Chapter Text
Lucifer had first suspected something went wrong with Alastor and Adam's fight a mere few hours after it occurred. The radio overlord had made a very brief reappearance after the battle had concluded, simply grinning at them and hugging Charlie before slithering back into the shadows.
On top of that, the bartender musk? rusk? Lucifer could never remember had looked suspicious of the deer sinners silence. Nevertheless, there was a hotel to rebuild, and Lucifer wouldn’t waste his time thinking about the annoying deer guy.
After all was said and done, the hotel rebuilt better than ever, Alastor still hadn’t reappeared. A seed of worry was starting to grow in Lucifer’s mind, but he resolutely ignored it.
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In all honesty, Alastor was freaking out. Of course, this confession would never once leave the dark recesses of his mind, but privately? He was most certainly, without a doubt, one hundred percent freaking out. This, of course, is for two reasons. One being that he failed miserably in defending the hotel and wound up nearly dead. The second being that he cannot currently speak.
In fighting Adam, he had gotten grievously injured. A deep wound spanning from his right shoulder to his left hip, which is currently pulsing ominously with holy light. That alone would have been bad enough to warrant him hiding away in his radio tower for a few days, but he also finds he can’t speak. He had tried, don’t misunderstand, he had tested the ability multiple times. All that came out of his mouth was a heavy static interspliced with clips of different voices.
wonderful.
Though normally, that wouldn’t be an issue. He has been left voiceless from injuries before, and they had healed quickly enough to be little more than a fleeting annoyance. But this wound is of the archangelic nature, meaning that without outside help, he will not heal. In fact, he will only get worse, the wound festering and rotting him from the inside out. Not a fun way to double-die, if you ask him. But in all honest truth, it was a miracle the initial blow didn't outright eviscerate him. He heard what happened to the poor snake fellow when at the wrong end of the first man's axe. A rather shameful conclusion to the slimy bastards afterlife.
WONDERFUL!
The only good that’s come his way recently is the lack of questioning from the other residents of the hotel, either too scared or wrapped up in their own nonsense to even think of sending a question his way. All, except for one. That being Lucifer, the damned king of hell, and the current most prominent bane of Alastor’s existence, pestering the deer in the brief moments he leaves the confines of his rooms with a questioning glare or narrowed eyes.
It luckily hadn’t gotten to the point where Lucifer actually tried to speak with Alastor yet, but he wasn’t optimistic, the king’s glares growing closer and closer to fed-up by the day. That stress, along with the stress of dodging the conversations the other residents tried to send Alastor’s way eventually compounded into a rather embarrassing meltdown, thankfully within the safety of his own rooms, but shameful regardless.
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Alastor stalked up to his rooms, trying and failing rather miserably to control his breathing, as well as his damned tail, which was flagged in a show of fear barely hidden in his trousers. The reason for his distress was, surprise surprise, the heart attack of a family named Morningstar, along with his thralls testing his patience..Well, that’s a bit of a stretch. In all honesty, they had simply tried to speak with him, which they didn’t know he could not currently do. Nevertheless, the result was the same. He lashed out at them, a garbled staticky MESS escaping him in place of his voice. He had, of course, immediately fled the scene, but the damage was done. And now he can’t calm down, a breakdown imminent.
He bursts into his room and makes a beeline to his bayou, collapsing not far from the threshold and taking gasping breaths, clawing at his throat and pulling at his hair. Why had he done that? Why had he shown them exactly what kind of failure he was? He’s better than that! He can control himself! He can! He’s not like his father! Heavy footsteps thudding closer to his door, the wood creaking under the strain of his anger, the smell of booze and iron thick in the air. His door slams open, and he slaps his small hands over his mouth, struggling to not cry out in fear. He can handle this, he can, he must.
The memory does nothing to calm him, quite the opposite, sending him into another panic spiral that has him stumbling blindly forward into his bayou, tearing off his shirts in a desperate bid to gain more air. It doesn’t work, it won’t work, why won’t it work?
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Lucifer is, in all honesty, pissed off. Not to say that it’s particularly hard to make him upset, not even he’s prideful enough to deny that (hah!). But this recent anger has lasted for a while, a week if he remembers correctly. And the cause of it lies solely with the dumb red loudspeaker his daughter, for some reason, trusts! The guy’s acting suspicious..Well, more so than usual. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in the hotel since the final battle. Which, okay, he’d be more than happy to not deal with the deer sinner’s grating voice, but Charlie, the terrifying maid girl, and even the porn star demon (Angie? Or maybe amphetamine? He knew it started with an A at least..) were concerned for the guy. he was too, not that he’d ever let Alastor know that
Regardless, he was pissed due to the guy’s newest meltdown.
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They had all gathered downstairs for dinner. Tonight, Alastor had made some sort of meat gumbo. It smelled delicious, which Lucifer would never admit to, but the others' comments made up for his prideful refusal. Even the bartender (he’s about 90% sure it’s husk) was being slightly less drab than usual. And then, because of course it did, dinner went to shit.
For the first time since the final battle, Alastor had sat down with them at dinner. Charlie, his wonderful girl, had of course attempted to make conversation with the man, but didn’t get much beyond a slight nod or shake of the head back. She looked dejected, so Lucifer called him out.
”what, are you suddenly too good for conversation with Charlie, Albatross?”
But even at his words, the sinner hadn’t replied, barely spared him a glance. Husk had jumped in, questioning Alastor on why he hadn’t been talking since the extermination. The others quickly started doing the same, hounding the man for information on his unnatural radio silence (hah, get it?). That seemed to be the final nail in the proverbial coffin, As Alastor had blown up at them, shouting unintelligible staticky garbage. Not for long, though, as he soon realized his volume, slammed a hand over his mouth, and fled via the shadows.
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That takes Lucifer to the present moment, standing outside of Alastor’s door, hand poised to knock so he can lay into the smug bastard. No one disrespects his daughter, after all. But he pauses, listening to the sounds coming from within the sinners' rooms. He hears the sound of heavy static, panicked breathing, and clattering..Ooookay..Not his area of expertise, he’ll admit, but the sinner was probably going to be fine, and Lucifer was angry, damnitt!
Taking a moment to find his mettle, he raises a hand to knock again, only to be interrupted with a tap on his shoulder. He would absolutely deny it to his last breath, but he squealed.