Chapter Text
Lucifer didn’t remember walking back to the hotel. Really—he didn’t remember a lot from the previous night.
Still, he must’ve gotten back to the hotel somehow because when he woke up he wasn’t surrounded by ducks or in his own room.
He glanced around, blinking slowly. His brain hadn’t fully caught up to what happened (he wasn’t even sure what day it was), but he did know one thing; everything hurt. A full body ache, akin to the feeling of going too hard on leg day and being unable to walk two days later. It was that, but all over his body.
He groaned, pulling himself into a sitting position with much more strain than he was used too. His head spun, his vision doubling as it struggled to process why he was moving. That and he still felt half asleep.
He pressed his hands to his eyes, digging his palms into the sockets with another exaggerated groan. He scrubbed at them, pushing his palms far enough that he was sure his eyes were close to popping.
He couldn’t remember what happened. Why couldn’t he remember what happened?
He dropped his hands, keeping his eyes closed. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, swaying like a willow tree in the wind before the rest of his body finally decided to boot up. Eventually he opened his eyes, dragging himself out of bed and to his feet.
Everything spun and for a second Lucifer worried he might black out. There were dark spots in his vision (darker than the room at least) and like before, everything was spinning. He found himself grabbing the bed post with a shudder, waiting for the sudden numbness to leave his body.
After what was surely less than a minute, he was finally able to start walking. His trek to the bathroom felt torturous, every step threatening his balance, every step sending spikes into his feet, his legs aching worse than they ever had before. Still, he made it.
He pushed rather than opened the door, stumbling over to the sink. He grabbed the porcelain with shaking hands, hunching over himself with a pained wince. God. What the hell did he do yesterday?
He was still trying to wrack his brain for answers when he turned on the tap, letting the water run until it was ice cold. (For Hell’s standards, anyway.)
He filled his hands with water, still blinking blearily before splashing his face. It helped a bit with the residual fatigue but that was about it.
He almost didn’t want to look up. He didn’t know what happened, but if he felt this bad he almost definitely looked worse.
Still, he forced himself to look up at the mirror. Part of him was expecting his typical pyjamas, maybe his suit from the day before. Instead, he was greeted with a torso covered in red burns, hardly healed stab wounds, and partially healed cuts.
He blinked, staring at the mass of injuries with even more confusion.
The day before came back to him the longer he looked. His fight with Charlie. Getting trapped by that TV demon. That stupid box. The shaking. The electricity. Charlie’s girlfriend. Even more electricity. The cords. The glass.
He was trembling.
He wrenched his eyes away from the mirror, summoning his suit with a wave of his hand. He looked back with a forced smile, glad to at least see that everything was hidden.
(Well, everything except for the bruises and burns covering his wrists. Ah, well, that’s what the long gloves were for.)
He shook his head, changing out the shorter gloves for the elbow length ones instead. He didn’t like wearing them because they bunched under his jacket, but he had to do what he had to do. It was fine. He would heal, and everything would be fine.
He was fine.
Still, he couldn’t help but rub his wrists as he made his way out of the hotel room, convinced that everyone would know. He stopped just outside the door, fixed the hat, adjusted his bowtie, and set off looking for his daughter.
It didn’t take him too long—she was, predictably, in the lobby with her girlfriend. Her and… ugh, the radio demon.
(When the hell did he come back?)
Whatever. He ignored it, pushing himself into the conversation with a hopefully real enough smile. “Hey hey! How’s my favourite daughter doing?”
Charlie paused what she was doing, looking down at Lucifer with a wide smile. “Dad! You’re awake!”
He barely had time to agree before he was crushed into a hug. He just barely held back a hiss, his entire body screaming in pain, instead patting her back with his free hand. Next to him, Lucifer could hear Alastor muttering something about interruptions and royalty, but before he could make out exactly what he was melting into the shadows.
He told himself that he didn’t care, he was just glad that everyone turned out okay. At least—mostly okay.
Finally Charlie pulled back with a frown, looking him over like a worried mother.
“Are you okay? You were pretty… beat up yesterday.”
Lucifer scoffed with a smirk, brushing nonexistent dust off his shoulders. “Me? Please, I’m right as rain!”
As if to accentuate his point, he spread his hands out with a flourish and a wide smile. He didn’t miss the way Charlie’s eyes darted to his wrists (he almost had a heart attack thinking his gloves fell down, before he remembered that she literally saw him bleeding yesterday) and he chuckled. “Yeah, okay, I’ve got a few bumps, but nothing a little angelic healing can’t fix, amiright?”
Charlie just shook her head with an affectionate eye roll. Next to her, the angel was less than convinced, if the raised eyebrow and pointed look was anything to go by. Still, she didn’t say anything, which Lucifer appreciated.
He shook his head. “Alright! So, what’s on today’s agenda? Anything ah, fun or exciting?”
Charlie’s smiled dropped just the slightest bit, but she perked up just as fast. “Well—uh, it’s mostly damage control and new check in’s, to be honest.”
She let out a breathy laugh, trailing off into a dramatic wheeze. “The publics’s still iffy on the hotel, but quite a few people saw Pentious and decided it wasn’t a complete lost cause, I guess.”
Lucifer nodded, trying to remember who Pentious was, he thought of the ninja turtles but he somehow doubted that’s what she meant—so he was obviously failing miserably. “Riiight, that’s great! Well, if there’s anything I can do, just uh, give your dear old dad a call, huh?”
Charlie nodded. “Sure thing! Thanks, dad.”
He grinned at her, and for a second, he almost forgot how much everything hurt. For a second, he almost forgot about forgetting everything this morning. For a second, he could almost imagine there weren’t a dozen holes in his body.
”And uh,” he started slowly, glancing around the half full lobby. “What exactly happened yesterday? No one filled me in on all the drama, the hot gos, the tea, if you will.”
She snorted, and next to her Vaggie facepalmed. “Crap, I totally forgot to tell you!”
Lucifer just waved it off. “You were probably under a lot of stress, it’s no biggie.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Charlie mumbled, staring at the floor like it had personally insulted her grandmothers cooking. She seemed to snap out of her stupor, looking down at her dad with a wince, clearly gearing up for something.
Lucifer knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth.
”Basically, Vox tried to take over Hell and Heaven with this giant weapon thing which he used you as the battery for and he totally blew a hole through Heaven and he definitely destroyed a couple dozen-hundred-maybe-even-thousand sinners in the process but it’s okay because Emily one of the angels I’m best friends with came down to help and I mean she kinda lost her wing in the process since Vox shot her with the canon thing but it ended up fine because we blew up the weapon with the power of friendship!” She took a deep breath. “Oh, and Val ripped off Vox’s head, which was—yeah, super… great, to watch.”
Lucifer just blinked, staring at his daughter like she’d just grown another eye and four tails.
Vaggie put an arm on Charlie’s shoulder with a smile, looking back at Lucifer with a bit of sympathy. “Basically what Charlie said, Vox tried to take over Heaven and Hell, we defeated his weapon with the power of friendship, and Val defeated him with the power of extreme violence.”
Lucifer nodded.
”It was pretty cool to watch.” She said, shrugging with a half smirk. Lucifer was almost disappointed he missed all the fun. Mostly he felt bad—he should’ve been there for Charlie, not trapped and used as a battery.
(He knew he should’ve been more upset that he’d been hooked up to an angel essence draining weapon, but he filed that away for a later hour.)
“Well, that sounds like fun.” Lucifer said sarcastically, but Charlie’s eyes were scanning the crowd, hardly paying attention. She evidently saw something going wrong because the next thing he knew she was running with her arms out, screaming something about putting the antiques down.
Lucifer let out a breath, watching her go with just a bit of hurt. He shouldn’t be mad. His daughter was running a hotel, she had other things to do.
Instead he sighed, all of his attention going straight back to the pain. He let out a quiet hiss, rubbing his wrists again as he flexed his hands, hunching over himself with a wince. The stab wounds were pulsing, sending a very distracting lava like pain throughout his chest and back.
He was also slower than usual, because he’d apparently forgotten that Charlie’s girlfriend was still very much standing right next to him.
She cleared her throat with a small cough and he jumped, immediately snapping himself back into his proper posture. He let out a surprised laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh! Charlie’s girlfriend! I..-uh, didn’t realize you were still here!”
The gray skinned angel narrowed her eyes at him, looking from his face down to his torso, his wrists, and back up again. “Riiight.”
He cleared his throat, his face burning in embarrassment. How the hell did he forget she was here? She was right next to him?
They stood there in silence for a few seconds before Lucifer had enough, laughing awkwardly. “Well uh, I’ll be off!”
He was making his way away from there—where to, he wasn’t sure—but the angel called after him before he could get more than a few steps away.
“Lucifer.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You sure you’re okay?”
He grinned automatically, absentmindedly pulling down his sleeves. “Yeah, of course. Why?”
She frowned, taking a step forward. “Well—that weapon you were hooked up too, it was designed to drain your power, right? I figured you’d still be sore today, even with that “angelic healing” of yours.”
Lucifer just kept smiling, though it felt incredibly strained. “Well it must not have drained it very well because I feel fine! Toootally fine.”
She hrmmed, raising an eyebrow in clear disbelief. She literally watched him fold over himself in clear pain and he was trying to deny it? Was he stupid?
Lucifer felt a bead of sweat fall down to his collar under the intensity of her stare and he resisted the urge to swallow. Finally she shrugged, turning to walk away.
”Whatever you say, Lucifer.”
He let out a breath, cringing ever so slightly at the pull on his wounds. Now that he’s been up for a few minutes he just wanted to go back to bed.
And of course, because the universe was clearly having a laugh at his suffering, the second he turned around he ran straight into something warm and solid. He bounced back with a small oof, blinking as he realized what exactly he’d done and who exactly he’d hit.
The radio demon.
Just great.
Because of course, he needed the radio demon to be pissy with him. Of fucking course he needed to be even more on Alastor’s bad side than he already was. Why not!
But.. as Lucifer stared at him, he didn’t seem mad. Even as Lucifer stood there in awkward silence, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed in confusion; Alastor didn’t saying anything. He still had that infuriating smile on his face, close lipped but prominent, both of his hands resting on top of his staff.
He was just… looking at him.
Lucifer cleared his throat. “Sorry bud,” he said with a forced grin, patting his shoulder hesitantly. “Didn’t see you there.”
Alastor hummed, red eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Evidently.”
Lucifer retracted his hand, cringing ever so slightly. Just like with the angel, he stood there for a second, awkwardly tapping his foot before he rolled his eyes, pushing past him with a half hearted groan.
(He was not in the mood for the radio demons tricks.)
He had better things to do than have a staring contest with a demon who didn’t blink. For example, he wanted to go home, cuddle his dam rubber ducks, and sleep for another day.
Alastor didn’t say anything as he walked away, even with Lucifer shoulder checking him, but he could feel Alastor’s eyes burning into his skull. He did his best to suppress a shiver and instead grit his teeth, teleporting away with a flourish.
—————
His room looked the same as when he left. Rubber ducks everywhere. Bed unmade. Pyjamas strewn all over the floor.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have a lot of time to admire it before his head started screaming. An angry, agonizing throb that sent painful shockwaves down his body.
He let out a pained yelp, immediately crumpling to the ground with a half sob. God. Why did it have to hurt so much?
He curled up into a ball, eyes shut tight because having them open hurt more than he could describe. His chest hurt. His legs hurt. His back hurt. His arms hurt. His shoulders and hips were positively killing him. But somehow none of that even came close to his head.
It was pounding. Throbbing to the beat of his heart like it was trying to break open his skull from the inside.
He knew, logically, that it was because of him teleporting and using too much power too soon, but fuck. It felt like a million needles trying to tattoo his literal brain.
He let out a drawn out groan, flipping himself over to curl on his other side. He tightened his hold, wrapping his arms around his knees, dragging the limbs closer to his chest. He was pushing his forehead to the joints, trying in vain to lesson the migraine.
(Of course every other wound on his body was screaming at the harsh treatment, but he didn’t care.)
Still, his whole body was thrumming with an angry buzz, staticy and tingly and so. Fucking. Painful.
He groaned again and decided that he needed to distract himself. Unfortunately, the first thing that came to mind was what Charlie had said earlier; about the weapon.
Lucifer—well, he hadn’t known what he was attached too, but he knew it was bad. Knew it was painful. Knew it was draining his energy. He just… a giant fucking weapon? Of pure angelic power? Blowing a hole through Heaven itself? Killing hundreds if not thousands of sinners?
He shuddered.
He wasn’t allowed to harm sinners—wasn’t supposed too, but did it count if it was out of his control? If he didn’t have a choice? What then?
He growled under his breath, his head throbbing even worse than it had earlier. God. How could he be so stupid to fall for that fucking demon’s trick? Using his daughter’s voice, luring him to that abandoned place—that should’ve been his first hint! But noooo, he just had to be an idiot and get himself trapped inside an angel powered death machine and indirectly cause the deaths of hundreds!
His hands moved from his knees, moving instead to grab at his hair. Stupid Lucifer. He was an idiot. Weak. How the fuck could he do that? Why the fuck did he do that? He was the king of hell. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. So why the fuck was he so weak?
He couldn’t harm that TV, he couldn’t break out, he couldn’t help his daughter, all he did was go and fuck everything up. Kill people. Get himself tortured in the process.
God, he was such an idiot.
A violent pain brought him back to reality. He brought his hands down and grimaced, shaking his hands to rid them of the blonde hair he’d just yanked out of his skull.
There was nothing he could do about this now, but what if it happened again? What if he fucked up again?
What the fuck was wrong with him?
His head throbbed and he felt tears building in the corner of his eyes. He growled again, sick of the pain, his own incompetence. He rolled onto his back, grabbing his hair once more with an anguished wail.
He was pulling, his nails digging into his skin while he yanked fistfuls of hair. The tears he was trying to fight off fell easily, streaming down his face. His head hurt, the pressure from inside his brain and the harsh pulling from his skull was agonizing.
He hiccuped, squeezing his eyes together. That TV headed demon was right. He was weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. Weak. He was nothing but fucking weak.
He pulled harder, screamed again.
Of course it hurt, but some sick part of his brain liked it. At least it hurt on the outside and the inside. At least now it didn’t feel like his brain was going to burst from his skull like an alien. Now it just hurt everywhere.
(He wasn’t sure how that was better, but to his pain-addled mind it made sense, so who was he to judge?)
He deserved it, too.
He deserved it for letting everyone down. For getting himself trapped. For powering the very weapon that killed people.
He wasn’t sure how long he cried, but it was long enough that he felt dehydrated and exhausted. His hands relaxed in his hair, and he was entirely unsurprised to find them sticky and wet with blood. He brought his hands back down and looked at the gloves. Even though his vision was blurry from the tears, he could clearly tell that they were covered in a vibrant gold, strands of golden blond hair wrapping around his fingers.
The tears he thought were done with were back, welling up in his eyes, falling down his face with ease. He hiccuped, his chest rising and falling rapidly with every choked breath. Of course he hurt himself. He couldn’t just hurt everybody else and deal with it like a normal person, no, he had to have a mental breakdown and rip out his hair.
He sniffed, forcing himself to his feet. He took the bloodstained gloves and threw them across the room with a yell. He stood there; panting, shaking, crying, not knowing what to do.
He turned around, marched straight over to his bed and dropped on top of the covers with a wince. Everything still hurt but he didn’t care, maybe this was his punishment for fucking up.
He buried his face under his pillows, closed his eyes, and let the welcoming darkness pull him under.