Archive of Our Own

Alastor’s day was shaping up to be uneventful, a sin in his eyes. He leaned over the balcony railing atop the hotel looking for something to spark his interest – or perhaps more specifically, someone. His gaze caught on bright blonde hair shining in Heaven’s light.

Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell and professional pain in Alastor’s ass. At least, that was the sentiment Alastor had been desperately clinging to as of late.Yet even now, as he watched Lucifer communing with the other resident angels on the hotel's front lawn, he felt a traitorous flutter behind his ribs — a dangerous sensation, and over the past few months of late night drinks and surprisingly adequate company it had grown unbearably urgent, as though basking in Lucifer's presence was a necessity instead of a passing amusement.

Oh well. Those feelings would fade in time, but until then there was nothing more entertaining than provoking the little king.

Alastor slipped into the shadows, slinking down the hotel walls until he reappeared to hover over Lucifer's shoulder, letting his static buzz into a low roar in hopes to startle him into some sort of delicious reaction.

Only, Lucifer hadn’t noticed him yet, too focused on whatever task he had set up for Charlie, Vaggi, and Emily.

“You want to pool your grace into your palms. Focus on stabilizing it before you try sending it out,” Lucifer explained, conjuring a small golden orb between his hands. “I find it easiest to imagine it as an extension of your body — I mean, it is an extension of your body — but think of it more like a limb than as something outside of you. It’s not magic, it’s a fragment of your metaphysical being.”

The girls looked even more confused than before, but each of them set about determinedly summoning their own balls of angelic light.

Intriguing as this was, it still wasn’t the entertainment Alastor was after. Namely, Lucifer’s undivided attention. He took another step forward into Lucifer’s space, bending at the waist to speak directly into his ear. “Finding ways to make yourself useful, sire? My my, this is a change.”

Ahh, there was the reaction he was after. Lucifer squawked, turning on his heel to land squarely on his ass, the light in his hands bursting in a shower of sparks. “What the fuck? Alastor! You need to get out of here, now!”

A frown pulled on Alastor's stitches. He had anticipated anger, a flash of crimson eyes, a flicker of hellfire, a snide insult, but not a dismissal. Alastor hid his displeasure behind indifference, casually inspecting his claws for dirt. ”Hmmm… No. I don’t think I will.”

“Alastor, I’m serious. You have to go.” Lucifer stood to shove him back toward the hotel. Lucifer’s stern expression was nothing he had ever seen directed at him – at Charlie many times, but never at Alastor. No, this wasn’t anger, it was concern, and wasn’t that a novel experience?

Lucifer was worried. But what danger could possibly pose a risk to The Radio Demon in his own territory?

“I don’t see what the fuss is about, Lu,” Alastor said, stubbornly digging in his heels and several shadow tendrils.

“The fuss is about you walking into the blasting range of three untrained angelic beings wielding holy light! I know you like to play it fast and loose with your immortal soul, but I don’t wanna watch you get eviscerated, so bye! See ya! Toodaloo!”

A glance toward the girls had Alastor’s nose crinkling in disdain. Vaggi’s orb was nearly perfect, Charlie was obviously having trouble keeping the dark swirls of her demonic energy from tainting her power, and Emily was straining with exertion to make the tiniest of sparks. Nothing worthy of this despicable treatment. Did Lucifer truly think so little of him?

One more push had Alastor stumbling forward once more. “Fine!” he conceded, knocking Lucifer’s hands away. He straightened his coat, gathering what dignity he had left. “If you don’t wish to have me around then I’ll be out of your hair.” And because he was feeling vindictive he added, “And don’t count on my company this evening either. In fact, I’ll be busy for the rest of the week!”

“Not everything is about you, asshole,” Lucifer muttered, visibly deflating.

Alastor turned to leave. To hell with Lucifer! He could play the good father if he wanted to. Alastor would find something better to fill the time. It had been so long since he had gone on a good ol’ fashioned rampage downtown. Yes, perhaps he could exercise his newfound freedom and forget all about the damned devil.

He had just started to march away when the fine hair on the nape of his neck began to stand on end, every nerve, every instinct screaming Run, Run, Run.

His ears swiveled to catch the sound of Charlie’s voice. “Dad, I can’t stop it!”

“Let it dissipate, Charlie,” came Lucifer, cold and firm.

“It keeps growing! I don’t know what to do!”

“Point it away!” he heard among the cacophony.

Alastor made himself turn to look. There was nothing to see – only brilliant golden destruction filling his vision from top to bottom, growing closer.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t sink into shadow or dodge out of the way.

Like a deer in headlights his mind supplied unhelpfully. A horrible last thought, but he bet Lucifer would laugh at it given the chance.

There were no more chances.

The impact rocked him from the side. The side? No, that wasn’t right. He hit the ground with shattering force, skidding, twisting, tumbling, then slamming against something solid. He wheezed, fighting for the breath stolen from his lungs.

He shouldn’t be able to breathe. He was dead. Permanently, irrevocably dead. His eyes still burned from the light, a second sun scorching its way across the landscape. But how could he see it like this when he should be inside it?

There was only one answer.

“Lucifer,” he choked, his faculties trickling back too slowly, mere seconds drawing out into hours. Horror gripped at his throat. He hadn’t been hit by the blast. He had been pushed out of the way. The light faded, leaving his vision scarred, a horrible negative of blackened devastation. He crawled blindly back, searching by touch for the stupid, foolish, braindead, fucking angel!

“Lucifer!” Alastor heard his call echoed by more voices. His hands landed on charred ground.

“Lucifer!” Alastor blinked furiously, trying to see, trying to find him. Would there even be anything left? Or was Lucifer reduced to nothing but dust and a memory? “Lucifer, don’t you fucking dare leave me here!”

Alastor’s hands landed on something soft. Feathers. He shuffled closer, feeling around. There! A hand, an arm, a shoulder, a face. Alastor took Lucifer in his arms and scrubbed at his eyes, willing himself to see. At last, the scene before him started to take shape. “Lucifer?”

There was something off about the body in his arms. Alastor was too frazzled to notice how soft downy feathers covered Lucifer’s body nearly from head to toe, dusting across his cheekbones and down his throat. He didn’t notice the long expanse of ivory feathers trailing up his arms, or the long plumes on the spade of his tail, or the way his flight feathers had faded to the pink of a sunrise on a cloudless day; however, as he patted the angel’s face, causing him to stir, it was impossible not to see eyes that shone like stars across a dazzling blue sky.

Alastor blinked again, convinced his eyes were still recovering. “Lucifer, say something, you fool man! Why did you do that?”

“What? Who is L-” he started to say, but was cut off by the shouts of all three girls running toward them.

“Dad! Alastor! I’m so sorry! I couldn’t stop it! Are you okay?” Charlie stumbled to a halt just before them, flanked by Vaggi and Emily. “Whoa…”

Lucifer sat up, and it was only now that Alastor realized he was entirely nude, his clothes vaporized in the blast. Alastor shucked off his own coat and wrapped it around Lucifer’s shoulders. I was an ill fit with his wings in the way.

“Sir?” Emily asked, hesitantly putting out a hand.

The light returned to Lucifer’s strange eyes, and he bounced to his feet, leaving Alastor to exchange questioning glances with all three girls. “Oh! I didn’t know Father made a new Seraphim! What a blessing!” He wrapped Emily in a hug, spinning her around in place.

“I’ve been working on Eden too long, I must not have gotten the message of your arrival. Oh…” Lucifer put Emily down, and looked around, taking in his surroundings. “Where are we? This wasn’t in The Plan, was it? And You!” Lucifer turned to Alastor, swooping close until they were face to face. “A human soul! Just look at you! You’re stunning! I didn’t think humans would have antlers. You’re perfect!” It was said with such earnest enthusiasm that Alastor found himself blushing.

“Dad, what’s happening right now? Why are you acting weirder than normal?” Charlie asked, and Lucifer turned his attention to her, only this time lacking the manic excitement he had shown everything else.

“Dad? No, no, I’m not Dad. And not Lucifer, whoever that is. My name is Samael, The Morningstar.”

~*~

Alastor had acquired a second shadow. Only this one didn’t do his bidding, refused to leave his side, and asked far too many questions. Alastor wasn’t entirely sure why Lucifer – no, Samael, he reminded himself again – had begun following him around like one of the ducklings he so dearly loved. Last night it was all he could do to make the little angel sleep in his own bed.

”But… Won’t you be lonely? Humans were designed to seek companionship, and I don’t mind! I’ll even let you use my wings as a blanket.

A weak ploy by Samael to seek out his own comfort, but Alastor begrudgingly admit it was what one could call cute. Even so…

“So everyone down here is dead? Why did your soul take on the form of a deer? Do all sinners gain animal aspects? There was that cat guy, and I think I saw someone who looked like a rooster, but then I saw someone who looked like a tree. How does that even happen? Are all the angels trapped here or just me? And what’s up with the nephilim that keeps calling me dad? Angels aren’t supposed to reproduce because nephilim are dangerous. Is that why I was sent here? I don’t remember creating a child-”

No, Alastor had needed those few hours away from the constant barrage of questions. Samael was only slightly better than Pentious’ little egg creatures, and he was beginning to wonder if this was the real reason Heaven had cast Lucifer out.

He was letting Samael’s voice roll over him like the steady buzz of his own static, responding with hums, shrugs, and one word answers when Charlie skidded around the corner.

Alastor held back a groan. There was something endearing about Samael’s innocent sense of wonder, but if he had to sit through another session of Charlie tearfully showing him old family photos and sentimental trinkets in a fruitless effort to jog his memory, Alastor would devour them both and have this whole ordeal over with. Only, this time Charlie wasn’t here for Samael.

“Alastor, come look at this,” she urged, her brow creased in worry in the same way Lucifer’s had been yesterday. Surely, even if Samael couldn’t remember her, he could see the resemblance.

The two of them followed her up to the rooftop where the rest of the Hotel’s staff and most of its residents were looking out over the city. He didn’t need to ask what had captured their attention.

Long fissures were spreading out from the center of the pentagram, shining deadly holy light from their deep chasms. A deep rumble shook the hotel’s foundations as if summoned by the sight of their oncoming demise.

“What is this?” Alastor asked, dread crawling up his spine and settling behind his gut. It was Baxter who answered, analytical as if remarking on nothing more dire than one of his experiments.

“I hypothesize that this was caused by The King’s reversion to his angelic state.”

“Based on what, pray tell?” Alastor sniped, using irritation to hide his fear. Baxter looked exasperated, and Alastor wondered how long Niffty would be upset if he turned the man into a fish fry.

“I think Baxter is right.” Charlie stepped in, trying to keep the peace. “Mom once told me that dad isn’t just The King. He is Hell. His soul is the foundation of this plane of existence.”

Baxter continued, “And if his soul has been cleansed by The Princess’ holy light, it stands to reason that it doesn’t have the demonic energy necessary to maintain its form, which can only mean we’re all DOOMED!” The subsequent cackle stood in counterpoint to the terrified faces of all present.

“Not helpful!” Vaggi chastised as she and Emily came to comfort Charlie who was growing increasingly more distraught, no doubt riddled with guilt at what she had done, intentionally or not. Alastor’s smile tightened. He had little sympathy for the girl who had nearly killed him, and turned his favorite drinking buddy into a fresh-faced simpleton. “But thanks to Emily we have a plan.”

Emily looked to Samael with tentative hope. “Sera warns against sin because it can taint our grace and cause us to Fall. Maybe if you can commit enough sin your soul will be corrupted enough to stabilize Hell.”

Samael’s terrified blue gaze met Alastor’s like he would have the answers. “But… But Father would be so upset.”

The familiar ache of an ancient wound ghosted across Alastor’s skin, the echo of a memory long locked away to dull its pain. How strange that Samael would share the same plight as a human boy: the desperate need to quell the anger of a vindictive father. The thought softened Alastor’s heart while hardening his resolve. He put a comforting hand on Samael’s shoulder. “Your fate was decided long ago, my dear. Your Father has long since abandoned all who reside here, but you don’t have to.”

Samael looked over his domain. Screams of terror tolled like church bells, sinners crying out for a savior in the land of the damned.

“All those human souls… I can save them.” ‘At the cost of myself,’ remained unspoken, hanging like a guillotine poised to fall. Samael’s expression flickered between emotions, his deliberation clear on his face. It settled into something determined. They let out a collective breath as he said, “I’ll do it.”

Charlie scrubbed her tears away, stepping forward to take Samael’s hands in her own. “Thank you, dad. I know you don’t remember me, but I’ve never been more proud of you.” He almost looked like he would hug her when another rumble shook the ground.

“We don’t have time for this sentimental shit,” Husk grumbled, taking a swig of his flask. Charlie nodded and pulled out her phone, fingers tapping frantically over the screen.

“Right. I’ve already texted Aunt Bee. She’s going to meet us at her villa in Gluttony.”

“Hold on, Charlie,” Alastor interjected, seeing an opportunity. “Do you think your father would want you present to see him commit all sorts of debauchery?” Not to mention that if Lucifer ever got his memories back he would smite Alastor on the spot for letting his daughter accompany him on this speedrun to corruption.

“Well, no but he can’t go alone. Not like-” She gestured to his robes, his halo, his boundless innocence. Even the golden snake curled around his neck had grown tiny angel wings. “-this.”

Samael dug his hands into the fabric of Alastor’s coat, nesting into his side. “Alastor can come with me!”

“I mean… I guess? It’s a little illegal, but-”

“Whoa, hold on!” Vaggi interrupted. “Is it really a good idea to leave your dad in his hands?”

Alastor gave her a pointed look, raising his arms to showcase the angel clinging to him. “Samael has made his choice. Besides, who better to corrupt an innocent soul?”

She looked like she wanted to argue further, but her shoulders slumped in defeat. “You have a point. Fine, but if you hurt him-”

“Yes, yes, the end of your spear is sharp as ever,” Alastor scoffed. A few feet away a swirling portal opened up, casting the roof in yellow hues. Alastor put a hand around Samael’s shoulders. “Our carriage awaits! Come on, Sammy. Let’s see what trouble we can find!”

At the very least, Alastor would make his final days the most interesting of his existence.

~*~

Stepping into Gluttony felt more like walking into an entirely different realm, not just another ring of Hell. The sky was a cheerful yellow and palm trees rustled in the breeze. Even so, panic hung heavy in the air, hellhounds running for cover from the cracks in reality spilling holy light. Alastor went to hurry Samael along when he realized he was no longer standing next to him.

Fear rippled down his spine, only to fade like fog in the sun when he found Samael not too far away, accosting two bewildered Hellhounds.

“You’re not human souls! You’re not angels either! There are entities outside Father’s plan? What are you?” Eyes blinked open across his wings, and Alastor had the distinct impression that Samael was peering beyond them to get a better look.

“Now, now. It’s rude to look at someone’s soul without permission,” Alastor said, ushering the angel away. He didn’t know if that was true, but he certainly wouldn’t enjoy being peered into like a looking glass.

Those starry eyes fluttered closed, a fetching golden blush rising to Samael’s cheeks in a look that meant he already had. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Alastor tilted Samael’s chin up with a finger, urging him to meet his gaze. “What is it you see when you look at me, little light?” The question begged to be asked.

Samael opened his mouth to answer when a boisterous presence burst through the doors of the villa. A foxlike demon who couldn’t be anyone other than Beelzebub wrapped Samael in a crushing hug. “Lulu! It’s been too long! Your aura is so sweet right now! I could eat you up, honey!”

Alastor tamped down the ridiculous urge to growl. He reminded himself that it was one thing to provoke Lucifer, protected as Alastor was by Heaven’s restrictions. It was quite another to antagonize a Sin of unknown temperament, and for what? Because he was jealous possessive mildly irritated at being interrupted?

Samael squealed in delight as Beelzebub spun him into the air on delicate wings, and Alastor had to admit there was something fascinating about the sight of them taking flight. It was almost enough to distract him from the other domineering presence lumbering toward them.

“It seems Luci has a friend,” said a deep, airy voice, as if permanently cracked into a yawn.

Alastor gave the creature a deep bow. “Alastor, at your service!” He took in the eyes observing him closely, the unreadable sleepy features. “You must be Lady Belphagor. Forgive me, I was unaware I would have the pleasure of meeting two Sins at once.”

Beelzebub fluttered down, a giggling Samael grasped like a doll in her four arms. “Charlie gave me the deets.” She pointed to the ochre sky where the cracks were already spreading down from Pride, their golden light burning brighter than the sun. “I called Belphy here to come help corrupt this little cherub. But you’re a surprise.”

Alastor shrugged. “It seems Samael here has grown rather attached to me.”

As if in demonstration, Samael squirmed out of Beelzebub’s hold, falling more than floating down to wrap himself around Alastor’s shoulders. “He’s my favorite!”

Alastor let himself preen at the compliment. It would do well to show the Sins how much Samael trusted him. They cast each other a look — silent conversation happening before his eyes. He wished he knew what it meant, or why he was so special to Samael in the first place. “Your Majesties, I presume you have a plan.”

“Yeees-” Belphagor yawned, and Beeluzebub began to usher them inside.

“There is nothing more Slothful and Gluttonous than getting fucked up when you’re supposed to be saving Hell,” Beelzebub said, handing them each an oversized drink. “Let’s party like it’s the end of the world!” She let out a howl that was echoed by the other hellhounds who already looked three sheets to the wind.

Within a few minutes they were lounging on a plush couch in a conversation circle, Alastor sipping on alcohol that was much too sweet, but was doing an excellent job of going straight to his head. On the other hand, Samael was staring worriedly into his cup.

“These sins won’t commit themselves, you know.” Alastor could see Samael’s lingering hesitation. The first step would be the hardest, wouldn’t it?

“We could play a game,” Beelzebub suggested, her smile softening. “This doesn’t have to be all gloom and doom, Sammy! The best part of Gluttony is how fun it can be. Losing yourself to reckless abandon, loosening the white knuckled grip on your thoughts, and letting out all that tasty energy.”

Samael brightened at the idea. “A game?”

Alastor himself had never needed a reason to drink, but what other sinner could say they'd partied with three Sins? “Indeed! What are we thinking? Poker? Spades? Perhaps Rummy?”

Beelzebub snickered. “We’re trying to get our little nugget drunk and fast, not play old man games.”

Alastor prickled, but could admit she had a point. He could teach Samael the finer points of a gentleman’s game later. Beelzebub snapped her fingers and the table filled with rows and rows of shot glasses. "Truth or dare, but you'll have to drink before every question. We are trying to get our tiny bean drunk beyond reason, and I'm curious about you."

Alastor recoiled. The game was rife with potential pitfalls. Based on the way Beelzebub’s eyes gleamed with a dark light, she knew as much. This was just as much a test for Alastor as it was a trial for Samael. “Unless you have something to hide~” she purred.

Alastor’s mask slid into place. In for a penny, in for a pound. Such was the cost of being Samael’s ‘favorite’, he supposed. He tucked that memory away safely. From here on out things were bound to get hazy.

“No more than any other Sinner,” he said, and slung back his first shot.

Alastor should have known better than to play a drinking game with the Queen of Gluttony. Or any cosmic beings. He may have lived his life drinking Sazerac for breakfast, but his constitution could hardly keep up with current company.

They played for what felt like hours. Alastor, always choosing dare, was forced into increasingly ridiculous challenges. By now he was stripped to his shirtsleeves, and happy to lose himself in the haze of the blunt Beelzebub had summoned. They passed it around until they were mellow and too stoned to care about the tremors rattling their glasses.

Samael, always eager to please, was game for every question, every dare. Alastor caught him gazing longingly at the other party-goers. “Penny for your thoughts, darlin’?”

“Everyone’s robes are so pretty,” he replied dreamily.

“‘G’news, Sammy,” Alastor drawled. “You’re the devil now. You can wear what you please.”

Samael looked scandalized. “But… but ’snt modest!”

Belphagor blinked open a few of her eyes where she had nodded off on the couch. “I dare you to wear whatever your heart desires, sweet lamb.”

Torn between the deconstruction of his purity and his desires, the challenge proved to be the encouragement he needed. He stood up, and closed his eyes. In a glorious display of sparkles his robes transformed, turning a rich shade of blue, long strips of fabric cuffing at the wrists. A heart shaped window opened across the chest, obviously inspired by Beelzebub's top. The length stayed the same, but the two long slits that scored the sides all the way up to the slimmest point of Samael's waist dredged up something primal from Alastor's gut. The angel gave a little twirl. “What do you think, Alastor?”

Alastor may have wondered why Samael insisted on getting his approval, especially when it wasn’t his dare to give, but all he could really focus on was how such a simple change could warp his reality, pulling every ounce of his attention like gravity towards milky thighs and plush hips.

Alastor had seen his fair share of bared skin. Immodesty was inescapable in Hell, but never had he found himself staring, mouth watering, an overwhelming urge to bite. “Lovely.”

Time melted into a meaningless soup. Empty shot glasses – beezlejuice he had learned, and by now it tasted of nothing but sugar water – piled high. “I had 27 victims to m'name b'fer I died,” he slurred, answering a truth about his human life — one posed by Samael. “and well over a few hundred by now. Though, I dunno if it counts if they’re jus’ trapped in the airwaves. Not really dead dead.”

“Whoa! Little Luci has found himself a bad bitch!” Beelzebub shouted. Though, which one he wasn’t entirely sure. There seemed to be two of them now.

Samael made a small noise of complaint. From… somewhere? Where was he? Alastor rolled his head on his shoulders until he caught sight of feathers. Miles and miles of gorgeous pink and ivory plumage that lead all the way down to a pouting face staring up at him from his lap. When had he gotten there? And how long had Alastor been thoughtlessly carding his claws through his silky tresses?

“You’ve killed people?” Samael asked, taking another drink for the fun of it. Some of it dribbled down his cheek, and Alastor didn’t care what it looked like when he wiped the drop away and licked it off his finger. It tasted even sweeter off of Lucifer’s skin… No, wait. Not Lucifer. Fuck he missed drinking with Lucifer.

“You’ve killed people!” Samael whined, pulling Alastor out of muddled thoughts.

“Vigilante justice, darlin’!” he defended, the ghost of his long buried accent slipping in his inebriated state. “I rid the world of evil people who sought to hurt the weak and vulnerable. Not that Heaven saw it that way, ‘m sure, but that suits me just fine.” He didn’t notice the keen gaze of the other Sins listening too closely, so caught up in the uncharacteristic urge to validate his choices. “Haven’t you ever done somethin’ you weren’t supposed to because you thought it was the right thing to do?”

Samael’s eyes glazed over. At first Alastor thought it was from the alcohol, or perhaps Samael was just as prone to getting lost in his own thoughts as Lucifer was, but something caught Alastor’s attention out of the corner of his eye – a flash of light.

The tips of Samael’s fingers began to burn.

Hellish flames licked up each finger, charring the skin and all the tiny feathers that covered them up to the knuckles. Alastor startled, grabbing Samael's hands heedless of the searing pain against his palms in an attempt to smother the fire. The Sins were on their feet and holding him back before his sluggish mind could catch up. “Let go! He’s burning! Get off me, you imbeciles!”

Belphagor placed her palm over his forehead and calm fell over him like a shroud. He hated it. Hated feeling out of control, hated the numbness of apathy, left with no recourse but to watch until the blaze flickered out.

“Chill, dude!” Beelzebub warned, her snout curled in disgust. Perhaps her comments about ‘tasting vibes’ were more literal than he originally thought. What else had she been able to devise as Alastor’s composure slipped more with each drink?

Finally, Samael came to, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Eve…” he croaked.

“It worked,” Belphagor sighed, letting her hand drop. The numbness was immediately replaced by relief. Relief she had let go. Relief that this wasn’t a fool's errand. Hope surged triumphant for one golden moment until Samael’s broken expression brought Alastor crashing back down to reality.

He shuffled forward, taking Samael’s sin burnt hands in his own, briefly sobered from the struggle. “What do you remember?”

“I don’t… It’s fuzzy. Eve… and Adam. The apple. I remember feeling so bad for them. Wanting to free them from Father’s restrictions. From each other. Adam was such an ass…”

Alastor grinned, leaning down far enough to meet Samael’s gaze. “That I can attest to. And look at that! Your first curse word. It seems we’re well on our way.” He was rewarded with a giggle.

“Was that Sloth or Gluttony that tainted his soul?” Belphagor asked. Beelzebub shrugged, buzzing back to her seat.

Bolstered by progress they continued, only this time Samael was tucked closely enough into Alastor’s side like he was trying to morph into him like an overzealous amoeba. Alastor could be annoyed, he supposed. Could push him away and reclaim his own space, but… Well, he didn’t want to. And that’s all that should matter, so he wrapped an arm around Samael’s shoulders and reached for a shot. “Only one way t' make sssure we’ve done both, I suppose.”

Beelzebub shared another meaningful look with Belphagor, and Alastor wondered if ten thousand years of a bond born that level of silent communication, or if they shared some sort of frequency. He was trying to tune his own waves to their thoughts when she continued. “Truth or dare, Al?”

Alastor tilted his head at an unnatural angle. An ill advised move, as it sent his vision spinning. He smiled wide, showing off every single sharp fang. “Dare.”

Beelzebub crossed two arms over her chest, and took a long drag of the blunt with another. Smoke billowed thick in the air as she let it out, and Alastor’s teeth ached with the craving for his own pack of Lucky Strikes back at the hotel. “Alastor, I dare you to tell me what kind of relationship you had with Lulu before Charlie went and rewound his clock.”

“That ain’t-” Alastor cleared his throat. A slip of his southern twang was one thing, steeping his accent in bayou water was quite another. “That’s not how the rules work.”

“And a sinner travelling the lower rings is against the rules, as well,” Belphagor remarked, and Alastor felt distinctly like prey that had walked into a trap.

“I wanna know, too… I want to remember you.” Samael looked up at him with glassy blue eyes.

Why did he want to put the little angel’s mind at ease?

When had he started caring so damn much?

Instead of speaking to the group he spoke directly to Samael. “You 'n' I are bitter rivals.”

To Alastor's chagrin, Samael devolved into a fit of giggles. “No we’re not!”

“It’s true! The day we met I dropped a piano on your head an' you threw me into a skillet. We’ve been at each other’s throats ever since. We’ve bit, scratched, punched, and thrown things at each other. Once you even flew me a few hundred feet in the air, and threatened to drop me.” He counted off their petty squabbles on his fingers, and at this he smiled fondly. “You did drop me.” Samael gasped in horror. “Oh, but of course you caught me before I hit the ground. You can’t really harm me, you know.”

Samael’s pinched eyebrows smoothed, chirping laughter like birdsong. “That’s because you’re special.”

Alastor didn’t have the heart to tell him it was Heaven’s control, not Lucifer’s own choices, that stopped him from causing permanent damage, but Samael seemed so certain that Alastor was important to him in some way, so he asked, “And why is that?”

Samael’s smile faded like clouds drifting over the sun. His mind wandered, silent and fretful until settling on an answer. “You just feel important. You said I sacrificed myself for you, and I may not remember, well, anything really, but you were the first face I saw when I woke up. You were calling his- well, my name, and you were crying. I don’t think that mere rivals love each other that strongly.”

It felt like a shot to the chest. So much so that Alastor pressed a hand to his racing heart to make sure it was intact. Love??? Friendship he could begrudgingly admit to, maybe even a certain level of affection. If he were held at gunpoint in some gruesome reenactment of his death, maybe he could deign to call the thing that had grown between himself and Lucifer a… a crush, distasteful as that sounded even in the sanctuary of his own head, but no, no, not love because that would imply the feeling was mutual.

No, this was a product of Samael’s oversimplistic, innocent views on life, surely.

“I – I was not crying,” Alastor rasped, going on the defensive. “I’d just had my eyes scorched by angelic light, they were watering.”

It was only now that he remembered in his drug and alcohol addled mind that they weren’t alone, and much to his dismay the Sins were giggling like teenage girls listening to a radioplay. “Not a word,” he growled, trying and failing to intimidate. How had he fallen so far?

“I didn’t say anything,” Beelzebub snickered. She looked to Belphgor and nodded. “We were just gonna give Sammy another dare.”

Samael perked up. Alastor would talk to him about his people pleasing tendencies if only it weren’t a lost cause. “Okay! What’s next?”

Beelzebub flitted over to grab Samael’s hand. “Follow me. And bring your scary boyfriend.”

For once in his existence, Alastor’s words failed him. He was dragged off the couch, sputtering half baked denials, and doing his best not to trip over the fan of Lucifer’s tail feathers. They reached a door that Beelzebub opened only to push them wholesale inside. “It’s not my sin, but I dare you to seven minutes in heaven! Have fun!”

Alastor stumbled, shoved unceremoniously into the surprisingly strong embrace of Samael’s arms.

This wasn’t happening. Not like this. Never once did he think his lot in life would end being locked in a broom closet with an angel. One who looked confused by what it meant to participate in games meant for teenagers.

“Ummm… I do remember what heaven looks like, and this ‘sn’t it. Why only seven minutes? And why is your face so red?”

Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning into his annoyance to cover his fluster. “I believe they’re tryin’ to get us to...canoodle.”

It wouldn’t be so bad, a traitorous voice whispered. What had Beelzebub said? Something about not her sin? That’s right. Somewhere along this journey Samael would have to do something lustful. Was Alastor ready for that? The very thought made his blood simmer beneath his skin.

The closet was small enough that Samael’s wings took up nearly the entirety of the space, cocooning them in luminescent pink feathers. A haven in the chaos of the party, and at their center the man who had staked out a plot in the hollows of Alastor’s heart. Or at least a version of him.

This wasn’t the Heaven Samael knew, but the closest one could get down in The Pit.

Alastor's hand was pulled gently away from his face, cupped in the delicate form of Samael’s burnt fingers. He forgot to breathe, attention pulled like threads weaving into the swirling, starry tapestry of Samael’s eyes. He whispered, as though speaking too loudly would break the spell that had settled over them. “Can you teach me how?”

He could. And oh my, would Lucifer have something to say about it when he remembered himself.

Another tremor shook the shelves, sending items clattering around them. Alastor barely noticed. Not when he could smell the sweetness of honey and smoke on Samael’s breath, feel the warmth of his body like sunlight on his skin as he cupped gold dusted cheeks. It made him miss Lucifer, the grit and darkness he could relate to.

There was only one way to get him back. “Is that a dare, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” Samael breathed, leaning in.

The rumbling grew closer, ripping Alastor’s attention from plush pink lips. Shouting rang out from behind the door. “That isn’t a Hellquake…” he frowned, hackles raising. Something big was coming.

Samael pulled his face back with a firm hand, “Don’ worry about it.”

“But-”

“Alastor, let’s just stay here. It doesn’t matter, jus’ stay…”

Alastor yelped, stepping back as Samael’s hands began to burn again. He didn’t have time to think, to wonder how, when the closet door was ripped from its hinges, a huge shadow blocking out the light from the room beyond. For the first time since he was a teenager sneaking into the whites only pool hall, Alastor felt caught red handed, trapped between the angel who wanted to forget the world and-

“Oh look it’s Satan, the fun police, come to crash another party! He’s only helping Lulu out! Don’t be a killjoy.” Beelzebub’s shouting provided Alastor with the context he needed to realize just how fucked he was.

Alastor was scruffed like a cat, plucked out of the closet by a massive hand, and roughly lifted to meet the stern expression of the largest demon he had ever seen.

“L̴̡̟̝̿̀̚E̷̛̖̰͌̚T̷̫̏̌̈ ̷͙̳̭͂M̴̹̟̎͝ͅḚ̵́̒̓ ̴͒ͅD̶̗̳̬̔͠O̴̙̫͈͛W̷͖̒̾N̵͍͕͍͑͂͠ ̴̘̎͑̚Ṱ̵̩͂͝H̸̠̞́͝I̶̘̐́̂͜S̵̹̙̙͒ ̵̘͚̫̂̐͆I̷̡̅̏̈́Ñ̸̬͔̩Ş̸̟̓̎͝T̶̳̯̀̕͠A̸͚̒̾͆N̶̡͍̣̄T̵͈̣̠̈́!̵͎̀͂̕” He struggled, antlers branching, limbs elongating, teeth gnashing, shadows whipping until shackles snapped into place around his wrists, rending him impotent.

Angelic steel, of course.

“Alastor Rousseau, you are hereby detained for the crime of illegally travelling beyond Pride. You will come with me to be tried and judged.” A plume of acrid smoke billowed from Satan’s nostrils. “A formality not often reserved for Sinner scum like you.”

Samael flew out of the closet in a burst of feathers and unsteady limbs, hands still smoking at the wrists. “Wait! Don’ hurt him, please!”

Satan sneered. “Will you speak for him?”

“Y-yes!” Samael swayed on his feet, wings flapping for balance.

Belphagor stepped forward. “Let me cure them of their intoxication. It’s only fair.”

“What was fair about letting Lucifer put all of Hell at risk?!” Satan roared, fire licking off his tongue. He straightened his spine, meeting Alastor face to snout to flash him a grin full of knives. ”Besides, it’s not like it will change my sentence.”

Belphagor leveled him with an unimpressed stare, and Satan deflated. “Fine.”

Satan lowered Alastor, still tugging at his binds, to the ground. Once again Belphagor’s palm met Alastor’s forehead, and he felt the world sharpen back into painful relief. He didn’t have time to dwell on the indignity of it all before Satan ripped a hole in reality and pulled him through.

~*~

Chains rattled across the floor, pulled taught by dark apparitions to hold Alastor in place. It didn't matter how he railed against them, trying as hard as he could to muster his power. The angelic steel bound him tightly. He was brought to kneel on the filthy floor before a grand throne — many thrones, though all were empty save the largest where Satan now sat, straight-backed and regal.

Before Alastor's death this is how he had imagined The Devil — a domineering king passing judgement on feeble human souls. Not the scared and trembling angel standing beside him, hands clasped together as if asking his long absent Father for assistance.

"Alastor Rousseau, you are guilty of escaping the confines of Pride, therefore breaking the Heaven and Hell Treaty."

Alastor forced himself to cool, to think clearly, to ignore the way the manacles burned his skin and made him feel small. Through the massive stained glass windows above he could see the holy radiance of the fractures caused by Lucifer's purified soul. He would have to talk himself out of this if they were to survive. "Don't you think there are more pressing matters at hand? Like keeping- mmph!"

"The punishment for which is death," Satan interrupted coolly. A muzzle clamped itself around Alastor's jaw, holding his mouth shut tight. Fear, foreign and dizzying, threatened to muddle his mind worse than any Beezlejuice. He tried to speak through the radio waves, but his power was locked within his soul. This was a being with power beyond comprehension, and unlike Lucifer, neither Heaven nor affection bound Satan.

"Stop it!" Samael cried, trying in vain to tug at the chains, tears pooling behind feathery lashes.

"And who are you to command me, little angel?" Satan asked, tilting his head in amusement.

Samael came to stand in front of Alastor, shielding him with his small body, but Alastor could see the shake in his hands, the quiver that ran all the way to the tips of his wings. Even his little snake was hidden behind his neck. The contrast between the two cosmic entities couldn't be more stark, and Alastor's hope began to dwindle. "I- I'm The Morningstar! I'm your… king." Said with all the conviction of a man who only believed the words in theory.

Satan leaned forward to loom like a bad omen. "You are not Lucifer. You are a joke. And with the real Lucifer gone, you are a trespasser in my realm." His smile sharpened evilly, a mask pulling back to reveal something much more insidious. "Besides, I've been waiting to get rid of you for millennia. It's time Hell had a proper king. Not a sad little clown more worried about fixing his marriage than ruling his people."

Samael blinked, taken off balance. Questions roiled behind his cerulean eyes, but he dismissed them with a shake of his head. He stood strong if not firm, and held his hands out beseechingly. "Can't you see that everything is falling apart? Hell won't exist much longer if you banish me, and It's only thanks to Alastor that I've recovered the memories I have! If you kill him you won't have anything to rule over."

"Then you can burn together, and I will be the King of ashes."

It was all the warning they got. Satan took in a mighty breath that sucked all air from the room. Hellfire glowed deep in his chest, heat radiating in waves hot enough to scald Alastor's skin. The muzzle bit into his flesh, air scorching his lungs as he yelled for Samael to run, but it was too late. His eyes screwed shut, readying himself for the blast. For the second time he was facing his own annihilation, only an angel standing between himself and the void, and when Hellfire began to rain down on them, Alastor could only think of one regret.

He should have taken that kiss.

This time the light wasn't blinding. He knew he couldn't be dead because surely true death wouldn't feel like the warmth of a summer day.

Alastor opened his eyes. Before him Samael appeared carved from marble, hands outstretched, every muscle kissed by golden light, his dress waving in the thermals. An iridescent dome of power extended from the tips of his fingers, protecting them from the flames, but that was secondary to the soothing aura settling over Alastor's shoulders like a weighted blanket.

As though transformed by the flames, Samael swept forward, drawing a shining spear from his palms —not simple angelic steel, but a weapon of pure light. Gone was the timid creature from before, a being of myth and legend taking his place.

"Hurt him and I will tear you from the fabric of reality one thread at a time." His voice had an ethereal quality, but cold, inhuman. Alastor ached to see his face. Would it echo the calm in his voice, or would his eyes be red with icy fury?

Wings flared, Satan broke through the smoke. "You can try."

Satan was fast, but Samael was faster, taking to the sky in a flurry of feathers. Satan's massive fist swung, tearing the air around it with percussive force. The shock threw Alastor back, only to be caught by that same warm energy before the chains could wrench at his wrists. Another blink and Samael was sprinting up that same arm, drawing a deep gash with the tip of his spear.

Furious, Satan sent him flying back to crash into the stand of thrones beyond with a flick of his fingers.

Alastor wanted to fight, to do anything other than kneel uselessly upon the floor like a maiden in distress. His pride rankled, but a more logical part of him knew that this was no battle for a mere mortal. They traded blows, two gods of mythical proportion clashing so brutally that Alastor wondered if the echoes could be felt on Earth — a creation myth in the making, and he the only witness. A bible story came to mind, his maman's voice a whisper in the back of his skull, but to compare Samael to David was a disservice to the unadulterated power on display. It was no wonder why Heaven was so afraid of Lucifer.

Satan grew in size, filling the room until his horns dragged across the ceiling. Foolish, Alastor thought, but not surprising that the Sin was more consumed by wrath than sense. At least that was what he assumed until Satan launched one of the massive thrones directly at Samael's greatest weakness — Alastor, himself.

Alastor tried to dodge, to move as much as his bindings would allow. It wasn't enough. He would be crushed, a bloody smear across the dais, and God would never help Satan for incurring Samael's wrath.

A chill ran up Alastor's spine. Wait…

A portal burst into swirling light before Alastor's eyes, swallowing the throne before it ever got close. Samael rushed to check on him, and Alastor finally got his first good look at the angel's unsmiling face. His eyes were pupilless, molten pools of red, and the downy feathers at his palms were just beginning to smolder. Even his fanlike tail, whipping to and fro in agitation was starting to smoke ominously.

A deafening CRACK followed a roar of pain loud enough to make Alastor's ears ache and bones rattle. Satan's head snapped forward as the wayward throne connected, dropped from Samael's resummoned portal from above with all the momentum retained from its original toss. It rocked him towards the edge of the magma pit below, and he scrambled for purchase. Obsidian blood poured in dark rivulets down Satan's face, and one of his horns hung gruesomely by a shred of flesh.

"You'll pay for that," Satan growled in a promise of retribution. He sucked in another gulp of air, and again the temperature spiked.

Before he could release another deadly spout of flame, Samael shot forward like a bullet. He slammed bodily into Satan's throat with a visceral crunch, forcing the flames not out, but back in. The Sin choked, gasped, clawing at himself, eyes wide with shock and denial as he thrashed amongst the rubble of the once grandiose room.

Samael ascended slowly, spear held aloft, his mighty wings beating out the rhythm of Alastor's heart.

"I yield…" Satan grit, his voice ruined. He crawled to his hands and knees, head bowed in deference.

"That is not a decision you get to make," Samael said in those eerie polyphonic tones, and suddenly he was ablaze. His arms blackened past his wrists, and his tail burst into unholy flame, plumage burning away to reveal the spaded tip beneath. Only this time he didn't freeze, didn't let whatever memories were flashing through his mind distract him from protecting Alastor, glorious in his righteous fury.

Satan cast Alastor a hard look from under his broken horns. He felt the chains on his wrists go slack, the muzzle clatter to the ground, and at last he understood as the pieces clicked into place.

This is staged.

But Samael didn't know. He raised his spear, readying to deal the killing blow.

Alastor was running, growing, stretching across the chasm to reach him from his place of power on high. He didn't owe Satan any favors, felt his own wrath simmering in his veins from being treated like nothing but a pawn in this ruse, but game recognized game, and surely Hell wouldn't find more stability with one Sin dead. So Alastor wrapped Samael in giant hands, cupped him to his chest, and hid him from the ugly wreckage of his own making.

"It's over, Samael. I'm safe," he whispered within the confines of his dark sanctuary.

"No," Samael said in that voice stripped of humanity. "He will pay for what he did to you."

Just behind those red eyes there was a flicker of uncertainty. Alastor latched onto it.

"Do I look hurt?" With a cool, shadowy tendril Alastor caressed the side of Samael's cheek, appealing to the gentle angel beneath. He pressed his forehead into Samael's body, grounding him with the solidity of his touch the way he knew calmed Lucifer. "Satan did this for you, for Hell. To help you remember."

Finally, his eyes shifted back to starry blue pools of understanding.

Alastor held him, supported him as he shrunk, pulling them back onto solid ground.

"You always were too soft," Satan croaked, still bowing low, whether from respect or pain Alastor couldn't tell. "But you never fight harder than when you have someone to fight for." Unexpectedly, a grin broke across Satan's face. "I only wish I didn't need to goad you like this to get you to let loose. It's been too long since we had a proper brawl."

"I won't keep you waiting so long next time." There was something more resigned about Samael's expression now, his inner light dimmed. He seemed older, a tightness around his eyes that made him look so much more like the Lucifer Alastor knew.

A missing innocence, Alastor realized with a pang of grief, and it was no wonder why. Satan had played his game well. An unfair trial, an unforgiving judgement, and Alastor playing stand in for Lilith — the role of collateral damage. No pulled punches, physical or otherwise.

Alastor held Samael a little tighter.

A portal opened up behind them, a sickly green light filtering through from the other side. Satan raised his head. "Don't be a stranger, Lucifer. You are still our King, after all." He gave Alastor a nod. "And I hereby give you leave to travel the rings freely."

Alastor's grin widened haughtily. "I believe I was already given permission by our King. Isn't that right, Sammy?"

Samael managed to muster a weak quirk of his lips. "Right."

Satan chortled at Alastor's gall, but Alastor found himself unable to appreciate getting such a reaction from Hell's most frightening Sin. He could only think of banishing the shadows growing behind Samael's sad smile, and he had just the idea. They walked through the portal, off to their next task.

~*~

"Would you like to talk about it?" Alastor asked once the portal had snapped shut. He didn't particularly care to take in the sights of Greed. Even Sinners knew it was a shithole. He was more concerned that Samael had distanced himself, no longer content to burrow himself into Alastor's side. A shame when Alastor had just talked himself into giving Samael that kiss. The space between them felt wrong, and how ridiculous was that? Shouldn't he be relieved that all was returning to normal?

Golden white rays of holy energy thundered across the sky like heavenly trumpets to herald their doom.

Samael didn't even meet his eyes when he asked, "Where is Lilith?"

Alastor bit down on the inside of his cheek, filling his mouth with the copper taste of his own blood. Of course. He knew this moment would come, should have expected that Samael's questions would transform from curious inquiry about the mechanics of this new world to something more personal. Not too long ago it had been entertaining to watch Lucifer bemoan the absence of his wife, but now envy rose like bile in his throat, eating him from the inside out.

If only Alastor could commit Samael's sins for him.

"I don't know," he spat, earning him a worried glance. "The queen has been missing for some time. I don't even know if you would know her whereabouts with all your memories intact."

"I haven't looked for her?! Some time? How long is some time?!"

Alastor sighed, stopping their trek to face Samael, disappointment and anger turning to weariness. "8 years at least, but Samael, by all accounts you have been separated for a century."

It was harsh. A brutal honesty that Alastor couldn't make himself cushion. One of his private victories was that Charlie's blast had demolished the wedding band wasting away on Lucifer's finger, and he hadn't had to watch him fiddle with the damn thing as Lucifer was prone to do.

Tears caught on feathery lashes, but bizarrely, a barely there smile graced the corners of his lips. "I guess I'll remember the specifics soon enough… She always valued her freedom…"

"You would give her up so easily?" Alastor asked, utterly bewildered that even this imperfect form of Lucifer could let go of his queen. A messy tangle of emotions plucked at his mind, and his ears pulled back traitorously. Alastor felt all too exposed when Samael at last met his gaze.

"Easily? No, I don't think that's the word I'd use." Samael looked down at his sin burnt hands. "But I didn't fight for free will just to chain down the woman I wanted free will for. That would make me no better than Heaven."

This precious, beautiful, foolish angel. Alastor simply had to have him.

"Well," Alastor said, clearing his throat and placing an arm on the small of Samael's back to move him along. "I'm going to need you to lose some of that empathy, or it will doom us all. Greed is next, and that was far too generous a sentiment for our wayward queen."

Samael chuckled softly and leaned into his hand. As he should. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go see Mammon."

It wasn't long before they reached a large, green big top. Alastor turned up his nose. "What is it with you Sins and your circus decor?"

"Uhh, I'll let you know once I remember." Samael looked around, regaining a glimmer of his missing wonder. "What's a circus?"

"LUCI! 'Bout time ya made it, ya little cunt! Thought the whole bloody ring was gonna fall into the void before ya got here. Ya should've come here first!" Another large demon — was Lucifer the only exception to the relation of size to power in Hell? — made a jaunty approach, bells on his shoes jingling with each step. Behind him was a woman, both of her heads staring at Alastor suspiciously.

"And you brought your new… pet with you," the left head remarked coolly while the right added, "You're making new friends, and don't even send us a text back."

Another crash of thunder startled the lot of them.

"Perhaps we balance the ledgers of your social lives after we've prevented the apocalypse, yes?" Alastor suggested, and to his pleasure neither of The Sins put up a fight.

It seemed Charlie had done her job to inform all her aunts and uncles of their mission because inside the big top was the backdrop from Lucifer's wildest fantasies — or perhaps, Alastor suspected, Mammon had merely emptied Lucifer's bedroom. A veritable mountain of rubber ducks stretched up the central pole to kiss the top of the canopy.

"Whoa…" Samael whispered in awe.

"That's right, Luci! Go lie upon your horde!" Mammon said, and despite how ludicrous this seemed, Alastor thought it may be a stroke of genius.

Samael flew up to settle atop the pile, causing several ducks to shift ominously. One wrong move and they would be crushed beneath a literal avalanche of rubber toys. It was exactly how Lucifer would choose to go. Shame he wasn't here to enjoy it. Samael was far too soft to appreciate death by asphyxiation.

In fact, he looked confused. "Umm, I'm not feeling particularly greedy."

"Well, you should be because these duck are all fucking mine!" Mammon bounced from foot to foot, grabbing an armful of ducks and hugging them to himself.

"Oh, well… Thank you? For letting me see them?" Samael said mystified, and Alastor promptly lost any hope from this line of thinking.

"This isn't going to work."

"Ey, fuckhead, don't act like you know Luci better than me! I'm his best fucking friend!" Mammon griped. Working with him was going to be just as difficult as Alastor anticipated.

"The pet may have a point," Leviathan noted, and though she was on his side he had to object.

"I am not a pet!" Alastor hissed. Bickering would get them nowhere. He needed to come up with a new plan. "Obviously, Lucifer's current memories antecede his duck obsession, so what else can you think of that will provoke a greedy and envious reaction?"

They debated among themselves, leaving Samael to putter about. How did one evoke Greed in a man who could have anything in a snap of his fingers? Greed and envy often went hand in hand, but money wouldn't work, neither would trinkets, nor property. What did Samael lack in any meaningful capacity that the Sin's could flaunt?

But there had been a common line through Samael's self discovery, hadn't there? Something more than committing petty acts of rebellion. A cold weight settled in Alastor's chest as he realized exactly what Samael — and Lucifer — craved most: connection. "I have an idea…"

Alastor, Mammon, and Leviathan stood in a tight circle, conversing as though they had known each other for decades. Alastor laughed at one of Mammon's jokes, not that he found the man humorous. In fact, Mammon was making his way swiftly onto Alastor's hit list should he ever become powerful enough to take down demon royalty. In the corner of Alastor's eye he could see Samael gazing down at them curiously from atop his throne of ducks.

Come on, my curious little angel.

"Why don't cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny!" Mammon slapped his knee and guffawed, earning what looked like a genuine chuckle from Leviathan's right head and a sneer from the left.

Alastor made himself laugh, "You should teach Lucifer a few things about clowning."

"I like jokes!" Samael flit down from his perch to attempt to stick his flat, serpentine nose into their conversation. Casually, as though he hadn't noticed, Alastor shifted to block him from joining the circle. He could hear the pout in the small, disgruntled noise from behind him.

"It's really a shame that sinners can't come to our ring," Leviathan purred, running a finger down Alastor's jaw, and though it made him want to crawl out of his skin, he leaned into the touch. "I think I'd like to keep you. Lucifer has been hoarding you all to himself."

Samael piped up, "Perhaps I could-"

"No fuckin' way, Levvi! I could make so much money sellin' his likeness!"

Alastor would rather gut himself and eat his own intestines like a particularly gruesome Ouroboros. He was relieved to feel a tug on his coat. "Can I help you?"

"I can help think of something to make me greedy." The poor dear looked desperate already, unused to Alastor giving him the cold shoulder.

"Oh, no need." Alastor said in a tone that brokered no argument, leaving the 'you would only get in the way' unsaid, but understood. He reached down to caress the golden head of the snake curled around Samael's neck. It arched up into his touch, the small wings on either side of its head flapping. Keeper, Lucifer had explained to him once, was more than just a pet. It was a part of Lucifer's soul, and Alastor had always found it curious that it seemed so drawn to him. Lucifer hadn't deigned to explain, but Alastor could make an educated guess based on the golden flush across his cheeks. 'Snake charmer' he had teasingly called himself, and Lucifer hadn't argued otherwise. It worked to his benefit now as he coaxed Keeper onto his hand.

"They like you," Samael whispered, dejected but not broken. Not yet.

"Well, it's no wonder. Poor thing is starved for attention. You don't take very good care of them, you know?" Alastor cooed at the snake, letting it twist itself around his arm.

"That- that can't be true. They're a part of me."

"Yes, well, your memories are lacking, so let me remind you. Lucifer is prone to long bouts of melancholia. Sometimes he lays in bed for weeks on end, not even to take care of himself." Alastor leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "What makes you think he takes care of anyone else?"

Alastor didn't count himself as a good man. He enjoyed the pain of others and reveled in causing chaos, but the anxiety and heartbreak on Samael's face gave him no pleasure. Reminding himself of Lucifer, he turned back towards the sins, keeping himself and the snake out of reach. "Keeper deserves better, don't you think?"

"No! I mean, yes, but you can't just-"

"Keeper makes a rather handsome accessory," Leviathan hummed. "Glittering gold against all that red. Like you belong together."

"Sinner man can keep the snake, and I'll keep him!" Mammon put a possessive hand on Alastor's shoulders. "Look at these ears! He's marketable as fuck!"

Alastor nodded, forcing said ears to stand straight under the weight of disgust. "Indeed! Mammon and I have struck a deal. When all this nonsense with your soul is over I'm to become-"

"Only the most profitable mascot in all of Hell!"

Alastor's eye twitched. "I was going to say 'business partners', but we can workshop titles later."

Samael looked devastated, clutching himself in a feeble attempt to self soothe. "Tell me this isn't serious, Alastor. This is just a plot to complete the mission, right? Like Satan did?"

"I'm afraid not. It's an offer I simply can't refuse. Just think of it! All of Hell will know my name!" His eyes flicked down to Samael's arms. Was that a wisp of smoke or wishful thinking? "I'll be the most famous sinner in all the rings with Lilith gone to God knows where."

Come on, Samael. Make the connection.

Guilt burned like acid in Alastor's throat. He hated it. Hated that Lucifer had sown the seeds of empathy in his heart. Anyone else and Alastor wouldn't care how they felt as he took his knife and stabbed into the softest, most vulnerable places. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'll still help you until we get Lucifer back."

"You're going to leave me?" Samael's voice was a strained and broken thing.

"What do you expect, Sammy? That I'll stick around for all eternity? I'm not your wife." Alastor turned to walk away, letting Keeper stretch out over his shoulder to look back at Samael to land the final blow. "Not that she stayed either."

He wondered if Lilith felt this way when she left. Did her heart ache in her chest when she carried Charlie away for the final time? What had she told Lucifer to make him yield? And later, did she disappear thinking that it was for the greater good, or had she been drawn by something too tempting to pass up?

What could ever be more important than Lucifer Morningstar?

"You can't take Keeper."

There. There was the dark grit that Alastor had grown fond of. Accompanied by the smell of brimstone and bitter victory.

"Pardon?"

Alastor turned, and was met with a sight that both chilled him to the bone and roused his respect. Lucifer's eyes — and it was Lucifer now, despite the fluffy down feathers still clinging stubbornly to his cheeks — were pools of molten gold surrounded by dangerous crimson. "You heard me. What is it you want, Alastor? You want fucking money??? Fame? You know, I really should have learned more quickly not to trust sinners."

Alastor watched as his arms began to catch. He was achieving his goal, but at what cost?

"Humans do nothing but take, and take, and TAKE! And what do I get in return?! Nothing! Nothing but pain and disappointment, but not today." Lucifer advanced on him, and for the first time in their acquaintance Alastor felt unsafe. Could Lucifer harm him now? Would he?

He was dragged down by the lapels, pressed close in a mockery of the intimacy they had shared in Beelzebub's closet. "I'm the fucking King of Hell, and if you walk away from me I will make it my life's mission to ensure your face, your voice, your fucking name is buried in obscurity forever. You will live and die by my word alone. So you can stick with me and I'll give you everything your shriveled heart desires, or you can walk away and be nothing, but I'll be damned all over again if you take a piece of me with you. Now give. Me. Back. My. Snake."

Alastor found his fear corrupted by pride as if he were the one being fundamentally changed by the flames licking up Lucifer's arms. Pride in Lucifer for standing up for himself, and selfish satisfaction in knowing that it was he who Lucifer wanted badly enough to ruin them both…

He fell to his knees ready to beg forgiveness as he had never once done in his life or death, supplicating himself for this beautiful creature. He reached up to take Lucifer's hands in his own. Keeper didn't need any more invitation than that, slithering up to reunite with his master. "I'm sorry, Lucifer. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Lucifer's fire cooled, and he looked at Alastor as though he might disappear anyway, caught between now and whatever horrors he was reliving behind eyes that slowly faded back to blue. They no longer held the stars, and their emptiness made Alastor want to fill them with memories of him instead.

"Another trick…"

"Yes."

"How do I still not remember you?"

"We haven't known each other very long." Lucifer looked weary, as though he would very much like to disappear just as Alastor had suggested. Alastor would not let him. Now that he knew exactly where he belonged, Lucifer would find it quite impossible to escape.

"Charlie… I can't believe I forgot my own daughter." Lucifer whispered. Of course it would come back to Charlie, and for now Alastor was grateful. He felt too raw and exposed, especially with the sins exchanging bewildered glances. He regained his feet, and recovered what little dignity he had left.

"She understands, I assure you."

"I wish I could explain everything that happened with Lilith, and why I didn't see her for so long. I feel like it would all be excuses."

Then, despite their audience, Alastor pulled Lucifer into a hug, tucking his golden head beneath his chin. "You have. Many times. Despite what you may remember, you are an excellent father."

"I needed to hear that." Sin burnt arms squeezed tight. Alastor hadn't realized how badly they had needed a moment to decompress.

"Uhh, so are you still gonna be my mascot? 'Cause you'd sell a fuckton 'a merch!" Mammon asked, shattering the moment. Maybe if Alastor killed him he could take his place as the Sin of Greed. He was certainly on his way to earning it with how he longed to monopolize Lucifer's attention.

He was about to respond with a resounding no when Lucifer answered for him, whipping around and spewing flames from the corners of his mouth. "Try to steal anything else of mine, and I'll sue you for all your worth!"

"There's our little lamb," Leviathan said proudly, waving them off.

Lucifer waved a hand, summoning his own portal. Through it Alastor could see blue hues and vivid neon lights that reminded him of the entertainment district in Pride.

That's right… Lust was next. His breath caught in his chest only to come out in a rush when Lucifer took his hand. "Ready?"

No. He wasn't sure he was.

~*~

Alastor attempted to brace himself for what was to come. That was rather difficult when every shop front and passerby seemed determined to remind him exactly what he was walking into. Lewd noises echoed down every alleyway, and even the architecture was built in curving, phallic shapes.

His eyes came to rest on Lucifer to escape from the onslaught, but he was still wearing the damn dress that showed off the plump curve of his hips with every step.

Alastor wasn't built for this brand of sin. He had never particularly cared for carnal pleasure outside of what it could earn him through the manipulation of a weaker mind. People were so easy to bend when they were guided by their baser instincts. He had thought himself above such desires.

That is, until Lucifer proved himself the exception to every one of Alastor's rules.

What would it be like to be intimate outside of personal gain? Was he ready? He must be. Lucifer depended on him. Hell depended on him, and while he had never been the altruistic sort, perhaps this was the push he had been looking for to stop dancing around his secret yearning.

In the privacy of his thoughts he gave himself permission to be honest. He had been enjoying the steadily growing tension between himself and Lucifer before the accident. There was a facet of himself caught in the Morningstar's light that he hadn't seen before. A flicker of something he hadn't thought possible for him.

These thoughts had no place in this den of depravity.

"You okay, Al?"

Alastor fixed his smile in place. "Peachy." Then, in an attempt to think of Lucifer's plight instead of his own added, "And you? Are you ready for the next sin?"

Lucifer turned a lovely shade of gold. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous. I've always been curious, I mean, of course, I have Charlie so I must have before, but-"

"But you don't recall." Alastor's mood soured. Of course, he and Lucifer were going to have to copulate while memories of his twice damned wife flickered through his head. He was suddenly less eager.

"Right, but I've always been curious. Angels weren't built for sex or reproduction. But…" He looked sheepish, noticing a couple locked together against a wall, moaning into the night. "I'd love to be held like that. It must feel really nice."

Alastor grimaced at the public display. He didn't understand why most people found the act satisfying. Then his mind supplied the image of himself pinning Lucifer against the wall, the sounds that would spill from his lips, the feel of his thighs dimpling between his fingers — his cock gave a curious kick in his pants.

Perhaps there was something to be said for familiarity.

Beneath a neon sign reading 'Ozzie's' could be no other than the man himself. He was bright, boisterous, and crude, but he had a voice that caressed Alastor's ears like silk. "Sweet Apple! There you are! Nice rags." An imp clung to Asmodeus' shoulders, and Alastor recognized him as the imp the Fizzbots were modeled after. He felt a pang of sympathy.

To think that could be me he chuckled.

Alastor was glad to see that at least this Sin didn't jump to belittle or objectify him the way some of the others had, and Fizzerolli proved to be quite entertaining, if expectedly vulgar.

"Come on in, babe! I've got the line up inside."

Line up? Alastor shivered, imagining rows of toys and skimpy lingerie. Surely they wouldn't need such things. A bed was all that was necessary. Hell, they would probably fare better just going back to the hotel, but Asmodeus lured them inside.

Alastor couldn't piece together a single strand of thoughts throughout the long elevator ride. His skin felt too hot, the air too thin, every nerve dancing across a livewire. Lucifer, on the other hand, seemed at ease with most of his memories recovered, chatting happily with his fellow Sin. Alastor wanted to tuck him back into his side.

When had he become the clingy one?

The doors opened, and Asmodeus faced Lucifer towards a line of what Alastor assumed were servants. Perhaps butlers or maids or secretaries, though they were all in various states of undress. Perhaps that's how everyone presented themselves in Lust. There were an awful lot of them, though, and such a wide variety.

"Alright, Lulu. Pick one," Asmodeus offered.

Wait.

"Or two!" Fizz piped up in his raspy voice. "Or more! We don't judge."

No…

"Pick one? For what?"

Absolutely not!

"To take you to pleasure town, of course! We gotta re-pop that cherry so the whole realm doesn't fall into the void. You saw how it was downstairs. People are scared, and while I love an end of the world orgy, I'd rather live to bone another day." Asmodeus gestured with a broad hand toward the roster of what Alastor now realized were sex workers. "Anyone of these lovely shes, theys, and gays would be honored to save our skins by showing you the art of pleasure. Just tell me who strikes your fancy, and I'll set you up in one of my luxury suites."

Alastor was a fool. Of course he wouldn't be expected to do the deed himself. Why had he assumed as much? His presence here was rooted in Samael's inexplicable attachment to him, and nothing more. Love, he had said. Lucifer hadn't cared for him in that way. They were nothing to each other but a convenient distraction from the mundanity of their daily toils.

He couldn't watch this. Wouldn't be relegated to the waiting room to dwell in his shame, its ugly claws wrapping around his throat tighter than any leash. He would leave Lucifer to his sins. Would return to Pride though his own had been stripped from his shoulders, and hope in time the incongruous sting of betrayal would fade to leave him as he once was — alone and unaffected.

He was about to do just that when Lucifer muttered, "But I don't know these people…" There was the same innocence in his eyes that Samael had, an unacceptable resignation to his fate. "Is it only Lust if it's with a stranger?"

"Of course not," Asmodeus replied, and nuzzled against his lover as he said, "Lust burns even brighter with the right partner."

Tremors rolled through all of Hell. The physical embodiment of Lucifer's soul rattling up from the soles of Alastor's shoes to shake loose his blackened heart. He felt himself take a step forward, not back.

"Is there someone you had in mind, Lu?" He asked hesitantly at first, then gained confidence. He put his hands on Lucifer's shoulders, gripping too tightly, and leaned over to whisper against a feathered ear, "Someone, perhaps, who knows you better than you know yourself?"

Lucifer tensed, breath shallow, pulse racing, and for a horrible moment Alastor thought he had overstepped. Then he felt Lucifer relax into his hold.

"Yes," he breathed, turning to face Alastor — to face the one he wanted. "Alastor, will you- Would you mind?"

His eyes flickered across Alastor's face, a golden blush illuminating his cheeks, still far too much an angel to ask explicitly. Pride swelled in Alastor's chest. In a room full of beautiful, skilled lovers, he was the one Lucifer wanted.

"Lord Asmodeus, I'm afraid your help is no longer needed. May we have use of the room?"

Asmodeus looked thrilled, handing Alastor the room key. "I should have known Lulu was too demi for all this anyway." He gestured to the row of increasingly disappointed succubi.

Whatever that means.

"I'm glad he found someone else to trust." Asmodeus cast Alastor a wink, and Fizz wiggled his fingers in a cheeky wave as he and Lucifer passed the threshold of the door. "Have fun! There's lube in the nightstand and a mess of toys on the-"

Alastor slammed the door shut.

"Well. That was an experience, wasn't it?" Alastor said to fill the silence. He could feel his ears flicking back and forth, betraying his nerves. To give his hands something to do he fiddled with the buttons of his coat. It had to come off, didn't it? Now was as good a time as any.

Lucifer seemed equally anxious, shifting from foot to foot. "If you don't want to do this, Al… I mean, this is my duty, not yours. I don't want to force-"

"Don't." Alastor stepped closer, tilting Lucifer's face up to meet his own. "You could never, would never, force me to do anything like this. I-" he took a deep breath, brushing his thumb across Lucifer's cheek. He would flay himself open, expose his raw and vulnerable innards if it would give Lucifer peace of mind. "I want to. If honesty is the rule of the day, I've wanted to for a while now."

Alastor swore the stars in Lucifer's eyes had made a return, glimmering with hope in the low light of the room. "I lied earlier. At Beelzebub's. More of a half truth." Lucifer's hands found their way to Alastor's waist. "You and I were bitter rivals. We became… More. I've held a firm belief that friends don't exist in Hell. That love is a weakness and affection a tool for manipulation. You were the one to flip those beliefs on their heads. Not that I ever said as much… Even to myself."

"I want to remember."

Alastor grinned, a rare genuine smile. "Only one way to do that." He lifted Lucifer up into his arms, prompting fluttering wings and more of that birdsong laughter that reminded Alastor of home.

One kiss and the world fell away. A gentle press of lips, tentative at first, growing eager. Lucifer's kisses were sweet, tender in a way Alastor never allowed himself to be, but he would learn. He cupped the back of Lucifer's head, indulging the urge to thread his fingers through the feathery blonde strands.

There was no escape. No interruptions, apocalypse, or threat of doom could tear them apart now.

Lucifer seemed of a similar mindset, wrapping his legs around Alastor's waist, squeezing him between the soft thighs he had been eyeing since Gluttony. He stumbled blindly to the heart shaped bed, too caught up in devouring Lucifer's mouth to see the edge. He tripped, sending them sprawling ungracefully atop the covers. Alastor felt his cheeks heat. "I'm not as experienced as a succubus."

Lucifer only hugged him closer, kissing the scar between Alastor's brows. "We'll learn together."

Alastor muffled an embarrassing whine in the crook of Lucifer's neck. He lavished soft, feathered skin with gentle use of teeth and tongue. Lucifer gasped as Alastor nibbled just beneath his ear, and he took the sound as an invitation to mouth and suck until golden blood bloomed bright under the surface.

Seeing his claim emblazoned on Lucifer's skin transformed something vital in Alastor's brain chemistry. Need burned ravenous, desire taking the shape of hands running over chest, and stomach, and waist, and hips.

"I realize you may remember… other encounters as we go." Alastor sat up just enough to brush his lips along the inside of Lucifer's thigh. He bit into the plush flesh, indulging the craving he'd been carrying with him for hours. Gazing down at the destruction he had already wrought, he gorged on the sight of his angel trembling, gripping the sheets in his blackened hands. "You'll keep your thoughts on me, won't you, Starlight?"

Alastor didn't want to share. Not with Lilith, or anyone else Lucifer had been with in his long life. Alastor was greedy, and prideful, and the embodiment of every sin that had brought them to this moment. It had been for good reason that he had been the one to come on this journey. He would show Lucifer how to be King of Hell once more.

"I'll try," Lucifer promised, and that would have to do.

Alastor turned his attention to the front of Lucifer's dress, teasing his fingers under the dampening fabric and the tent pitched beneath it. "May I?"

"Please."

Alastor brushed the dress away. A thicker thatch of feathers cushioned a flushed cock bobbing lightly across Lucifer's stomach. They curled around the shaft, growing wetter at the apex of Lucifer's thighs, clumping together to expose a sodden cunt. Alastor's own cock throbbed painfully behind his pants as he beheld forbidden fruit.

"D-don't stare!" Lucifer's hands shot down to cover himself but Alastor caught him by the wrists.

"Why not? I want to see all my angel has to offer." Alastor licked his lips. He wanted to savor this, to take his time slowly tearing apart the seams of Lucifer's composure, but another tremor — one that had nothing to do with the quivering body beneath him — reminded him that they were on borrowed time.

He told himself this would not be the last time. That Lucifer would still want him when this was over. He had to believe that.

Two fingers slipped inside Lucifer's slick heat. Every moan sent the temperature in the room surging higher as Alastor worked him open, readying him for ruin.

Already the feathers near his elbows were beginning to send hazy wisps of smoke curling around Alastor's body like it knew who had led this angel into temptation. He wanted to kiss the sting of it away. Instead he drowned the sensation with pleasure, curling his fingers up to hit a spot that made Lucifer wail and writhe.

"Oh! Alastor what is- that's so- ahh! More! More, please!"

"So demanding, cher. Surely that's no way for an angel to act," Alastor purred, and though he feigned coy, the sound of his name on Lucifer's lips sent need tearing through his skin, antlers reaching skyward toward a heaven that would never accept either of them. He added a third finger, groaning at the stretch. The thread in Lucifer's core pulled taut, his end drawing near so soon. Too soon.

With sudden ferocity, Alastor needed to know what it felt like with more than just his hand. He fumbled with his zipper, releasing his cock as the scent of ash grew thick around them. He nestled close, snubbing his tip into the space he had carved for himself between Lucifer's legs.

"Ready?" He bowed over Lucifer's chest, peppering soothing kisses up to panting lips. "Stay with me, Starlight."

"I'm here," Lucifer croaked. "With you."

Alastor urged his hips forward, sinking himself into God's greatest creation with a groan. They clung to each other as though Hell were already falling into the void and they were all that was left. Alastor opened his eyes just to remind himself that the room was still there, the bed beneath his knees.

Being inside Lucifer felt like wrapping himself in the heat of a star, its gravity pulling him in further until it was all he could do to hold on tight.

He began to move, driving himself deep for the simple pleasure of swallowing every noise rung from his angel's lips. The golden flames of Lucifer's sin were blinding as it burned its way into the marrow of his soul. Alastor would rewrite every memory with each thrust, cleanse the past with mouth and tongue and words whispered in worship, a possessive chant of mine, mine, mine ringing on repeat through his head.

"A-Alastor~" Lucifer cried into the space between their mouths. "Alastor! I think I'm- Ah!"

Lucifer's body refused to let him go, let him stop, or even slow down. Not that he wanted to. Never had sex felt like this. He lifted Lucifer's hips, fucking into the sweet spot he had found with his fingers. "Fuck, Lu… Let go for me…"

Lucifer came, and the flames roared into an inferno, framing them both in the fires of sin, all heat and bliss and relief as Alastor spilled inside.

He collapsed, head spinning from the force of his orgasm, tucking Lucifer into his body, catching his breath. There was still one last sin, but Pride would have to wait.

"Alastor…" Lucifer breathed, as if tasting the name on his tongue.

"Give me a moment, Cher…"

"Alastor," Lucifer repeated more insistently. Alastor was about to voice his displeasure when he was upended, flipped unceremoniously on his back.

"Excuse me!" Anything else he might say was stolen from his mouth. Lucifer's wings were still on fire.

That wasn't what caught Alastor's attention.

That belonged to the feral delight of recognition on Lucifer's face.

"You…" Lucifer growled in a tone Alastor hadn't heard with such vehemence in more than a year. His heart dropped, backing against the cage of his chest. A sailor's maxim came to mind as sunrise pink bled to crimson — red skies in the morning.

A warning he didn't heed as his leg was thrown over Lucifer's shoulder.

"I remember you now, bellhop." A snap of power and Alastor was stripped of every scrap of clothing. He choked on an indignant bleat, and would have been incensed had Lucifer's dress not disappeared with it. "Bitter rivals, hmm? Bold of you to assume you mean that much to me."

Fingers slipped boorishly over Alastor's entrance making him startle. This was bad. He hadn't accounted for Lucifer only remembering the beginning of their acquaintance. Static rolled and popped, his internal transmitter unable to settle on a single frequency as he felt suddenly slick inside and out. Another of Lucifer's tricks.

There was the shadow of an opportunity here. Alastor could see it — in the way they had used to act. Still frequently behaved, riling each other's pride. In that way they were two of a kind. "Perhaps I don't, but look at me now! A lowly sinner warming your bed, travelling to realms previously unreachable. All because you imprinted on me like a newborn chick.

"How's it feel to have my spend running down your thighs, your majesty?"

Lucifer's eyes narrowed, but his smile never fell. "You want to insert yourself into my life so badly." Two fingers rammed into Alastor's ass, jamming hard against his prostate with unnatural accuracy. Stars exploded across his vision, the susurrus of burning feathers and ruffling sheets drowned out with a humiliating bugle. "It's time I put you in your place."

Lucifer opened him up with none of the gentle care Alastor had shown him, and truthfully, this was much more how Alastor had imagined their coupling had he cared to imagine it at all. Brought together in an explosion of mutually appreciated violence, not whispered reassurances and tender caresses.

"You showed me off so prettily to all your friends!" Alastor grit through the onslaught. "Do you think they'll let me be queen now?"

Two fingers turned into three, Lucifer pinning Alastor's leg up to his shoulder to spread him wide. "You'll be lucky to end up as anything more than my personal plaything, Bambi."

Alastor's spent cock gave a shameful kick, a reaction best examined later, perhaps some time around the heat death of the universe. When Lucifer was satisfied with the stretch he yanked Alastor onto his side, hugging the length of his thigh for leverage, and thrusting himself inside without preamble.

Embers whipped though the air, carried by the currents of Lucifer's smoldering wings as he fucked Alastor into the mattress. The heat stung his skin, seeping into his core to mix in an intoxicating cocktail with pleasure. Intimacy with teeth. Just how he liked it.

Dark laughter burbled from Lucifer's lips, mouth spreading in a manic grin that made Alastor tremble inside and out. "Do you know what you look like right now? The great and terrible Radio Demon falling apart on my cock like a common whore."

Alastor moaned, letting Lucifer see every detail — hazy eyes, and shaky legs, and a half hard cock that dribbled cum with every rock of hips.

Lucifer's eyes flickered red, fangs sharpening to wicked points, and gleaming horns rose to form a crown above his brow. The flames across Lucifer's body swirled, arching up to burn away all that was left of Samael to form an orb of pure light centered above his head. Even Keeper shed their wings, drawn to the light to replace the halo that shattered into a million tiny stars, the last Lucifer would ever create.

When Lucifer came, those stars seemed to weave themselves into reality, tainted grace tying together the fissures threatening Hell, and returning Lucifer to his rightful state.

Pride shined bright in red serpentine eyes, not the arrogant pride dominating an enemy, but one born of a job well done. Pride shared between the both of them.

Lucifer, the Lucifer Alastor knew well, laid down to rest, smile turning sheepish, unsure where they stood.

"This isn't how I imagined this happening."

Alastor wouldn't have had it any other way. There was no room for hesitation when he gathered Lucifer to him, tracing a pink cheek with his thumb. "Have we been thoroughly corrupted, my dear?"

Lucifer nodded, relieved that despite everything, or maybe because of it, there was a future here. For Hell and them. "Yes. I remember everything. Too much. What a way to jog my memory. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me."

"How fortunate I didn’t. I rather enjoyed parading you around Hell. We should do it again sometime."

“You’re the worst!” Lucifer laughed, and to Alastor's delight it still sounded like birdsong. "Let's make more memories first."

"You know, you never did tell me what you saw in my soul." Alastor studied Lucifer's face, so close now his vision filled with the golden blush that held promise of a secret.

He expected Lucifer to balk or obfuscate, but they were beyond that, for now at least.

"Your soul, it's shrouded in the shadow of sin, but underneath is the most magnificent light. You wrap yourself in darkness, but every time you looked at me you couldn't hide your virtues." Lucifer's hand came to rest just over Alastor's heart. "I knew you'd keep me safe."

"That's why you clung to me so?"

Lucifer chuckled, then sighed and nodded his assent. "Being Samael reminded me why I love humans so much. You're beautifully imperfect."

Alastor tucked Lucifer's head under his chin. There was no returning to his life the way it was before. Not after this, but Alastor found himself content with the turning of this new chapter. Whatever came next promised to be quite entertaining.