Chapter Text
The cannon was still - disarmed, but untouched once it was deemed safe. Alastor wondered if anyone even knew that Lucifer was still trapped inside. Was he even still alive? He couldn’t die, right? Was Charlie wondering at all where her father was? Did she know that he was inside that thing?
At the other end of the promenade, Charlie and her friends were singing and laughing and celebrating, and discussing clean-up ideas with Emily. Alastor scowled and turned back to the cannon. This was exactly how it was after the last battle. No one came looking for him. No one tried to find out where he was or if he was okay or if he was even alive. And now they were doing it again to Lucifer. It didn’t matter. Let them celebrate.
Holding his mangled arm close to his chest, trying his best to hide his limp, Alastor walked a circle around the cannon until he found the access panel to the control room. Prying it open and dropping down through the opening, he was greeted with a small metal room. The only light was coming from the hatch above and the flashing and sparking control panel. Otherwise, most of the room was taken up by the glass prison housing an unconscious Lucifer. He hung limply from his bindings, head hanging, gold ichor staining his suit.
Alastor approached the control panel. He remembered that Vox was able to open the glass and release the bindings when he wanted to move Lucifer around. But how? Alastor didn't understand technology on a good day, but with a splitting headache, possible head trauma, unbearable and distracting pain from his mangled arm and chest wound, he could barely get the buttons on the panel to stop blurring together into a soup. Alastor knew that he only had a few more minutes before he bled into uselessness, so with a step back and a deep breath, he swung his staff with both hands and all the magic he could muster.
The glass shattered from the impact, shards raining down and blanketing the floor. Thank Satan it only took one swing, because that was all he had in him. Breathing heavily from the exertion he shouldn't have spent, he went back to the control panel and started pressing buttons. Most of them didn't seem to do anything, but finally, he heard a hiss and a click behind him. He turned around and caught Lucifer as the bindings released him. He gently lowered him so he wouldn't fall into the glass.
“Maggie? You came back?” Lucifer whispered. So, Vaggie knew he was down here, Alastor thought. And yet, he was the one doing the rescuing when he himself could barely stand up.
“Not quite, your majesty,” Alastor grunted, trying to call on his shadows.
“Alastor,” Lucifer mumbled, face pressed into Alastor’s chest. Alastor knew the king knew his name; it was etched in metal on the plaque outside the man’s bedroom. But this might have been the first time he actually used it. With a final, painful tug on his magic, Alastor summoned his shadows and prepared to transport them back to the hotel.
“Let’s get you home, sire,” he said.
With very little strength, Lucifer gripped Alastor’s jacket and said, “Not allowed back at the hotel.”
Alastor remembered him mentioning this a few days ago, when they had a rare moment alone during their captivity. Charlie got mad at her father and kicked him out of the hotel. At the time of hearing this, it left a sour taste in Alastor’s mouth. Now, he felt fury on behalf of the king. Why?, he wondered. Why do I care so much? No matter the reason, Alastor used that fury to gather the strength needed to shadow them back to his room at the hotel.
The moment he felt the carpet under him and the crickets and frogs of his bayou, relief washed over him, and darkness filled his vision.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The first thing that Lucifer noticed as consciousness crept back to him was warmth. Warmth underneath him, gentle warm weight wrapped around him. The second thing he noticed was, strangely, croaking toads and cricket song. Was he on Earth? He had never heard these sounds in Hell before. Finally, the third thing he noticed was that the warm thing underneath him was breathing and… wet.
His eyes flew open in alarm. Memories started flooding in - of his captivity, of the glass cage thingy, the bad tickles, the pain, the electricity tearing through him - a painful twitch shuddered through him, and he lifted his head to take in his surroundings. He was in a room at the hotel, but the back half of the room, past the lounge and ensuite, opened up into a swamp. A literal swamp. It took a moment for Lucifer to figure out what exactly he was looking at. It was a swamp with a mossy floor, cattails, water, fireflies, and cypress draped in hanging moss and vines. It was where the croaking frogs and cricket song were coming from.
Finally, Lucifer looked down. The warm thing he was lying on was Alastor, who was soaking wet. The reason he was wet was because he was lying in a pool of his own blood. It soaked his arm and his chest and was spreading across the floor. Panic surging through him, Lucifer sat up, but immediately regretted the movement as pain laced across his own chest. Gold ichor seeped out of four holes in his chest, from those wires in the cage thing. He felt them on his back as well. But Alastor… well, Lucifer wasn't sure how the man was still alive. How long had they been lying here unconscious? How long had he been bleeding out?
Alastor’s arm, or rather, what was left of it, looked terrible. It was mangled beyond use - flesh and muscle shredded, cracked bone and sinew visibly the only thing connecting it to his shoulder. Lucifer placed a gentle hand over the pulpy mess and drew on his magic. As drained as he felt, he managed to pull enough light from the well to thread muscle, bone, and tissue back together. Only scars were left behind. The blood seeping through the front of Alastor’s shirt… well, that seemed to be a mystery. His shirt was not torn, and Lucifer didn't feel like undressing his… enemy? Nemesis? Fellow captive? Friend? No, not that. Definitely not that. Whatever he was, Lucifer did not think he would appreciate being undressed while unconscious.
Lucifer remembered how Box guy would touch Alastor - a hand on his shoulder or chest, gripping his hair or his ears, claws on thighs - every touch made Alastor flinch and shudder in disgust. It was well known around the hotel that Alastor wasn't a fan of touch, unless he initiated it. And people around here generally respected that. Box guy did not. And he seemed to know how uncomfortable it made Alastor.
So here was the dilemma: Alastor was still unconscious and clearly still injured. What was Lucifer supposed to do next? He didn't want to leave him like this, but he didn't want to do anything to him without his consent. He also didn't know how he felt about leaving this room. As far as he knew, he was still kicked out of the hotel, which meant that he was not allowed to be here.
That hurt more than the holes in his chest and back, but now was not the time to dwell on it.
Well, the first order of business could be to get off of Alastor. Lucifer realized he was still half-sitting on the man. With a grunt of pain and another involuntary twitch, he rolled off and sat on the floor next to him. Maybe he could get Alastor to wake up so that he could get a look at whatever wound was on his chest. Lucifer ran a hand through Alastor’s hair, looking for any other wounds. His hand came away wet with blood. Once he found the injury hidden in his hair, Lucifer called on his magic again to heal it. It didn't seem to be too bad a brain injury, mostly superficial with a mild concussion. But once his magic cleared it up, Alastor twitched and groaned, eyes fluttering.
“Come on, belhop,” he said. “Come back to me.”
With another groan, eyebrows pinched in pain, Alastor opened his eyes, finding Lucifer right away.
“There you are,” Lucifer said, offering a small smile.
“Lucifer,” Alastor whispered, voice dry and rough. His radio filter was gone, his smile small and jagged.
“You got me out of the cage thing,” Lucifer said.
“Someone had to, and your daughter was busy singing,” Alastor said. With a grunt, he started sitting up, looking down at his freshly healed arm. “Did you do this?”
Lucifer nodded, but held out his hands, trying to tell him to take it easy.
“Yeah, it looked like it came out of a meat grinder,” said Lucifer. “Hold on, take it easy, you’re still injured.”
Alastor batted his hands away and said, “I’m not. I’m fine.”
Slowly, and with no small amount of struggle, Alastor stood up on wobbling legs. Lucifer stood up with him and hovered close by in case he needed to catch him. Alastor looked at him with irritation.
“Do not coddle me. I am perfectly fine. And if you expect me to owe you for healing me while I was unconscious, you are a fool,” he said, his radio filter back on. “Well, more of a fool than you already are.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes, but he was glad that Alastor was well enough to insult him. That he was no longer on death’s door. Double death - double death’s door - double door - double - Lucifer shook his head.
“Just a ‘thank you’ would suffice,” he mumbled. “I mean, I’d say we’re pretty even. You got me out of the cage thingy, and I healed your arm. And your head. You had a concussion. Didn't want you to get brain damage. Oh, sorry, more brain damage.”
Alastor looked at him with an unreadable expression, his usual smile fixed across his face. His eyes gave nothing away. There was no reaction to the weak insult. Finally, he nodded and said, “Then we are even.”
He turned away and began wobbling to the bathroom.
“You may leave now,” said Alastor.
Lucifer didn't move. He actually didn't know if he could leave. He wasn't supposed to be here. He was Alastor’s contraband guest. What if someone saw him in the halls? Were the others even here? He would go back to his room, but it was empty. All of his clothes and things were back at the palace. Did he have enough energy to portal himself back to the palace?
Lucifer shuddered at the thought of returning to those cold stone walls and the judgmental gaze of Lilith’s portraits, the dusty, sheet-covered furniture, the lonely, echoing chambers… No, he would rather wander into this swamp and sleep in the mud.
And he needed to sleep. He needed to heal and regain his magical energy. Not to mention, now that he was in a safe place, a warm and comfortable place, his body was begging for an overdue rest.
The light in the bathroom turned on, and the door closed. Lucifer had yet to move. Where would he go? Was there anyone who owed him a favor? Anyone he could call? Maybe one of the other sins… no, not them. He had been out of contact with them for almost a decade, ignoring all attempts at communication. To all of a sudden call them up just to ask for a favor? Absolutely not.
It was beginning to seem like his only option was the palace, and that realization made the pain in his chest double. He gasped and doubled over, covering his mouth before a sob could escape.
Okay, okay, get it together. You can do this. You did it for eight years, you can do it again. He called on his magic, but it wasn't strong enough for a portal. Tears of frustration clouded his eyes as he tried to tear space open enough for a portal. His body was shaking from exhaustion and pain, and he just… couldn't. He didn't have the energy. He didn't have the magic. He didn't have it. It wasn't enough. He wasn't enough…
“Lucifer.”
Lucifer startled and looked up to see Alastor standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking down at him. He hadn't realized he was on his knees again.
“The couch is also available,” Alastor said. He stayed in the doorway, fingers drumming on the doorframe. After an awkward pause, he said, “I’ll draw you a bath when I’m done.”
Wiping his face, Lucifer stared at him, not knowing what to say. A response, apparently, was not needed, as Alastor turned back around and shut himself into the bathroom. He was certainly not expecting any further kindness from Alastor, but he wasn’t going to turn it down. The relief that came with the invitation to stay brought more tears to his eyes. He stood up and went to the lounge area, sitting down on the couch and finally letting the emotions out that he was trying to keep at bay.
He had no idea what he was going to do come tomorrow morning. He had no idea if Charlie was still mad at him or if he needed to go back to the palace. He’d have to fly there once he healed up enough. Or walk, if she wanted him out right away. He knew he probably wouldn't have the magic to portal there for a while still. He didn't want to stay in Alastor’s room any longer than he needed to. He didn't want to be a burden, taking up space in someone else’s room. He didn’t expect Alastor to let him stay here for longer than one night, and certainly didn't expect him to hide him here from Charlie while he healed up.
What a ridiculous idea, that was. Hiding from his daughter in the hotel she kicked him out of, in the bedroom of his… enemy? Lucifer almost laughed, but it came out as a sob instead. God, he was pathetic.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Alastor shut the bathroom door and went straight for the bath, making the water as hot as he could stand it. He started peeling his clothes off and tossed them directly into the trash. Between the shredded sleeves, the blood stains, and… other things, they were wholly unsalvageable. In fact, he briefly thought of burning them, just to be rid of any and all evidence of Vox and his vile actions.
Alastor poured a bit of lavender oil into the bath, then some chamomile. He wasn't sure if he was going to be able to sleep tonight, but he would take any help he could get. Surely, he was exhausted enough.
The bath, once he finally sank into it, had to be what heaven felt like. He let out an unintentional moan as the hot water wrapped him in a comfort that almost brought tears to his eyes. He sank down in the water until it touched his chin, letting the steam, warmth, and aromas envelop him. He stayed there, soaking in the absolute comfort, for several minutes before starting the cleaning process.
The cavity in his chest, which was now stupidly full of bathwater, was carefully cleaned and disinfected. The torn stitches were pulled from his skin and tossed. The wound looked no better than it did the day he acquired it. Once again, for the millionth time, he wondered what he would do with it, since it didn't seem to want to heal on its own.
The next step was to clean the mess that was between his legs. This, he dreaded, but it needed to be done. He knew he was torn down there, but it would heal on its own. He just needed to bear the pain a little longer to clean himself out…
“Fuck, Al, you’re so fucking tight,” Vox hissed into his ear as he forced his way into Alastor’s body. “I keep forgetting you’re a fucking virgin.”
White-hot pain filled Alastor’s every sense as he felt himself being split apart - A gush of hot fluid, his blood he realized, made the slide easier for Vox, who groaned and moaned into his ear-
The sound of porcelain cracking brought Alastor back to the present. His grip on the side of the tub had a spider web of hairline cracks spreading out from it. He let go and gripped his hair instead, but let go of that too when it felt too much like Vox’s hands gripping his hair…
Fuck, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe…
Through the frantic mess that was his mind, the lesson for calming a panic attack filtered to the forefront. Three things he could feel: water, the pain in his chest, warmth. Three things he could see: soapy water, the silver faucet, the fogged mirror. Deep breaths in, hold for five seconds, slowly let it out.
His breathing calmed after several minutes, and he wiped at his face, realizing it was wet with tears. It’s over, he told himself. He’s gone, and you’re home, and you’re safe, and you’re FREE. That is what is important here. And this is a ridiculous reaction anyway - you knew it was a possibility when you made that deal, you absolute fool…
Alastor quickly finished cleaning himself and stepped out of the bathtub. After drying off, he cleared the mirror of fog and began the grueling work of stitching his chest closed again. It was becoming more and more difficult to find skin that wasn't too damaged to stitch through. Through the pain, he managed to stitch it closed as much as he could, dressed it, then summoned a pajama set to change into.
Once he was dressed, he started drawing another bath, just as hot. He poured the same oils into this one, lavender and chamomile. He summoned another pajama set, one of his own, so it would no doubt be too big for Lucifer, and folded it on the counter. Then he opened the bathroom door to let the steam roll out.
Lucifer was sitting on the couch with his face in his hands.
“Lucifer,” he said, startling the man. Lucifer looked over at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Your bath, your majesty.”
Lucifer flinched at the title. Okay, maybe it was unnecessary, but Alastor didn’t have the energy to apologize. Nor would he, normally, who was he kidding?
Lucifer muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he passed by into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Alastor did not wait to shuffle to his bed and collapse into it. His remaining energy went into getting under the covers and into the least painful position before he let sleep take him.
~~~~~~~~~
Alastor was asleep by the time Lucifer finished in the bathroom. The pajama set left on the counter for him was too big, but it was clean and comfortable, and he didn't have the magic to summon one of his own.
Back in the sitting area, Lucifer found a throw pillow and a knit blanket and collapsed into the couch. Despite the swirling thoughts of future plans and conversations that needed to happen, sleep mercifully took him.
~~~~~~~~
Lucifer woke the next morning to the sound of muttering and frantic scrubbing. As quietly as he could, he peeked over the back of the couch to see the little bug maid girl - Miffy? Tiffy? Tiffany? - maniacally scrubbing the blood stain in the carpet. He wondered how she even got in - one of the first things Lucifer noticed upon waking up in this room was the wards around the door and all the windows. Clearly, the guy was paranoid, but after meeting Box Guy, he knew why. That guy was a total creep and was obsessed with Alastor. Gross.
Lucifer let bug girl finish her cleaning in peace. It was still early, the red sun just barely starting to rise. He lay back down and tucked his face back into the couch. The couch was not an uncomfortable place to sleep. Of course, he missed his bed and his own room, but this was so much better than the cold, stifling silence of the palace. Lucifer was able to fall asleep to the sounds of crickets and toads and rustling cattails and distant bird calls… How far did this swamp go? What was it, a pocket dimension? How and why did Alastor have this in his room?
Not only that, but the sound of another person’s breathing… Lucifer hasn't fallen asleep in the same room with another person in… decades. More if you counted all the times Lilith left him alone after sex, or when she made him sleep alone when he was irritating her. But Lilith stopped sleeping in the same room with him altogether shortly after Charlie was born. He hated being alone. Just being in the same room with someone was so relaxing, just knowing he wasn't alone. Even if they were on opposite sides of the room. Even if it was Alastor.
His peace didn’t last long, however, remembering that he needed to figure out what he was going to do and where he was going to go. He figured the first thing to do was ask Charlie if she was still mad at him. He would apologize, of course, and do whatever he needed to do to make it up to her. If she still wanted him gone, he would figure out how to arrange a ride to the palace. Walking would be dramatic. He didn't know why he thought he would walk there. Surely, there was a way to pay for a driver to get him there.
“The ultimate Bad Boy is in King Roach’s bedroom,” a voice said, too close to his ear. Lucifer jumped up and turned around. One large eye was staring at him from next to the couch. It was bug girl, and she was gathering up his gold-stained suit.
“I can clean this for you.”
“Uh, thank you,” Lucifer said. She gathered up the bundle of clothes and scurried out of the room.
Lucifer relaxed back into the couch and tried to call on his magic. He summoned a new suit from the palace, but that seemed to be the extent of it. He still felt so drained. He got up to go to the bathroom to check his injuries and saw that Alastor was still asleep. Lucifer lingered at the door to the ensuite, staring at Alastor for longer than he needed to. His face was so relaxed, his smile still present, but small and natural. His red hair was fanned across the pillow. Lucifer has never seen him look so peaceful. He was… beautiful.
This wasn't the first time Lucifer admired the Radio Demon’s physical appearance. He wasn't blind, but it was obviously not something he ever would have commented on out loud, given their rivalry. Lucifer secretly enjoyed the moments when he could look and not get caught.
Not wanting to be too much of a creep, Lucifer tore his gaze away and went into the bathroom. Once in front of the mirror, he took his shirt off, unwrapping the bandages. The holes in his chest were no longer bleeding. They seemed to be scabbed over already. That was a good sign. They didn’t hurt much anymore, either, and the annoying twitching from last night seemed to have worn off as well.
As he was coming out of the bathroom, he glanced at Alastor again and noticed a pinch in his eyebrows. Alastor twitched in his sleep.
“Stop, please stop,” he mumbled. He whimpered in pain, the corners of his smile threatening to fall. He was having a nightmare. Lucifer stood for a moment, wondering what he should do.
A few weeks ago, he would have walked away and used this information as fodder for future insults. Today, the thought of that left a stone in his stomach.
His feet seemed to make the decision for him, carrying him over to Alastor’s bed. He knelt next to the bed and waved a hand over Alastor’s head, willing his dreams into something pleasant. He felt the magic take, but had no way of knowing what Alastor was seeing now. Whatever it was, it was better than the nightmare because his brow smoothed out and he seemed to relax.
Lucifer decided to get dressed and go downstairs. Better to get this over with as quickly as possible. Rip the band-aid off, as one might say. He did so as quietly as he could. He didn't want to wake Alastor up; he clearly needed the rest. He also folded the blanket he had used the previous night and replaced the throw pillow.