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Pathetic.
The word slipped through Alastor’s mind as he observed Lucifer from a distance.
He remembered the Morningstar from before the mediatic debacle.
Before the cameras. Before the chains. Before the sanctified, glass-like ampoule that held him like a fish in an ill-fitting bowl.
A vessel forged from melted angelic weapons once meant to slaughter Sinners, now repurposed to cage him and drain him dry. The King of Hell, reduced to the power source of a device designed to destroy Heaven itself. A delicious little irony.
Back then, Lucifer drifted through the hotel, hair tousled in curlers and slippers, pink robe loose, posture careless. He moved through crowds without effort, without acknowledgment. Sinners parted instinctively, like insects shifting beneath a passing shadow.
Their whispers meant nothing. Their opinions less than that. A king did not concern himself with ants.
Now, tension weighed on his shoulders.
Lucifer adjusted his clothes. Prepared himself before facing the guests. The effortless grace was gone, replaced by brittle smiles and stiff awareness whenever a Sinner brushed too close.
The contrast almost offended Alastor.
He clicked his tongue, irritation coiling in his gut. Not sympathy, he refused the word before it could form.
Frustration. Pure, jagged frustration, like watching an apex predator mind its footing among insects.
He despised changes he had not orchestrated. And this shift? It was not his doing, and he hated that.
Before learning that Lucifer could not harm sinners, Alastor had never hesitated to bother him, to prod, to circle him like a cat teasing a larger predator. He had always punched a little above his station (half the fun), but done so with careful calculation.
The power imbalance had never left his mind. Lucifer could have crushed him with a flick of his fingers. Wiped him out like an ant under a boot.
But Charlie had always been there. Her presence, her stubbornness, her belief in her father, those were the invisible boundaries Alastor relied on, the lines keeping the Devil’s wrath leashed.
But now?
Charlie wasn’t here.
And Lucifer stood there with pride pulled tight like a poorly stitched seam, the cracks showing if one knew where to look.
Alastor’s glinting red eyes followed every subtle shift.
The boot that once hovered effortlessly above all seemed unsure of its own weight.
And for the first time in ages, he could not predict which way the Morningstar might tilt.
He disliked that. Uncertainty had never suited him.
Lucifer shifted, brittle awareness in every motion, the kind animals develop after being caught once in a trap. The proud monarch was gone, only a wary figure remained.
Alastor straightened as the Fallen Angel’s gaze finally landed on him. For a moment, neither moved. Two predators forced into a different landscape neither controlled.
Lucifer blinked first.
“Bambi,” he said, voice too steady for a man who had spent days pretending not to flinch.
Boring. So utterly boring.
Teasing a carnivore stripped of its fangs and claws was hardly entertaining.
“My, my,” Alastor said coolly, cane tapping. “You look dreadful.”
Lucifer hesitated… to snap, retreat, or ignore? Good. Off-balance suited him. Yet the stillness felt wrong, a chill crawling up Alastor’s spine.
“How unlike you, sir,” he continued, voice smooth, almost teasing, “to be absent at your daughter’s side. Did you not wish to spend time with her?”
Lucifer tightened his hands briefly, voice quieter than intended. “She… she’s my daughter. Of course I-”
He faltered, crushed beneath guilt and resolve.
“She told me to leave her alone after… after I fucked up trying to help her. So I left the hotel. She brought me back… but… didn’t say it was okay yet.”
A subtle, twisting ache stirred deep in Alastor’s chest.
Still, the image of the King, stripped of his usual authority, pride cracking just enough to show vulnerability, unsettled him more than he would ever admit.
But it was no wonder Charlie had reacted this way.
An absent father for eons, suddenly swooping in after a month of half-hearted presence, fumbling an attempt to help, only making things worse. They were still strangers, circling one another with the distrust and wariness of feral cats.
How funny. How fragile it all seemed, this balance of pride, love, and misunderstanding.
A parent and child reunited, but nowhere near close. Emotional wounds from years of absence could not be mended with a simple song and dance.
Even that moment of whisking her away from paparazzi amounted to little more than a flicker of decency. Once was far from enough.
And yet Lucifer had the audacity to call him useless, when he himself had not lifted a finger to ease the workload since the hotel’s reconstruction.
Alastor’s gaze flicked to the space he pictured where Charlie would have stood, imagining her measured restraint, the careful control she wielded even in anger. He could see it unmistakably: the echo of her father in her posture, her pride, the stubborn refusal to yield even when the world demanded it.
She was unmistakably her father’s daughter, no matter how fervently she tried to emulate her mother.
A slow, sharp smile curved Alastor’s lips as he allowed the observation to escape. “As expected from the daughter of Pride.”
The bumbling father blinked, startled.
“Well excuse you, what is that supposed to mean?” he snapped, outrage brittle and thin.
Alastor’s smile didn’t waver.
He had seen that reaction before, the sharp lift of the chin, the indignant flare, the refusal to show vulnerability. Charlie bore the same instinct. Except she repressed herself. So when her rage erupted, it was explosive, displeasing in its lack of control… yet quietly fascinating.
He clicked his tongue, a soft sound slicing the air. “And speaking of which…”
His head tilted slightly, his grin sharpened, eyes narrowing. “She told you to leave the hotel? Imbecile.”
Lucifer’s eyes flared, caught off guard.
Good.
But not nearly enough.
“What?”
“Come now, sir. Your very first impulse when wounded?”
He tsked softly, as though correcting an errant animal. “You scurry off. You vanish. You lick your wounds in solitude.”
The angel’s jaw tightened. There it was, a spark of pride stung. “Are you mocking me, Sinner?”
The smile stretched across Alastor’s face, sharp and delighted.
“Oh, no, no, no.” He stepped closer, voice dropping into a honeyed purr. “Mocking you would require effort. This is simple observation.”
He tapped one claw lightly against Lucifer’s chest, just above his heart, punctuating a lesson.
“And now, do pay attention, Your Majesty. There is a family resemblance you seem dreadfully oblivious to.”
The king’s brows pulled together. a warning or a question.
“Like father…” Alastor’s grin widened, predatory and musical. “…like daughter.”
A beat.
Then he delivered the final blow, lilted with laughter. “You two share the most endearing little flaw: social cues could slap you across the face and you still would not notice a thing.”
Lucifer’s eyes flashed. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his chine. A faint but definite shift of energy passed through him.
“What are you saying? She didn’t mean for me to leave? Then why… why would she say that?”
Alastor did not answer directly. The truth was too obvious.
“Think about her words again,” he said. “She desired space, sir. Not your absence.”
Lucifer’s breath caught. His eyes widened, clarity breaking through the fog.
“Did it ever occur to you that she never meant for you to leave the hotel? She merely desired a moment alone.”
Alastor’s gaze flicked over him coolly.
“Tragic, really,” he added lightly. “You both retreat the moment you are wounded, yet neither of you recognizes the pattern.”
Lucifer masked his sudden unsteadiness, but the old presence began to return, subtle, simmering. Shoulders eased, stance sharpened, eyes locking on Alastor with renewed focus.
The Radio Demon allowed the silence to stretch, deliberate, letting Lucifer sit with the weight of his own behavior and Charlie’s.
Then, tipping his head slightly, Alastor’s tone shifted, honeyed with contempt yet edged with amusement. “And speaking of ripple effects…”
“You might have given Vox fuel for his propaganda against Heaven,” he drawled, every syllable dripping with mockery. The static behind his voice crackled faintly, like distant laughter. “But your dear daughter managed to worsen things all on her own. Inviting angels to offer apologies with little gift baskets for genocide?”
Lucifer straightened, indignation rising, voice firmer, more controlled. “Hey! She tried to build peace, something you wouldn’t understand!”
Better. This was better.
Alastor’s grin widened, polite and cruel all at once, though a flicker of intrigue danced in his eyes.
“Oh, I understand perfectly,” he said, leaning lightly on his cane, eyes glinting. “But in Hell, goodwill is little more than bait on a hook. And your daughter, sweet, naïve creature that she is, keeps tossing hers straight into shark-filled waters.”
Lucifer’s glare flickered, uncertain. He hated that the red-eyed demon had a point.
More so that the demon could see it.
Alastor straightened his coat cuffs, unimpressed. “If you truly wish to protect her, you might consider teaching her what people like Vox actually are.”
A pause.
A flicker of black in his eyes.
“Predators don’t repent. They pounce.”
Lucifer’s fists clenched, with purpose this time. “And you’re an expert on that, I suppose?”
The deer demon’s smile sharpened into something wolfish.
“Dear Lucifer,” he purred, dipping into a bow that hovered somewhere between polite and poisonous, “I am a predator as well.”
Lucifer bristled. “So that’s how it went with that Overlord? Just waited around for him to screw up, and then ripped him apart the second you got the chance?”
“Precisely.”
Alastor straightened, smile curling into something feline and self-satisfied.
“One does not waste effort on prey that is still aware. The moment he let his guard down?” His tongue flicked lightly over his lips. “Delicious.”
Lucifer’s scowl deepened, unease shadowing his features, but now mixed with calculation, the spark of his former authority flickering brighter.
“You make it sound like you enjoyed it,” he muttered, trying to sound stern, though his eyes were sharp, alert.
“Oh, I did,” the demon replied without hesitation. “Efficiency is its own reward. But watching a tyrant realize he is prey?” His eyes gleamed crimson. “Now that is entertainment.”
Lucifer straightened fully, shoulders squared, gaze hard. The subtle tension that had plagued him earlier was now gone.
Alastor, delighted, leaned in just enough to be irritating.
“Do relax, sir,” he added with a soft chuckle. “If I intended you harm, you would not be standing close enough to argue.”
He let a beat hang between them, letting the silence draw out the sharp edge of frustration curling around the Morningstar.
Then, savoring the moment, he spoke again: “Our girl Charlie had every right to be angry with you, but-”
Lucifer’s lips pressed thin. Something flickered. anger, pride, something unnameable. He shifted his weight slightly, one shoulder lifting defensively.
Alastor’s red eyes glimmered, grin stretching wider.
Precisely as intended.
“She’s… She isn’t our- anything,” Lucifer snapped, voice tight, a flicker of irritation (and something darker) cutting through. “She’s my daughter.”
He stepped forward, attempting to assert it, but something in Alastor’s still, grinning presence made the motion falter. His muscles tightened, irritation curling into something more tangled.
“But,” the deer Sinner continued, “she should not have yelled at you.”
His cane tapped lightly on the floor.
“At least… not in public.”
He leaned back, eyes glinting like red-hot coals.
“You and your future daughter-in-law might have been misguided in acting without Charlie’s knowledge,” he conceded with a small incline of the head. “But even she should admit that responsibility does not rest solely on your shoulders.”
A beat.
“After all… it takes two to tango, does it not?”
The King of Hell’s nostrils flared, jaw clenching, shoulders lifting. As if his words scraped across some unseen wound.
Alastor's grin widened, wolfish, patient, finally having drawn blood.
“You erred,” he said slowly, voice soft but cutting, letting each word land like a scalpel, “but our girl Charlie owes you some apologies too. And you should let her face you, rather than avoiding her and taking all the blame yourself.”
Lucifer’s eyes narrowed. A faint flicker of his old presence returned. He straightened slightly, rolling back as though shedding invisible chains.
He didn’t respond immediately, amusing the deer demon all the more.
“Why… why are you telling me this?” He asked at last, voice too tight, a mixture of irritation and disbelief. “You should be glad instead. And she’s not… our-”
Alastor grimaced inwardly. This was not the conversation he had intended.
“Our girl Charlie,” he insisted, tone clipped, precise, “wanted to speak to you earlier.”
With a light tilt, he disappeared into shadows before Lucifer could respond, leaving him suspended between thought and irritation.
Alastor didn’t care about their emotional reconciliation, his point was made.
The flicker of Lucifer’s old fire, the subtle spark of pride reigniting… that was all he needed.
Provocation complete.
Lucifer remained still for a while, caught in the echo of Alastor’s words. Then, slowly, deliberately, he exhaled. The stiffness in his posture easing, the old composure threading back into him.
“What… what are you up to, Bellhop?” he muttered, voice tight, a flicker of irritation - and something else - lurking beneath. “Why me?”
Lucifer despised Sinners.
It was a rot he concealed to shield Charlie from his fury. Only once had it nearly surfaced, when Adam threatened her, and even then, only Charlie’s intervention restrained him.
Living among them, in her hotel, was already more tolerance than he had ever intended to give.
The best he could do was look away.
And pretend.
Yet there was one who never failed to draw his attention.
One who stirred a tension he had long denied himself.
Before everything that followed, before the illusion of reducing that tower of Babel knock-off to cinders with a serpent of fire, Alastor had been his perfect outlet.
A stress-relief toy he couldn’t touch but whose mere presence uncoiled something in him.
That smile, that relentless static, that sharp, infuriating glint in his eyes… somehow, the red-clad Sinner always dragged Lucifer back from the haze he slipped into when the world bored him. When even Charlie faded from his awareness, the bellhop anchored him, forcing him to remain present.
He had no idea why. The radio-obsessed demon was the embodiment of everything he despised in humanity.
And then, suddenly, he was gone.
His daughter was too busy to visit him despite technically living together, and that absence carved a hollow he refused to acknowledge. Without the scarlet deer’s needling presence, without Charlie’s warmth, without even Varista-Vanastasia? - hovering around, the hotel felt emptier than ever. Absurd, considering it was full. Then, strangely, it really did start to empty.
Only later did he learn it was because of the propaganda targeting the hotel - the very issue Vanya had come to ask help for.
At first, he had been pleased when the bellhop quit.
All Lucifer had done was tease him a little about being useless, and about that ridiculous spilled-coffee incident. What was that absurd overreaction anyway? It wasn’t even an insult, merely an observation.
He assumed the deer was just throwing a tantrum and would return once he’d cooled off.
Then he considered it good riddance.
One less annoyance.
One less Sinner buzzing around him.
He even thought the hotel would run better without the deer’s meddling, and that V-Valencia?- would finally have time to focus on her duties.
Instead, everything began to unravel. Problems crawled in from every corner. The girlfriend grew busier than before the help’s departure.
So when Vegemite - was it Veggie? Vaggini? - came to ask him to deal with those meddling media Overlords, he was, of course, furious to learn that lowly Sinners dared slander his only child.
But as he explained to his daughter’s girlfriend, there was nothing he could do to those human garbages.
Untouchable.
Bound by rules even the King of Hell could not bend.
Then she mentioned it, casually, thoughtlessly.
She usually would have asked Alastor for help instead.
That was what twisted the knife.
It was then that Lucifer moved to intervene. To assert himself, to prove his worth, to prove, if only to himself, that he still mattered, that he was still the one Charlie turned to when things went wrong.
In hindsight, the outcome was painfully obvious.
His involvement hadn’t protected Charlie. It had only made matters worse, inadvertently handing that box-headed opportunist the leverage he needed against the angels.
The memory still left a bitter aftertaste.
“Dad!”
The sound struck him like a live current.
Lucifer froze.
His daughter stood a few steps away, small, stubborn, radiant, smiling as if she’d just solved the universe’s oldest riddle. Relief flared first, sharp and involuntary. Panic followed close behind.
His instinct screamed at him to run. Vanish. Evaporate.
Stop avoiding her.
He clenched his jaw. He was not fleeing from his own daughter. Damn it.
He stayed, spine stiff, expression neutral. Inside, however, relief, guilt, and a warmth stirred, unwelcome, undeniable.
“Dad, I finally caught you,” Charlie said, slightly breathless. “I wanted to talk to you. We’ve all been so busy, I almost never see you anymore. It’s been a while since we really… talked.”
Lucifer hesitated.
“I thought,” he said carefully, “that you were still angry with me. I didn’t want to bother you.”
Charlie blinked.
“You disappeared,” she said, not accusing, just honest. “I tried calling. Messaging. I thought maybe-”
She hesitated, fingers twisting together. “I thought I’d messed up again.”
Something tightened painfully in Lucifer’s chest.
He recalled his phone, long abandoned and broken, forgotten since he had freed himself from that glass egg, where he had been stuck like an insect in a jar.
“…You tried,” he said slowly.
“Of course I did,” she said softly, hope in her tone. “You’re my dad.”
The words hit heavier than judgment ever could.
His little girl smiled again, tentative. “I was hoping you’d come see what we’re doing tomorrow. The redemption activities. You don’t have to stay long. Just…”
She paused. “…be there.”
Lucifer swallowed, then nodded. “All right.”
Charlie’s grin returned, brighter than before.
It was the first redemption exercise Lucifer had ever attended. Unconvincing, ridiculous…
And yet he couldn’t look away.
What in the Seven Circles of Hell was Charlie trying to accomplish?
“So,” the voice of the self-proclaimed host of the hotel drifted from nearby, amusement lacing every word, “what do you think? Funny, is it not?”
A balloon floated from Sinner to Sinner. Whoever held it had to confess a sin or regret before time ran out and toss it away.
“I… stole a cookie,” one whimpered. Another froze entirely, panic locking his throat.
The crimson deer leaned slightly, eyes glinting, voice floating over the clamor again, low and playful:
“A sin confessed is no sin at all, they say… How convenient. Yet responsibility has a habit of lingering, does it not?”
Lucifer frowned. He supposed the balloon was meant to represent the weight of responsibility, how confession made it lighter, easier to pass along.
Accountability, perhaps.
Absurd.
Guilt did not float away. It festered.
And he was fairly certain some of these confessions were invented on the spot, panic twisting memory into something harmless, something safe to admit when a crowd was watching.
His daughter clapped, beaming, as if centuries of torment could be undone by a party game.
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his non-existent nose. He wanted to scream, not at Charlie, not only at those wastes of free will, but at the smug demon leaning on his cane, clearly delighting in every flicker of his exasperation.
“Absurd,” Lucifer muttered aloud.
“Immensely entertaining,” that fucking skinny troll replied, eyes glittering with delight.
Later, after the last sinner had fled, some practically sprinting for the exit, Charlie beamed at them.
“So? How was it?”
“Er… well… I’m not sure. It was…” Lucifer faltered, tongue-tied, unsure how to explain that it was unlikely to help without crushing her enthusiasm.
“Wonderful!” the bellhop cut in smoothly.
Charlie’s grin widened until he continued.
“Splendid chaos,” he purred. “But responsibility? For what, exactly? Or is the prop simply there to panic them into confession?”
Charlie’s excitement faltered. “No… wait, the activity was supposed to be-”
Lucifer bristled, but the fucked up deer swept on, twirling his cane like a majorette.
“Oh yes. So much… effort. Utterly useless if they do not know why they are confessing. Like teaching calculus by throwing apples. Amusing? Certainly. Enlightening? Hardly. Unless torment was the goal. You do seem to have a talent for it.”
Charlie blinked. Then her eyes lit up.
She grabbed a notebook, scribbling furiously, nodding to herself.
She lunged forward to hug Alastor-
-and he vanished neatly into his shadow, reappearing a few steps away.
“You’re right!” Charlie said, undeterred. “I need to rework this exercise… I see it now. I need to be clearer. Define the responsibility first.”
And with that, she hurried off, already muttering ideas to herself.
Lucifer watched her go. Relief and something tighter settled in his chest.
Had Alastor just guided her? Advised her?
“Is it always like this?” he muttered, bitterness creeping into his voice as the red Sinner turned to leave, swallowed by the penumbra.
The mocking reply drifted back, already distant. “Well, someone has to step up.”
Lucifer remained where he was, hands curling at his sides, with nothing left to add.
The realization struck too late, and far too sharply: he was no longer the first voice she turned to.
Alastor had been there, guiding her in ways he hadn’t.
He knew Charlie had her girlfriend - Vivaldi? whatever - by her side, sharing burdens and hopes. That should have reassured him.
Yet all he saw was that grin, that crackling presence that lit her up in ways he hadn’t managed in decades.
Because the one soul he cherished above all had been guided, supported, and comforted… by someone else.
And he had not.
He had finally repaired his phone and the first thing he saw were Charlie’s messages.
Dozens of them.
Sent while he’d been trapped by that mouthy, square-headed excuse for a mortal who’d impersonated her voice to lure him in.
She had tried.
She had genuinely tried to reach him. To explain herself. To apologize.
And yet…
The way she always seemed to put everything and everyone - Sinners, angels, the hotel - before him, her own father… it gnawed at him like a splinter under his ribs. Her intentions were good, even sweet, but she had overlooked him. She hadn’t thought of him first.
That was why he was trying harder now.
Showing up. Attending meetings. Sitting through redemption activities. He needed to understand this dream of hers.
A Sinner had been redeemed.
Actually redeemed.
He still couldn’t quite believe it. His little girl’s impossible dream was somehow taking shape before his eyes.
A part of him swelled with pride. Another part burned with a bitter, ugly heat.
Why did he feel this way?
He hadn’t even realized how much he relied on being needed until that need shifted away from him. He didn’t know who he was jealous of. Charlie, for choosing her own path, or Alastor, for being part of it?
That smiling nuisance who somehow mattered to her.
Lucifer wanted her attention. Her laughter. Her joy, things he had always believed were his by right. He had endured eternity, defied Heaven itself, and yet the only recognition he truly craved was his daughter’s.
Heaven had never listened to him.
And yet, it opened its ears to her.
He didn’t want his daughter to fail. He wanted her to shine, but in a light that reflected him.
And she didn’t. She acted, she chose, she gave herself to others without hesitation, and in doing so, she remained blindingly, infuriatingly herself.
His jaw tightened.
He would not be displaced again.
He would be present. He would help her. He would stop ruining things.
And this time, he would make himself more useful than Alastor.
Much more.
Countless sessions had passed. Each time, Lucifer tried to guide Charlie, to shepherd her through the chaos she so enthusiastically embraced.
And yet… he knew nothing of Sinners, failures who wallowed in their sins and clung to indulgence even after death. The damn daughter-stealer, infuriatingly, seemed better equipped to understand why they clung to their crimes instead of changing, though he was not always helpful. He intervened only when it amused him, otherwise staying in the shadows, silent and inscrutable.
Sometimes, he was absent altogether.
Lucifer told himself he was relieved. The lie didn’t stick.
He should have been pleased, Charlie had more time for him now, even if he still had to share her with the guests. Instead, the silence settled in his chest, tight and persistent.
Without quite realizing when it began, Lucifer found himself answering whenever the red stag spoke, an aside here, a dry remark there. It came naturally, and that only irritated him more.
He told himself it meant nothing.
And yet, whenever Alastor spoke, Lucifer replied.
Alastor noticed, of course.
Charlie had crowned herself head counselor of the hotel, the self-appointed resident therapist: no training, no experience, just relentless optimism, warm smiles, and gentle hands, as if centuries of trauma might simply… melt.
Her idea of “helping” amounted to saccharine gestures lifted from modern children’s book rather than anything resembling real support: smiles, hugs, sunshine speeches, as if suffering would bow politely to optimism.
And then there were the plays.
Ever since Sir Pentious’s arrival (peace to his Soul, may Heaven keep him entertained as the First Redeemed Sinner) Charlie had taken to scripting miniature moral dramas for the residents. Each line saturated with the lessons she fancied would guide them toward self-improvement.
In her mind, it was therapy. To the participants, torment. To everyone else, pure entertainment.
Subtle? Not remotely. She staged them in the lobby, bright-eyed and fervent, delivering pointed moral lectures. One Sinner would stumble through lines, bewildered, while she beamed at their supposed “breakthroughs.”
In truth, it was theatre - adorable, misguided theatre. Performance masquerading as salvation.
The princess’s greatest flaw lay bare: she treated Sinners like pupils in a classroom, believing a single lesson could unravel a lifetime of pain.
If only it were so simple.
Alastor had witnessed few of these little productions, and the one time she’d taken the stage herself - playing a cackling, exaggerated animated drawing villain (like those Vox used to talk to him about) opposite poor Angel Dust, roped into the role of a spotless, self-sacrificing hero - he’d only heard about it afterwards.
But he could imagine it perfectly.
Her heart was, without question, in the right place. Her methods? Spectacularly naïve.
As though bright optimism and theatrical staging could somehow erase trauma, addiction, and despair. Charming? Yes. Admirable? Perhaps. But condescending. Bless her heart.
And from the shadows, Alastor watched it all. The skits. The speeches. The hope.
And Lucifer.
Across the lobby, the King of Hell shifted, shoulders tense. His disdain for Sinners was immediate and instinctive, but it no longer held his full attention. The Morningstar’s nostrils flared at the cloying optimism, at the way Charlie treated fully grown Sinners like misbehaving toddlers.
And yet… his gaze kept drifting back to Alastor.
Watching him wrestle with pride, irritation, and a fascination he clearly wished to deny was far more entertaining than any of Charlie’s moral pageants.
But Lucifer unraveling under the combined weight of fatherhood and Alastor’s presence? Now that was true entertainment.
Charlie launched into yet another dramatic monologue, all positivity and righteousness.
The Sinner cast as the “hero” stumbled over their cue while the “villain” froze completely.
Lucifer pressed his fingers to the middle of his face.
“She… she can’t possibly think this is helping,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“On the contrary,” the Red Loudspeaker replied, voice bright and silken, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. “At least you cannot call it boring.”
He tilted his head, letting the corner of his smile curl just enough to make Lucifer’s irritation sharper.
“That’s not-” the King stopped himself and shot him a sharp look. “Of course you do.”
The pain in his ass widened his grin. “My, my. Testy today, aren't we?”
Lucifer bristled. “I am not testy.”
“You are glaring at a cardboard prop.”
“It’s blocking the fire exit,” he hissed.
There was no fire exit. He would know, he did not construct one.
Alastor chuckled, a warm, low sound that made Lucifer shift despite himself. Damn him.
The angel folded his arms, posture rigid.
“She means well,” he muttered, softer now. “But she’s going to get eaten alive at this rate.”
“Oh?” the deer demon tipped his head. “Worried for her?”
Lucifer opened his mouth, closed it, then scowled. “She’s my daughter. Obviously I-”
“Mm,” the Sinner murmured. His smile sharpened. “Of course. Only that.”
Lucifer’s chest tightened, a hairline fracture in his composure. He looked away, fixing his glare on the flustered “villain” fumbling with their cue card.
“Don’t start,” he muttered.
“Start what?” the mobile red flag stepped closer, voice dropping into something teasing. “You are the one radiating distress. I’m merely observing.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely.”
Lucifer shot him a quick, defensive glare. The radio freak held it, eyes gleaming.
A beat.
“…You’re impossible,” he muttered.
And infuriatingly difficult to look away from.
“And you,” the smiling creature purred, “are adorable when you’re annoyed.”
Charlie, utterly oblivious, clapped her hands and declared the moral of the play for the third time in ten minutes.
Lucifer groaned into his palms.
The other leaned in, just close enough for his voice to turn intimate. “Care to wager how long before she drags you into one of these performances?”
“Over my dead body,” Lucifer snapped.
The humanoid deer gave him an amused grin. “Oh, I would pay handsomely to see that.”
Then, softly, dangerously…
“Careful, Morningstar. At this rate, I will start thinking you enjoy my company.”
Lucifer scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Then why linger beside me instead of fleeing your daughter’s… theatrical crusade?” The Radio Demon’s eyes sparkled. “You could leave.”
“I’m not leaving her alone-”
“With the Sinners?” he finished smoothly.“Or with me?”
Lucifer turned sharply.
“You’re the one I’m watching.”
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
The words lingered between them, raw and unguarded.
Alastor’s smile shifted. Less mocking. More intent. His radio crackled faintly, curious.
“Oh?” he said softly.
Lucifer blinked, realization striking too late. “I-I meant monitoring! Because you’re chaotic and I didn’t-”
“Lucifer.”
Alastor’s voice dipped, velvet-smooth, cutting clean through his spiraling.
“Darling.”
Lucifer’s breath hitched. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” the red Sinner leaned closer. “You did not seem to mind.”
Heat bloomed beneath Lucifer’s skin. “You’re twisting this!”
“Hm.” A slight tilt of the head. “Am I?”
Charlie’s voice rang out behind them.
“Okay! Now everyone hug it out! That’s how we solve conflict!”
The timing was catastrophic.
Lucifer closed his eyes. “Not you,” he hissed. “Anyone but you.”
The nuisance’s grin grew slow and wicked.
“But you are the one watching me.”
Too late.
“Oh! Dad! I have an idea!” Charlie beamed. “You’re in the finale!”
“No.”
“Yes!”
Alastor stepped delicately aside, offering the angel a sweeping gesture toward the stage. “After you~”
Lucifer shot him a murderous glare. It only made his fucking smile widen.
She seized his wrist and yanked him forward before he could flee. The King of Hell went flying along like a very confused housecat.
“Char-Charlie, absolutely not- Charlie, stop-”
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun!” she chirped, towing him like a panicked pet toward a bathtub set piece. “We need someone noble and radiant for the Mentor!”
The ever-smiling demon choked on a laugh. A real one. “Mentor?”
“Oh yes!” Charlie exclaimed. “You deliver the speech about friendship being stronger than fear!”
Lucifer stopped dead.
“Charlie,” he said carefully, “I am the embodiment of cosmic judgment. I do not give speeches about-about-” He searched for the word with mounting despair. “Friendship.”
“You can today!” she said, patting his arm. “Think of it as exposure therapy!”
“For whom?”
“For everyone!”
The false innocent doe-eyed Sinner sauntered closer, hands folded neatly behind his back.
“Oh, do give the speech,” he purred. “You are marvelous when flustered.”
The Devil hissed like a cornered swan as he was pushed onstage beside two utterly lost Sinners, both holding their cue cards upside down.
“Okay!” Charlie said brightly. “Dad will now deliver the Mentor Monologue. And remember! Be encouraging!”
Lucifer looked like he was in physical pain.
He glanced at Alastor - Alastor, who leaned against a pillar, utterly delighted, eyes half-lidded, savoring every drop of this divine humiliation.
“Don’t you dare,” Lucifer mouthed.
Alastor’s grin softened into something wicked and intimate.
He mouthed back:
“Go on, darling.”
Lucifer actually wrung his hands. “Charlie, I-I don’t even know the lines.”
“That’s the best part!” Charlie chirped. “Just speak from the heart!”
He froze as if she’d asked him to remove an organ.
One of the Sinners whispered, “Uh… do angels… have hearts?”
Lucifer nearly combusted.
Alastor laughed, unguarded, the warmth of the sound drifting across the lobby like a taunt.
The angel inhaled sharply, straightened, and lifted his chin with the dignity of someone walking to their own execution.
His daughter clasped her hands. “Whenever you’re ready!”
Lucifer glared at Alastor one last time.
The latter winked.
He shut his eyes. Gathered every scrap of dignity he had left. Opened his mouth. And said, in a tight, tortured voice:
“…Friendship,” he began stiffly, “is an… emotion.”
The radio host folded over, silent with laughter.
Lucifer tried again.
“It’s messy. Irrational. And sometimes it’s two people refusing to walk away when they should.”
He didn’t look directly at the other demon when he said it. He didn’t trust himself to.
Alastor stilled.
The angel realized what he’d just said and instantly regretted it, but Charlie’s eyes were shining and the words kept coming, and stopping now would feel like cowardice.
“It’s… it’s when someone infuriates you,” he said tightly. “Gets under your skin. Makes you want to…
… push them off a cliff sometimes.”
One of the Sinners nodded sagely. “Yeah. That’s friendship.”
“But… also, you notice when they’re gone,” Lucifer said, quieter. “And that… terrifies you.”
Alastor’s grin faded. Just a fraction.
Lucifer felt it like a tug beneath his ribs, and shut it down at once.
He stopped abruptly. “That concludes the monologue.”
Charlie clapped as if she’d just delivered a Broadway masterpiece. Onstage, the Sinners tapped their cue cards in place of applause, while a few hesitant onlookers gave slow, uncertain claps.
Alastor didn’t move.
His eyes were fixed on Lucifer, sharp and searching. For a few precious seconds, something cracked. Surprise. Vulnerability.
Lucifer saw it.
“Alastor,” he said softly, once the scene had ended, once they were alone and the lobby had emptied.
The Radio Demon straightened at once, static stuttering as the moment snapped shut.
“My, my,” he drawled lightly. “I did not know you were capable of sincerity.”
Lucifer stepped closer before he could stop himself.
“You’re not the only one who notices things.”
Alastor paused.
Then he smiled, bright, brittle. “Do not look too closely, darling.”
He stepped back, hands folding behind his coat as the performance reasserted itself. The grin returned, polished, effortless, but the static at his heels faltered as he slipped toward the shadows.
Lucifer froze.
The space Alastor left behind felt wrong. Too quiet. Too hollow.
No.
The thought landed like a blade.
His hand rose without permission, reaching for a sleeve that wasn’t there anymore.
Alastor had vanished.
Another exercise ended. Charlie rushed off the moment inspiration struck, leaving behind scattered props and the faint echo of her enthusiasm. The Sinners dispersed just as quickly, some relieved, some shaken, eager to be anywhere but there.
Lucifer scanned the shadows, half-expecting to find a familiar silhouette lounging in the corners of the lobby. Nothing. Only empty space and Charlie’s voice echoing unchecked.
At first, he dismissed it. The deer demon was never consistent, appearing when it amused him, vanishing when it didn’t. That unpredictability had always been part of the irritation.
But the absence continued.
When crimson eyes did appear, they slipped away the moment Lucifer looked back, like a specter he could never quite catch.
An unwelcome pattern began to take shape.
The so called hotelier still commented sometimes, but never to him. His backhanded advice to Charlie grew rarer, and she turned increasingly to Heaven’s expectations for guidance. She celebrated her successes with the same brightness she had once reserved for Lucifer. He smiled, encouraging her.
But privately, something sour twisted in his chest.
He had waited centuries to be heard. Heaven listened now. Just not to him.
And he could see it too: how disheartened she became while waiting for critique that never came. She sought his approval, yes, but she also hungered for Alastor’s honest criticism, the only voice willing to challenge her, even when it stung. As Alastor’s commentary became rarer, she lingered on each word that did arrive, anxious and uncertain.
While her girlfriend and he tried to temper her expectations, they inevitably softened the truth when offering support, so it was never quite the same.
Lucifer found himself listening for static that never came.The silence left room for his thoughts to wander and he disliked where they went.
When that doe-eyed demon did appear, it was never when Lucifer was close enough to speak.
Avoidance.
The realization settled slowly and unwelcome.
It shouldn’t have mattered. The Sinner had no obligation to stay with him. Yet Lucifer felt the absence like pressure against a bruise he hadn’t known was there.
Worse, he began to notice what it displaced.
It wasn’t just infuriating.
It was revealing.
Lucifer had not realized how much he leaned on that presence until it disappeared. Days passed like that, each one quietly reminding him that what had anchored both him and his daughter had shifted.
The absence weighed on him, a quiet insistence that would not fade.
He began to notice him everywhere in traces rather than presence: the soft crackle of static at the end of a corridor, a shadow retreating behind a door, the faint glimmer of red eyes observing Charlie with detached amusement. Each time, something tight and bitter coiled in his chest.
Lucifer paused at the balcony, Hell’s glow spreading across the floor. He hadn’t meant to come here. And yet, something unnamed had drawn him all the same.
Alastor stood at the railing, posture loose, gaze sharp. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes when he noticed him, then it was gone.
Lucifer stepped closer.
“We need to talk.”
The Radio Demon’s ever-present smile pressed into a thin, closed line.
“Well,” he said lightly, “how delightful.”
But neither of them moved.
And for the first time since the silence began, Alastor did not retreat.
Lucifer’s hand shot out, catching the demon’s arm, opening a portal to a secluded corner of the hotel and he pushed him through it. The latter let out a soft, almost imperceptible squeak, a startled, fawn-like sound that seemed absurdly delicate for someone so composed. Lucifer felt a quiet satisfaction at the sound.
Before the prey demon could fully recover, he stepped through the portal, closing it behind them.
The space was small, private. Alastor’s scarlet eyes scanned for mischief, options, escape. None were available.
A hand pressed him gently against the wall. The sudden motion left him momentarily breathless. Eyes wide, but not alarmed.
Lucifer’s chest was tight, loaded with weeks of absence, avoidance, and quiet frustration. He had wanted this confrontation for days, but the words had never found him. Now they hovered, jagged and urgent, behind his eyes.
“Talk,” he said again, voice low, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
He was suddenly, acutely aware of how close they stood, and did not move away.
Alastor had not avoided him, merely… retreated. Strategically. He had needed time to himself, time to ponder, to reflect.
Whatever was developing between him and Lucifer was becoming dangerous. Stepping away, even briefly, had seemed the sensible choice.
But now-this-
With their chests nearly brushing and Lucifer’s presence impossible to ignore, Alastor’s thoughts betrayed his. It looked suspiciously like one of those moves Niffty had described from the Japanese romance comics she’d recently become obsessed with, a traitorous corner of his mind supplying the image, entirely unhelpfully.
His theatrics faltered.
His lips twitched, caught between amusement and something far more precarious. Seeing the Monarch so assertive was unusual… and, to his quiet surprise, strangely stimulating.
A pause. The faint crackle of static marked the silence.
“I believe dear Niffty would call this a kabedon,” Alastor mused.
“You are a bit small for it to work,” he added, voice teasing yet measured.
Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “I’m being serious.”
Before Alastor could reply, the Devil seized him by the coat front, fingers curling beneath the collar, pulling him down just enough to enforce eye level. Close enough that mockery had nowhere left to hide, and Alastor’s grin faltered for a bit, breath catching, faintly audible.
“I’m correcting you,” Lucifer said, low and precise.
Silence stretched between them, dense and charged. Alastor’s crimson eyes glimmered as the grin returned, slow, deliberate.
“Ah,” he murmured, almost delighted. “There it is.”
Lucifer didn’t release him.
And that was the problem.
The deer demon tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he assessed the angel’s intent. His grin twisted, jagged and dangerous.
“You think you can push me into a corner,” he said at last, teeth bared, voice slow and firm. “But I choose where the walls stand.”
For a moment, Lucifer held his ground, jaw tight, eyes locked on Alastor’s. Then, deliberately, he stepped back, the sudden ease of space making the pressure vanish. The wall was just a wall again, but the tension remained.
“Then stop disappearing,” he said, voice steady, measured and heavy.
Alastor’s eyes squinted, amusement and calculation flickering. “And if I do not?”
The King exhaled slowly, letting the moment stretch.
“Then I’ll stop chasing you, Alastor.”
The words surprised them both.
Silence fell.
Alastor’s smile returned, smaller now. Guarded. And then, just enough, he tilted his head, exposing the line of his throat.
A choice.
A surrender.
Lucifer’s fingers lifted, settling at the edge of Alastor’s collar, not gripping this time. Just resting there. Grounding. Steady.
“Good,” he murmured, low and controlled.
And something shifted again between them, though Alastor couldn’t quite name it. He only knew that, deep down, a traitorous part of him was pleased. He wanted to see more of that kingly side - to explore what, exactly, existed between the Fallen Angel and himself.
He laughed softly under his breath.
Oh dear. This could be a problem.
Still… boredom would not be among them.
At the very least, things were about to become interesting.
Alastor told himself it was nothing.
A moment of interest. A lapse in judgment. Curiosity, indulged and set aside.
And yet, when he found himself sharing space with the King again, he no longer retreated. He watched instead. Listened. Waited.
If Lucifer reached again…
Well. He supposed he would see.
Weeks settled into a cautious truce. They moved now around one another with deliberate care, like dancers refusing to acknowledge the rhythm beneath their feet.
Alastor no longer vanished.The barbs persisted, sharpened by habit, intended less to wound than to tease.
Charlie, for her part, seemed lighter, her laughter brighter, less tentative, ever since the Radio Demon had begun quietly staying present when needed, and her father and he, though still bickering, had started presenting a more united front in public.
Lucifer still despised Sinners, that much had not changed. But he supposed… he could learn to tolerate his daughter’s closest companions, if only because they mattered to her. That, at least, was within his control.
Sometimes, he and Alastor stood too close for comfort, too close to pretend it meant nothing.
Lucifer almost reached out.
He stepped back instead.
When he did, Alastor remained still, fingers tightening around his cane.
Not yet, he echoed silently.
Some things were worth waiting for.
Once, while watching a redemption exercise teeter on the edge of disaster, Lucifer asked, “Why don’t you always intervene…?”
He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.
Alastor tilted his head, lips twitching faintly. “She won’t learn if you keep saving her from every mistake.”
Ah, Lucifer thought, the truth sinking like a stone placed with purpose, that was why.
He had always believed his role was to shield her. To stand between Charlie and consequence.
But that wasn’t what she needed.
He need not be the first voice she sought, nor the one who provoked or coddled her.
Alastor could challenge her when optimism blurred into blindness.
Vaggi could steady her, soften the world around her.
And he…
He could be the pillar they could not.
Steadfast. Constant. Unmoved.
Lucifer exhaled slowly. The tight coil in his chest loosened. Not gone, but manageable.
The smile that touched his lips was small, but content.
They found themselves side by side again on the balcony, overlooking Charlie and her girlfriend as they laughed softly among the guests below. The princess’s laughter carried further than before, lighter, more unrestrained, a warmth that brushed even the hardest corners of the Monarch’s heart.
It wasn’t directed at them, and she barely noticed the balcony above, but the ease in her movements, the subtle confidence in her gestures, spoke clearly: she was thriving, quietly buoyed by support she no longer questioned.
Lucifer rested his hands on the apple of his cane and, with careful intent, let his tail graze one of Alastor’s hands folded behind his back. The touch was brief, tentative, almost shy.
He tilted his head, watching for a reaction.
Alastor’s red eyes widened for a heartbeat, then his smile softened. He didn’t turn, but his ears angled toward Lucifer as his hand slowly, deliberately curled around the tail, just enough to offer quiet reciprocity.
A warm, gentle ache stirred in Lucifer’s chest.
He wasn’t ready to share this with his daughter yet, it was too new, too fragile to name, and he was still uncertain about what he and Alastor might become. But that small, discreet confirmation, this private connection shared only between them, was enough. This was not nothing and Lucifer knew it.
It was reassurance.
And quietly, it was a promise that maybe, just maybe, they could navigate whatever came next… together.