Chapter Text
For the first time in eons, Hell was silent.
Gone were the terrified screams, maniacal laughter, and rapid footfalls. Gone were the static of televisions, the crackling of radios, and the crunch of blades thrust through flesh. Gone were the hushed whispers, the flowing conversations, and the deafening lustful moans.
Even the Radio Demon had gone silent.
Vaggie didn’t think she would ever miss the noise of Hell. Just the thought of waking up to gaze at Charlie’s sleeping face in utter silence was nothing but a fleeting dream. And yet, that’s exactly what she did this very morning.
And she hated every second of it.
No one in the hotel was sure what had happened. Three weeks ago, everything was normal. Charlie was demonstrating to the latest group of wannabe redeemers the complicated ins and outs of Trust Falls. As usual, she called Vaggie to help her demonstrate, because of course she would. And of course, Vaggie would get up off her ass and hold out her arms because any excuse to hold Charlie was an excuse she was more than willing to take.
“First, you’ll want to get up here and share something vulnerable with the group!” Charlie said cheerfully. “Like… sometimes when I can’t sleep, I count the number of ducks my dad sent me over the last week until I do!”
Yes, Vaggie thought. And she never let her dear, patient, loving girlfriend sleep until every single duck was tucked into a mini bed and kissed goodnight.
“And now that I’m done sharing, I’m going to turn around annnnnd…”
As usual, she did just that, rocking backwards on her heels to warn Vaggie she was coming. As usual, Vaggie held out her arms, ready to catch her demonic other half and hold her close for just a second too long. As usual, Charlie placed her hands over her heart and shifted her weight backwards. And now she was falling, falling, falling…
Too fast. Vaggie practically had to run forward to catch Charlie before she hit the ground. And damn, she was heavy. Too heavy. And cold to the touch.
Panic rose like bile in Vaggie’s throat as she looked at her girlfriend’s face, searching for any sign of something wrong. That was foolish - everything was wrong. Charlie’s face was completely frozen, the ghost of her last smile etched on her face. Her skin had turned stark white, rosy cheeks so bright they were essentially painted on. When she tried to brush the Princess of Hell’s bangs away from her face, she was met with cold, unyielding stone.
She had screamed Charlie’s name then, loud enough to shatter the glass Husk had spent the last six hours polishing plus every bottle behind him. Angel had to use all six arms to plug his ears. Niffty had ripped the feathers off her feather duster and stuffed them in her ears, single eye twitching all the while.
She didn’t know how long it took for them to come down - perhaps seconds, minutes, maybe a few millennia. But eventually, the crackling of radio static filled the lobby, bringing along with it a harsh gust from six spread wings. The former Exorcist knelt there, crouching low over Charlie’s still form as she sobbed, barely registering the two sets of rapid footsteps approaching her from either side of the room.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” Alastor’s voice was lower than usual, barely audible over the heavy static surrounding him. “Don’t tell me that there was some mistrust in this fall.”
“What happened!?” Lucifer’s voice was higher pitched than normal, worry dripping from every word. “Tell me Charlie’s okay!”
Vaggie said nothing. How could she? The words died in her throat as soon as she thought of them. All she could do was lean back slightly and show them Charlie’s cold, blank face.
The changes were grotesque. Lucifer’s eyes immediately changed from gold to red, round pupils turning into slits. Long red horns grew from under his hat, which tilted precariously in response, the apple nearly ready to off it. His teeth sharpened, mouth pulled back into a snarl. For his part, Alastor’s smile widened even more, so much that it practically split his face in half. Black swallowed the reds of his eyes, and a large pair of black antlers sprouted from beneath his hair. For a moment, the two demons were silent, only able to stare at the Princess of Hell’s still face.
Lucifer was the first to break it. “You!” He raised one red claw and jabbed it into Alastor’s chest. His voice split into thousands. “This is your fault, isn’t it!? What the fuck did you do!?”
If it was at all possible, Alastor’s smile spread even more, brows furrowing as fire flared up in his eyes. When he spoke, the static was so loud everyone had to strain to hear him. “I have no idea what you’re trying to imply, sire. I assure you, this has nothing to do with me.” One clawed hand reached up and pressed its palm into Lucifer’s claw. “But perhaps it has something to do with poor management around these parts. Perhaps you can shed some light on that, my little lord?”
“Why you motherfuck-“
It really, really shouldn’t be that easy to knock out two of the most powerful demons in all of Hell. On any other day, Vaggie would have called it absolutely stupid for Angel and Husk to do what they did next. But this wasn’t a normal day at all. So what those two had stashed divine weapons behind the bar? And so what they used the non-pointy parts of said divine weapons to serve some well-deserved smacks to the two demons’ heads before they could rip each other’s off?
Yeah, sure, Lucifer was probably going to wake up absolutely pissed. And God knows what Alastor’s going to do once he came to. But none of that mattered. Because as far as Vaggie knew, her head was worth nothing to her if Charlie wasn’t around to fill it with silly songs and even sillier dreams.
This was by far the worst fucking day in Hell.
Lucifer called it a destiny written in Scripture. It was an ancient sort of sorcery, a deed so powerful that few angels even knew of its existence, let alone how to bring it about. Unlike the silly little prophecies and such that humans could use their free will to help break, Scripture was completely unbreakable. Once written, not even God himself could bend it. It would take either writing an alternate Scripture to alter the victim's destiny or slaying the seraph who wrote it.
“Whoever did this to her had to convince the entire Council of Seraphim to carry it out,” Lucifer slurred. He downed his fourth? fifth? bourbon as he spoke. “They had to come up with a reason. Like, a really, really, really good reason. And then paid an extremely high price to target her specifically.”
Alastor swilled his Sazerac around its glass, a gentle buzz already having settled over his mind. Despite the pleasant hum in his ears, the tightness in his chest refused to go away. It was as though Rosie had placed a corset on him and tightened it so much his insides were about to spill out both ways. This strange, constricting feeling had been there from the moment he saw Charlie’s cold, still form lying on the floor and only worsened with each hour that passed without her laughter lighting up every room of the hotel.
Stranger still, this feeling was accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain right over the left side of his chest whenever he looked in her father’s direction. The King of Hell was alternating between downing whiskey and toying with the apple and snake decoration on his hat. The fire in his golden eyes had sputtered out, the bags underneath them heavy and raw. No amount of petty barbs or insults would get him to sputter and snarl in that rather pathetic yet strangely cute way of his while he was in this state.
(Not that Alastor found Charlie’s pathetic excuse of a father cute, of course.)
“So if I’m correct, one of those pompous pigeons up there took offense to something some sinner or demon down here did and decided to write in Scripture that our pretty princess would turn into a porcelain doll during a Trust Falls exercise?” Alastor asked. The buzz in his head was rather quickly transforming into white noise the more Sazerac he downed. It was a good thing Husk always kept his glass full, as he was doing now. “I must say, this level of pettiness is something only those feather-brains can think of.”
“So if that’s true, all we gotta do is find whoever pissed them off and like throw them into the sky or some shit, right?” Angel said. Husk had somehow managed to find enough non-alcoholic spirits to build a six-tier pyramid of shot glasses which the spider demon was now downing in quick succession. “They’re happy to have their new little bitch toy and we get our boss bitch back. Win-win!”
A cough and a sputter sounded from the other end of the bar. Lucifer stood, one fist over his mouth to catch his cough, the other pounding his chest. Almost reflexively, Alastor released a shadowy tendril to thump the King of Hell on his back, causing him to cough up the rest of the bourbon he had accidentally inhaled. Huh, weird. He should’ve just let the silly serpent cough a lung out.
“Only I can call CharChar a bitch, bitch!” Lucifer slurred as the rich brown liquid dripped from one side of his mouth. “Or I’ll… um… er… shit. Someone get me another drink and off of the LuLu Coaster…”
Lucifer swayed forward with one hand braced against the bar, the other attempt to find purchase with his stool. Alastor’s grin widened in amusement as the diminutive demon somehow missed the stool completely and ended up on the floor instead. His hand slipped off the bar, knocking that ridiculous top hat off and causing it to roll away. Rather than doing literally anything to get their monarch off the floor, Husk only shook his head and reached for Lucifer’s glass.
“Yeah, no, I’m gonna be responsible for once and cut you off,” the cat demon downed the remains of Lucifer’s glass plus the rest of the bottle of bourbon. “Sorry, Your Majesty.”
Vaggie let out a small grown as she rubbed her temples. “So where would we even start finding out who pissed them off? There’s a trillion sinners down here and the stuff one Deadly Sin alone can do is enough to make any of those guys up there clutch their pearls.”
“This is way beyond just pearl clutching,” Husk said. “From what King Drunkenstar down there said, they had to get every member of the highest level of angel up there to agree to it. And then they had to pay some sort of price, which I’m guessing is some metaphorical bullshit about giving up what you love the most or whatever.”
“Do angels love?” Angel asked.
“Uh, have you read a Bible in your lifetime?” Husk asked.
“Depends. Does doing the juicy part it in a sexy nun outfit count?”
“Why did I even ask?”
This entire conversation was starting to give Alastor a headache, and not the good kind that involved too much alcohol and a late night deep in the bayou on a humid night. He tapped his fingers on the bar, mulling the information over in his head. What could they do to narrow every sinner and sin in Hell down to the possible candidates that pissed the angels off? It was hardly as though they had the power to do that, even with Lucifer at their side. What was more, they had absolutely zero idea what possible crime would drive one of those birdbrains to demand the dollification of the Princess of Hell herself. It was at best a political disaster and at worse an outright declaration of war. They were lucky that Lucifer had been reduced to a sniveling rubber duck enthusiast in the years between his and Lilith’s separation and now. Had the man been in his prime, Alastor had zero doubts that the angelic demon would’ve happily razed Heaven and Earth to the ground to change his daughter back.
And Alastor… oh, Alastor would have loved to be part of that razing. To watch as those toga-wearing turkeys ran, flew, and pleaded all to avoid the cloven heel of Alastor’s boot. To watch skin curdle, feathers curl, and eyeballs boil as Hellfire seeped from below their glowing little city. To feel the beautiful, golden flesh melt between his teeth as he feasted on victim after victim while they were still screaming and crying and alive. It was a symphony that would have been more beautiful than any amount of overlord screams Alastor could play over his radio.
A warm touch at his forearm snapped Alastor from his fantasies. He looked down at its source, watching in slight bemusement as the King of Hell unsteadily rose to his feet, gripping onto Alastor’s arm for support. The pleasant white noise in the Radio Demon’s ears grew just a bit louder.
“We gotta ask,” Lucifer said in a shaking voice, interrupting a truly riveting conversation about King Solomon and the size of his junk. “No way around it. Nope, nuh-uh, noooooo sir! Gotta march up there and demand to see their manager!”
The alcohol was heavy in Lucifer’s breath. But so was another scent. It was some sort of familiar floral one, one that he hadn’t smelled in a long, long time. The name danced on the edge of Alastor’s tongue, just out of reach. Fuck. This was going to bother him for a while.
“So… how many Karens should we bring with us?” Angel asked. He was now done with his pyramid of shots and had traded those for a Blue Ribbon. Disgusting. “I’m pretty sure we have like all of them down here, right?”
Lucifer shook his head a bit too wildly, causing him to start swaying once again. His words were so slurred they were barely audible now. “No. No Karens. Gotta appeal before Heaven’s court and shit. Fuck. Dunno if we can win.” A pause. “I mean, I invented law schools. And tuition. And tuition hikes. Fuck it, I’m the original lawyer. I’ll just fucking go.”
“I’ll go too,” Vaggie declared. “She’s my girlfriend and I have wing bones to pick with those assholes!”
“Good luck with that,” Husk said. “I’m gonna stay right here and take a shot for every time they quote from the Bible or mention their greatness. I’m expecting to be absolutely floored after opening arguments. Plus, someone’s gotta be here to make sure Niffty doesn’t literally scrub Hell looking for whoever did this to Charlie.” He paused. “Where is that girl anyways?”
“Mm… count me out too,” Angel said. “Love Charlie, don’t love angels. Besides, I’m pretty sure my mere presence up there would piss them off a lot and I wanna give our boss bitch the best fighting chance she can have.”
“What did I say about my bitches you…” and once again, the devil went down south but this time, he landed in Louisiana. Or more specifically, a Louisianan’s lap. From the light snores now emanating from their king, there was no doubt to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that there would be no more Lucifer complaining about bitches tonight.
The noise was even louder now, the frequencies shifting rapidly from quiet white noise to a torrential downpour of static. That constricting squeeze, that stabbing pain in his chest. It was all back now, only worse than before. Alastor’s pulse raced as he quickly put on his most dazzling smile, desperately hoping the flash of his yellowed teeth would blind the others long enough for them to not question the way he stood up, carrying the king like a snoozing bride.
“Well, I think that settles our scheming for tonight, don’t you?” his voice was distorted slightly by the static and rapid frequency changes. If he didn’t know better, he could’ve sworn Angel was raising one perfectly manicured eyebrow at them. “I’ll make sure that Tiny Tyrant Tipsy here makes it to bed without stripping his own flesh off his bones. Ta-ta!”
“Yeah, make sure that isn’t the only thing he’s stripping off!” Angel shouted as Alastor teleported away.
The apple-shaped outcropping of the hotel opposite from Alastor’s shining radio tower had long ago been set aside as Lucifer’s private suite. When the King of Hell wasn’t pacing the empty halls of his manor, sitting on the rides of LuLu land, or locked in his rubber duck workshop, he was helping Charlie in managing hotel affairs from his pretty little bedroom. Well, little was hardly truthful in describing the absolutely ridiculous six-bed, six-bath suite of rooms the man had set aside for himself, but Hell was full of liars anyways and Lucifer was the pampered prince of them all.
Speaking of the Prince of Lies, he was surprisingly light for someone who could shatter an Exorcist’s mask with a single punch. Then again, Alastor had always figured that angels had to have hallowed bones like birds in order to fly around and be all hoity-toity like that. Despite his fallen status, Lucifer seemed to be no different.
It was unfair that he was still so angelic looking despite the Fall, Alastor thought to himself as he crossed the laminated wood flooring of the inebriated king’s suite. If what rumor said was true, the only thing that had changed were the colors of Lucifer’s eyes. Otherwise, his features were still so very angelic, from the gold of his hair to the perfect porcelain of his toes. Even his very bone structure was angelic - wiry, thin, and delicate.
Lucifer turned towards his chest and mumbled something in his stupor. Alastor couldn’t quite make it out, as the downpour of static turned into a maelstrom at this moment, drowning out anything and everything. From reading the rose-petals lips, he saw the words “Charlie” and “ducks”. Perhaps even a “Lilith” and “fuck” in for good measure.
His chest grew tighter. It took everything he had not to deposit Lucifer right there on the floor and leave. Hell, he could do it. Baron Bourbon probably wouldn’t even remember tonight and wouldn’t think twice if he woke up on the floor. Alastor could even be nice enough to leave a very, very, very large bottle of Tylenol for him. After taking plenty of photos, of course, which would be spread around the hotel and plastered all over Hell.
Those lips were making noise again, but Alastor’s static was too loud to hear it. From their movement against the cloth of his jacket, something about a Bambi? He wasn’t really into Disney cartoons or whatever the diminutive king was into these days. He looked at the pearly white doors and hallways facing him. Which room was the bedroom again?
It took him a few minutes to find the bedroom at the end of the hall. Like everything else in this damned realm, it was circus-themed with hand-painted animal murals on the wall and a starry tent covering the four-poster bed. Like every other little room in this suite, there were rubber ducks everywhere. Alastor nearly knocked over a few baskets of them on his way to the bed. California King-sized, of course, because this room wouldn’t be such a lovely place without it. The comforter and sheets were blood red with swirls of gold all over it. Dimly, Alastor noted that there was an apple motif going on with the bedding and… ducks? Seriously? The King of Hell was such a child.
Lucifer put up no resistance as he was laid into bed, as deft shadowy tendrils began quickly removing his boots and socks. He looked so vulnerable like this, so weak. Sort of like a baby bird, except he was one that would bite your head off if you were foolish enough to accidentally wake it up. Alastor could honestly probably stab him in the heart right now, bend down, lap up the golden ichor still flowing through the fallen angel’s veins, and walk away with nary a scratch. Perhaps with a few strands of hair as a little trophy to lord over Charlie’s father in one of their many future spars.
That is, if they would ever spar again. Because lately, the King of Hell was in absolutely no mood to spar the way they always had. And frankly, neither was Alastor. With Charlie’s beautiful smile gone, there was nothing for them to fight over. What was the point? It made him sick.
He was done taking off Lucifer’s boots and socks now. His tendrils folded them neatly on the nearby desk. Before the Radio Demon could slip away, that warm touch was back on his arm and he stilled, turning his head all the way around with loud cracks to smile down at the still-vulnerable rosy-cheeked king. He said something with hazy eyes, but Alastor couldn’t hear. His ears twitched slightly as he turned around and leaned down.
“My hat?” Lucifer murmured. That floral scent was back now. It punched him right in the nose like a rose, but there was something… different about it. It was sweet, yes, but also citrusy. And perhaps a little bit earthy. It tickled something in the back of his mind that had been locked away decades upon decades ago.
“Now whatever do you need your hat for, Your Majesty?” the Radio Demon asked, his smile widening while Lucifer’s brow furrowed. “I’m sure it’s a prized family heirloom, but let me assure you that it’s perfectly safe in my hotel. I’m positive you can pick it up from our lovely barkeep tomorrow… that is, if one of our guests hasn’t taken a bite out of it first!”
A snarl. “Fuck you. Need it.”
“Oh dear, I do hope you’re not cuddling it when you sleep. I’d almost rather see you cuddling a giant stuffed rubber duck instead.”
Those golden eyes were practically glowing. Desperation leaked from the little lord, so much that it caught the Radio Demon off guard. The hand on his arm tightened.
“I’ll… ugh. Fuck. Deal. I’ll deal for it,” Lucifer said, burping and gagging slightly as he spoke. “Hat for duck. My favorite duck. It smells like you.” Another burp. “Deal?”
It was a truly pitiable sight indeed. One that Alastor happily seared into his core memories. Here was the King of Hell, reduced to a depressive drunken mess. Golden eyes were wide, searching his face, desperation dripping from his gaze. Rosy cheeks were splotchy and red, a product of too much bourbon passing between those lying little lips. Beautiful.
He sent his shadow to fetch the hat. As soon as it was in his hand, Lucifer reached in and pulled out a small rubber duck. This one was just a touch bigger than the others and sported a little monocle. The most remarkable thing about it though was the tiny flower sprouting from its tail end. It was a lovely orange thing with four large, silky petals on a long and thin stem. Its scent was barely there at all, but Alastor’s sensitive nose detected tiny notes of sweetness curling from it. Nothing like the smell coming from the figure on the bed. Lucifer’s smile softened a little at the sight of the duck, but he quickly schooled his features the moment he noticed the Radio Demon looking at him.
“What a cute little trinket,” Alastor remarked. The static had died down enough for him to finally listen. “What’s this little thing growing from it?”
Lucifer looked away. “Eschscholzia californica… California poppy. It’s illegal to pick those up there. Endangered now.”
Alastor’s grin widened even more as he began to stroke the poppy, careful not to damage any of its little petals. “Such a lovely face… this will make perfect kindling!”
Before Lucifer could say a word, Alastor teleported back to his room. For a brief moment, he considered the duck in his hand. Then, he shook his head and walked over to the little bayou he had created in his room. It wasn’t big enough to burn and besides, he liked the way he had furnished this room. It would cost him too much time to find new furnishings anyways. No, it could just be a silly little trinket swimming around his bayou. Better than a gator, he supposed. At least this thing wouldn’t need feeding.
Alastor turned towards his bed as the water carried the duck away from him, exchanging it for the rosy, citrusy, earthy scent of a newly bloomed magnolia tree.