Chapter Text
Damn Alastor and his hard head to Hell. Again. Or better yet, redeem the miscreant. That would get the possessed deer out of Lucifer’s face for good.
Lucifer was thinking this last part very literally, since, at present, Alastor’s forehead was pressed against his. He didn’t even remember what they were arguing about in the first place. They’d been in the middle of one of Charlie’s group activities when, surprise, surprise, Alastor’s snarky attitude had them devolving into their current state with their torsos bent forward at a 45 degree angle and their skulls grinding together.
They’d taken this pose long enough that even Lucifer had developed a headache, but Lucifer would not back down! Whether he could smite this demon or not, made no difference in this fight. This was a battle of wills, and he would not show this sad excuse for a bellhop any mercy!
“Dad!” Charlie scolded from the sidelines. “Alastor!”
“In a minute, Charlie. This will be over soon.” Lucifer said.
“I’d be careful, Your Majesty.” Alastor sneered through his wicked grin. “You shouldn’t go around making promises you can’t live up to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Angel’s suggestive tone chimed. “I know what would stop ‘em fightin’.”
“We don’t want to hear it.” Vaggi groaned.
“Jus’ hear me out! All they gotta do is fuck.”
The room echoed with varying sounds of disgust. Lucifer almost jerked away from the shock of the suggestion, but seeing that Alastor was the only one who didn’t express a reaction, Lucifer kept his movement to a mere flinch. If Alastor wasn’t going to be phased, then he wasn’t going to be either.
“Ew, Angel!” Charlie said.
“Now, don’t kink shame, Charlie. Look at those two. It’s gonna happen eventually.”
“They hate each other.” Vaggi said, taking the words right out of Lucifer’s mouth.
Alastor’s glare burned even hotter onto Lucifers, while Lucifer dug his skull further into Alastor’s. Lucifer wondered if Charlie would blame him if the Radio Demon’s head caved in. Even then, it might still be worth it…
“Oh, sweetie.” Angel said. “Hate n’ sex are far from mutually exclusive. Do ya know how many awards I’ve gotten from my hate-sex performances? A ton! So believe me when I tell ya, the sexual tension is there. All ya gotta do is throw a bottle of lube between ‘em and something’s bound to happen.”
The room silently gawked at Angle. Even Lucifer gave him the side-eye—which was definitely so he could glare at Angel and totally not because he couldn’t bring himself to look Alastor in the face. Yep, nope, definitely not that.
“What?” Angle said. “Don’t tell me no one else has thought about these two goin’ at it before.”
Multiple voices chimed in with an emphatic, “No,” and a single giggling, “Yes,” from the wicked maid.
“Trust me!” Angel continued. “One of these days, Lucifer will finally get fed up with Alastor’s superior attitude, shove ‘im down, and go all King of Hell on his ass… or, hmmm… ” Angel mused as his eyes scanned the pair. “You know, come to think of it…. Maybe it would be Alastor on top…?”
Alastor flinched and his eyes flashed into dials from the briefest moment, and Lucifer would have missed it if his own eyes weren’t inches away. With no additional curses or warnings, Alastor straightened his back. The loss of support threw Lucifer off balance and sent him forward, arms flailing, and his forehead crashed into Alastor’s sternum.
“Ow!” Lucifer rubbed his head. “You did that on purpose, you piece of—”
“Ok!” Charlie announced with over-exaggerated cheerfulness. She put her hands on Lucifer’s shoulders and steered him out of the room. “I think that’s enough for now.”
As they passed through the doorway, Lucifer shot Alastor one final glare. The deer’s face looked more flushed than usual. Ha! Lucifer must have really pissed Alastor off this time. Serves him right! With an imagined pat on the back, Lucifer decided he’d earned himself and Charlie a large stack of pancakes.
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After he’d had his fill of sweets, Lucifer was on his way to his room seeking a well deserved nap. But that’s when he felt it.
It was a strange sort of pull. Almost a tickle. Though he hadn’t felt it in years, he knew it all too well: someone in the mortal realm was trying to summon the Devil.
Lucifer smelled the blood. Human blood.
That was unusual. Most often it was goat or lamb blood. Murdering a fellow human was, by most, considered a price too high. That or, the person summoning him wasn’t one for doing dirty work themselves. But this was clearly not the case for this summoning.
On principle, Lucifer did not like summonings. But after Lucifer had been banished to Hell, they were the only loophole he had for visiting Earth. It was a view of the stars that he missed the most. When given the chance, he’d breathe in the fresh night air and gaze up into the constellations he’d helped to create. Even if it was only for a few minutes, it made handing the selfish tasks of mortals bearable—for a time anyway.
Most of the summoners were motivated by petty desires, or just plain evil ones—all of whom would eventually lead themselves into Hell. As such, answering a summons always left Lucifer irritable. Even worse, they took time away from important things, such as official business, time with Charlie, and of course, his ducks.
Lucifer was under no compulsion to obey this summons. Of all the beings in Hell, he was too powerful to be coerced, and this summons in particular was exceptionally weak despite the human sacrifice. It was more like a slip of paper in a suggestion box than an actual command.
It had been centuries since Lucifer had answered a summons. After some time of ignoring enough, people began to believe it was only a fantasy, and after a century of no devil in the mortal realm, the summons stopped altogether.
Lucifer could easily ignore this one, just the same. All it would take is a few moments. The sensation would pass, and the mortal would be left feeling like a fool for spilling blood over a myth.
And yet… something felt different about this one. Summonings were a lot like wine, there were subtle notes that hinted at the summoner’s mindset and motivations. This one was giving him notes of curiosity with a bit of innocence and just a touch of fear. But there was also something… familiar?
Answering the summons certainly wouldn’t hurt. Lucifer could pop in, pop out, and be back for tea before he was even missed.
Taking a deep breath, Lucifer closed his eyes and relaxed his body into the call like a gentle river taking him down stream.
Or maybe not so gentle.
Instead of a river, he found himself thrown into rapids. Breathing heavily with his demonic form triggered and on full display, Lucifer arrived in the mortal realm crouched down on his hands and knees. His hands were in something cold and wet, and the offensive smell of blood and smoke bombarded his nose. The wave of pain and dizziness soon passed, but he was left with the blood of a dead man coating his hands. The blood of the human sacrifice.
Lucifer willed his hands clean with a thought, but not before a blurred impression of the man’s memories passed into his consciousness. Even through the filtered haze of the transfer, the man’s history tasted vile.
“Fuck.” Lucifer hissed.
The dead man would not be missed to this world and his soul had no doubt taken a number in Hell’s waiting room. With the quick impression, Lucifer discovered that manipulation, abuse, and assault were only a few of this man’s misdeeds, but they were the man’s favorites and he’d relished them gleefully.
No time in Hell could desensitize Lucifer to those types of actions. They lingered in his mind like a bad aftertaste and he wished he could scrub it clean. Looking for a distraction, he focused on the surroundings that weren’t concealed by the dark smoke produced by his arrival.
Damn, this summoning circle was a mess. Crude but accurate chalk lines, blood smeared across the floor, and the body so unceremoniously dropped where Lucifer was supposed to appear. Amateur work.
Lucifer chastised himself. He should have been on his guard; something about this summoning was weird, and it was more than this bloody mess of a floor.
“It worked?”
Lucifer’s head popped up to look for the source of the quiet voice. The smoke began to clear and he could see beyond the circle: a sparse basement—cliché, but practical—and the figure of his summoner on the far end. The mortal was also on the ground. They were sitting awkwardly like they’d fallen on their ass at Lucifer’s arrival.
Lucifer suppressed a cough from the thinning smoke, stood up, and stretched his back in a way that was apparently quite fearsome to behold—joint popping and all. In his demonic form, Lucifer readied himself for his usual awe-inspiring speech… once he could actually remember how it started. Damn, it really had been a while since he’d done this.
His host also stood, and Lucifer finally got a good look at his features.
“Alastor?” Shock forced the name from Lucifer’s lips.
Standing before him wasn’t the Alastor that Lucifer knew. This person was shorter, maybe just an inch or two taller than the Devil; his skin was darker with far more warmth and no un-dead undertones. His hair was a rich brown with curls that framed his face, and there was not a deer ear or antler in sight. He was younger—so much younger—maybe 14 or 15. Even that wicked, shit-eating grin was gone, and left in it’s place was a jaw fallen open in shock.
Nearly everything about him was different… But those eyes…
They were not clouded by red or mocking scorn. They were round, mostly fearful and a little curious, creating a very human expression that the Radio Demon Overlord would never be caught twice-dead with. Still, there was no denying they were Alastor’s eyes.
Somehow Lucifer had been summoned by Alastor’s past self. This was Alastor in his youth, before he’d died and became a demon.
This wasn’t the first time Lucifer had been thrown around the time continuum during a summoning—that certainly would explain the rough travel—but it was rare and it had never been done with a single human sacrifice or with a mere child as the caster.
“You know my name?” The summoner asked.
“Of course I know your name, I am Lucifer, King of Hell, after all!” Lucifer added a boisterous laugh for good measure. Lucifer could recall hundreds of mortals pissing themselves at the sound (not that it was his thing, but it certainly helped add to his fearsome image), but Alastor—this human Alastor—just stood there in awe. Unfortunately, his amazement was clearly more about the successful summoning than Lucifer himself. Lucifer would have to fix that.
Lucifer spreads his six red and white wings wide, dispersing any lingering smoke and replacing them with golden fireworks. The sparks formed images of snakes that twisted and danced to fill the room—one even spiraled around the summoner’s back. But what shone the brightest was the Devil himself. Lucifer radiated a heavenly glow that could shatter a soul, but he let the energy flow around Alastor so he could comprehend just a taste of his power with no harm taken.
Showing off? Maybe just a little.
After reigning in the theatrics, Lucifer finished his act with a tip of his hat and a small bow. This last flourish wasn’t part of his usual performance, but was for young Alastor’s behalf.
Lucifer’s body still glowed iridescent as he stepped forward out of the circle. Most summoners expected Lucifer to be trapped like some common demon, but the boy didn’t flinch when Lucifer crossed the line.
With the light he emitted, Lucifer caught a better look at Alastor’s face, along with every cut and bruise scattered across the boy’s skin. Alastor looked like he’d killed the man himself, but it hadn’t been an easy battle. The cut over the boy’s lip could have been from the man’s fist, the bruise surrounding his eye from the man’s palm, and the marks on his neck from the man’s grasping fingers. There were surely more that Lucifer couldn’t see under the ruffled and torn clothing.
Things started to click into place.
Lucifer knew that the Radio Demon was in Hell for very good reasons, which was part of why he didn’t trust Alastor with Charlie. But he didn’t realize it had started so young while there was still innocence in Alastor’s eyes. He should be playing with friends and flirting with crushes—not murdering predators and dragging them into a basement to summon the Devil.
Lucifer clenched his fists. If the man behind him wasn’t already dead, he would have pummeled his skull into the concrete floor. Lucifer regretted putting on such a spectacle in case it had rattled the boy even more, but Alastor’s lingering nerves had been replaced with awe for Lucifer’s presence. Mostly.
With a heavy breath, Lucifer relaxed his body and continued forward to stand before Alastor. Once they were mere inches apart, Lucifer raised his hand to the level of Alastor’s chest and exposed his palm to the boy.
“I’m going to heal your wounds.” Lucifer said gently. “But I will need to touch you. Is that alright? It won’t hurt.”
Alastor’s doe eyes looked between Lucifer’s palm and his face. He worried his lip, but nodded.
Lucifer gently placed his hand on Alastor’s sternum. Heat grew where they touched, and golden ribbons shot from Lucifer’s fingers. They traveled over Alastor’s skin, seeking every source of damage. Alastor gasped in surprise, but didn’t step away. Several tendrils wrapped briefly around his neck before slipping under his shirt to damaged ribs, and one even trailed so far as his ankle. The ribbons healed every spot they touched.
After the ribbons were done, they faded away and Lucifer broke contact. Now that the pain was gone, Alastor’s body relaxed and his posture straightened. He now stood at least half an inch taller, so Lucifer levitated slightly to compensate. Lucifer was the embodiment of pride after all, and he was not above pettiness as long as his head could be above Alastor’s.
“Thank you.” Alastor said.
Lucifer was shook by the genuine gratitude in Alastor’s voice. He’d never seen Alastor this earnest, especially directed at him! Lucifer needed to remind himself that this was another Alastor entirely—one that knew nothing of their shared animosity.
“Why did you ask me here, little summoner?” Lucifer asked.
Alastor tilted his head slightly like he didn’t understand the question.
“Usually, people summon me for a reason.” Lucifer continued. “You know, to acquire wealth, to poison their neighbor’s crops, to poison their neighbor… that sort of thing.”
“No, nothing like that.” Alastor glanced at the body. “I wanted to know if you were real—if Hell was real. I wanted to know that he’ll be punished.”
Lucifer was stunned by the simple request. The boy could have asked for nearly anything, and all he wanted was the reassurance that recompense would be in order.
Was it right to think of this young Alastor as being so pure when there was a murdered body lying behind him? After being in Hell so long, maybe his standards had become a bit skewed.
“He most certainly will be.” Lucifer answered solemnly.
Relief spread across Alastor’s face, and he suddenly looked so soft. So tired.
“Did he…” Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to use the exact words he was thinking. “… do anything to you?”
Large eyes blinked up at him before he shook his head. “No. Not me, no.”
Lucifer released a breath of relief. There was no love lost between himself and the Radio Demon, but something about this tiny version of him… if that man had done something to him… The dead man’s soul was undoubtedly receiving his due punishment, but if Lucifer found out he’d touched Alastor as a youth, only an executioner’s angelic blade could have saved him from Lucifer’s wrath. That being said, there was no question Alastor would have seen to any personal punishment once arriving in Hell.
“He’d meant to, though.” Alastor continued. “I’d learned about what he’d done to some of the other kids in my school, so I lured him here. I managed to push him down the stairs.”
Lucifer followed the boy’s eyes over to the L-shaped basement stairs. Part of the railing bowed from a crack as though a full-grown man had crashed into it. Alastor must have dragged the body the rest of the way to the center of the room.
“And that’s how he died?”
“I did not check.” Alastor shrugged and gestured to the kitchen knife covered in drying blood on the floor. “I cut his throat anyway for the ritual.”
Even as the future Radio Demon, this boy was surprisingly calm for having just killed a man.
“Is he the first person you’ve killed?” Lucifer asked without accusation.
Alastor looked to the ground with the closest expression to shame Lucifer had ever seen on Alastor’s face. Then the boy shook his head.
“My father, he…” Alastor paused his whisper to clench his jaw and swallow. His expression soured at the memories, “…he would beat her.”
Lucifer’s chest clenched. He didn’t know much about Alastor’s past, but it wasn’t a leap to guess “her” was in reference to Alastor’s mother.
Lucifer was a master of many things, but comforting wasn’t one of them.
What would I do for Charlie? He asked himself.
Lucifer had a tendency to stumble over comforting words, so maybe it was best to keep his mouth shut. But he knew that physical contact went a long way.
He reached to cup the boy’s cheek, but hesitated with his hand hovering in the air. The Alastor he knew didn’t like touch, or at least, Lucifer always assumed he didn’t. But it was not the demon Alastor that stood in front of him. Seeing the intent behind the gesture, young Alastor tilted his head and let his cheek nestle into the palm of Lucifer’s hand. Alastor’s basement-chilled skin felt cold to Lucifer’s eternally warm touch.
Lucifer now had an idea why he’d been summoned out of time. What Alastor sought was something so simple, and yet Lucifer couldn’t have provided it even months ago. Before his time spent at the hotel with Charlie, he’d been so angry and resentful at everything, and after so long, he’d only begun to untangle the darkness within him.
The Devil this young Alastor had asked for, the Devil he needed didn’t exist during his time, so he’d reached into the future and unknowingly called upon another. All for the sake of a question and a little bit of comfort.
Lucifer tilted Alastor’s face up and saw the furrowed lines between his eyes. Without thinking, Lucifer leaned in and pressed his lips to that brow. Alastor gave a short inhale but he didn’t pull away. Lucifer didn’t either. Instead, he lingered till Alastor’s brow relaxed, all the while, Lucifer’s thumb stroked Alastor’s flushed cheek.
When Lucifer pulled away, Alastor looked up at him with a small smile—the first smile Lucifer saw on young Alastor’s face. Alastor lifted his heels and, for the briefest moment, Alastor brushed his lips against Lucifer’s. It was the barest of touches, just like a feather and just as innocent. But something about it triggered an ache deep in Lucifer’s chest.
“Thank you.” Alastor whispered. Then his eyes drifted shut.
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Alastor had passed out in the Devil’s arms, and Lucifer carried him upstairs to gently lay him on the living room couch. The events of the day had worn the boy out completely, and the bags under his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep. The room’s curtains were drawn to hide the night sky, but Lucifer guessed it was nearly midnight.
Alastor’s house was small, tidy, and warm. But at the same time, it was bare and seemingly un-lived in, like a showroom that only displayed the bare essentials. Young Alastor could have asked for so much more than an answer to a question, but it didn’t seem to even cross his mind.
The only part of this house that felt like a home sat on the fireplace mantle. It was a modestly framed portrait of a middle-aged, black woman, and even in the photograph her eyes sparkled. The woman’s smile was wide and beautiful, clever but caring. It looked so similar to the Radio Demon’s mischievous grin, but it was warm and pure instead of cold and calculating.
Beside the photograph sat a small vase of wildflowers. They’d wilted slightly, but with a light brush of Lucifer’s fingers, the stems perked up and the petals were full again.
Nearby, a small calendar was pinned to the wall, with the dates meticulously marked off.
Today was Christmas Eve, 1909.
Well wasn’t that something. It had been a while since Lucifer had considered playing Santa.
It certainly wasn’t customary for the Devil to leave a parting gift, but he wasn’t one to deny the holiday spirit either. Lucifer would get gleeful satisfaction from leaving a rubber duck behind—vintage and fitting of the time period, of course, but it would likely leave the boy more bewildered than touched.
Glancing around the room, he realized how quiet it was. And now that Lucifer had noticed the very prominent absence in the future Radio Demon’s home, what kind of generous soul would Lucifer be to ignore it.
With a snap of his fingers, a small radio with a red, silk bow appeared on one of the tables. It was a simple but elegant design magically carved from a rich wood. Lucifer refrained from decorating the radio with ducks, but instead chose a simple apple and leaf motif to frame the dials and speaker. The design was probably too modern for this time period, but the Devil was allowed to cheat on occasion.
Beside the radio, he left a note with instructions:
Tune into the first ever public radio broadcast!
Metropolitan Opera House.
January 13, 1910.
Don’t miss it!
Lucifer indulged himself with a little drawing of a rubber duck beside his signature.
The summoning spell tugged at Lucifer. He’s already completed what was requested of him, and now he was forced to return. He walked back to the couch to check on young Alastor once more, brushing the hair from his forehead.
“Goodnight, Al.” He whispered. “See you on the other side.”
With one final spell before returning to the hotel, Lucifer set the radio to play some old-timey (or rather, current-timey) jazz music to comfort the sleeping Alastor.