laid their heads back down with a watchful eye on him after they recognized who it was. They were pigmy goats, native to Africa. And likely very expensive just to be a pet to a little girl but very typical for stereotypical rich, white people.

Though any time he asked about how the trip was Lucifer just smiled nervously and unsubtly deflected the conversation. It was about as graceful as falling head first down a flight of stairs. Amusing but not very subtle.

Lucifer regained his composure quickly, having grown used to the radio host’s antics and flashing him a blinding smile. Grease was smeared messily across his cheek. “You played my favorite song today!”

Alastor tried very hard to keep it as a passive fondness. Hold everything at arms length to never let anyone close, strictly transactional. He failed miserably.

“Why of course! Anything for my second biggest fan.” Lucifer gasped in offense but didn’t argue. Charlie would always be his biggest number one fan, she declared so herself and he had no choice but to believe the conviction. Alastor chuckled, pulling out a handkerchief and wiped off the grease himself. Staining the fabric a muddy black, almost brown.

He swore acting like a sappy couple was beneath him but the little actions weren’t for him. It didn’t make his insides fuzzy besides a pleasant warmth like his mother’s hugs had been. Lucifer clearly enjoyed it if the flush was anything to go by. Always so horribly expressive.

Alastor cocked his head towards the door, watching Lucifer’s smile turn to a glare as he was politely forced back into the house. He watched patiently as the record player was put up, eyeing the greyed flesh crawling up Lucifer’s arms from his elbows to his fingertips like they had been licked by fire into smeared ash. It gave sense to the nightmares that plagued Lucifer, always about falling from the sky and crashing. Leading him to believe Lucifer acted in the war as a fighter pilot though he never asked, it wasn’t his business like how he didn’t share he was a serial killer.

The flightless singing of a man was cut off as the record was removed and placed into its protective sleeve. The singer couldn’t compare to Lucifer’s own, as beautiful as a church choir. He told Lucifer that once and he nearly died choking on his drink. He’d never forget singing voice as lovely as his. Lucifer had laughed awkwardly at the time, so very horribly awkward, and said his voice paled in comparison to Ozzie’s powerful voice like a preacher’s gospel. Alastor found himself disagreeing despite not having the opportunity to make a proper comparison.

Wordlessly, Alastor offered his arm like his mother taught him, Lucifer’s hand was pleasantly warm in the crook of his elbow. The sky rumbled from above, making them hurry along before they were caught out in the rain. It smelt humid and wet, of freshly spilled dirt and trampled grass. It reminded him of a home he was going to miss when he was dead.

“I assume you haven’t eaten today?”

“I fed Charlie!” Lucifer was quick to clarify, nearly tripping up the patio stairs due to Alastor’s longer stride.

“I wasn’t insinuating you hadn’t. But I know you have a very nasty habit of ignoring your own needs.” Alastor pinned him with a look, mildly satisfied when Lucifer couldn’t meet his eyes as he held the door open for them. It was unfortunately soured by the unaccustomed concern he had grown to feel for the small family of two. Annoyingly human. “I believe some jambalaya will brighten that pale skin of yours! Make you right as rain!”

“I don’t want to trouble you… That’s a lot of work to cook something so late.” Lucifer needlessly fretted. There’s that apathy again. Alastor almost scoffed. Mama taught him to take care of his things. “I can wait until breakfast. Charlie was excited for—“

“Stop.” Lucifer jolted at the cold tone, looking up at him with wide eyes. Alastor refused to meet his eyes, keeping his focus straight ahead in an attempt to hide the boiling bubbling underneath his skin. “Sugar cannot keep your body running for much longer. The fumes will eventually wither and die, leaving you to ruin.”

Lucifer sighed roughly. “Al, I don’t need to eat. I’m a—“

“You may have been able to convince your wife of such a thing but you aren’t going to convince me.” Alastor rounded the corner into the dining room and pushed Lucifer into a chair by a hard push to the shoulder, nearly toppling him over. “Wait here until I’m done.”

“Or what?” Lucifer challenged.

“Or I’ll sick dear Charlotte on you.” If one thing got under his skin, it was Charlie. He’d do anything for that girl.

“Alastor, do you ever feel like your making a mistake?” Lucifer asked as they were finishing dinner, poking at the remains of a shellfish from the jambalaya. Scooting it around in mindless circles.

Alastor wiped his mouth like a proper gentleman before speaking, folding the cloth into his fist. He had done an outstanding job this time around, though still nowhere near as good as his mother’s. “Well, is it the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

“No.” Lucifer huffed in amusement but there wasn’t any mirth. “It’s definitely not my worst, but definitely not my smartest either.” He sighed, ”I haven’t made such a horrible mistake since I went behind my father and brothers backs and— Nevermind. You don’t need to hear that.”

So they were both keeping secrets. Albeit, one of them was keeping darker ones.

Lucifer smiled, a sad little thing like he knew everything he wished he could play ignorance to. “You’re a beautifully, disgusting human. Exactly how you were supposed to be envisioned. A shepherd has to keep the livestock in check, I suppose but I guess that’s just for my comfort.”

…what?

“Excuse me?” He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be insulted or not. It felt like a compliment, but Lucifer was insinuating it was a bad thing.

Lucifer shook his head. “Never mind, it’s not worth the effort to think about. Play it through your mind if you’d like but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it.” He smiled, warm and familiar and nothing like whatever the hell he just said, “Thank you for dinner, it was wonderful.”

Alastor wished someone would have warned him about how strange lips against his own felt. The invasion into his personal space was unwelcome despite the fact he had invited it. Breathing in another’s air wasn’t one of his favorite things to do either. It just reminded him of their proximity.

Kissing is a strange feeling. Especially a warm tongue sliding against his own, across his teeth and gums and brushing further back. It makes his lips wet and tacky with spit. It’s new and very strange. He finds that he could do without it, but kisses to the cheeks and forehead don’t make him as disgusted. Those are familiar.

Alastor accidentally cut his tongue open on one of Lucifer’s canines, having been sharper than he initially thought. The metallic taste of blood melted into the kiss and it was almost like eating an organ that had been freshly seared in the pan. He could taste the sugar sweetness of the apples Lucifer had been eating.

It was Lucifer that pulled away first, always has because he knows when to quit and when not to push past his own limits. His lips were smeared in pink saliva like the new lip gloss Mimzy loved so much.

Lucifer winced despite not being the one to feel the stinging pain of an open flesh wound. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It happens at least once a month.”

Lucifer laughed sheepishly, licking his lips and stepping away with a flush to his cheeks.

It always made him curious what Lucifer’s reaction would be to eating human flesh. If it would disgust him. Would he call Alastor a monster? Question where he got it? Or would it not bother him? He didn’t know and maybe that was what made it fun.

The flickering of an oil lantern was Alastor’s only company during the early morning before the sun had taken the place of the moon shining through the windows. Only his partner’s steady breathing in the quiet of their bedroom broke the silence as he turned the page. Scanning over the words written in the French his mother often spoke in. It’s been many years since he’s listened to her talk or ask him to look over her hair and makeup to see if anything was out of place. She was buried with her favorite brooch and her favorite dress, it wasn’t the most expensive or beautiful thing she owned but she loved it nonetheless.

The heavy blinking had already reached the height of annoyance hours ago when he realized he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. He tried of course but it alluded him. Slipping through his lashes at every attempt to shut them. Eventually he gave up and decided to finish the book he had been meaning to read for a few days now but hadn’t had the time.

His refrigerator was also running low on meat. Something he had to replenish soon. The taste of red meat was nothing like any other, and he’s tried plenty of kinds.

Perhaps the guy Mimzy had been telling him about that had been harassing her at the bar would be enough to fill his icebox for the next few days. Its not like anyone would miss the annoying yet burly man. It would be a good challenge but he loved a good challenge. The brute was known for having a short temper and an even shorter tolerance for those with mixed blood.

Alastor found himself smiling at the anticipation that swirled longingly in his gut, featherlight and anxious for a good hunt. Oh, how it might prove to be disappointingly easy. He hoped it wouldn’t be. A good chase was what he really needed to get the itch of the humidity off his skin.

The fantasy would have continued if he hadn’t been startled by Lucifer jerking up so hard he nearly fell off the bed in a tangle of blankets and sweat. Alastor’s head tilted, silently questioning what had frightened his dear partner so horrifically to make him hunch over with his face buried in his hands. It wasn’t everyday Lucifer trembled from a nightmare with his blond hair in a bed headed mess, standing up in every which direction. Almost worse than Charlie’s, and that was saying something. It was like the girl walked through a tornado.

Lucifer’s bare back faced him as he heaved for oxygen he couldn’t seem to get, showing off the six deep and gnarled scars lining parallel to his spine from his shoulder blades to the small of his back. They were raised and nasty things. Like someone had ripped something out and it wasn’t given the time to properly heal over.

Alastor’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of six wings draped loosely over the blanket, twitching and fluttering weakly. The bed dipped as he adjusted to get a better look, momentarily forgetting to mark his page. Then he blinked, and they were gone.

He blinked again, then again because his eyes hurt. Maybe he was seeing things. Itchy and dry eyes adored playing with the shadows lining the walls.

“Alastor?” Lucifer called, his voice was fragile. Weak, like he’d been crying in his sleep. He glanced at the pillow finding it stained with tears. “‘m sorry to wake you up. Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn’t asleep.” Alastor admitted, finding no reason to lie. He tried looking for the wings again but the only thing he saw were scars.

They lapsed back into silence and Alastor wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Comfort wasn’t his strong suit. The best he could offer was a drink and Lucifer didn’t keep alcohol in the house because he didn’t drink. Worse than a lightweight, is what he called himself. Maybe it was better if he said nothing at all. Feigned ignorance.

“I wish my brother killed me.” Lucifer admitted softly to himself. Muffled into his hands and so quiet he almost didn’t hear anything at all. Alastor froze and the visceral sensation of his blood running cold made him lightheaded. “It hurt so much I wish he had killed me instead. Why was father so much of a coward he couldn’t do it himself? Is that how your supposed to punish a child for making a mistake?” he sounded hysterical, “Cast them out and scar them? I could never dream of hurting Charlie so why was it so easy for him?” Alastor winced at the rough, wet inhale, like he was choking on his own breath and tears. “She was the only good part… If he hurts Charlie I don’t care how powerful he is, I’ll drag him to father myself so he can bury his own damn children!”

Is he supposed to say something? Or keep quiet? What the hell is someone supposed to say to that? That’s rough pal?

“Michael apologized but… I can’t accept it. I looked up to him, all of them! I thought they loved me and yet Michael fucking…” 

“I can distract you from the depths of your dark mind. If only for a little while.” Alastor offered before it could go too far. He’d also rather not listen to him any longer than necessary with the wall that would continue to grow between them. He’s seen Mimzy when she was in a fit and distressed, it was something he’d much rather avoid.

He already promised himself this dear Michael wouldn’t come near Lucifer again, even if it killed him. No one gets to kill Lucifer except him.

Lucifer laughed, a weak and exhausted thing like he’s already given up before he gave himself a chance to try. “How?”

Honestly, there wasn’t much he could do. He was sorely lacking in the comforting department but he did know what his mother used to do for him when he was frightened by nightmares.

Lucifer let himself be guided easily, settling back down with a grumble as Alastor flipped through his book to find where he had left off. His French was rusty but he had memorized this book from front to back. He’s been told before his voice was soothing to listen to. So it came as no surprise when the next time he looked over Lucifer was fast asleep and drooling on his expensive pillow as his breath hitched painfully in his throat.

The last of a paragraph died on his tongue like sand at the sight of wings draped over Lucifer like a blanket. He didn’t know much about wings, in fact it was next to nothing, but he didn’t need knowledge to know they were beautiful. The innermost feathers were a bright crimson like freshly spilled blood and the outermost were white like clouds.

Alastor didn’t make the mistake of blinking this time before he got the chance to reach out and see if they were real. His fingertips grazed along the white feathers, softer than anything he’s ever touched before. It was how he imagined a cloud to feel like as a child. Then he blinked and the wings were gone, except this time, his skin tingled where they made contact.

His skin was warm, pleasantly so. It reminded him of a few books he’s read about touching a being of light and how warm and comforting they felt. Jesus… He must really need to sleep if he’s imagining things so vividly.

When the stock market crashed four years ago nothing had brought him greater amusement then that day and the years that followed. Taking extra care to hide his glee from Lucifer and Charlie proved to be quite a challenge but he thinks he did rather well considering they still are none the wiser to the identity of the cannibalistic killer stalking New Orleans. It’s been all over the newspapers for years now. It brought him no short amount of amusement when he heard whispers on his outings about the next target and how it was safer traveling in company then alone. But nothing in the world could have prepared him for the day Charlie found out about it and loudly announced she was going to make the serial killer her best friend.

Her father nearly died laughing leaving him to explain why it was such a bad idea. All the while Lucifer smirked and snickered to himself like he knew a secret no one else knew. Annoyingly endearing is what he called it now. Though it took him years to finally name it.

Alastor was about to leave for work when the phone started ringing. Luckily the radio schedule had been pushed back until noon due to some technical difficulties with the night crew, giving him time for any unfortunate inconveniences that came his way. The caller’s voice startled him when he answered with his usual charm, his smile tensed at the corners at young Charlotte’s voice asking him to come over quickly and while she didn’t sound panicked per say, the whispering was a cause of concern.

Charlie might not be his daughter but he looked out for her enough to be qualified to be concerned about her wellbeing. And that child couldn’t whisper to save her life. She didn’t understand why she needed to whisper to tell a secret when she could just tell everyone because she was an angel like that.

After promising he’d get there was quick as he could, he made well on that promise. Rushing as fast as he could while seeming like he wasn’t in a hurry to be anywhere, patrolmen had gotten overbearing recently and he’d rather avoid a confrontation.

The Primrose district had never been so annoyingly far away from his house before. It was a wash of relief to be greeted by the eerie symmetry and the few families out in their front yards. He waved to a few as he passed, trying to make sure as many people saw him as possible. Mrs. Myers was always a sweetheart but she hasn’t been out of the house lately since the passing of her dear mother. He made sure to send her his condolences and made Lucifer do the same. He knew how awful it was to lose someone so important and he hated the feelings it brought.

The doors to the Magne Estate were closed when he pushed past the gates, dress shoes clicking against the stone pathway as he looked around for anything abnormal. He saw nothing of the sort as he approached the door and knocked. The only thing that could be considered out of place was the closed French doors, Lucifer always left them wide open on nice, sunny days like today.

Usually, there was no need to knock but on the occasion he did, it never took this long. It took long enough for the mailman to notice across the street and yell if everything was alright to which Alastor had to wave off his concern. Five years did not just go unnoticed by everyone.

He contemplated knocking again, thinking that perhaps they were outback or in the shop tinkering on one thing or another. Maybe even sleeping, though Charlie rose with the birds and tried to crush them every chance she got by running into her father’s room. No, Lucifer was the only one that would sleep all day if given the opportunity and Charlie had been the one to call him.

Abruptly, the door swung open with enough force to nearly send the apple shaped charm on the inside flying off. Instead it slammed against the glass in an awful sound of metal. Lucifer wheezed as he shoved himself in the opening, blocking him from seeing inside. Frazzled and out of breath were decidedly new. “Alastor?! What are you doing here?”

Alastor tilted his head. Lucifer’s cheeks were flushed, more so than usual, and he was panting, did he catch him at a bad time? He didn’t believe the man to be a cheater but… “Why, dear Charlotte invited me over the phone! She was very insistent I get over here immediately. Though I think I’m starting to see why she was so pushy.”

It was easy to get underneath his skin and Lucifer was an awful liar. Therefore one could imagine his own confusion when Lucifer’s face scrunched as he searched for an answer to a question he didn’t have with narrowed eyes. Lucifer wore his heart on his sleeve, every expression open like he never learned how to hide a thing. Never had a reason to. Nothing shady to hide and no mask like Alastor himself.

Hmm, perhaps not.

Lucifer deflated, opening the door further and stepping aside in an obvious gesture and defeat. Calling out, “Charlie! Come here please!”

Alastor followed him in, stopping to close the door at Lucifer’s gesture. The man was tense in a way he’s never seen before and dressed in his full attire for what Alastor knew for certain was a lazy afternoon that required no further dressing up then a nice dress shirt and his vest. The familiar click of heels was drowned out by the stampede of feet rushing downstairs. By the sound, little Razzle and Dazzle were following her.

“Dad?” Charlie asked before gasping so loud his lungs ached for her, “Alastor!”

Despite his anxiousness about the reasons why he was called, he couldn’t help but smile at the excitement Charlie had just by seeing him. She sure knew how to brighten someone’s day just by being herself.

Lucifer stopped her before she could launch herself into the radio host’s legs for a hug. She might not be five anymore but she still had that surprisingly strong grip when she got her hands on something. “Apple tart, why’d you call Al over? He’s supposed to be heading to work right now.”

It was easy to forget Charlie was ten now. She still acted like the same excitable child she’s always been. Soon she’d be taller than her father, not that was much of a challenge.

“What? I wanted to say goodbye to Alastor before we left.” Charlie said innocently as Alastor’s brows went up into his hairline.

His head snapped up to see Lucifer looking down at his daughter with a grimace, like he was physically in pain. As if he had been the one being stabbed with the sharp jolt of a knife digging between his ribs. He would have been convinced he had been stabbed if he had felt the telltale wetness of blood and the awful stick of damp clothes on bare skin.

“Your leaving?” Alastor began slowly, testing the words. Tasting them. Rolling over his tongue and brain. Surely he had misheard.

“I uh…” Lucifer swallowed, looking back into the depths of the mansion. In a nervousness he hasn’t seen in years, he looked back at him, making hesitant eye contact. “Yeah… We uh, I just found out last night. Ozzie came to pick us up and take us back home! Yippee.” The enthusiasm fell flat.

Alastor’s smile tightened. “You weren’t going to tell me. I was just going to come over here and find your house cleared and you gone.”

Lucifer couldn’t look him in the eye. Good. “Char-char, go see if Uncle Ozzie needs any help.” His voice was soft. The kind of soft he rarely used on Charlie nowadays.

She pouted. “But I wanted to say goodbye first…”

“You can in a moment, sweetheart. Me and Alastor need to talk right quick. I promise you can say goodbye when we’re done.”

“Okay…” She took off towards the door, looking back at them before rushing off, her two goats following behind her.

Lucifer sighed in defeat. There were bags underneath his eyes that he hadn’t seen before. He looked exhausted like he hadn’t slept in centuries. “Look, Al—“

It was panic that made him crowd up against Lucifer and shove him into the wall, the press of an ornate picture frame digging uncomfortably into his back. He didn’t know what to think and it was confusing how his mind scrambled and rolled over itself in a desperate attempt to right the mistake. Alastor was speaking before he could stop himself and he couldn’t understand a word of it through the blood rushing through his head. He was lightheaded and nauseous all at once.

Lucifer looked panicked at the assault of French, and he couldn’t say he blamed him. Blue eyes darted back and forth, trying to make sense of it but lacking the knowledge to do so. It was exactly like being yelled at in a language he didn’t understand, just making the tension thicken in an unhelpful curl of conflict.

He heard that one floorboard that creaked at the base of the stairs and his mouth snapped closed as he took a step back. He locked eyes with a man, one he had to look up to meet his eyes. Meaning he was blurry in one and crystal clear in the other.

“Alastor,” Lucifer warned sharply, “don’t you dare.”

So this is the Uncle Ozzie he’s heard so much about. He was a very big man, and very dark too. His eyes were strange, a vibrant green instead of brown and his suit was even stranger. It was blue and purple. He looked like a walking headache. There was something wrong with him.

Ozzie gave him, what he can only guess was, a mildly suggestive look. “So your type is tall, dear Luci.”

“Ugh, not this again…” Lucifer groaned, slumping against the wall. “Ozzie, can you like, give us a minute alone? Please? Poke fun at my taste later but right now, kindly fuck off.”

It didn’t take anything more than to get him to leave and Alastor was thankful. It gave him the time to compose himself like how he should have been before he overreacted. How unbecoming of him… Losing himself in his emotions like some kind of failure. It was like that day all over again. He couldn’t keep a damper on his emotions no matter how hard he tried before it was masked with a careful smile. Control.

“Don’t worry, Al.” Lucifer said regretfully but finding some comfort in the process. It brought him back to the entryway he was standing in and not the lifeless face of a cold grave. “We’ll meet again.” His face changed, looking pained and regretful but the cold knowledge there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Perhaps, sooner than you think…” It sounded hopeful but trying not to get his hopes up either.

Alastor shook his head. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying anything stupid. He needed to think about his words. He can’t let anyone else see him break again.

“Be careful, Al.” Lucifer always cared more than him. Sentimental. Soft hearted.

Alastor laughed despite himself, “Your the one that should be careful. It will be a long drive ahead.”

Lucifer smiled but it didn’t meet his eyes. “Ozzie’s taking us back home. Times up, type thing. This,” he gestured bitterly to the house, “was only temporary.”

Yes, Alastor found himself agreeing, it was. He left before Charlie could give him that hug.

It was supposed to be any other day that morning. Alastor sat in his favorite chair by the kitchen window in the cozy warmth of his house as he read the morning paper over breakfast. The front headline caught his attention immediately.

The Magne family was found dead in their home yesterday night. Murdered. Mr. Magne, first name unknown, was found in the mansion’s trashed parlor where it was suspected he was dragged from the entryway. Ten years old, Charlie Magne was found beside her father along with her two goats and their family cat.

They were found by two police officers in the late hours of the evening. They were prompted to investigate after finding the front door left wide open and all the lights off. The bodies were cold and stiff when they were found, meaning they had been dead for hours, likely sometime before noon.

Alastor stopped, staring at the paper and nothing all at once. Lucifer would never let anything happen to his daughter.

It wasn’t morbid curiosity that made him keep reading. No. It was a nauseating lightness skimming over the words, barely understanding a thing as a picture of a joke painted itself.

The wounds found on Mr. Magne’s body were reminiscent of defensive wounds. But the blow that killed him was a gun shot to the chest. Center mass by a Remington Model 10. The investigation hadn’t been up and running for very long but it was assumed it was a robbery gone wrong as Mr. Magne’s car was found missing from the property.

Alastor wasn’t a suspect for long. Many neighbors had seen him leave and he had been on the radio talking all day.

Seven months later, Alastor was shot and killed by a hunter that confused him with a buck in the wilderness when he had been dumping a body. An unfortunate accident scarring the poor hunter for life but an accidental blessing to their town.

It wasn’t until many years later, nearly a century or close, that Alastor found himself standing in front of a glass window showing a picture show of Hell’s Princess and her dream of a hotel being able to rehabilitate sinners.

Her cheeks reminded him of a family he once felt too much for.