Chapter Text
After the party was over and the room cleared of patrons, a tall sinner zapped in through a screen.
With a flatscreen TV for a head, he was still recognizable as the disgraced overlord who almost killed everyone.
That was years ago now. How long would it take for him to regain his status?
So he had to wait in the shadows, with only one follower still helping him do his bidding.
Quietly, in the dark and empty room, he stepped over the bodies of the temporarily-killed men, with their crimson flowing onto the floor.
But the silent, suited sinner wasn’t looking for red blood.
He was looking for gold.
With his hands folded behind his back, he scanned the ground, even as the party-goers shuffled out of the room, whispering about what had just happened. Then, he spotted what he needed. He reached down and picked them up – three small, white feathers, partially covered in the exact golden liquid he needed.
With a wicked grin, he tucked them into his breast pocket.
•. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
“You’re still shaking,” Alastor said, sighing as he pulled the thread through the skin on the side of Lucifer’s belly wound, sitting on a chair pulled up to the bed.
“Sorry,” Lucifer responded as he laid shirtless on Alastor’s bed with his wings out. On one side, they were tucked close to give Alastor room to tend him, while the other three splayed out in their own bandages. Lucifer's arms were tucked behind his head awkwardly as he was otherwise unsure what to do with them. Lucifer’s eyes darted around the room as he worried, yet again, that he was annoying or inconveniencing his friend. He tensed to get up. “I can finish it myself.”
“It’s alright, it’s just a little harder to be steady with your shaking, but I’m almost done.”
Lucifer swallowed and waited as Alastor finished, wiping off the last of the blood with a damp cloth and adding gauze. The Radio Demon covered the wound with a bandage, pressing gently at the sides to adhere it, and leaned back.
“Done.”
Lucifer sat up slowly, not wincing but drawing a sharp, deep breath as his wings pulled inwards. “Thank you, Alastor.” With a twirl of magic light, a blue T-shirt appeared on Lucifer. He gazed around the room, avoiding eye contact.
“Of course, Starshine,” Alastor said softly, putting a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. “How are you feeling? What else do you need?”
“Fine. Nothing.”
Alastor tilted his head. “You’re still shaking,” he replied.
Lucifer wasn’t sure how to respond. “I know.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
Lucifer rubbed his thumb on his palm. “I…well, ‘fine’ is just what people say to each other. It doesn’t mean anything. Just like ‘how are you feeling?’ That’s just…small talk, as I understand it. Doesn’t mean anything.” Lilith had taught him that years ago, chiding him for answering how he was with the horrors of the meeting he had endured that morning.
Alastor was starting to catch on to Lucifer's frequent, odd deflections and explanations. “No, Lucifer," the Radio Demon explained, hiding his exasperation. "I’m asking because I want to help.”
Before the king could respond, his phone rang. Lucifer jolted before fumbling with his back pocket so he could look at it.
He smiled at the screen for a moment. “It’s Charlie!”
“Charlie? Why is she calling so late?” Alastor asked, then looked at the grandfather clock, seeing it was nearly 6 in the morning. “Or rather, early?”