Interlude

I write stories about depressed gays and killers.

[bruvskii]

Chapter Preview

The Little Star. Chap 7 preview

Thank you all for your patience on this one. I hope you enjoy a little cooking episode because. Well because I said so.

Lucifer had a time convincing Charlie to spend the night with Mrs. Hargrove and her kids. She didn’t want to leave him, and Lucifer didn’t want to leave her. He’d wanted to listen to his daughter patter all night; talking about her day, who she met, a little girl named Vaggie. What she’d learned. How she’d started mimicking the way the local children talked. And everything in between.

He was lucky Mrs. Hargrove didn’t seem to mind taking her. When he explained the situation, she’d been more than ready to play host for his dear Charlie. It turned out Alastor was something of a local fixture; someone the whole neighborhood spoke well of. He fed those who needed feeding, always had a pot on for whoever wandered in, and never asked for anything he wouldn’t return tenfold. She told him during tea and biscuits while he waited for the school to let out the children. 

Now he stood in front of Alastor’s diner, the night air still hot enough Lucifer had his white sleeves rolled up to his arms. 

Now Lucifer stood in front of Alastor’s diner, the night air still hot enough that he’d rolled his white sleeves to his elbows. The place looked different after dark. The neon sign, bright and inviting by day, was turned off. Only the street lamp to his left buzzed lazily, throwing warped shadows across the windows in long stripes of gold.

It made the place look older. Definitely. Like it was holding its breath.

He swallowed, straightened his collar even thoughThe bell chimed. The same bright ring it made every morning, but in the dimness, it echoed strangely, bouncing off the walls of the shuttered diner. The air inside smelled faintly of grease and coffee, but the room felt hollow. Still.

Only the light from the street leaked through the front windows, stretching long across the floor.

Chairs were left out of line, some tables still littered with dishes and napkins. A half-finished cup of coffee sat abandoned near the back booth. The diner looked like it had been vacated in a hurry… and yet not quite empty.

“Hello?” Lucifer called softly, voice catching in the thick quiet.

Something shifted in the far corner, a scrape, deliberate and slow.

And then, from the darkness, smooth as a radio tuning in:

“Evening, Lucifer.”

Lucifer turned quickly, heart sinking to his throat and a cold sweat breaking across his forehead. “Shit!” Lucifer clutched his shirt as his chest heaved.

Alastor stood behind the round counter, separating the diner's kitchen from the rest of the cafe. The golden line from the streetlight bathed him in a dark glow. He looked as immaculate as ever. Sleeves already rolled, suspenders neat, hair pristine as if he hadn’t spent an entire day cooking for half the neighborhood. The only sign of work was the apron tied around his waist and a knife clenched in his hand.

“You’re timely for someone who showed such reluctance to be here.” Alastor spoke, walking to the wooden board that acted as a door to the two sides of the diner. “Here I was concerned I may have to send a search party.”

Lucifer bristled, cheeks tinged red. “We had a deal.” He sniffed jaw clenching. 

“Indeed we did,” Alastor agreed, his eyes rolling over Lucifer with a critical gaze. “Do you typically dressed so…fine…for work?”

Lucifer scoffed and tugged self-consciously at his collar once more. “This is not ‘fine’. This is respectable.” He corrected with a sniff.

“For a supper club perhaps." Alastor said flatly, smile thinning at the edges. He stepped closer into the light glinting against the glow as he flipped it in his hand with the practice of a man that knew what he was doing. “For my kitchen? It’s overdressed.” 

He tossed something his way.

Lucifer caught it awkwardly, stumbling forward as he did. He looked down at the fabric clutched between his fingers. It was an apron, at least Lucifer hoped it was an apron. It was small and faded, it smelled of something sweet and definitely was stained with something tomato-based. 

“Is this supposed to be for a child?” Lucifer asked, holding it away from his clothes for a second, glancing at the smug smile on Alastor's face. 

“No,” he said sweetly. “Just someone smaller than your ego.” 

Lucifer’s face flushed a warm, offended pink. “Wow. You’re hilarious.”

“Oh, I’ve been told. You know, by fans of my hit radio broadcast.” Alastor drawled, head tilted and hair falling just under his glasses that he had to push back. He didn’t wait another second before he turned to the swinging kitchen door behind the counter. He pushed the door open with his shoulder, voice drifting with a lazy challenge.

“Well, come along. We’ve got a night's worth of work ahead, and I expect you to pull your weight. That shouldn’t be too hard for a man of your stature.”

[bruvskii]

Oh snap

Word count:2800

CW: cannibalism, systemic exploitation, graphic violence and death, sexual coercion, non-consensual intimacy, strangulation, predatory behavior, body horror.

The town was starving.

Whether they knew it or not, the curated illusion of wealth could shatter at any moment.

It was Alastor’s job to prevent that from happening.

He provided the body, and the cannery processed it. They divided the meat to restaurants and charities across the town. Nothing was wasted. Bones, organs, and sinew were ground into fertilizer for the soil, sustaining the crops through scarcity.

The workers who tended the crops were brought in from Hoovervilles or roadside camps. Drifters. Strays. Men that nobody would come looking for.

Eventually every one of them would find their way through the cannery doors.

It was a system that required special care and attention.

And anybody that threatened that system belonged to Alastor.

Tonight wasn’t like those times.

Alastor’s jaw ticked, fingers paled around the leather wheel of his truck.

He hadn’t planned this, the deviation of this path wasn’t his fault. Mrs. Rosie Beaumont is to blame. If she had only acted with a modicum of sense.

If she could forget her pride for a measly moment to see that she is wrong and he’s in fact correct, he wouldn’t have been driven to this.

This unnecessary error.

Alastor pulled the vehicle to the curb of the road, the door slammed shut behind him. The sound cracked against the wash of swing music spilling from tinny radios into the streets.

After ten minutes spent walking under the stars, Alastor stepped into a restaurant, awash in outdated decor. Nicotine clung to the air and yellowed the walls.

The host, a frail looking white boy, eyed Alastor up and down. It was slow. Assessing in a way that made Alastor’s skin prickle.

“Can I help you?” The boy asked, his voice flat, polite in a way that didn’t reach his eyes.

Alastor’s expression thinned, he rolled his shoulders back and neatly folded his hands in front of him.

“I’m not quite certain, my dear boy,” Alastor chirped, drawing closer to the stand. “I was certainly hoping you could be.”

“Reservation?” He asked flatly.

“I wasn’t aware they were required.”

“They are.”

There was a pause, brief and stiff.

His gaze flickered once more to Alastor, brief and dismissing.

“We do try to maintain a certain atmosphere here,” he spoke, tone still flat. “Not every establishment in this town is so particular.”

“There’s a place across the street,” the boy gestured, “They are far more accommodating.”

The silence stretched across the seconds.

“I see,” Alastor said lightly, a smile spread across his face. He exhaled a small laugh, fingers curling around the edge of the stand.

The boy stepped back, face scrunched.

“I’m afraid we misunderstand each other. I am expected, business downstairs.” His fingers tapped, once, twice.

The boy hesitated, briefly, before something flickered over his gaze.

“One moment, sir.”

He turned, sharply, snatching something from the host stand before disappearing across the restaurant.

When the boy came back, he wasn’t alone. Accompanying him was a larger man, at ease in a way the boy wasn’t.

His attention fell to Alastor with a gaze that said he was looking for something.

Alastor didn’t move.

“He says he has business downstairs,” the boy cut in, back stiff and shoulders squared. “I told him that wouldn’t be necessary–”

“Sir,” the man said smoothly, hand folded across his chest. “Our apologies.”

The boy went still between them. His chest deflated as he glanced between them, talk of standards died off to a sputter.

“We’ll see you attended to.” The man rose, attention snapping to the boy between them. His posture shrunk away until the boy was nestled against the host stand.

A hand gestured past the dining hall, allowing room for Alastor to pass.

Alastor's smile deepened, a satisfied purr threatened to rumble against his ribs. The urge to correct the boy's egregious mistake settled into something warm over his shoulders.

“Of course,” Alastor crooned.

His eyes narrowed momentarily onto the boy before he turned and strolled behind the larger man.

The door was easy to miss, an unmarked, wooden slab. Too narrow to be anything else than an old servant's entrance.

It gave away with little resistance. A rush of warmth flushed across Alastor’s face, with it the rich scent of food and sweat. The sound of dulled instruments crept up the stairwell from the darkness.

The music was full and rich with life, the low hum of brass and bass threaded through laughter that rose and fell without restraint.

Alastor slowly descended the stairs, fingers pressed against the brick walls. Darkness swallowed him as the door swung shut behind him.

With every step closer he inhaled the scents and sound of life happening without the law's iron gaze.

At the end of the stairwell, light seeped around a curtain, illuminating his last steps.

The drapes were made of a heavy velvet that pooled against the floor. Pushing them aside, amber blinked the hall to life in a slow, breathing expanse.

Low ceilings pressed the air close, trapping heat and sound into something tangible. Soke curled lazily overhead, caught in the amber glow over shaded lamps. The band sat tucked to one corner, brassy notes transforming into laughter.

Bodies filled the space, some standing at tables, couples moved against the floors, or met on couches and quiet corners. People moved as if guided by a rhythm that belonged to them and them alone.

A man laughed, laughed, head tipped back, his companion's hand lingering at his hip without hesitation. A woman in a pressed suit tipped her hat as she passed another, their fingers catching briefly before slipping apart again.

In another corner, a head was bent, their nose pressed against the table.

Nobody looked twice, each caught in the pull of their own actions. Their own illegalities.

Alastor stepped forward, weaving around bodies that freely touched another, until he reached the bar. Liquor flowed freely, sloshing around glasses and igniting the air with something potent.

Alastor ordered a rye whiskey.

As he drank he let his gaze fall over the crowd. He ignored the couples, people that laughed too loud, moved too heavily.

Finally, a shorter male, white, watched the performers on the stage with a flushed face and wide eyes.

A smile curled across Alastor’s face, relaxing the tense set of his shoulders. He lifted two fingers, gesturing for the bar tender.

“Something sweet” Alastor says, “and strong enough to forgive the taste.”

He didn’t turn around to see what was poured, his eyes fixed on the curious figure.

Alastor moved around writhing bodies, navigating the dimly lit space until he stood behind the man. Their brown hair looked soft against the light, their skin tan the curve of his narrow neck dipped behind a grey colored shirt.

“Your first time?” Alastor questioned.

The man jumped at the close proximity of the voice, water spilled over the rim of his cup as he jerked around, face burned a flush pink.

“Is it…that obvious?” The man’s fearful expression softened into a bashful smile.

He wondered if Lucifer had ever been to a place like this.

Alastor’s ribs snapped inward. A sharp pain cut across his chest as the bones splintered inside of him and threatened to tear him apart.

He made his expression soften at the response, the practiced motion instilled into Alastor at a young age.

“Only to the people that remember what it was like.” He said lightly, his gaze flickering to the water.

The man huffed a self-pitying laugh, his shoulders loosening just enough for Alastor to press in closer.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly planning on—” He stopped himself, glancing back towards the stage, color rising in his face.

“I just wanted to see.”

The admission was quiet, expected.

Alastor extended the drink. “Then you ought to do it properly.”

The man hesitated, then took the drink. Their fingers brushed, the man’s touch lingered before pulling away with the fruity concoction.

“Eli.”

“Alastor,” he responded in kind and lifted his glass for a toast.

Eli turned the drink in his hand, body tense. Then he took a drink.

He flushed instantly, choking a cough behind his elbow.

“Careful,” Alastor murmured, eyes half lidded. “It has a way of sneaking up on you.”

Eli snorted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You don’t say?” He asked, focus flickering to the stage and the mingling people, in various phases of their evening. His fingers tapped the glass, like he needed something to do.

Alastor followed his glance, head tilted as he audibly hummed in thought.

“It can be…overwhelming.” He lets his words drop, just low enough to have Eli leaning in to be heard over the music. “Your first time at places like this.” Alastor continued, tampering down his smile.

The man nodded quickly, eyes twinkled under the amber lights bleeding across the room. Relief flickered across his face as he took another sip from his drink.

“Exactly!” The exclamation almost burst out of him, followed by a rush of words.

“I didn’t think it would all be like–you know–”

He gestured vaguely around the room. “This.”

Alastor nodded, mocking the sympathetic gesture while his eyes did a slow scan of the room.

He leaned his head in closer, lowering his gaze intentionally to Eli’s lips then his eyes. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” Alastor murmured.

Eli flinched back, shoulders scrunching as he turned to face Alastor. His cheeks were flushed, bright red. Blue eyes opened wide, he brought his glass up, almost covering his face.

Alastor felt a strike under his ribs, a familiar sharp warmth that dragged down his spine.

He forced an airy laugh. “There are private rooms. For people that prefer a more,” his gaze drifted. “Private experience.”

Eli hesitated, his eyes flitted this way and that before landing on the rest of the drink Alastor had gotten for him.

He took a deep breath, and jerked his head back, swallowing the rest of the drink all at once. He set the cup down on the nearest surface.

“Fuck it.” Eli jerked his hand into Alastor’s.

The hair on Alastor’s body rippled to a stand, his entire body stiffened. His smile tightened and he squeezed the–sweaty–hand in his.

He tugged Eli along, keeping his focus on the closest direction to the private rooms.

Eli followed, sticking as close to Alastor as he could and kept his gaze averted away. They turned at a corner, Alastor let go. His hand splayed across the middle of Eli’s back, a heat that seared through his clothes. He was guided through a door he hadn’t noticed opening.

The music dulled the moment it shut behind them.

The hallway was narrow, similar to the stairwell. The heavy air was only punctuated by voices leaking from the doors that lined the hall. A single light flickered overhead, an amber glow that casted shadows, dancing to the buzz of the light. The light caught the edges of Eli’s face, flushed, eyes bright, hands clasped to his chest.

He laughed under his breath, uncertain gaze flickering. “Wow. This is—”

“Different?” Alastor finished, pulling Eli into an unoccupied room.

Another small room, a single light, a couch, a coffee table, and a bed.

Eli nodded in agreement, the door latching shut behind him.

The world shrank in the room, the sound of other rooms and the music drifted to a hum in the back of Alastor’s mind.

Eli swallowed, his attention flickering. The doors, walls, Alastor; as if he just now realized how far separated they were from the noise, from the people.

Alastor took a step forward.

“You wanted to see,” he spoke slowly.

Eli hesitated, then nodded, breath catching slightly.

“Then come look,” Alastor looked down to the spot in front of him, then to Eli.

If Eli took another moment to think it through, it didn’t show. He nodded, attention zeroed in on Alastor, and took a step forward, then another, until he was in front of Alastor. His breathing had gone shallow, the alcohol had left his pupils dilated.

He waited, uncertainty flickering in his gaze.

Alastor didn’t tell the man what to do right away, he took a slow breath.

“Touch my chest. Only my chest.”

Eli blinked, head tilted like the idea hadn’t fully clicked.

“Only your chest? With your shirt on?” Eli asked, disbelief laced in his tone.

“Yes.” Alastor said firmly. His jaw ticked, fingers curling at his sides.

Eli’s hand hovered over Alastor’s chest, fingers trembling against the force of gravity.

Then, finally, fingertips brushed against the fabric of Alastor’s shirt. Light, hesitant.

Eli’s gaze flicked up, doe eyed and desperate for approval.

“Good,” Alastor offered, “both hands.”

Eli’s shoulders loosened, a soft sigh rushed out and his other hand came up to Alastor’s side.

He stiffened under Eli’s more confident touch, pin pricks spreading up his torso. He pressed the fabric into Alastor’s flesh as they explored.

Alastor suddenly grabbed Eli’s hips, grounding himself.

“The buttons now.” Alastor growled. “From the top.”

Eli’s fingers faltered, focus broken from the path he had been trailing. His fingers traveled up and slowly popped each button, revealing coiled chest hair, then the smoother aspect of his stomach.

The flaps of his shirt fell open, the touch continued unprompted.

Alastor tightened his grip on Eli’s hips, his smile twitched, gaze narrowed at the touch.

His fingers always seemed to hesitate before acting, lingering too long, pressing too hard.

Alastor pulled Eli closer, close enough to whisper against his ear. “Why don’t you get on the bed, I’ll show you exactly what you came here to see.”

Eli obeyed.

It was awkward, a quick jerk back and frantic searching for the bed. Hands fumbled with the edges of his shirt and dropped it off somewhere as he crawled into the bed and rolled onto his back.

Alastor followed soon after, his knee sinking into the mattress at Eli’s thigh, then his other. He settled deliberately over him, fingers pressed hard into Eli’s warmed flesh.

His touch wondered, mirroring the command he had given Eli, the man arching into him. His head was thrown back, throat exposed.

Alastor leaned forward, dragging his tongue over the pulse point. His teeth grazed the flesh, imagining tearing it open and spilling the warmth hidden behind paled skin.

A whimper sounded above him, too deep, shattering the imagery. His hand snapped up to Eli’s throat before he could stop himself. Alastor breathed heavily as he stared at the wide eyed man above him.

His thumb stroked the spot he licked, gently, a pleasing smile curled across his face. He brought his face closer to Eli’s, their lips nearly brushing.

“Shhh,” Alastor whispered, eyes half lidded.

Eli closed the gap, his arms hooking around Alastor as their lips crashed together.

For a moment Alastor did nothing, body tense as Eli moved beneath him, hips moving up, seeking friction. He pushed his throat into Alastor’s hand, open, trusting.

The image came unbidden, Lucifer’s face, submerged under the water's surface with a look in his eyes worse than fear. Recognition. Understanding. Acceptance.

Alastor’s breath hitched, fingers tightening slightly around Eli’s throat. Enough to feel his pulse stutter.

“Alastor?” Eli questioned.

His name came out wrong on Eli’s lips. Too familiar, too open for what the situation truly was.

Alastor tilted his head, studying now.

“I see,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“What?” He questioned, lips swollen, face flushed.

His grip tightened a fraction.

Eli’s hand shot out instinctively, not pushing away just yet, just holding.

Alastor noted the moment, the trust pushing past logic, emotion hesitating action.

His expression smoothed into something pleasant, almost fond. He kissed Eli’s cheek, then the other.

“Thank you,” Alastor whispered against Eli’s ear.

“What for?” Eli frowned, breath uneven.

Alastor closed his fingers, fully this time.

Eli’s breathing snapped into silence. His body reacted instinctually, hands grappling at his wrists, hips bucking to shake Alastor off.

Alastor didn’t move against the shifting weight, staring down at the writhing man beneath him. He didn’t dare to blink, not wanting to miss the way his skin shifted in hues.

He watched until the moment passed, sharp uneven movements fading to nothing but twitches beneath him.

The silence of the room pressed against him as the warm feeling spread over him and relaxed all the strained muscles in his body.

Eli’s blue eyes beneath him were glazed over, lips slightly parted, bruises already bloomed beneath the crushed throat.

A rush of euphoria washed over him.

Alastor’s breath heaved, his chest caved in as he stared at the corpse. Sweat beaded his skin, the air in the room had turned hot and stale.

He bent forward and pressed his lips against Eli’s unmoving ones.

Still.

Empty.

Not right.

Alastor let go.

[bruvskii]

Little Star - Chap 11 Preview

Word Count: 751

Alastor moved with the confidence in the kitchen with the same confidence he used for his everyday life. Unflinching and deliberate with each motion. No energy wasted.

The kitchen answered him without question. It met each one of his expectations and directions the moment he wanted it to. That was how it should be. That was what control looked like.

Alastor hummed to the sounds of Duke Ellington's song, Slippery Horn. A new piece that had been making waves in the air. A piece he was planning to add to his show tomorrow.

He rolled up his sleeves precisely to the same points on his forearms. Cuffs aligned as they had been measured. The light afternoon light angled into the kitchen through the window over the sink. It cast orange golden bands over the enamel basin resting on the door of the open icebox, now set on his counter.

The wine he had used had stained the meat a deep garnet overnight. Bay leaves clung to its surface like pressed paper.

He removed them carefully, then washed and dried his hands after.

The knife he picked up was narrow, impeccably honed with hours of care poured into it. He trimmed silvered strands of sinew with the attention most men reserved for signing documents. He would not be hurried, or rushed, nothing wasted. The upper thigh was always reliable, dense fibers, hardworking muscles. A slice like this required patience.

It was patience that Alastor had an overabundance of. A man like him must be ready to wait until the right moment.

A cast-iron Dutch oven waited on the stove, already warming over a low, steady flame. He spooned in rendered fat he saved in a ceramic crock, watching it melt into a clear shimmer. The first sound, the soft contact of meat meeting heat, was more intimate a sound than even Duke Ellington couldn’t replicate.

Alastor did not crowd the pot. He set down one piece at a time, searing it until a crust formed the color of dark lacquer. He turned each portion only once. Precision was the greatest show of respect.

On the side board, the holy trinity of any great chef. Onion, celery, bell pepper, each chopped to uniformity. He swept them into the pot once the meat was set aside, letting them soften in the fond left behind. Garlic followed, smashed under the blade of his knife. A spoonful of tomato paste darkened against the iron, blooming into something rich.

The scent rose slowly, wine, thyme, black pepper cracking under heat.

He poured the marinade through a sieve and into the pot, listening to it sigh as it met the vegetable. An underscore to the trumpet that was currently coming from his little radio. Once the liquid deepened in color, he returned the seared pieces carefully.

He put the lid on and turned the flame. He could do no more but wait for time to take care of his delicacy.

He wiped his knife clean with a folded napkin and set it back in its exact place. Bones waited on a tray near the sink, roasted earlier for stock. He had split them lengthwise with practiced force, exposing the marrow. It would thicken the sauce beautifully once stirred through.

He prided himself on sourcing personally. Trusting another man's hand with quality was always an invitation to disappointment.

Alastor moved to the small wooden table near the cracked open window and began measuring rice into a tin cup. Equal parts water, a little pinch of salt. The lid sealed tight once it boiled.

He glanced at the empty chair at the kitchen table. Alastor had only two chairs in his abode, he only needed two. He rarely allowed someone to cross into this threshold.

His space was carefully curated, any misstep would risk ruining the peace he had carved out for himself here.

When Alastor was satisfied everything was cooked to perfection, he carefully plated it in a delicately decorated tin box. Around the box he fashioned wax paper and an oversized silk pink bow to hold the presentation together.

In the Beumont household, presentation was half of the game.

The other half was delivery.

Alastor wore his best, something fresh in more muted shades of maroon and white. At the door, he paused, his finger itched for the staff leaning against his door.

Alastor’s hesitation was brief. Brief and annoying.

He snatched the staff, knuckles paled beneath dark skin.

Doubt was rot.

Rot, if left unattended, would spread.

[bruvskii]

Friendly reminder where we left off

Little Star - Chap 10

Word count: 3267

Lucifer stopped in front of his daughter's room, the door was firmly shut. He didn’t remember doing it, so it had to be Alastor. Not that Lucifer remembered much over the last couple days, activity coming in blurs. He remembered Lilith. Her touch, her smile, her voice.

He swallowed deeply and looked over his shoulder. Alastor was still here, in the kitchen, moving about. The sounds and smells of cooking filled the room. That man had forced Lucifer to clean the home. Top to bottom. When Alastor saw Lucifer doing something incorrectly, he would admonish him and show the correct way. Only once.

Alastor was as shrewd in his cleaning as he was in everything else. Lucifer shouldn’t be surprised.

He started cooking the moment they had finished, leaving Lucifer in his first moments of peace since he woke up.

He had tried to go outside first, he hoped a breath of fresh air would wash away the remnants of his fever. He only felt suffocated against the hot, sticky, atmosphere.

Then he found himself there, at the closed door Alastor had cleaned himself. Lucifer’s hand trembled as he reached for the brass doorknob and pushed open the door. Overwhelming smells of bleach and paint filled the room and nearly knocked Lucifer from his feet.

He covered his mouth, eyes closed as he fought against a wave of nausea.

He swallowed it down.

Lucifer stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He left it open, just a crack, so he could listen for Alastor.

The painting was done, sort of. It was damaged, the colors paler, stripped away. You could still make it out. Lilith in the center of the wall, her eyes not honey brown, but a pale grey. He wasn’t sure if he painted her like that or the paint thinner in the corner of the room had anything to do with it.

Her arms were outstretched, reaching to the door like she could see Lucifer and was ready to embrace him one more time. It was her hair that made Lucifer feel sick. It started in waves, then broke across the wall like spider webs. It gradually spread to each wall until the room was the same pitch black color of her hair. Although, now, it was more pale grey.

Lucifer let out a shaky breath, tears pricked his eyes and burned his nose.

“Lilith,” he croaked and walked closer. His fingers ran over her face. The paint was dry, dry enough for a re-coat.

Lucifer slowly lowered himself to his knees, he never looked away from her, not once.

“I can’t keep going on like this, can I?” He asked her, a fragile smile curved the corner of his lips. “But how else can I go on without you?” He asked. His nails dug into his palm, the sharp pain kept the tears at bay.

“Charlie needs you,” his voice cracked and all the air left him at once. “She’s just a baby. I can’t, I don’t know what to do. I’m not her mother.” His voice crumpled, his shoulders shook. Lucifer collapsed in on himself, pulled down by the very gravity of Lilith’s death.

“I need you,” he admitted, soft, watery. He covered his face, haggard breaths shook his very chest and collapsed his lungs.

Lucifer didn’t hear the floorboards creak, or the sounds of the kitchen stop. He could only hear the rattling of his bones and the desperation of his cries.

“You’re not here alone.” Alastor said, bland, smooth. It was almost hesitant the way it was spoken.

Still, Lucifer flinched hard enough that his shoulder struck the wall. His breath caught painfully in his throat as he twisted around. One eye still on Lillith, he scrambled, back against the painting on the wall.

“I–” The words collapsed in Lucifer’s mouth like a rotted canvas.

Alastor didn’t speak again, he took in the room in one fell swoop. His eyes lingered on Lilith longer than he expected.

He didn’t exit from the doorway. One hand rested against the frame, loosely, as if he were restraining himself from stepping farther in.

“You came in.” Alastor said plainly, his eyes dragged down to Lucifer. The way his knees drew against his chest, his eyes red from unshed tears.

Lucifer nodded, his eyes dragged down in shame, flush spread across pale cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to–” He stopped, not sure what he hadn’t meant to do. Grieve? Break? Need?

Alastor breathed through his nose, a humorless sound.

“You cleaned it.” Lucifer interjected before Alastor could make a scathing remark.

Alastor nodded, once, firm. “Yes.”

“You didn’t want me in here.” Lucifer pressed, standing to his full height.

“No.” Alastor agreed. No hesitation. No denial. “I didn’t.”

Something snapped inside of him. Lucifer turned fully to Alastor, a scowl spread across his face, a flicker of warmth against the empty pit in his stomach flooded his cheeks. “You think this fixes me,” he gestured to Lilith. “You think seeing her like this–”

“I think you were rotting on the floor.” Alastor cut through, his glare drained the room of warmth. “I think you didn't have the decency to make it to your bed before you collapsed.” He took a step forward. “And I was getting bored of watching.”

Lucifer believed him. The hard glint in Alastor’s eyes bore into his soul. That truly must have been the worst part.

Any sharp retort died in Lucifer’s mouth, he swallowed them down. The words washed over him in a quick, shuddering moment.

Alastor had sat there and watched him. For nine hours. He saw Lucifer collapse, near death, against the floor in his worst moment. Then so had Charlie.

Bile burned him as it grew up his stomach and caught against the lump in his throat.

Alastor was close enough now that Lucifer could feel the heat from his body. Close enough the smell of his cooked food still hung to his clothes, incongruous and wrong.

“I dragged you off the floor. I drowned you, repeatedly. I fed you commands like you used to fight back against,” Alastor said, voice low, scratchy. “And you just…let me.”

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped. “I’m…tired.”

Alastor’s lip curled.

“That,” he said, voice rough. “Is the part I hate.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything said. Everything unsaid. Lucifer’s gaze drifted back to the mural despite himself.

“I didn’t want to erase her.” Lucifer admitted. “But I don’t—I don’t want Charlie seeing this.”

Alastor stiffened.

“You think I didn’t know that?” He snarled. “You think I cleaned this room because I wanted to?”

The sudden flare of anger startled Lucifer more than the drowning had.

“I scrubbed your vomit off the floor boards,” Alastor continued, disgust bleeding through now with every word. “I washed the paint off the walls with my bare hands. I made this room safe because you won’t stop bleeding into it.”

Lucifer’s chest tightened painfully.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he whispered pathetically.

“No,” Alastor said. “That’s the problem. You didn’t ask for anything.”

He stepped back then, like it physically pained him to stay closer.

“You don’t get to disappear.” Alastor said, voice cold again. Even and controlled. “Not while there’s a child asleep two houses over who thinks you’re the sun.”

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut.

“I don’t know how to do this without her.” He said, voice wavering. “Every time I open my eyes she disappears.”

“Good,” Alastor snapped.

Lucifer’s eyes startled open.

“Then maybe you’ll start paying attention to reality and let the dead stay dead.” Alastor turned away.

“Stay,” He added over his shoulder. “Look at it. Don’t touch it. Don’t kneel. Don’t pray.”

The door didn’t close, Alastor left it open. Just enough to hear Lucifer if he decided against his orders.

All of Lucifer’s breath left him at once, it drained from his lungs, shoulders, and left him hunched over on the spot.

Lucifer lifted his gaze, he took in the dark walls over her hair and the pale fixture of her body at the center of it all. Her stare was blank. No warmth, no life. Not the kind of face he wanted his daughter to see.

“Damnit.” He breathed out, fingers tugged at the strands of his hair. The resulting burn rooted him to the spot.

Lucifer moved frantically about the house, he grabbed the radio and carried it to her room. He gathered all his oil paints and started over.

He didn’t pay attention to the flow of time, not as he worked through his fervor. Lucifer gathered every last bit of anything he had and poured it over his daughters walls. He had to wait hours for the paint to dry so he could go over each one again. When that took too long, Lucifer dragged their fan in.

That got a long stare from Alastor that Lucifer fought to ignore.

At some point Alastor called Lucifer over for dinner. The table was set, a candle lit that Lucifer hadn’t remembered purchasing. In fact, Lucifer was positive he had none of the ingredients for this stew anywhere in his home.

He glanced between the simple slightly yellow stew, and meat based broth in Alastor’s bowl.

“Hey–” Lucifer huffed and reached over with painted hands.

Alastor slapped his hand.

“You haven’t eaten properly in days. Your body can’t handle this yet.” Alastor explained, slowly lifting the meat to his mouth. His teeth sunk into it in slow motion.

“You don’t know that.” Lucifer grumbled and rubbed his knuckles. “Let me have some.” He insisted.

Alastor knocked twice on​ the table. When Lucifer withdrew his hand, he lowered the food back into its bowl.

“You forget. I was here when you cleaned. I saw the dreadful spice rack and barren pantry.” Alastor gave him a lazy stare.

“I think I can handle some food,” Lucifer scoffed and scooped the meat from Alastor’s bowl. He chewed dramatically, determined to make a point.

After a moment, Alastor clicked his tongue in a clear sign of annoyance. “Your five year old eats better than you.”

Lucifer swallowed the spoonful in his mouth, the taste suddenly bitter.

“I eat perfectly fine.” Lucifer huffed, straightening his spine. “Where do you think she got her manners from?”

“I assumed it was magic.”

“Ha. Ha.” Lucifer laughed dryly. “No.” He rolled up his sleeves and rolled his shoulders back. “This is fine breeding you’re dining with.”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose fine breeding holds less value nowadays. Pity.”

They continued on with their meals without another interjection. After they had both finished eating, however, Alastor caught Lucifer by the collar in the middle of fleeing to Charlie’s room.

“We wash before we play, Mr. Magne.”

Lucifer groaned, throwing his head back as he was dragged back to the sink.

“I will dry.” Alastor planted Lucifer at the sink, a towel was already in his hand.

Lucifer nearly thought to question how Alastor knew where everything was in his own kitchen. Lucifer wasn’t even sure.

Instead, he turned on the water and started his assigned chore. It didn’t take long at all for his mind to drift, his vision blurred as he lost himself in the monotonous task.

The water burned.

Lucifer didn’t realize until Alastor’s hand shot out and turned the knob so hard the pipes groaned. Cold washed over his knuckles in a breath stealing wave. Steam filled the wash tub.

“Pay attention.” Alastor snapped

Lucifer blinked down at his knuckles. The skin was red across his fingers and knuckles. Tender from the heat and scrubbing that didn’t stop as soon as it should have.

“I was,” Lucifer lied, his fingers flexed.

Alastor’s jaw tightened, his grip on Lucifer’s wrist loosened, lingering over his pulse a moment longer.

There was a soft padding of feet, bare against hardwood. Then a voice called from the hallway connecting to the front porch.

“Daddy?”

Alastor dropped Lucifer’s wrist as if it was he who was just burned.

Lucifer’s entire body stiffened, his pulse stuttered. He slowly turned, eyes wide.

Charlie was there, bare feet covered in dew covered grass and dirt. She wore her pajamas, the front door yawned behind her, spilling in moonlight and hot air.

She was, decidedly, not with the neighbors.

“Charlie–” Lucifer choked, tongue heavy in his mouth. He wanted to step forward, to wrap her in his arms and make her forget everything she had seen.

She looked up at him the way she always did, expectant, trusting, unbearably so.

“Are you better now?” She asked, taking another step closer into the kitchen.

She sounded so small. So young.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Alastor moved before Lucifer realized he hadn’t. One step, two, he placed himself just slightly in front of Lucifer. Just enough so Charlie couldn’t see him.

“Bathroom, Charlie.” Alastor said calmly. “Let’s clean your feet and you can tell us exactly who managed to escape Mrs. Hargrove.”

Charlie nodded, sheepish, and ran to the bathroom.

Lucifer stared at the place Charlie had just been, fingers flexing at his sides at the words left unsaid.

“You didn’t let me answer.” Lucifer whispered, hand lifted to his chest and clutched tightly to his shirt.

“You weren’t going to.” Alastor said, final. “I will go tell the neighbor of her breach in security.” He dismissed himself from the chores. “When you finally pull yourself together. Go talk to your daughter.”

Lucifer watched Alastor go, breath caught in his throat against the accusation that Alastor hurdled. He couldn’t have possibly known that, Lucifer wasn’t even sure of what he wanted to do. All he could think of was how disappointed Charlie would be in him when she saw that mural.

Or the lack of it.

He stood in the hallway a long moment before he moved.

The house had gone quiet, the way it does after a storm, when the birds were too scared to chirp and the rest of the world hid away. Lucifer wiped his palms against his trousers and forced his feet forward. One step, then another, past his room. Charlie’s door stood slightly ajar, golden light spilled into the dark room and cast Charlie’s shadow. It loomed over Lucifer, stopping his feet on the brink of her doorway.

The room no longer felt like poking an open wound.

The walls were still wet in places, the oil paint catching the lamplight in soft, uneven gloss. The mural was simpler now, no reaching hands, no devouring darkness. A small house sat in the center of the far wall, squat and warm, its windows lit as if someone had just come home. A family stood outside it: three figures, loosely shaped, their figures implied rather than precise. One tall. One smaller. Between them, one very small, holding both their hands.

The field around them rolled out in gentle strokes of green and gold.

Above it all stretched a night sky.

Stars freckled the walls, layered thick where the black had once choked the room. They scattered across the ceiling too, uneven and imperfect, some smudged where his hand had slipped. Where Lilith’s hair had once crawled and spread, constellations now lived. Soft, stubborn points of light refusing to be swallowed.

Charlie sat cross-legged on her bed, chin tipped up as she studied the sky.

“You finished,” she said quietly as if speaking too loud would disturb the painting.

Lucifer swallowed. “Not all of it,” he said. “I know it’s not what we talked about but, you see—”

Lucifer trailed off as she turned to look at him. Her eyes tracked his face with careful attention, the way she did when she knew something was wrong but didn’t yet have the words for it.

“I can still change it if–”

“Are you better now?” She asked. “You were sick.”

The word lodged into his chest, sick, simple and merciful.

“Yes,” he choked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. Daddy got sick for a little bit, didn't he?”

She nodded.

“But I’m all better now,” Lucifer forced a smile and sat at the edge of the bed, making Charlie dip.

She leaned in closer, head pressed against his shoulder. She didn’t speak for a moment, her fingers worrying at the edge of her blanket. “People get sick,” she decided. Then, softer, she said: “Sometimes they go away.”

Lucifer felt his breath hitch.

She looked down at her lap. “Like mommy.”

He pulled Charlie into his lap before he knew what he was doing. His hand cupped the back of her head as little fingers clung to him.

“No,” he spoke too fast. “No. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Charlie leaned back to look up at him, a frown pulled at the corner of her lips. She searched him, like she may find the truth somewhere hidden behind his eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, and meant it with everything he had left of himself. “I will never, ever leave you. Not for anything.”

Charlie leaned forward again and pressed her face against his shoulder. Lucifer folded into the hug like a man saved from drowning. He kissed the top of her head, she smelled like soap and grass. He breathed her in.

“Okay,” she murmured, satisfied.

He tucked her in a few minutes later, pulling the blanket up to her chin the way Lilith used to. The thought still hurt, but it didn’t gut him this time, it ached.

“Daddy?” Charlie called, already heavy-eyed.

“Yeah, little star?”

“I wanna say goodnight to Alastor.”

Lucifer hesitated, unsure if Alastor had ever come back. He glanced at the doorway.

Alastor stood there, summoned by name. Half in shadow, like he had always been a part of the frame. He inclined his head slightly. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

Lucifer balked, face flushed, unsure how much Alastor had seen or heard of that moment.

Charlie grinned. “Come closer.”

Something like panic flickered across his face, brief, unexpected. Still, he stepped forward until he stood beside Lucifer at the bed.

She beckoned him closer.

Alastor heaved a heavy sigh and, very dramatically, rolled his eyes. He leaned closer.

Charlie cupped her hand around her mouth and scooted closer toward him, whispering loud enough that neither of them missed a word. “Thank you for making Daddy feel better.”

Alastor froze.

For a heartbeat, he looked like a man who had been handed something fragile without being told how to hold it. His mouth opened, then closed. His jaw worked.

“...Sleep,” he finally said, rough and awkward. “Dream well.” He pat her head twice.

Satisfied, Charlie rolled onto her side and was asleep in minutes.

Lucifer straightened slowly, Alastor had already turned and was walking to the front door.

He had to skip to catch up with him. His bare feet skidded across the floor.. “Wait stop running just-”

Alastor stopped and turned quickly, eyes narrowed. “I was not running away where did you get such a–”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Lucifer blurted out, interrupting whatever insult Alastor would have hurled at him.

Alastor faltered, a single slow blink. His hands flexed at his side, jaw snapped shut in a tight smile. He turned away, retreating down the hall like he overstayed some invisible line.

The doorway caught him for a moment longer, then he was gone. Door shut with finality behind him.

Lucifer sighed, then turned back to his daughter's room. He stayed there a long time, listening to her breathe. He wasn’t sure he deserved her, but intended to keep her anyway.

[theadhdgoblin]

[bruvskii]

The Summoning - Chap 13

I wanted to try my hand at Abel and reworked the chapter at the last minute. Umm anywhere here we g0. Word count: 3538

Lucifer shed off his robes. The fabric fluttered to the ground, quick, the sound cut through the echoes of chattering seraphim and cherubs. He arched his back, fingers ran up his sides, and above his head. 

He splayed his fingers and pulled his back more, stretching the muscles there. His wings shook and fluffed out, the limbs trembled from the pull of his body. Across from Lucifer’s outstretched fingers, a golden hue started to appear.

Warmth pulsed, strings that connected the precious star over earths oceans. 

Lucifer smiled as he imagined the sun being pulled by the golden hues, tangled between his fingers, around the earth's curve.

He wanted this sunset to be a herald of a new day, not a bad omen. 

Lucifer didn’t need to see it, he could feel it hum under his skin. 

Birds woke up to the first rays of light. Cities would breathe a sigh of relief as the cold of night washed away and fell to another part of the world. He could imagine the feeling of humans' love returned to him as they felt his warmth flushing their skin. Somewhere, a child laughed under his sun, he would never know what it was about. But the feeling was there, always, just under his ribs.

He vaguely heard the murmurs begin again around him. Their eyes roamed the curve of Lucifer’s spine, his wings occasionally flapped to keep him suspended in the air. 

He let his hands fall away and straightened his spine. A smile spread across his face as he looped around the sky until he was facing the masses watching him. 

“Picture perfect,” Lucifer announced, his arm crossed over his naked torso and gave a dramatic bow.

Their prayers and praise flushed his skin, his feathers puffed out. Lucifer straightened up, and immediately, cherubs surrounded him with some younger seraphim that still found him fascinating, not dangerous. He could hear their devotion in whispered prayers, when he took the moments to sit, concentrate.

“Light Bringer,” they echoed each other before a little deer cherub pushed to the front, a little bible clutched between their hooves. A true bible. Heaven’s own. Entirely separate from the work of humans.

Alastor had told him of their bibles, reciting verses he had memorized. Lucifer was surprised how things had been twisted over the years, but he was even more surprised that the sinner had memorized them at all.

“They look up to you,” the cherub said, their stubby little wings fluttering.

Lucifer had to assume the little thing meant the humans.

“Even when they don’t know your name. It’s because of you that they need us!” 

Lucifer blinked, the smile on his face twitched. His feet hit the clouds before he realized he wasn’t holding himself up anymore. 

The little cherub didn’t seem to notice. They hugged their bible closer to their chest, eyes shining. 

“Right,” Lucifer said, at a moment lost for what to say. Unable to look into their expecting eyes, Lucifer turned his head.

He saw a flash of golden hair with a pink top hat landing on the cloud across from them.

Lucifer pushed off the cloud with a hard flap of his wings, the cherubs were scattered at the sudden gust of wind.

“Abel,” he called, already smiling.

The man turned at the sound of his name, something green in his hands, carefully cradled against his chest.

Abel looked at Lucifer, his golden eyes wide at the archangel's sudden approach. Abel looked just as he always did, older than he had Eden, younger still than he should be.  

Abel was one of the first humans in heaven, before his father even. Lucifer still remembered the day he had appeared. Gasping, hands checking his face for any kind of damage from his brother.

Oh how he had cowered.

“Oh,” he said, then quickly added. “Hi, Light Bringer.” 

Lucifer landed next to him, boots sinking into the cloud. His eyes immediately dropped to what Abel was holding.

“...Is that a plant?” He asked

Abel brightened, his shoulders loosened as a smile spread across his face.

Lucifer tried not to look at the chip in his teeth, one of the lasting damages he brought from his time on earth. 

“Yeah!” He glanced back down at the plant in his arms. 

Lucifer leaned in, his eyes narrowed at the too perfect leaves. “It’s…fake.” He glanced up at Abel.

“Well, yeah,” Abel said, as if that was obvious. “Of course it is.”

Lucifer blinked, once more at a loss for words to what happened.

“If it were real,” Abel continued, adjusting his grip so that one of the leaves didn’t bend, “then it could die.”

The words landed like weights against his wings. They drooped against the clouds as he straightened up. 

“You don’t like real plants?” Lucifer asked, gently as he could.

“No, I do!” Abel said. “I just uh, you know. Don’t have a green thumb.” He wiggled his thumbs and smiled shyly. His wings pulled in tight against his back.

That made Lucifer laugh, short, surprised. “You were born in Eden.” 

Abel nodded and gave a hesitant laugh, glancing away. “Yep, yes, that I was.” He looked at the fake plant again, thumb brushing over the smooth, unchanging leaf.

“I never really had to take care of those ones. They just…grew.” Abel muttered then looked up, eyes wide like he had said something he never meant to.

Lucifer kept the smile fixed on his face, despite the way it strained his cheeks. 

“That’s okay.” Lucifer tried to soothe. “Do you have more?” 

Abel hesitated, his eyes flickered around before he gave a nod of his head. “Yeah, I keep a few. They don’t…ask much.”

Lucifer hummed, crouching slightly so they were at eye level. “That sounds lonely.” He said before he could stop himself. 

Abel shrugged, a small one shoulder movement. “I don’t mind it.” 

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed on the lie. It was small, but he was good at spotting them. He ought to be anyway.

“Who gave you this one? “Lucifer asked, not bothering to call him out on the harmless fib. “St. Pete? I think I heard you mention him once. Are you guys still hanging out.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Abel nodded, then shook his head, “No, I mean, yeah we are like…friends I guess? But uh, no, dad gave it to me.” His gaze flickered up.

Lucifer froze.

“He brings them sometimes,” Abel added quickly, as if filling the silence had become a duty. “When he’s in a good mood. He says that they brighten up the place.”

Lucifer felt his wings bristle, he had to force them against his back to settle the ruffled feathers. “He noticed you like them?”

“Yeah,” Abel said. “He notices a lot. Or, no, he used to.” He corrected.

Lucifer didn’t interrupt. He’d learned, over centuries, that Abel would keep talking when given enough quiet. 

“When we were, you know, alive.” Abel continued, eyeing the plant. “He liked real things, getting dirty with his work. He used to let Cain and me run ahead, even when mom told him not to.”

A faint smile touched Abel’s face. It didn’t last.

“I think he’s worried about something.” Abel said, suddenly, brows pulled together. “Do you know what it is?” Abel looked up at him, hopeful ina way that made Lucifer’s wings flutter.

Lucifer swallowed the lump that had been growing in his throat.

“No,” He admitted and glanced away from Abel, unable to handle the way disappointment replaced hope. 

“That’s okay” Abel commented, looking back down at his plant. “He doesn’t talk to me either.”

 They sat in silence. Abel’s grip tightened on the plant, his knuckles whitened. 

“I thought,” Abel said after a moment, voice small. 

For a moment, Lucifer could see him as he was in Eden. Impossibly small, just learning to walk. Not a worry in the world.

“If I kept things from changing, it might help him. You know. If nothing dies then nothing has to be…fixed.” Abel finished, adjusting the plants leaves.

Lucifer felt something crack in his chest, painful that he wasn’t sure he could put back together. He didn’t know how to help. To help Abel, make him happy.

“That is very kind,” he said softly.

Abel brightened, just slightly. His wings spread and a golden light outlined the white feathers. “You think so?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “But that’s not your job.”

Abel blinked, wings sagging slightly. “It’s not?”

“No,” Lucifer said firmly. “You are not meant to be proof that things survive. You are meant to live.” 

Abel stared at him, startled, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “But…I kinda died?” He said, as if trying not to question Lucifer.

Lucifer fought to keep the wince off his face. He straightened,wings settling at his back. “Keep your plants if you like them.” Lucifer added, gentler now. “But, if you ever decide you are ready for something real…I can teach you about plants.”

Abel looked down at the fake leaves. Then carefully, slowly, he loosened his death grip.

“I’ll think about it,” he said.

Lucifer smiled, one that didn’t hurt his cheeks or feel like pulling teeth.

“That’s all anybody can ask.” He clasped Abel’s shoulder. In that touch he willed his warmth, the warmth from the sun, to touch Abel. To feel something other than whatever heaven decided for him.

Abel offered another smile, his shoulders relaxing. “Thanks Light Bringer. You always know what to say.”

Abel flew off after, in a direction Lucifer couldn’t follow. The sun's warmth went with him. It left something hollow in his chest, an emptiness that heaven couldn’t adjust for. 

“You shouldn’t say things like that to him.”

Lucifer jumped at the sound of Michael’s voice behind him. He turned quickly, a smile spread across his face. 

Michael gazed down at him, wings pumping to keep himself afloat above Lucifer. 

“Michael,” Lucifer pushed off the cloud to meet his twin face to face. “What are you talking about?” Lucifer flew around him, a slow circle. “It’s just planting lessons.”

Michael turned, trying to maintain eye contact, a frown pulling at the edges of his face where a smile would suit him much better.

He used to smile more.

“You know what,” Michael sighed, and reached out to Lucifer’s shoulders to keep him still.

Lucifer ducked and laughed. “Oh you mean about the fake plants?” Lucifer asked, fluttering onto his back. “Come on, Mike, fake plants?”

“Would you sit still?” Michael scolded, but a smile twitched at his face.

“No way!” Lucifer brightened at the sight of a smile forcing its way onto Michael’s face, a victory. “You just can’t handle that I have more energy than you~” Lucifer sing-songed.

“Light Bringer,” Michael laughed. “I'm serious.” His arms folded across his chest.

“Me too! You’re getting boring in your old age.” Lucifer tsked. “Disapointing.”

Lucifer laughed, already drifting backward through the air. His arms spread wide as if the sky were a stage. It may as well be.

“Oh come on,” he said. “You used to love it when I did that.”

Michael rolled his eyes, but his wings flexed despite himself. “That was before you learned how to be insufferable.” 

Lucifer’s grin sharpened, knowing he had his brother exactly where he wanted him. “That was before you learned how to be boring.” 

He darted off without warning, a streak of gold slicing through the clouds.

“Hey!” Michael snapped, then swore under his breath and surged after him.

The air rushed past them, cold and clean. Lucifer laughed, openly now. He dipped and swerved, cutting tight arcs through cloudbanks just to feel them break around his shoulders and cloud his vision. He twisted upside down, flying onto his back for a heartbeat, arms tucked against his chest like a falling star.

“Last one to the spire buys drinks!” He called, already halfway there.

Michael flew straight and fast, wings beating in steady, powerful strokes. No tricks. No shortcuts. Just speed.

Lucifer veered sharply, skimming the edge of a towering column of cloud and spiraling around it, feathers brushing vapor. “You’re taking the long way!” he called.

“I’m taking the right way,” Michael shot back, though there was laughter in it, real, unguarded, surprising them both.

They burst through the clouds together, sunlight spilling over their wings. For a breathless second, it felt like it used to. No watchers. No murmurs. No weight pressing down between Lucifer’s shoulder blades.

“You’ll have to move faster than that!” Lucifer called, surging ahead, cutting a reckless line through the sky.

Michael pushed harder, then stopped.

Lucifer made it three heartbeats before he noticed the absence beside him. No taunting response or frantic beat of wings against the sky. He slowed, wings angling wide as he turned, confusion flickering across his face. 

Michael hovered alone, the clouds settled around him, head bowed. 

Lucifer drifted back, brow creased. “What, did you cramp?” He teased, breathless. “Because I told you stretching is important—”

“We can’t play all the time.” Michael interrupted. 

The words didn’t come out in a snap, or a yell. They were calm, measured. They still sliced like angelic steel across Lucifer’s chest. 

His smile faltered, just a fraction before he forced it back into place. His wings stilled, the constant restless motion finally pausing when he landed. 

Michael landed too.

“For a minute,” Lucifer said lightly. “It was just a minute.”

Michael looked up, meeting his gaze. Up close, Lucifer could see it, the tired set of his shoulders, the way his wings held tension even at rest.

“For you,” Michael replied. “It’s always just a minute.”

Lucifer opened his mouth, then closed it again. He tilted his head, trying for charm, for humor, anything that might smooth the edge to Michael’s words.

“You’re acting like I told Abel to run away,” he said. “I offered gardening tips.”

“You offered temptation,” Michael said gently. “And you know how dangerous that is.”

Lucifer bristled, a hole punched through his stomach. His wings flared out. “Dangerous to live?”

Michael’s jaw tightened. “Dangerous to hope.”

Silence stretched between them, as vast as the heaven they stood in the center of.

Lucifer’s wings twitched, caught by the breeze heaven conjured. “You heard him,” he said. “He’s afraid of things dying. Of changing. That’s not-”

“That’s humanity now.” Michael stopped him. “Fragile. Watching itself. Measuring every step. “He exhaled slowly. “You don’t get to tell them they’re meant for more and then leave.”

Lucifer stared at him. “I didn’t leave.”

Michael's voice softened. “You always do.” 

The comment slipped through all of Lucifer’s defenses. He laughed, short and sharp as something simmered in his stomach. 

“I was created to move,” he said. “To start things. To make light and love where there wasn't any.” His smile turned to a curled sneer. 

“I know,” Michael sighed. “And I was created to make sure it doesn’t burn everything down.” 

They stood there, the clouds started to swirl around them, caught in the gravity of twin suns. 

Lucifer glanced at the direction Abel had gone, then back at Michael.

“You’re afraid.” He accused. 

Michael didn’t deny it.

“Yes,” he said. “Because someone has to be.”

Lucifer looked away, jaw tight, his wings drew close to his back.

“Well,” he said after a moment, voice lighter but strained, “someone should remind you that Heaven was never built by standing still.”

Michael watched him, expression unreadable.

“And someone,” he said, “has to make sure it doesn’t fall apart when you push again.”

The space between them hummed, golden, tense, unresolved.

Lucifer didn’t look back when Michael finally turned away. 

He waited until the cloud settled, until Heaven resumed its careful breathing around him and the angels choir sang. Only then did he exhale, slowly and shaky, and let his wings loosen from where they had been locked against his spine.

He drifted downward, away from the spires and the watchers, until the air felt quieter. Thinner. Less crowded with expectations and disappointments. 

“Fine,” he muttered to no one. “I’ll find someone who will understand.” 

The words tasted wrong in his mouth, bitter with a resentment he won’t let himself linger on.

The flight to his room was quick, he had no reason to linger, not with the image of his brother's face burned in his mind.

The smell of earth hit him immediately, it was almost enough to loosen the tension that grew in his wings. 

Almost.

Lucifer stepped over the burnt summoning circle and stepped further into the swamp. His feet dragged against the soil, wings disrupting foliage. He could hear the sounds of creatures echoing against the trees. 

An illusion, for now. 

When his feet and wings were dusted with mud and grass, Lucifer stopped walking.

He extended one hand, palm up. Gold light pooled there instinctively, familiar as drawing breath. He didn’t need the circle. He didn’t need words carved into stone, or blood or prayer.

He was Lucifer, he was the light bringer. A living concept of the infinite. 

“Alastor,” he called softly.

The name wasn’t spoken like a command. It wasn’t even a summons. More like…an invitation. One threaded with curiosity and something one could mistaken for fondness. It wasn’t. It was necessity. 

The light flared between his fingers and arched around branches. The trees curled in, leaning forward to watch an archangel work. 

Lucifer felt for the tug he expected, a strange pull, like a hooked thread catching on something far away. The sense of an answering presence he felt before, sharp and crackling and amused.

Nothing answered. 

His brow furrowed. He adjusted his grip, fingers curled slightly as he pushed more intent into his light.

“Alastor,” he tried again, firmer this time. 

The glow sputtered out, fracturing into sections like the sun being blocked by clouds before dimming into something like a lightening bug.

Lucifer blinked.

That had never happened before.

He steaded himself, wings spreading instinctively, feathers catching the light as he reached deeper. He pushed past heavens' surface calm, past the hum of prayers and ordered grace. 

He reached down to where hell should be.

The connection between them was thin, like a wire stretched too far. Like something that had once been there was straining against something  that was keeping it blocked from him.

Lucifer’s hand trembled, breath coming out into something shaky and fragile.

“No,” he said, sharply now. “That’s not funny.” He spoke into the thread. He poured warmth into the attempt. The same warmth he pressed into Abel's shoulder. The same warmth that woke the birds, softened cold, and made humans laugh without ever knowing why. 

The thread thrived, growing in his palm in a bright golden hue. Lucifer sucked in a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. It was there, that familiar crackling awareness. Static and teeth and laughter just on the other side of perception.

Relief flooded him so hard his knees nearly buckled from the weightlessness of it.

“There you are.” he murmured, a smile curled at the edges of his lips and warmth flooded the cord between them. “I need you.”

For a moment, a simple second, something pressed back. It wasn’t compliance, heaven's sake the sinner did something like comply with a higher power. It was an acknowledgement.

The curl of his lip turned into a smile, despite himself, and the birds hummed. Heaven itself brightened and warmed against his shoulders.

Then that pressure changed. There was no resistance, no struggle against his call. It was a withdrawal.

The thread didn’t snap. It didn’t burn or lash out in a recoil. It simply…slid from his grasp. Like someone easing away from a touch they didn’t want anymore.

Lucifer's light flared in surprise.

“Wait-”

The connection thinned, deliberate and calm. Purposeful in its steady pace.

“Alastor,” Lucifer reached instinctively, fingers tightened around the cord in panic. “Don’t.”

The thread slipped free.

The light in his palm guttered violently, collapsing inward with a sharp breath-stealing pull. Lucifer staggered back as the sudden absence yanked at something deep in his chest, like a rib torn loose.

He stared at his empty hand, eyes wide and shaking. 

“...You said you’d answer.,” he whispered. 

The swamp reacted around him before he did. 

Gold light bled out of him in uneven pulses, scorching bark, cracking stone. Water hissed and recoiled. Illusions peeled away as his control fractured, power spilling unchecked into the space around him. 

Lucifer laughed, thin, shaking, disabling. His fingers curled then flexed.

“You can hear me.” He dragged his hand through his hair, wings flared as the realization hit, sharp and merciless. 

“You just didn’t want to.”

The ground trembled.

Light surged outward in a blinding flare, not aimed, not meant to harm. It was just too much to hold inside. A star flinching under its own gravity. The air screamed as pressure warped, trees bowing outward as if trying to escape him.

Lucifer cried out as the power snapped back hard, collapsing into his chest with bruising force. He dropped to one knee in the mud, gasping, wings folding tight around himself. 

A tower in the distance fractured, not destroyed but split, its perfect geometry warped as if reality itself had flinched.

[bruvskii]

The Summoning - Chap 12

Just something I need to tackle really quickly. There will be a second, much longer more official, update tomorrow.

Adam held the young angel's gaze, his back straight, wings held up high in their holy glory.

Emily didn’t look away, she jutted her chin out, in the way that said she wouldn’t back down from this.

He fought the scowl that threatened to curl at the corners of his mouth. He wished he never let Lucifer convince him to not wear his mask.

“Do you think I don’t know how this goes?” Adam asked, his voice softer now, quieter. His wings folded in with slow precision, every feather settled like a decision made. “You think I haven’t watched this pattern repeat since the first shelter was built and burned?” 

Emily swallowed audibly. Her hands curled, then unclenched. “You’re not listening.” She insisted, knuckles paling. 

“No,” Adam shook his head. “I’m listening a lot. You just don’t want to hear it, kid.”

“You’re acting like people are a mistake.” Emily accused him from behind. 

“Do you ever get tired of being wrong?” Adam asked, hands clasped behind his back. “People are patterns.”

“That’s not what he sees,” she shot back. “Light Bringer sees choices. He sees freedom and believes that good or bad people should have that.” 

Lute shifted behind Adam, boots sinking into the ground. Her wings flared just enough to cast a shadow over Emily’s feet.

“That’s exactly part of the problem,” Lute said sharply and took a step forward. “There will always be filthy sinners. They will always make bad choices.”

Emily turned, blue eyes bright. “And yet you still protect the winners. You train for them. You’d die for them, despite there never being a rebellion!”

Lute stiffened. “That’s duty.” 

“No,” Emily said. “That’s a belief that people are kind. You just don’t want to admit it.” 

Adam laughed once, sharp and humorless. Lute clicked her tongue against her teeth and looked away.

“Careful, dove.” Adam felt his smile twitch. “You’re starting to sound like him.”

He stepped closer, close enough now that Emily had to beat her wings to stay at eye level with him. “You tell him stories,” Adam continued. “You remind him how it feels to walk barefoot in dirt, to hear their voices without a prayer attached to it. You let him remember what it was like to be needed.”

Emily’s voice didn’t waver. “He is needed.”

That hit harder than Adam expected. A hole gaped his chest. 

Lute’s hand twitched at her side. “Sir-” She lifted her hand. 

Adam lifted two fingers. She stopped instantly, jaw tight, her hand fell away to her side in a fist.

“You weren’t there,” he said. “When the first ones froze because they trusted the sky. When the rivers turned red because someone believed a promise. When hope turned into hunger.”

Emily’s wings drew in around her shoulders, bare feet landed against the soil. She had to tilt her head to look up at him. “And you were,” she said. “You kept them safe. You decided that nobody else gets to hope again.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Hope isn’t free.”

“Neither is fear,” Emily countered. “You just charge everyone else for it.”

Silence fell over them, broken only by Adam’s deep breathing and the sound of frogs playing in the water.

Emily saw her chance and kept pushing. “You talk about him like he’s fragile.” She spoke softer now, but no less firm in her accusations. “Like he would break and shatter if he remembers what it’s like to be loved.”

Adam’s jaw clenched, his shoulders shook. “He is fragile. Telling a chained man about freedom will break him.”

“You’re wrong,” Emily said. “You’re afraid what would happen if he remembers who he used to be.”

Adam turned away sharply, boots splashing at the water's edge. “You want to know why I don’t stop you?” He asked. “Why I haven’t dragged you back in chains for this?”

“Because you can’t?” She said sarcastically.

“Because you’re right about one thing.” Adam said. “He was kind. That kindness almost cost him everything. And I fought like hell to keep him here.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder, eyes hard. “And I will not let all of that come to an end and let you turn him into a doorway to her. Not for you conscience. Not for your comfort.”

Emily blinked, her angelic wings puffed out in sections. “Lilith—”

“Chose,” Adam snapped. “She did what Light Bringer taught her and chose. She chose to act. To persuade.”

Lute nodded, a smirk across her face. Once, final. She sipped on her smoothie. ‘

Emily’s voice dropped. “And Eve?” 

All the breath left Adam’s lungs, for a comment his vision blurred. He shook his head, nails dug into his palms. He let the sharp pain ground him. When he finally answered, his voice was flat. “We all had to learn to survive the new world.”

Emily studied him, then shook her head. “You talk like a father who thinks love is what ruined his children.”

Adam stepped back, his hand twitched at his side, the mask appeared in his hand. He slipped it on over his head. “Love didn’t ruin my sons,” he said. “Believing the world would be gentle did. I won’t make that mistake again.”

He straightened out his robes, done with this conversation. “Stay out of Light Bringers head,” he ordered. “If he starts dreaming about bloodless suns and forgiving skies again, heaven won’t be the thing that breaks.”

Lute stepped forward now, her wings unfurled as she dropped her smoothie on the ground. 

Adam paused when he saw her measuring up against the seraphim. He added one more thing. “You want to be kind?” 

Emily glanced past Lute to Adam. 

“Be quiet.” 

He launched skyward, Lute following him without hesitation. They left Emily alone by the pond, staring at the ripples that refused to smooth. 

[bruvskii]

Grieving

Little Star - Chap 11 < a03

Lucifer stopped in front of his daughter's room, the door was firmly shut. He didn’t remember doing it, so it had to be Alastor. Not that Lucifer remembered much over the last couple days, activity coming in blurs. He remembered Lilith. Her touch, her smile, her voice.

He swallowed deeply and looked over his shoulder. Alastor was still here, in the kitchen, moving about. The sounds and smells of cooking filled the room. That man had forced Lucifer to clean the home. Top to bottom. When Alastor saw Lucifer doing something incorrectly, he would admonish him and show the correct way. Only once. 

Alastor was as shrewd in his cleaning as he was in everything else. Lucifer shouldn’t be surprised. 

He started cooking the moment they had finished, leaving Lucifer in his first moments of peace since he woke up. 

He had tried to go outside first, he hoped a breath of fresh air would wash away the remnants of his fever. He only felt suffocated against the hot, sticky, atmosphere.

Then he found himself there, at the closed door Alastor had cleaned himself. Lucifer’s hand trembled as he reached for the brass doorknob and pushed open the door. Overwhelming smells of bleach and paint filled the room and nearly knocked Lucifer from his feet.

He covered his mouth, eyes closed as he fought against a wave of nausea. 

He swallowed it down.

Lucifer stepped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. He left it open, just a crack, so he could listen for Alastor. 

The painting was done, sort of. It was damaged, the colors paler, stripped away. You could still make it out. Lilith in the center of the wall, her eyes not honey brown, but a pale grey. He wasn’t sure if he painted her like that or the paint thinner in the corner of the room had anything to do with it. 

Her arms were outstretched, reaching to the door like she could see Lucifer and was ready to embrace him one more time. It was her hair that made Lucifer feel sick. It started in waves, then broke across the wall like spider webs. It gradually spread to each wall until the room was the same pitch black color of her hair. Although, now, it was more pale grey.

Lucifer let out a shaky breath, tears pricked his eyes and burned his nose. 

“Lilith,” he croaked and walked closer. His fingers ran over her face. The paint was dry, dry enough for a re-coat. 

Lucifer slowly lowered himself to his knees, he never looked away from her, not once.

“I can’t keep going on like this, can I?” He asked her, a fragile smile curved the corner of his lips. “But how else can I go on without you?” He asked. His nails dug into his palm, the sharp pain kept the tears at bay.

“Charlie needs you,” his voice cracked and all the air left him at once. “She’s just a baby. I can’t, I don’t know what to do. I’m not her mother.” His voice crumpled, his shoulders shook. Lucifer collapsed in on himself, pulled down by the very gravity of Lilith’s death. 

“I need you,” he admitted, soft, watery. He covered his face, haggard breaths shook his very chest and collapsed his lungs.

Lucifer didn’t hear the floorboards creak, or the sounds of the kitchen stop. He could only hear the rattling of his bones and the desperation of his cries. 

“You’re not here alone.” Alastor said, bland, smooth. It was almost hesitant the way it was spoken. 

Still, Lucifer flinched hard enough that his shoulder struck the wall. His breath caught painfully in his throat as he twisted around. One eye still on Lillith, he scrambled, back against the painting on the wall. 

“I–” The words collapsed in Lucifer’s mouth like a rotted canvas.

Alastor didn’t speak again, he took in the room in one fell swoop. His eyes lingered on Lilith longer than he expected.

He didn’t exit from the doorway. One hand rested against the frame, loosely, as if he were restraining himself from stepping farther in.

“You came in.” Alastor said plainly, his eyes dragged down to Lucifer. The way his knees drew against his chest, his eyes red from unshed tears.

Lucifer nodded, his eyes dragged down in shame, flush spread across pale cheeks.

“I didn’t mean to–” He stopped, not sure what he hadn’t meant to do. Grieve? Break? Need?

Alastor breathed through his nose, a humorless sound. 

“You cleaned it.” Lucifer interjected before Alastor could make a scathing remark. 

Alastor nodded, once, firm. “Yes.” 

“You didn’t want me in here.” Lucifer pressed, standing to his full height. 

“No.” Alastor agreed. No hesitation. No denial. “I didn’t.”

Something snapped inside of him. Lucifer turned fully to Alastor, a scowl spread across his face, a flicker of warmth against the empty pit in his stomach flooded his cheeks. “You think this fixes me,” he gestured to Lilith. “You think seeing her like this–”

“I think you were rotting on the floor.” Alastor cut through, his glare drained the room of warmth. “I think you didn't have the decency to make it to your bed before you collapsed.” He took a step forward. “And I was getting bored of watching.”

Lucifer believed him. The hard glint in Alastor’s eyes bore into his soul. That truly must have been the worst part.

Any sharp retort died in Lucifer’s mouth, he swallowed them down. The words washed over him in a quick, shuddering moment.

Alastor had sat there and watched him. For nine hours. He saw Lucifer collapse, near death, against the floor in his worst moment. Then so had Charlie.

Bile burned him as it grew up his stomach and caught against the lump in his throat.

Alastor was close enough now that Lucifer could feel the heat from his body. Close enough the smell of his cooked food still hung to his clothes, incongruous and wrong.

“I dragged you off the floor. I drowned you, repeatedly. I fed you commands like you used to fight back against,” Alastor said, voice low, scratchy. “And you just…let me.”

Lucifer’s shoulders slumped. “I’m…tired.”

Alastor’s lip curled. 

“That,” he said, voice rough. “Is the part I hate.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy with everything said. Everything unsaid. Lucifer’s gaze drifted back to the mural despite himself. 

“I didn’t want to erase her.” Lucifer admitted. “But I don’t—I don’t want Charlie seeing this.” 

Alastor stiffened.

“You think I didn’t know that?” He snarled. “You think I cleaned this room because I wanted to?”

The sudden flare of anger startled Lucifer more than the drowning had. 

“I scrubbed your vomit off the floor boards,” Alastor continued, disgust bleeding through now with every word. “I washed the paint off the walls with my bare hands. I made this room safe because you won’t stop bleeding into it.” 

Lucifer’s chest tightened painfully.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he whispered pathetically. 

“No,” Alastor said. “That’s the problem. You didn’t ask for anything.” 

He stepped back then, like it physically pained him to stay closer. 

“You don’t get to disappear.” Alastor said, voice cold again. Even and controlled. “Not while there’s a child asleep two houses over who thinks you’re the sun.” 

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut. 

“I don’t know how to do this without her.” He said, voice wavering. “Every time I open my eyes she disappears.”

“Good,” Alastor snapped.

Lucifer’s eyes startled open.

“Then maybe you’ll start paying attention to reality and let the dead stay dead.” Alastor turned away.

“Stay,” He added over his shoulder. “Look at it. Don’t touch it. Don’t kneel. Don’t pray.”

The door didn’t close, Alastor left it open. Just enough to hear Lucifer if he decided against his orders. 

All of Lucifer’s breath left him at once, it drained from his lungs, shoulders, and left him hunched over on the spot. 

Lucifer lifted his gaze, he took in the dark walls over her hair and the pale fixture of her body at the center of it all. Her stare was blank. No warmth, no life. Not the kind of face he wanted his daughter to see. 

“Damnit.” He breathed out, fingers tugged at the strands of his hair. The resulting burn rooted him to the spot.

Lucifer moved frantically about the house, he grabbed the radio and carried it to her room. He gathered all his oil paints and started over. 

He didn’t pay attention to the flow of time, not as he worked through his fervor. Lucifer gathered every last bit of anything he had and poured it over his daughters walls. He had to wait hours for the paint to dry so he could go over each one again. When that took too long, Lucifer dragged their fan in.

That got a long stare from Alastor that Lucifer fought to ignore. 

At some point Alastor called Lucifer over for dinner. The table was set, a candle lit that Lucifer hadn’t remembered purchasing. In fact, Lucifer was positive he had none of the ingredients for this stew anywhere in his home.

He glanced between the simple slightly yellow stew, and meat based broth in Alastor’s bowl. 

“Hey–” Lucifer huffed and reached over with painted hands. 

Alastor slapped his hand.

“You haven’t eaten properly in days. Your body can’t handle this yet.” Alastor explained, slowly lifting the meat to his mouth. His teeth sunk into it in slow motion. 

“You don’t know that.” Lucifer grumbled. “Let me have some.” He insisted. 

Alastor knocked twice on​ the table. When Lucifer withdrew his hand, he lowered the food back into its bowl.

“You forget. I was here when you cleaned. I saw the dreadful spice rank and barren pantry.” Alastor gave him a lazy stare.

“I think I can handle some food,” Lucifer scoffed and scooped the meat from Alastor’s bowl. He chewed dramatically, determined to make a point. 

After a moment, Alastor clicked his tongue in a clear sign of annoyance. “Your five year old eats better than you.” 

Lucifer swallowed the spoonful in his mouth, the taste suddenly bitter. 

“I eat perfectly fine.” Lucifer huffed, straightening his spine. “Where do you think she got her manners from?” 

“I assumed it was magic.”

“Ha. Ha.” Lucifer laughed dryly. “No.” He rolled up his sleeves and rolled his shoulders back. “This is fine breeding you’re dining with.”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed an acknowledgement. “I suppose fine breeding holds less value nowadays. Pity.”

They continued on with their meals without another interjection. After they had both finished eating, however, Alastor caught Lucifer by the collar in the middle of fleeing to Charlie’s room.

“We wash before we play, Mr. Magne.” 

Lucifer groaned, throwing his head back as he was dragged back to the sink. 

“I will dry.” Alastor planted Lucifer at the sink, a towel was already in his hand. 

Lucifer nearly thought to question how Alastor knew where everything was in his own kitchen. Lucifer wasn’t even sure.

Instead, he turned on the water and started his assigned chore. It didn’t take long at all for his mind to drift, his vision blurred as he lost himself in the monotonous task.

The water burned.

Lucifer didn’t realize until Alastor’s hand shot out and turned the knob so hard the pipes groaned. Cold washed over his knuckles in a breath stealing wave. Steam filled the wash tub.

“Pay attention.” Alastor snapped

Lucifer blinked down at his knuckles. The skin was red across his fingers and knuckles. Tender from the heat and scrubbing that didn’t stop as soon as it should have.

“I was,” Lucifer lied, his fingers flexed. 

Alastor’s jaw tightened, his grip on Lucifer’s wrist loosened, lingering over his pulse a moment longer.

There was a soft padding of feet, bare against hardwood. Then a voice called from the hallway connecting to the front porch.

“Daddy?” 

Alastor dropped Lucifer’s wrist as if it was he who was just burned. 

Lucifer’s entire body stiffened, his pulse stuttered. He slowly turned, eyes wide. 

Charlie was there, bare feet covered in dew covered grass and dirt. She wore her pajamas, the front door yawned behind her, spilling in moonlight and hot air.

She was, decidedly, not with the neighbors.

“Charlie–” Lucifer choked, tongue heavy in his mouth. He wanted to step forward, to wrap her in his arms and make her forget everything she had seen.

She looked up at him the way she always did, expectant, trusting, unbearably so. 

“Are you better now?” She asked, taking another step closer into the kitchen. 

She sounded so small. So young.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. 

Alastor moved before Lucifer realized he hadn’t. One step, two, he placed himself just slightly in front of Lucifer. Just enough so Charlie couldn’t see him. 

“Bathroom, Charlie.” Alastor said calmly. “Let’s clean your feet and you can tell us exactly who managed to escape Mrs. Hargrove.”

Charlie nodded, sheepish, and ran to the bathroom. 

Lucifer stared at the place Charlie had just been, fingers flexing at his sides at the words left unsaid.

“You didn’t let me answer.” Lucifer whispered, hand lifted to his chest and clutched tightly to his shirt.

“You weren’t going to.” Alastor said, final. “I will go tell the neighbor of her breach in security.” He dismissed himself from the chores. “When you finally pull yourself together. Go talk to your daughter.”

Lucifer watched Alastor go, breath caught in his throat against the accusation that Alastor hurdled. He couldn’t have possibly known that, Lucifer wasn’t even sure of what he wanted to do. All he could think of was how disappointed Charlie would be in him when she saw that mural. 

Or the lack of it.

He stood in the hallway a long moment before he moved. 

The house had gone quiet, the way it does after a storm, when the birds were too scared to chirp and the rest of the world hid away. Lucifer wiped his palms against his trousers and forced his feet forward. One step, then another, past his room. Charlie’s door stood slightly ajar, golden light spilled into the dark room and cast Charlie’s shadow. It loomed over Lucifer, stopping his feet on the brink of her doorway.

The room no longer felt like poking an open wound.

The walls were still wet in places, the oil paint catching the lamplight in soft, uneven gloss. The mural was simpler now, no reaching hands, no devouring darkness. A small house sat in the center of the far wall, squat and warm, its windows lit as if someone had just come home. A family stood outside it: three figures, loosely shaped, their figures implied rather than precise. One tall. One smaller. Between them, one very small, holding both their hands.

The field around them rolled out in gentle strokes of green and gold. 

Above it all stretched a night sky.

Stars freckled the walls, layered thick where the black had once choked the room. They scattered across the ceiling too, uneven and imperfect, some smudged where his hand had slipped. Where Lilith’s hair had once crawled and spread, constellations now lived. Soft, stubborn points of light refusing to be swallowed.

Charlie sat cross-legged on her bed, chin tipped up as she studied the sky.

“You finished,” she said quietly as if speaking too loud would disturb the painting. 

Lucifer swallowed. “Not all of it,” he said. “I know it’s not what we talked about but, you see—”

Lucifer trailed off as she turned to look at him. Her eyes tracked his face with careful attention, the way she did when she knew something was wrong but didn’t yet have the words for it.

“I can still change it if–”

“Are you better now?” She asked. “You were sick.”

The word lodged into his chest, sick, simple and merciful. 

“Yes,” he choked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah. Daddy got sick for a little bit, didn't he?”

She nodded.

“But I’m all better now,” Lucifer forced a smile and sat at the edge of the bed, making Charlie dip. 

She leaned in closer, head pressed against his shoulder. She didn’t speak for a moment, her fingers worrying at the edge of her blanket. “People get sick,” she decided. Then, softer, she said: “Sometimes they go away.”

Lucifer felt his breath hitch.

She looked down at her lap. “Like mommy.”

He pulled Charlie into his lap before he knew what he was doing. His hand cupped the back of her head as little fingers clung to him. 

“No,” he spoke too fast. “No. I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Charlie leaned back to look up at him, a frown pulled at the corner of her lips. She searched him, like she may find the truth somewhere hidden behind his eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, and meant it with everything he had left of himself. “I will never, ever leave you. Not for anything.”

Charlie leaned forward again and pressed her face against his shoulder. Lucifer folded into the hug like a man saved from drowning. He kissed the top of her head, she smelled like soap and grass. He breathed her in.

“Okay,” she murmured, satisfied. 

He tucked her in a few minutes later, pulling the blanket up to her chin the way Lilith used to. The thought still hurt, but it didn’t gut him this time, it ached.

“Daddy?” Charlie called, already heavy-eyed.

“Yeah, little star?”

“I wanna say goodnight to Alastor.”

Lucifer hesitated, unsure if Alastor had ever come back. He glanced at the doorway. 

Alastor stood there, summoned by name. Half in shadow, like he had always been a part of the frame. He inclined his head slightly. “Goodnight, Charlie.”

Lucifer balked, face flushed, unsure how much Alastor had seen or heard of that moment.

Charlie grinned. “Come closer.”

Something like panic flickered across his face, brief, unexpected. Still, he stepped forward until he stood beside Lucifer at the bed.

She beckoned him closer.

Alastor heaved a heavy sigh and, very dramatically, rolled his eyes. He leaned closer.

Charlie cupped her hand around her mouth and scooted closer toward him, whispering loud enough that neither of them missed a word. “Thank you for making Daddy feel better.”

Alastor froze.

For a heartbeat, he looked like a man who had been handed something fragile without being told how to hold it. His mouth opened, then closed. His jaw worked.

“...Sleep,” he finally said, rough and awkward. “Dream well.” He pat her head twice. 

Satisfied, Charlie rolled onto her side and was asleep in minutes.

Lucifer straightened slowly, Alastor had already turned and was walking to the front door.

He had to skip to catch up with him. His bare feet skidded across the floor.. “Wait stop running just-”

Alastor stopped and turned quickly, eyes narrowed. “I was not running away where did you get such a–”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Lucifer blurted out, interrupting whatever insult Alastor would have hurled at him. 

Alastor faltered, a single slow blink. His hands flexed at his side, jaw snapped shut in a tight smile. He turned away, retreating down the hall like he overstayed some invisible line.

The doorway caught him for a moment longer, then he was gone. Door shut with finality behind him.

Lucifer sighed, then turned back to his daughter's room. He stayed there a long time, listening to her breathe. He wasn’t sure he deserved her, but intended to keep her anyway.

[nondelphic]

i used to think writers exaggerated physical closeness. i would like to formally apologize.

[bruvskii]

The Summoning - Chap 11

SMUTTY ADAM AHEAD GUYS READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

In italics = Smut

Adam grunted, sweat stung his eyes as he chased the friction that wasn’t hitting right. His fingers pressed against the grey back beneath him. Nails scraped across white freckles; it left angry golden marks down her spine, between her shoulder blades. Something stirred as the marks blossomed, a warm heat that chased the cold away.

He pressed harder, his breath stuttered while his fingers found her shoulder blades.

He gripped the base of the exorcist's wings and forced her back against him with each forward thrust. The resulting cry tore out of her and the sound, for a brief moment drowned the silence in his own head. He shivered, a lazy smile spread across his face.

Adam leaned forward, pressing his slick stomach against her back. “You fucking liked that, didn’t you?” He growled, low into her ear.

“Ye-” she gasped when he pushed forward. “-es.”

Adam’s hips stuttered, the admission made his entire body shake. His arms jerked around her and lifted her back up. One of his hands continued forward, hooking into the corner of his mouth.

“That's right, you love this don't you? Love what I do to you?” He panted in her ear. He licked up her neck, tasing the sweat and salt there.

“Yes,” she gasped, body arched against him, wings splayed out. “Yes, sir.” 

Adam’s eyes rolled back and his breathing hitched. He unhooked his fingers from her mouth and traced it down her body, to the throbbing clit begging to be touched. “Then you’re going to be good and fucking cum for me, right? Because you’re a good little bitch.” 

“I’m a good bitch,” she whined, her body jerking against him, hips pushing back to meet his thrusts. “I;m gunna cum, I’m going to–”She spasmed against him, her words choked off in a silent cry. 

Adam’s hips twitched, his breath coming out in shorter gasps as she milked him. He didn’t move as he filled her, save the occasional twitch of his emptying cock. Adam pulled out, breathing heavy and laid in the warmth, basking. She had rolled away. Did something, said something. 

Adam could only shut his eyes, hold onto the fleeting warmth.

Adam swung his legs over the bed, jaw tight as he let out an exhale. The sound of heaven's choirs pierced the air, even in the privacy of his own home. Early morning had always been a high activity time for the angels, the rise of the sun and its warmth gave them a burst of energy he hadn’t had since his creation.

The body next to him turned, her wings stretched out across where Adam was just laying. He let out a sharp click of his tongue and grabbed the edge of the blanket. He stood abruptly and wrapped the blanket around his waist, pulling it away from the exorcist, who now shot up. Her wings bristled out and her body had gone rigid in a fighting pose he had trained into the girl herself. 

Her stance was off against the dip of the bed, off balance, and her hand gripped for a weapon that wasn’t around her. Instinct, sloppy, but workable. 

“Listen,” Adam sighed and walked across his room to the bar curved against the wall. “Babe,” he continued. “This was fun and all, but you can’t stay here.”

“Sir?” The exorcist asked, their shoulders relaxing. Her wings draped against his bed. 

“It’s like this.” Adam poured him a tall glass of whiskey, then set the glass to the side and held tighter to the neck of the bottle.

The girl shifted off the bed, stiff in her movements, as Adam drank. He didn’t stop drinking when she stood pantless in front of him, dressed in one of his shirts he didn’t remember lending her. 

“We had fun, but it’s a new day.” He wiped his mouth and dropped the bottle on the counter. He walked up to the small thing and gripped her chin. “And you got training right now, don’t cha?” 

He searched the girls eyes and watched every flick of emotion. Annoyance, hurt, disappointment. 

She tried to pull away.

“Before you go,” he said, stopping her movements. He gripped tighter onto her chin, thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “I meant it. You were a great lay, babe.”

He let her go and she scrambled across the room, picking up her clothing, before she stumbled out of his home and into the wild of heavens morning.

He followed her slowly, stopping in the living room. Lute was watching the exorcist that just left, hands curled into fists. Her shoulders were stiff, wings flared, feathers bristled. He fought back a sigh, the wings on his back stretched out his irritation. 

Lute’s attention came back to him when she noticed the movement. Her eyes flicked down to his hairy chest and slowly dragged across his belly to the blanket wrapped at his waist. A gold color flushed across her cheeks when she met his eyes again. 

[bruvskii]

Little Star

Ummm this took so long but I love it soooo, I'm posting the the chapter here.

Word Count: 4861

 Lucifer felt heavy; the morning dragged on, each tick of the clock mirrored by the throbbing behind his eyes. Charlie didn’t want to go to school, and as much as he would have loved to indulge her, he couldn’t. His daughter deserves every ounce of education he can give her, to build the better future he couldn’t for her. 

“Charlie,” Lucifer grimaced when she shoved the breakfast away. The bowl scraped against the table. Her cheeks puffed red and tight, breath hitching. “Wait! No, no, don't cry.” 

He quickly scooped her up as the cries echoed across the room and bounced across his skull. His hand cupped the back of her head while her arms clung to him. His vision swam a moment when he hauled her up. The throbbing behind his eyes spread across his face.

 “It’s okay, I know, little star.” He cooed, bouncing her in his arms around the kitchen. He hadn’t done this since she was a baby. Just like then, he pushed down the heavy feeling in his shoulders, and the flash of warmth in his stomach.

Charlie pulled back slightly, her lip trembled with the effort of her cries. “Don’t make me go.” Her eyes were so much like Lilith’s. Big, brown, almost honey in this lighting. 

Lucifer’s breath caught, a tight coil formed in his gut. The words, wrapped around his throat, were like barbed wire. For a moment, if he let his eyes unfocus just long enough. He could see Lilith standing there with them. She would scoop Charlie from his arms, insist that Charlie go to school while Lucifer would still be coddling her.

 “You sound just like her sometimes.” He whispered and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The vision melted away as Charlie’s face came into focus.

She stopped crying for a moment, her little fists wiped at her eyes. “Like mommy?” She questioned. The words cracked like a whip against the silence that she had finally reclaimed.

“Yeah,” Lucifer confirmed, ignoring the way his voice wavered. “She told me that once.” He carried Charlie to the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. Lucifer cradled her into his lap, she settled in without complaint, sniffing against his chest. 

“A long, long time ago.” 

“Before I was born?” Charlie asked.

“Oh way before you even thought of.” Lucifer nodded and squeezed her, which brought a fresh bout of giggles. When Charlie realized she giggled, she let out a huff and looked away. So Lucifer continued. 

“Your mommy and I were a lot in love, as you know. And well, some people didn’t like that daddy was with mommy.” Before Charlie could ask, Lucifer barreled on with the story. “That made daddy really sad for Mommy, so daddy was gonna leave.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide as she listened to the story, her tears long since dry. “What happened?”

“Your mommy said what you did.” 

“Don’t make me go?” Charlie repeated and Lucifer nodded.

“Kinda hard to say no to that.” Lucifer mumbled. He could still remember it like it was yesterday. Standing in the garden. He demanded she leave but her hand clasped around his wrists and refused to let go. 

“Because you let mommy stay…I can stay?” Charlie asked, playing with the collar of his worn pajama shirt. 

Lucifer sighed and adjusted her to sit up straight and looked her in the eye. “Why do you wanna stay home?” He asked. 

Charlie didn’t speak and for a moment Lucifer thought she was giving him the silent treatment. But she spoke up, voice small and wavering.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

Lucifer felt his heart twinge. Body rocking in the chair as it lost its center of gravity. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, his head ached too much to think and his heart was too broken to be helpful.

“Charlie,” Lucifer swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to be away from you either.”

“Then we stay!” Her grip tightened on him, the idea echoing in his mind. The most selfish part of him purred at the idea of never letting her go. Keeping her safe with him forever.

“I’d love that baby.” He admitted. “But school is very important.”

Charlie’s shoulders started to tremble, her eyes growing watery again. 

Seeing her tears, Lucifer faltered. “How about a deal?” He questioned quickly, not sure where the idea had struck from.

“A deal?” The sharp inhale of breath from earlier puffed out making the question sound airy. 

Lucifer nodded. “You try to go to school today and—” he set Charlie down on the chair and flurried about. He grabbed a pen, a piece of paper and quickly scribbled.

 There was a brief hesitation, only a moment, before Lucifer scribbled one more thing. “Tell the teacher to call this first number if you want to come home.” He put the paper, scribbled with Rosie’s house number, and the number to Alastor’s diner, in her book bag. “If that doesn’t work. Call the second.” He told her.

Lucifer grabbed the bag and started putting Charlie’s arms through the loop. “Then when we get home I’ll start on the mural while you do your homework. Okay?”

Charlie looked like she wanted to protest but nodded. Some of the strength in his legs finally vanished with her reluctant adherence. He leaned his hip against the corner of the counter, the sharp pain grounding his vision to the moment. 

“Then, when we get home, daddy will start on mommy's picture on your wall.” 

Charlie lit up, her entire posture seemed to straighten out and a smile beamed across her face. “A mural, daddy.” Charlie corrected. 

Lucifer smiled and nodded. “That’s right.” 

Thankfully, getting her to school was a little easier, although he faced an entirely new problem. An overly excited child. She bounced around him during the walk, her hands tugged on his. She would pull whenever Lucifer would start to lag behind or didn’t give her an enthusiastic enough answer to her questions about the mural.

When Charlie skipped past the gate, Lucifer lingered as he always did. He leaned against the hot metal of the gate, the idle chatter of others drifted through his ears, muffled like cotton. 

“I think there should be a curfew.” One mother said, looking at Lucifer. “What do you think, crooner?”

Lucifer blinked, shaking away the blanket over his mind. He forced a confused smile on his face and tilted his head. “What are we talking about?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know anyway.” The mother sharply clicked her tongue. “But those missing posters are doubling and my kid ain’t gonna be on one.” She threw her hands up, and another mother laughed softly.

“Leave him alone,” the giggling mother scolded. “It’s not his fault people are leaving town.” She glanced at Lucifer and patted his shoulders. “Don’t worry. No kids have gone missing. She likes to stir up trouble.”

Lucifer slowly nodded. “Ah, right.” 

“Shouldn’t you be hitting the tram?” 

The reminder jerked Lucifer forward until he stopped on the tram. His hand clutched a railing above his head and his eyes followed the blur of houses and bodies. He shut his eyes against the mixed streaks of color. The next moment he opened his eyes he was at the gate, sitting in the passenger side of a car Rosie had ordered to pick him up. The vibrations of the engine shook his shoulders, the sound of it nearly drowned out Rosie’s words. 

It was all a whirl of movement and static. An arm touching his, a tug forward. A laugh. Lucifer said something back, another laugh. Then he was alone in the ballroom. Swaying on his feet, his sketch book tucked in a bag thrown over his shoulder, weighing him down. After fishing it out, Lucifer dropped the bag on the ground. The sound echoed across the empty room. He turned on the radio and continued the stencil he had abandoned the afternoon before.

The sounds of music broke through clear the haze, overtaking the scribble on the walls. His eyes closed, the sound of a violin, skipping wildly to a fast tune, slid into his ears and around his ribs. Lucifer moved almost subconsciously, his hand glided over the wall to the beat of the music. It carried him away from the room, from the heat of New Orleans that pressed down harder every day. Until, after a brief pause of static, another tune started up.

It was instantly familiar, the sounds of a joyful piano backed Lucifer’s hum of the opening tune. Then the words came and his stencil stopped. 

Lucifer dropped his hand as Lilith’s voice carried across the melody, singing the words with perfect pitch. He turned slowly, the world blurred at the edges. Lilith spun in the middle of the floor, dancing to the song on the radio, hand outstretched to Lucifer. 

Lucifer didn’t dare to move, tongue heavy against the root of his mouth, his hands were leaden. He could only stand there, memorizing the way her hair fell from its bun, the way it framed her face so effortlessly. The strands were brown, just like those watery eyes that stared at him with an expectancy he couldn’t find it in him to reject.

His fingers slipped into her cold palm, entwining their fingers. A heat still managed to rush through him when his hand rested on her hip. He stepped forward, breath shaking. He led them into a dance, one they would repeat in their home as they listened to the record.

“There is no one else but you,” Lilith hummed. Her purple dress brushed her ankles. Her voice reached through his chest and nestled into his soul.

“All alone, by the telephone,” Lucifer’s voice shook as they spun, finishing the lyrics for her. “All alone,” Lucifer continued, pulling her closer. “There is no one else but you.”

His words cracked in their hush whisper. Lilith’s hands cupped his cheeks while he spun her, warmth flushing against his skin. They eased the throbbing that had been spreading, leaving only the ache in his chest. 

“Lilith,” he choked and laid his forehead against hers. 

“I’m all alone, feeling blue.” He cupped her cheeks, thumb brushing over her eyelids. 

“Lucifer?” Rosie’s voice broke through the radio.

The song had switched at some point and Lilith was gone. Lucifer opened his eyes, breath heavy in his chest. He stood in the middle of the ballroom, trembling, hair clinging to sweat, slicked skin and paled cheeks. 

“You look like you saw a ghost.” She stepped forward, heels clicking against the floor. “You made progress.” Rosie glanced over Lucifer’s shoulder at the stencil on the wall.

“Oh, Rosie,” Lucifer spoke, shaking his head. He immediately regretted it, his body swaying from the effort. “Sorry I guess I let the music carry me away.” Lucifer rested his heavy head in the palm of his hand.

“Let me get a look at you.” Rosie grumbled and grazed the back of her knuckles against Lucifer’s forehead. He leaned into the cool touch. “You’re burning up!” She gasped.

After that, arguing was pointless, and Lucifer argued. He could have argued until he was blue in the face, but he quickly learned when Mrs. Beaumont said something then that was that. Today, she decided Lucifer was far too unwell and sent him running along home. 

Rosie had ordered the driver to drop him off right in front of his house and not to leave until they saw Lucifer was inside.

The house was quiet, the wood creaked underfoot when he walked. The scattered toys lonely without their playmate.

He sidestepped them, his feet carrying him to Charlie’s room. It started to smell like her now. The stale air breathed with new life. 

He looked at the walls, Charlie’s coloring etched onto the surface. Ideas for the mural, Charlie had reasoned.

He didn’t wait for his thoughts to catch up with him. He sketched over the walls, pencil moving in a familiar pattern. The only time he emerged from the bedroom was to check the time.

After hours that had bled into one seamless moment, he had picked up Charlie from school, talking about some emergency parent conference that evening. When they finally got him, she gushed over the sketch. They drew more together after her homework and played until the sun settled against the sky. 

It was easy to tuck Charlie into bed that night, the excitement ensuring an easy night. Lucifer wished he could say what came next was just as easy for him.

He had never been to a conference at a school before. It felt more nerve wracking than any meeting or presentation he had given before. Those were easy, simple. You always knew what the other person wanted from you, you had time to come up with a plan, rebuttals, defenses, negotiation tactics. Lucifer didn’t believe any of that would help him.

He was tempted to skip it altogether. Stay home with his wonderful daughter, watch her sleep just a little more. However, he knew too well that wasn’t what she needed from him, and it was unseemly.

Lucifer slipped a dollar to a neighbor then ducked out of the house. The walk felt longer when he was alone. No small fingers clutched him, pulled him this way or that as Charlie spoke of her goals that day, her dreams and expectations. He found his stride had quickened now, the silence that muffled the sound of his footsteps.

The meeting was more of a spectacle. Parents from every child in the school showed up, scattered through the auditorium. Mrs. Hargrove was talking to him, her brows pulled together. 

“Huh?” Lucifer questioned, blinking slowly at her. 

“You feelin’ alright?” She tsked and raised the small red solo cup to her lips. “I said you should talk some sense to my husband.” Her hand lifted in exasperation. “Can’t get him to see how important these things are. Even after two other kids.” 

Lucifer nodded, short, quick. “Anything about my kid matters.”

Mrs. Hargrove smiled, soft. “You’re a good dad.”

Lucifer's throat tightened, a sudden warm feeling grew in his stomach. Thankfully, he was saved from responding as the lights flickered. “I think it's starting.”

Parents all converged to the front, packed together close. They whispered idle gossip that turned to static against Lucifer’s ears. Their closeness tightened around Lucifer’s chest, each inhale and exhale felt like breathing through a filter.

When the crowd finally started to depart, the air rushed into his lungs quickly. The rush made his head spin, his vision whited out.

“What do you think?”

“Huh?” His head turned to the voice. Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again.

“The announcement. You know, with the curfew the school moved up the pick up time.”

“Right.” Lucifer said slowly, his brow furred in thought as he tried to pull together enough sense to respond. An earlier pick up time. That would make the mural take longer. What would he tell Mrs. Beaumont?

“Lucifer?” Someone questioned, softer. 

Lucifer nodded and cleared his throat. “I think, for the safety of our children. It’s important. If the police and teachers both decided it's for the best,” he said slowly, “then I suppose I have to agree.”

“I am so glad you agree, Mr. Magne.” A voice, new, called from behind him. There was a positive lilt to it, a sort of arrogance that Lucifer had learned to detect in his sleep.

Lucifer's world turned static at the edges from how fast he turned on his heel. It was a man that spoke, he wore a suit, a gun holster at his hip.

“I’m sorry?” Lucifer looked back at his face, eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

The man smiled, something wide that showed off all his teeth, and stuck out his hand. “I’m Lieutenant Adam, I gave the announcement today.”

Lucifer’s gaze snapped to the hand then lazily drifted back up to the lieutenant's face. His body swayed.  “Right,” he took the detective's hand. The Lieutenant gave it a firm squeeze before he let go. “It was a…concise announcement.” Lucifer finished.

The smile stretched and Adam fisted his hands into his pockets. “Well, thank you, Mr. Magne.” His chest puffed up and his chin lifted. “I believe in getting straight to the point.”

Lucifer took a step back, and slowly nodded. The lieutenant eyed him, Lucifer could feel it in his bones. “I should be getting back to my daughter.” Lucifer said suddenly.

“Oh that’s good. You’re daughter.” Adam nodded, the smile softening at the edges. “Little Charlie, she’s your only one right.”

Lucifer nodded. “Yes.” He said stiffly.

He nodded again, the smile curling down at the edges. “No wife?”

Bile clawed up Lucifer’s throat, sudden and dizzying. His body pulled forward, tugged by gravity. Lieutenant Adam's hand darted out and held firmly onto Lucifer’s shoulder. 

“Woah there,” he spoke softly and steadied Lucifer. “I think we should be getting you home, Mr. Magne.”

Lucifer didn’t protest, words rotted in his mouth and burned his throat. The Lieutenant led him to his car and drove him home.

After he checked on Charlie, he settled his aching, throbbing body into bed. For the next hour, he imagined Lilith’s corpse laid next to him, brown eyes a pale white. Lucifer watched the sunrise then woke up Charlie.

He didn’t go to work the next day. He used a payphone outside the school, claiming to still be sick. Rosie didn’t question for a second. Gave him a couple of days off on the spot. After he dropped Charlie off everyday. Lucifer went straight home. He pushed toys out of the way, moved empty dishes onto the stove when they ran out of counter space.

Lucifer went straight into Charlie’s room where Lilith was waiting. They danced, talked, sang while he painted the wall. Sometimes she posed for him, so he could get her smile just right. So he could remember the way her eyes twinkled in the sun. 

She would leave when it was time to get Charlie. Then the cycle of play, love, and watching her sleep, began again.

Until the mural was finished. 

She didn’t show up when Lucifer placed the final stroke of her cheek. He had looked for her, sweeping through every room, painted fingers curled in his hair, a pain burned his scalp. She was nowhere. 

Lucifer had sat on the couch, clothes sticking to him with sweat, and very slowly laid down, staring at the door. She would come back. 

He didn’t count the minutes, the passage of time, but the shadows shifted, the light fled down the door until it opened. 

“Lilith?” Lucifer asked, his eyes were closed. He didn’t remember closing them. They wouldn’t open now. He couldn’t get up. “Lilith? Are you home?”

He heard a feminine voice and tried to sit up. “Charlie?” His voice cracked, breath lodged into his throat.

There was another voice, deeper, masculine. “Stay away.” Lucifer heaved, trying to push himself up. He managed onto his feet, body trembling, he forced his eyes open. The world flared white.

He heard a cry.

“Charlie I’m—” he took a step and crumpled to the ground. Air left his lungs in a pained grunt and his world went dark once more.

Lucifer became aware of the water only after it hit him. The cold struck first, it soaked through his clothes and struck his bones. His eyes opened while he was still under the water, burning his eyes. Through the blur he could see a face above him, fractured from the rippled water. They reached out and suddenly he was pulled up. 

Lucifer gasped, coughing as water spilled from his mouth and oxygen filled his lungs. Lucifer tried to sit up on instinct alone. His palms slipped uselessly against the cold porcelain.

 The movement barely registered to his brain before a sudden pressure on his shoulders sent him back down. Water splashed over the edge as his spine knocked against the tub's tile with a dull thud. Something like a wine choked out of him.

“Don’t.” Alastor said. Firm, colder than he had ever heard it before. 

Lucifer blinked the water from his eyes and focused on the sharp angles of the face leering at him. He tilted his head back up to the ceiling, eyes going unfocused, water sloshed higher against his ribs. His body felt heavy, impossible to move, like gravity had doubled when he wasn’t looking. His limbs lagged behind the drag of his thoughts, each command arriving half a second later.

“I–” his voice scraped across his raw throat. “I can–”

Lucifer tried to move again. He put the weight of his body against the palms of his hands. His fingers clawed against the edge of the tub for purchase. 

Alastor’s response was immediate. His hand flattened between Lucifer’s shoulder blades and shoved him down harder than before. His teeth clenched together, the world momentarily unbalanced.

The porcelain, cold, seeped through his clothes and pressed against his back.

Lucifer swallowed, his throat tight. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. He wasn’t fighting, he wasn’t asking for anything. Nothing unreasonable. 

His hands trembled as they slid along the edge of the tub. His body relaxed against it, eyes focusing on what he could see. The small hairline fracture near the drain, the way light flickered briefly, the rough sound of his own breathing as it rattled against his chest.

“Get up.” Alastor said.

Lucifer blinked, the words sludged across his mind, the robustness of his tone sounded like he had assumed obedience.

He tried. 

His palms shook under his weight, useless beneath him. His knees buckled as soon as he shifted his weight. He sank back down with a groan, water splashed out and hit Alastor’s foot.

For a moment, nothing happened, the water stilled, and Lucifer melted under the weight of Alastor’s stare. Lucifer’s chest collapsed into him and sunk his shoulders under the water.

Then Alastor grabbed him. Pristine sleeves dipped under the water as he grabbed under Lucifer’s armpits. 

There was no warning, Lucifer went weightless against Alastor’s firm lift, hauled up in one effortless motion. Lucifer gasped, water pouring off of him, his feat barely finding purchase on the slick surface before Alastor pulled back.

He swayed, the room tilted.

“Stay up.” Alastor demanded.

Lucifer’s knees gave.

Alastor caught him again, irritated this time. Lucifer thought dimly. The grip was sharper this time, fingers digging in as if to anchor something that refused to hold its own weight.

“You will,” Alastor hissed, closer now. “Because you need to.”

Lucifer didn’t answer, he didn’t know how. He didn’t understand the way red eyes flickered across his face as if searching for something, and getting angry it wasn't there. His head throbbed, a deep ache that made it hard to care where his body ended and the water began.

Alastor dropped him again and turned the water back on, fresh heat burned across his skin. His body thrashed when a hand pushed him under, suddenly cutting off his oxygen. His limbs thrashed as the seconds stretched, his lungs burned. 

He gasped when he was lifted back up, coughing and choking on the air. He was shook, rough hands brushed the air from his eyes until he was once more focused on Alastor. Both men panted heavily, they stared at each other.

“She needs you.” Alastor spoke.

That had landed harder than the scalding water had as he was dropped again.

Lucifer’s breath hitched. Charlie flashed in his mind, her backpack, paint stained cheeks and a wide smile. He tried again, muscles screaming as he pushed upward.

His vision tunneled.

He didn’t make it.

Alastor cursed under his breath, low and sharp, in a language Lucifer didn’t know. Then he forced Lucifer under the water again, cutting off thought. 

He let it happen.

The water pressed in around him, heavy and burning hotter with every second. His brain ticked and his limbs thrashed again.

He was hauled up, sputtering. 

After a moment of Alastor letting him sit in the cooling water, Lucifer spoke suddenly.

“How long?”

Alastor didn’t say anything at first.

“Nine hours,” he said eventually. “Almost ten.”

Lucifer nodded, though the number meant nothing to him. Time had slipped loose somewhere along the way. He closed his eyes, the edge of the tub digging into the back of his neck.

He felt Alastor move away. The loss of contact made something in his chest stutter, a brief, traitorous relief curled low in his stomach before it sank back into numbness. The room went quiet except for the faint drip of water onto the tile.

Lucifer waited for something else to happen. A shout, a curse. Maybe he expected the door to slam while Alastor stormed away and waited for Lucifer to drown.

None of that did.

Minutes passed. Or seconds, he couldn’t be sure.

Then Alastor sat at the edge of the tub, a wash cloth in one hand and clothes in another. He sat them on the sink then turned, his feet sank into the water, a small wave splashed against Lucifer’s ribs. He didn’t look at him. He couldn’t bring himself to.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Alastor said. 

Lucifer didn’t respond.

“I’m staying,” Alastor continued, voice flat. “That’s all.”

Lucifer stared at the ceiling, eyes burned with unshed tears. He didn’t know if, coming from Alastor, that was a threat or a promise. He only knew he didn’t have the strength to ask. Words pressed on his teeth and rotted against his tongue.

Alastor wrung the cloth out once, hard enough Lucifer could see the tendons of his wrist poking out. Then he pressed it to Lucifer's face. 

The touch was brisk, almost careless. Water ran down Lucifer’s temples, into his ears, slicked through his hair. The cloth dragged over his mouth, his jaw, his throat. It was never gentle, not overly cruel. It was firm and left behind pink lines on his flesh.

Lucifer didn’t flinch.

That seemed to bother him.

Alastor’s hand paused at Lucifer’s collarbone. The pressure lingered there., thumb resting just above his sternum, feeling the shallow rise and fall beneath it. Lucifer became almost hyper aware of his own breathing, the way one might notice a clock ticking in another room.

“You’re supposed to hate this,” Alastor whispered.

“I don’t,” Lucifer responded.

Alastor’s thumb pushed harder, nail dug into his flesh. “That’s not the right answer.”

Lucifer swallowed, his throat burned around the words. “That wasn’t a question.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Alastor drew his hand back as if he had been burned. His eyes narrowed on Lucifer and he stood abruptly, the tub water sloshed as his weight shifted away.

Lucifer felt the loss of heat immediately. 

The clothes were dropped onto the toilet seat, too fast, folded poorly. A shirt, one stained with his paints, and simple trousers. Alastor grabbed Lucifer’s wrist and hauled him up with a quick jerk. The pull burned his shoulderblade and stretched his arm.

“Stand.” Alastor said, tightening the grip on Lucifer’s wrist.

Lucifer tried. His foot slid. His knee buckled.

Alastor caught him with a sharp intake of sound through his teeth. A quick click. He held Lucifer close, their chests pressed against each other. 

“Do you know how easy this would be?” Alastor said, voice low. “How little effort it takes you to move when you won't even try?”

Lucifer’s head lolled forward, forehead nearly touching Alastor’s shoulder.

“I could kill you right now,” Alastor whispered in his ear.

“I know,” he murmured.

That did it. 

Alastor shoved him, not down, just back. Quick and sudden. With enough force that Lucifer momentarily lost his footing, his feet scrambled for purchase. He steadied himself, the water spilled everywhere. 

“There,” Alastor snapped. “That. Do that again.”

Lucifer blinked, confused. His heart beat faster now, started awake by the sudden imbalance. His hands lifted instinctively, fingers curling into Alastor’s sleeve as he steadied himself. 

Alastor froze. 

For half a second something like satisfaction flickered across his face. It was gone just as fast. Replaced by something sharp and dark.

He pried Lucifer’s fingers loose one by one. 

“Your wife would be terrified of you like this.” Alastor said.

The words landed wrong. Not clean, not precise. It was blunt and landed straight against Lucifer’s throat, his breath hitched.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

Alastor stiffened.

“I shouldn't have to bring her up to make you move,” Alastor said, but his voice had changed. It was strained, angry. “You’re still here. She isn’t. You don’t get to lay down with the dead.”

Lucifer’s hands clenched at his sides. His nails dug hard into his palms, enough to sting.

“That’s enough,” Lucifer spoke. It was barely audible, nearly drowned out over the waver of his voice.

Alastor stared at him, a smile curling over his lips. “Get dressed.” He said, then sharply turned on his heels and exited the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

[bruvskii]

Chapter 11 Preview

This one is extra long, but the release will be soon. Please enjoy the chapters opening.

How this chapter got me:

Lucifer felt heavy; the morning dragged on, each tick of the clock mirrored by the throbbing behind his eyes. Charlie didn’t want to go to school, and as much as he would have loved to indulge her, he couldn’t. His daughter deserves every ounce of education he can give her, to build the better future he couldn’t for her. 

“Charlie,” Lucifer grimaced when she shoved the breakfast away. The bowl scraped against the table. Her cheeks puffed red and tight, breath hitching. “Wait! No, no, don't cry.” 

He quickly scooped her up as the cries echoed across the room and bounced across his skull. His hand cupped the back of her head while her arms clung to him. His vision swam a moment when he hauled her up. The throbbing behind his eyes spread across his face.

 “It’s okay, I know, little star.” He cooed, bouncing her in his arms around the kitchen. He hadn’t done this since she was a baby. Just like then, he pushed down the heavy feeling in his shoulders, and the flash of warmth in his stomach.

Charlie pulled back slightly, her lip trembled with the effort of her cries. “Don’t make me go.” Her eyes were so much like Lilith’s. Big, brown, almost honey in this lighting. 

Lucifer’s breath caught, a tight coil formed in his gut. The words, wrapped around his throat, were like barbed wire. For a moment, if he let his eyes unfocus just long enough. He could see Lilith standing there with them. She would scoop Charlie from his arms, insist that Charlie go to school while Lucifer would still be coddling her.

 “You sound just like her sometimes.” He whispered and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The vision melted away as Charlie’s face came into focus.

She stopped crying for a moment, her little fists wiped at her eyes. “Like mommy?” She questioned. The words cracked like a whip against the silence that she had finally reclaimed.

“Yeah,” Lucifer confirmed, ignoring the way his voice wavered. “She told me that once.” He carried Charlie to the kitchen and sat down on one of the chairs. Lucifer cradled her into his lap, she settled in without complaint, sniffing against his chest. 

“A long, long time ago.” 

“Before I was born?” Charlie asked.

“Oh way before you even thought of.” Lucifer nodded and squeezed her, which brought a fresh bout of giggles. When Charlie realized she giggled, she let out a huff and looked away. So Lucifer continued. 

“Your mommy and I were a lot in love, as you know. And well, some people didn’t like that daddy was with mommy.” Before Charlie could ask, Lucifer barreled on with the story. “That made daddy really sad for Mommy, so daddy was gonna leave.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, her eyes wide as she listened to the story, her tears long since dry. “What happened?”

“Your mommy said what you did.” 

“Don’t make me go?” Charlie repeated and Lucifer nodded.

“Kinda hard to say no to that.” Lucifer mumbled. He could still remember it like it was yesterday. Standing in the garden. He demanded she leave but her hand clasped around his wrists and refused to let go. 

“Because you let mommy stay…I can stay?” Charlie asked, playing with the collar of his worn pajama shirt. 

Lucifer sighed and adjusted her to sit up straight and looked her in the eye. “Why do you wanna stay home?” He asked. 

Charlie didn’t speak and for a moment Lucifer thought she was giving him the silent treatment. But she spoke up, voice small and wavering.

“I don’t wanna leave you.”

Lucifer felt his heart twinge. Body rocking in the chair as it lost its center of gravity. 

He didn’t know what to say to that, his head ached too much to think and his heart was too broken to be helpful.

“Charlie,” Lucifer swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I don’t want to be away from you either.”

“Then we stay!” Her grip tightened on him, the idea echoing in his mind. The most selfish part of him purred at the idea of never letting her go. Keeping her safe with him forever.

“I’d love that baby.” He admitted. “But school is very important.”

Charlie’s shoulders started to tremble, her eyes growing watery again. 

Seeing her tears, Lucifer faltered. “How about a deal?” He questioned quickly, not sure where the idea had struck from.

“A deal?” The sharp inhale of breath from earlier puffed out making the question sound airy. 

Lucifer nodded. “You try to go to school today and—” he set Charlie down on the chair and flurried about. He grabbed a pen, a piece of paper and quickly scribbled.

 There was a brief hesitation, only a moment, before Lucifer scribbled one more thing. “Tell the teacher to call this first number if you want to come home.” He put the paper, scribbled with Rosie’s house number, and the number to Alastor’s diner, in her book bag. “If that doesn’t work. Call the second.” He told her.

Lucifer grabbed the bag and started putting Charlie’s arms through the loop. “Then when we get home I’ll start on the mural while you do your homework. Okay?”

Charlie looked like she wanted to protest but nodded. Some of the strength in his legs finally vanished with her reluctant adherence. He leaned his hip against the corner of the counter, the sharp pain grounding his vision to the moment. 

“Then, when we get home, daddy will start on mommy's picture on your wall.” 

Charlie lit up, her entire posture seemed to straighten out and a smile beamed across her face. “A mural, daddy.” Charlie corrected. 

Lucifer smiled and nodded. “That’s right.” 

Thankfully, getting her to school was a little easier, although he faced an entirely new problem. An overly excited child. She bounced around him during the walk, her hands tugged on his. She would pull whenever Lucifer would start to lag behind or didn’t give her an enthusiastic enough answer to her questions about the mural.

When Charlie skipped past the gate, Lucifer lingered as he always did. He leaned against the hot metal of the gate, the idle chatter of others drifted through his ears, muffled like cotton. 

“I think there should be a curfew.” One mother said, looking at Lucifer. “What do you think, crooner?”

Lucifer blinked, shaking away the blanket over his mind. He forced a confused smile on his face and tilted his head. “What are we talking about?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t know anyway.” The mother sharply clicked her tongue. “But those missing posters are doubling and my kid ain’t gonna be on one.” She threw her hands up, and another mother laughed softly.

“Leave him alone,” the giggling mother scolded. “It’s not his fault people aren’t sticking around. And if you are then thank you. We don’t need those drifters anyway.” She glanced at Lucifer and patted his shoulders when he didn’t laugh. “Don’t worry. No kids have gone missing. She likes to stir up trouble.”

Lucifer slowly nodded. “Ah, right.” 

“Shouldn’t you be hitting the tram?” 

The reminder jerked Lucifer forward until he stopped on the tram. His hand clutched a railing above his head and his eyes followed the blur of houses and bodies. He shut his eyes against the mixed streaks of color. The next moment he opened his eyes he was at the gate, sitting in the passenger side of a car Rosie had ordered to pick him up. The vibrations of the engine shook his shoulders, the sound of it nearly drowned out Rosie’s words. 

[write-on-world]

[bruvskii]

Chapter 9 - The Little Star and the Devil

I’m never doing a long chapter again

Please enjoy…

6320

The walk began in silence. Alastor extended his elbow for Lucifer to take, as if he were some gentleman caller and Lucifer the latest in a long line of admirers.

Lucifer’s face twitched at the visible disrespect. After showing up unannounced, the damn delivery boy was already pushing his luck.

His gaze snapped to Rosie, watching them expectantly, her face still painted with the same bright smile she’d worn all morning. Lucifer’s jaw locked, teeth grinding together. Of course he was expected to play along. He couldn’t rock the boat, not until he got paid.

So he swallowed what little pride he had left and took the radio host’s arm.

“Splendid,” Alastor purred, eyes hooded as he guided Lucifer toward the back of the kitchen, into the shadows he’d first emerged from. Nestled there was a door of dark brown wood, which Alastor graciously opened.

“Age before beauty,” he remarked, releasing Lucifer with a sharp tug and folding his arm across his chest in a bow.

“Guess that means you can’t come through at all, then.” The words snapped out of Lucifer, harsher than he intended. Why shouldn’t he be upset? He’d thought they’d come to an understanding after last night. He’d hoped, foolishly, for civility. For Charlie’s sake, if nothing else.

Alastor didn’t miss a beat. His smile didn’t waver.

“Careful,” he said, closer now. “You’ll bruise your foot stamping like that.”

They moved into the servants’ hall, the space narrowing as it funneled toward a stairwell that would lead up to the newly finished ballroom.

“I am not a child,” Lucifer huffed, stepping aside to let Alastor take the lead through the unfamiliar corridor.

“Of course not,” Alastor tutted lightly. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

The dim lighting and the slight slant of the floor were the only things Lucifer could blame when his mind stalled. Any insult would prove Alastor right. Anything clever would still sound defensive. Silence, too, felt like surrender.

A losing game, no matter the move.

“What are you even doing here?” Lucifer asked at last, changing tactics mid-step. He knew Alastor would count it as an out, and enjoy it.

“I had a delivery,” Alastor said, one shoulder lifting. “Though I should be asking what you are doing here, Mr. Magne.”

He stopped abruptly and turned, forcing Lucifer to halt as well.

“Shouldn’t you be moping over your daughter?”

“Aha!” Lucifer seized on the opening, triumph flaring as he grabbed Alastor’s shoulder. He pointedly ignored the comment about Charlie. He was allowed some life beyond his perfect little star.

Alastor went rigid beneath the touch, eyes snapping down to the fingers curled into his sleeve.

“You didn’t have a delivery,” Lucifer said, Rosie’s earlier comment, and the faint edge of her annoyance, ringing in his ears.

“Mr. Magne,” Alastor sighed, brushing the hand away and smoothing his sleeve as if correcting a minor inconvenience. “Were you eavesdropping?”

He leaned in, bending at the waist, hands folding neatly behind his back.

“Mrs. Beaumont wouldn’t like that,” he murmured, voice warm and sweet, thick with something poisonous underneath.

Heat rose to Lucifer’s cheeks; his fingers curled into fists. He forced them to unclench. Letting out a shuddering breath, he channeled the part of himself he thought he left dead with his family.

“You knew I would be here,” Lucifer said, not raising his voice. It wasn’t an accusation so much as a statement of record. He straightened slightly, lifting onto his heels, eyes fixed on Alastor’s face.

Alastor’s expression didn’t change.

“So,” Lucifer continued, measured now, “you cashed in the favor. Earlier than you intended. That suggests urgency.” He paused, just long enough to make it uncomfortable. “Why?”

Alastor opened his mouth.

“For information?” Lucifer cut in smoothly. “Or entertainment?”

“Why would I cash in a favor for information I already had?” Alastor shook his head, slow, deliberate. “No, my boy. I genuinely needed the help.”

Lucifer nodded once, as if acknowledging testimony. “Then prove it.” His tone sharpened. “Why are you here?”

“I told you,” Alastor said, rolling his eyes faintly. “I had a delivery.”

“What kind of diner makes home visits?” Lucifer asked, hands spreading slightly before settling on his hips. “Let’s not pretend this is common practice.”

“Our dear Rosie prefers her cuts fresh,” Alastor said with a soft chuckle, shaking his head. Then, quieter, “And-”

“So this was scheduled,” Lucifer interrupted, pouncing on the opening. “Requested in advance. Meaning you had time to plan.” He tilted his head. “Meaning I wasn’t incidental.”

Alastor smiled.

“I knew it,” Lucifer said, crossing his arms, not triumphant, but satisfied. He’d drawn blood.

“I was simply curious what business you had with our alderman’s wife,” Alastor said, straightening, the pieces arranging themselves neatly. “A professional curiosity.”

“That’s my business,” Lucifer said, stepping back. Only then did he realize how close they’d been standing.

“I am a radio show host,” Alastor replied calmly. He didn’t follow the retreat; he didn’t need to. “A political figure’s wife, local, visible, meeting privately with a strange out-of-towner.”

His eyes hooded, his voice dropping, the smile turning predatory. “Imagine the gossip.”

Lucifer felt the heat then, sharp and sudden. Lawyer mode faltered, not because he was wrong, but because Alastor had changed the venue. Chest to chest moments ago, now framed by the narrow servants’ stairwell, empty and watching.

“I’m painting a mural,” Lucifer said, finally looking away from Alastor as something strange stirred in his chest and rose to his cheeks. He dared not give the warmth a name. “Anyway, are we here yet or what?” He pushed past Alastor, finding another dark colored wooden door, blocked by Alastor.

“Dick,” Lucifer muttered under his breath as he jerked open the door and entered the ballroom.

The space was large, opulent, with a crystal chandelier hanging from a high ceiling. The parquet wood floor was muttered with dust and dirt from the workers, scaffolding still up in some places. Tall windows let in natural light, heavy drapes were hanging open at either side. Most of the scaffolding was around the mezzanine.

Lucifer felt his breath catch as his eyes swept the room. Each wall was a potential stage for color and composition. The high ceiling offered him a challenge; the interplay between light and shadows along the molding suggested some kind of rhythm he could follow.

Dust motes danced in the sunbeams, tiny suggestions blinking across his mind. His fingers twitched for brushes and pigments.

For the first time in weeks, Lucifer felt a flicker of pure anticipation. The heat from the stairwell still lingered in his chest, but here in this vast empty space, he was an artist first. Each wall, each floor, each surface was a challenge.

“Oh my,” Alastor called, his voice echoing across the space and filling the silence. He whistled, then listened to the mocking sound. “Are you sure you are up for such a challenge?”

“What?” Lucifer balked, eyes practically bugging out of his head at the ridiculous question. “You’re joking, right?” Lucifer looked him up and down, hand reaching for his sketchbook.

“While you were learning how to cut your onions to whatever form of perfection you adhere to-”

“I learned to cut them correctly.”

“I was learning about this,” Lucifer flipped open his sketchbook to show off his work.

“May I?” Alastor asked, already grabbing the sketches from Lucifer’s hands before he could protest. When Lucifer instinctively reached to snatch it back, Alastor started to walk across the ballroom. All the while flipping mindlessly through Lucifer’s sketches.

His innermost world. His private vision of things: how light fell, how people were when they didn’t know they were being watched. Not something he would ever want in Alastor’s hands.

“Hey,” Lucifer hissed, close to Alastor’s heel as they circled the room. “What are you doing?”

“Impressive,” Alastor muttered, his eyes peeling apart each of his charcoal lines with all the intensity of a critic.

“What is?” Lucifer asked, taking two more quick steps to catch up to Alastor’s side. “Which are you talking about?”

Alastor didn’t respond, only increased his pace until he was far enough Lucifer couldn't see which part he was on. Lucifer was ready to complain again when the light caught Alastor’s shadow. It misstepped, casted wrong across the floor.

“And you take everything into consideration on these little sketches?” Alastor questioned, smoothly, as he turned an invisible corner. “Time of day? Positions?”

“I do,” Lucifer insisted, following the turn. “Every page, every line, every time.”

“I see,” Alastor hummed as he came to a stop, the book pulled up to his face. “Every page.” Alastor repeated. “Would you say you put that much thought to…this page?”

When Alastor flipped the page, Lucifer’s heart launched into his throat. His entire body froze as if encased in marble. The sketch was of Alastor himself, arms crossed as he leaned against a counter, wearing that easy-going, confident smile he always wore.

His eyes flickered from the page, to Alastor, then to one of the tall windows to the far side of the ball room.

“It’s…I was…it’s a sketchy study.” Lucifer slowly defended, eyes closed as he tried to piece the correct thing to say.

Alastor’s grip tightened on the edge of the notebook. He flipped it over again, looking over the page. “A study?” He hissed between his teeth, brows furrowed together.

“What were you studying?” Alastor asked, jerking himself back as Lucifer lunged for the notebook.

“Nothing!” Lucifer snapped, reaching again. Alastor turned, evading him once more.

“Tell me, Lucifer.” Alastor demanded, lifting the book above his head. “Tell me.” He snapped.

Lucifer froze, rooted to the spot by the harsh command. That and his eyes. Something in Alastor’s eyes, hard, bright, suddenly alert, cut him cleanly to the spot. The air between them went taut, each breath loud in the vast room.

The wide doors were pushed open, followed by the click of heels and the heavy foot of a man.

“Well, I’ll be, Alastor,” Rosie cheered, her bright voice filling the room and chasing away the shadows that had started to stretch across the empty walls.

“Charles and I agree, this is some of your best work” she declared, tugging her short round husband with her. Their shared wide smiles beamed in the men's direction.

Alastor shifts, all at once, his body slowly relaxing, like hair being let out in parts. First his shoulders, then his arms, his back. Slowly Alastor changed back into his relaxed confidence. “I wouldn’t interrupt you for pieces so sub par, Mrs. Beaumont. Mr. Beaumont.” Alastor nodded his head.

Lucifer He looked away from Alastor, heat rising to his cheeks quickly once more. He forced his own spine to relax, adjusting the sleeves of his suit and pulling down the hem of its jacket. He hoped his shirt didn’t come untucked in the mess.

“Right,” Rosie said, watching as they stepped away from each other. “Charles, darling, this is Lucifer.” Rosie smiled.

“Mr. Magne.” Charles beamed and took Lucifer’s hand into both of his, giving it a good firm two-shake handshake. “I’ve seen all of your ideas and projects. Rosie would not stop until I did.” Charles laughed, earning a forced chuckle from Lucifer.

“Can’t wait to see what you do here.” He finished.

Lucifer nodded, his smile tight. “Mr. Beaumont, a pleasure.” Lucifer replied as he returned the handshake then stepped back.

“It is a real honor that you and your wife picked me. Rest assured. I will keep you informed through each phase of the process. Most of the planning we already went over in the letters, but I will be happy to 2199 address any concerns you may have going forward.”

“Look at you,” Rosie spoke up.

Lucifer turned, Rosie had stepped away and latched to Alastor’s side. She shifted closer to him as her eyes narrowed on Lucifer.

“You ever thought about running for politics?" She questioned, a teasing lithe in her voice.

“Rosie, dear,” Charles boomed a laugh. “At least until I am dead before looking for my replacement.”

Lucifer flushed, opening his mouth to speak, but was quickly cut off by Alastor’s dry laugh.

“Ha, ha, yes,” Alastor laughed, stepping away from Rosie and straightening his clothes. “Well, political offices are often in need of more overbearing confidence.”

Rosie busted out laughing, gently swatting a hand over Alastor’s chest.

“Oh, Alastor,” Charles chuckled, patting his chest. “You’ve always had a way of livening a room. That’s what we keep you around for. You’re a fixture.”

Alastor’s head snapped in Charles direction, his entire face seemed to stiffen like molding clay.

The room didn’t change, but something in Alastor did, sharp as a line drawn too hard.

Lucifer felt it too, a pressure change in the air.

Alastor had been smiling, actually smiling, and now it sat on his face like it’d been nailed there.

Lucifer had the sudden, irrational certainty that Charles Beaumont had just said the wrong thing.

Not rude.

Fatal.

“Right.” Alastor spoke monotonously. His smile was tight in its place, it was his eyes that did the talking. The way they narrowed and leered over Mr. Beaumont's body. “A fixture.” He finished, fingers flexing.

“Oh dear,” Rosie gasped before anybody could break the terse silence that was starting to go on a second too long. “Look how late it is!” She gestured to the windows. “You gotta be picking up little Rosie from school now, right? It looks like rain.”

“What?” Lucifer snapped, face paling as he looked at his watch and grabbed his hair. “Shit…shit shit shit shit. I mean, shit, no. Wait, sorry.” Lucifer stuttered, looking around to make sure he was collected. “Sorry, Mrs. Beaumont, Mr. Beaumont. For my crassness. You are right, I need to get to my daughter.”

“Will you make it?” Rosie questioned, all concern as Lucifer stopped his frantic checking, wild eyes m[momentarily pausing as they took her in.

“I’m not sure ma’am, but I’ll figure it out.” He tipped his head. “Mr. Beaumont, Mrs. Beaumont, Mr. Hartfelt.” Lucifer bowed to each before turning to attempt his way through the maze to his shining daughter.

“Oh please, you’ll never beat the rain,” Rosie chided, approaching Lucifer. She grabbed Alastor’s wrist and pulled him along with her. “Let Alastor take you!”

Both men snapped their gazes to each other and one thought seemed to cross Lucifer’s mind. He would rather be a drowned rat than take another favor from the delivery boy.

“I’m afraid, Madam,” Alastor forced a chuckle, lowering slightly as she tugged on his hand again. “I must decline. My vehicle is…not prepared for guests. Certainly not to the likes of Mr. Magne.”

Lucifer felt his fingers curled into a fist and a scowl threaten across his face. Whatever brief feelings he thought they felt while together last night was clearly all imagined.

Suddenly Lucifer lurched, fingers wrapped around his wrist and tugged him forward with surprising strength.

“Oh,” Rosie sighed, sounding disappointed. “But I insist.” She brought their hands together. “It would make me feel much better knowing you got to your daughter quickly. Wouldn’t want her wet now. Would we?”

Lucifer grit his teeth, the image of his daughter, drenched, clutching her book bag while she cried for her mommy and daddy. Lucifer pulled his hand back and looked away. “Mr. Hartfelt, would you be willing to give me a ride?”

Alastor spoke through clenched teeth. “I would be delighted, Mr. Magne. Give me a moment to fix my vehicle up.”

Lucifer nodded to him, Alastor gave his goodbyes, then turned on his heel and walked out the entrance they had just come from. A small door Lucifer would be meant to hide with paint and art.

“Well, I ought to take my leave, Rosie, are you coming?” Charles asked, offering his arm to his wife.

Rosie shook her head and suddenly took Lucifer’s elbow. “I’ll make sure our guest is shown the door.”

Charles nodded and, without a forehead kiss goodbye, he left the room to attend to his own matters.

“Thank you, Rosie.” Lucifer said as she led them just behind Charles.

“Think nothing of it. Big place this is. Besides,” she sighed and leaned her head on Lucifer's shoulder as they walked. “I saw Dio bullying you.”

Lucifer flushed, his toe catching against the floor and momentarily losing his balance. “Al?” His hand covered his mouth to stifle the chuckle that threatened to bubble up. After calming his stifled laugh, Lucifer addressed her.

“It wasn’t like that,” Lucifer shrugged, unsure why he felt like defending Alastor. “I think he’s just like that.”

Rosie shook her head. “Look at you, already figuring people out. You sure are smart.” She playfully squeezed his arm. “Still, don’t take it to heart, yeah? He’s really a charmer when he wants to be.”

She took both of his hands in hers and stopped walking. “Now, tomorrow you will be sure to come with an empty stomach. I’ll be sure to fill it. No disasters this time.” She joked, which made Lucifer laugh.

He bid her farewell then exited the front door.

[bruvskii]

Sneak peak

Sneak peak of the chapter I am working on for Little Star

The walk began in silence. Alastor extended his elbow for Lucifer to take, as if he were some gentleman caller and Lucifer the latest in a long line of admirers.

Lucifer’s face twitched at the visible disrespect. After showing up unannounced, the damn delivery boy was already pushing his luck.

His gaze snapped to Rosie, watching them expectantly, her face still painted with the same bright smile she’d worn all morning. Lucifer’s jaw locked, teeth grinding together. Of course he was expected to play along. He couldn’t rock the boat, not until he got paid.

So he swallowed what little pride he had left and took the radio host’s arm.

“Splendid,” Alastor purred, eyes hooding as he guided Lucifer toward the back of the kitchen, into the shadows he’d first emerged from. Nestled there was a door of dark brown wood, which Alastor graciously opened.

“Age before beauty,” he remarked, releasing Lucifer with a sharp tug and folding his arm across his chest in a bow.

“Guess that means you can’t come through at all, then.” The words snapped out of Lucifer, harsher than he intended. Why shouldn’t he be upset? He’d thought they’d come to an understanding after last night. He’d hoped, foolishly, for civility. For Charlie’s sake, if nothing else.

Alastor didn’t miss a beat. His smile didn’t waver.

“Careful,” he said, closer now. “You’ll bruise your foot stamping like that.”

They moved into the servants’ hall, the space narrowing as it funneled toward a stairwell that would lead up to the newly finished ballroom.

“I am not petulant,” Lucifer huffed, stepping aside to let Alastor take the lead through the unfamiliar corridor.

“Of course not,” Alastor tutted lightly. “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

The dim lighting and the slight slant of the floor were the only things Lucifer could blame when his mind stalled. Any insult would prove Alastor right. Anything clever would still sound defensive. Silence, too, felt like surrender.

A losing game, no matter the move.

“What are you even doing here?” Lucifer asked at last, changing tactics mid-step. He knew Alastor would count it as an out, and enjoy it.

“I had a delivery,” Alastor said, one shoulder lifting. “Though I should be asking what you are doing here, Mr. Sanders.”

He stopped abruptly and turned, forcing Lucifer to halt as well.

“Shouldn’t you be moping over your daughter?”

“Aha!” Lucifer seized on the opening, triumph flaring as he grabbed Alastor’s shoulder. He pointedly ignored the comment about Charlie. He was allowed some life beyond his perfect little star.

Alastor went rigid beneath the touch, eyes snapping down to the fingers curled into his sleeve.

“You didn’t have a delivery,” Lucifer said, Rosie’s earlier comment, and the faint edge of her annoyance, ringing in his ears.

“Mr. Magne,” Alastor sighed, brushing the hand away and smoothing his sleeve as if correcting a minor inconvenience. “Were you eavesdropping?”

He leaned in, bending at the waist, hands folding neatly behind his back.

“Mrs. Beaumont wouldn’t like that,” he murmured, voice warm and sweet, thick with something poisonous underneath.

[bruvskii]

The Summoning - Chap. 9

The gif is kinda fitting for this chapter. Sorry but no sex tho. Enjoy this sneak peak of Chapter Nine: Gravity.

The scar of his sin had yet to fade. His private room seemed forever connected to the bayou, growing and growing no matter how far Lucifer traveled. He could extend it, have it loop to the entrance of his room, but there was no doubt the bayou was a permanent fixture of his room now. As were the runes carved into the earth, burnt and angry, life avoiding the symbols as greenery flourished beyond it. 

This was despite Lucifer’s great attempts to change anything about it. He had lost count of the amount of energy he had exhausted to hide it, fix it someway. Ignoring it certainly hadn’t helped, and Lucifer had done plenty of that as well. 

He threw himself into his work, bringing more joy to living mortals, sneaking around the gates, pulling out books and learning all he could about the pits below. 

Most of the books were under lock and key, restricted without explicit permission from Sera or Uriel. After the last visit, Lucifer wasn’t sure if Uriel would even want to see him. They seemed more standoffish lately, mumbling with frantic eyes, fingers tapping away in Lucifer’s presence. 

Maybe they should have a conversation with him soon. One that didn’t involve asking for a favor on restricted texts.

That left Sera. She didn’t want to see him at all. So Lucifer found a work around. 

He drifted down to the dewy grass on his slice of Eden. Fog that hung low to the ground swirled with the pump of his wings and curled around his ankles before dispersing over the ground. The mist traveled from deeper in as Lucifer walked, his feet carrying him on instinct to where he knew Adam would be. The heart of their Eden, bathing near the waterfall. 

Before he got close, he could hear Adam over the roaring of falling water and the trickles of nearby streams. He was singing again, voice disturbing the creepiness of the mist with crude lyrics to a song Lucifer didn’t know. 

Lucifer stopped at the edge of the body of water, watching as Adam bathed himself in the waterfall, running water casting reflections of tan flesh across it. 

Adam stood beneath the waterfall like it was made for him. Water broke over his shoulders and rolled down a body that never learned about modesty. There was no hesitation in the way he moved, no instinct to cover himself or the myriad of scars that told of his survival on Eden. He flexed them like trophies whenever he could, showing off how he provided for his family, each a successful hunt. Adam had the easy confidence of someone who had never been told his form was something to apologize for.

He looked old in the way mountains did. Scarred, worn smooth in places, solid in others. Human, unmistakably so.

“You gonna keep burnin’ holes in the back of my head, or are you gonna say somethin’?” Adam shouted, breaking out of his melody as his hands ran water through his hair and down his back. He hadn’t turned at all.

“How did you know?” Lucifer asked, a smile curling before he could stop it.

“I may be old,” Adam quipped, “but I still remember what it’s like to be hunted.”

He finally turned to face Lucifer, a lazy grin cracking across his lips.

“Besides-” He rolled a shoulder and stepped out from beneath the waterfall, closer now. Water slid down his stomach, catching briefly at the curve of his hips. “Angels can’t sneak worth a damn. Too polite about it.”

Lucifer held his gaze for a moment longer, forcing his gaze to stay away from the clear water. Instead he stepped closer. 

The water was cold at first, slipping over his ankles and washing the first from the bottom of his feet. Lucifer didn’t let the sting of it stop him, he unfastened the accessories to his robes, metals and silks fell away. Each piece set aside on a nearby stone with a slightest brush of magic. His wings were next, folded away, feathers dissolving into light until there was nothing left but angelic pageantry.

[bruvskii]

Finally Uploaded

Finally uploaded this chapter...so here's an extended preview

Chapter Seven - Little Star

Lucifer jumped off the tram, smoothing out the only suit he thought to pack. The grey fabric clung to him uncomfortably, rubbing his under arms and chafing between his thighs. It was worse in the heat, leaving Lucifer hoping nobody could see the sweat stains he was nearly positive were starting to form the longer he remained in the sun. The damn thing never had fit right on him, but it was Lilith's favorite, so he never could part with it.

He glanced down at the address that had been written on one of the many correspondences between them. The ink was long since smudged, the paper wrinkled from constant folding and unfolding. The address landed him in the garden district. He had suspected wealth, still, nobody in his old circles would have dared to flaunt this much in a year like this.

Lucifer ran his fingers over the creases once more as he slipped it in the back of his sketch book he brought along with him. Mrs. Beaumont insisted she get a look at any fresh sketches, and all but demanded he start right away. It didn’t bother Lucifer much. It wasn’t like Charlie would need him whenever she was at school. No matter how the idea of it twisted something in his chest and cut off the air to his lungs. 

He stepped up to the large silver gates that protected an even green lawn with a variety of hedges around it and a multi story home, a slight peak of scaffolding placed at the back of it. Not the kind meant to touch up paint or fix a gutter, it looked as if it held up the bones of a room. It seemed partially torn down with workers scrambling about with large beams on their shoulders. They moved with a stride that hadn’t met the traditional manual laborers he had met before. 

Lucifer hesitated with his hand on the unlocked gate. He knew he would be working on a ballroom, he hadn’t expected a new ballroom. Not now, with more and more signs of economic decline hanging over their heads.

Either the Beumonts were wildly foolish, which Lucifer did not believe with the way Mrs. Beaumont had written to him and had communicated on the phone, or they were powerful enough to send a message. A really expensive message.

If the scaffolding wasn’t for show, then someone in that house wanted to show off.

The sounds of workers covered the gravel crunching beneath his feet and did nothing to ease the pounding of his heart which seemed to ache with every step closer. Maybe this was too soon? Happening too fast. It all came to this. The decision if he would be able to provide for his Charlie. This had to go perfectly. 

He had the perfect plan. Introduce himself as if he were still a major name in society, be all charms and politeness. Show off his sketches, humbly, get paid, knock her socks off, get tons of commissions after, and live happily ever after with his daughter!

Easy. No problem. He was not worried in the slightest. 

He adjusted the grip on his sketchbook, clutching it tighter to his chest as he knocked on the door. It was mere moments before the door opened. Long enough moments that Lucifer had time to wonder what kind of a person commissioned an artist for a ballroom that wasn’t done yet.

As the breeze of cool air rushed out, a woman blocked the artificial light as she stood in the open crack. She looked to be a servant, she wore a simple dress checkered in shades of grey. It had the modest puffed sleeves Charlie insisted were all the rage. Hanging from her neck and tied at her waist was a grey apron.

“Yes?” The lady asked, looking over Lucifer with a peering gaze and a curious tight smile.

Lucifer blinked, tongue caught and heavy in his mouth at the sight of her. 

“Yes, I, sorry.” Lucifer shut his eyes tight and slightly shook his head. “Let me start over.”

“Take a breath now, cher.” The lady smiled, the wrinkle between her brows fading and her smile growing a softer edge. “Don’t choke.”

Lucifer let out a quick breath before he opened his eyes and let a large smile spread over his face. “Lucifer Magne ma’am.” Lucifer said with a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Well aren’t you all polite,” the lady teased, one hand resting on her hip. “A handshake oughta be just fine Mr. Magne. I’m Evangeline Arceneaux” 

“Sorry, Miss Arceneaux.” Lucifer flushed, fighting the urge to suck in a harsh breath from his early fumble. “Please, call me Lucifer.”

“Mrs. and you can call me Evangeline.” She glanced over her shoulder to the inside before focusing once more on Lucifer. “Politeness out of the way, what are you here for?”

“Right,” Lucifer let his shoulders sag a moment before straightening his back. “I believe Mr. Beaumont is expecting me. I was commissioned by his wife for a mural.”

“Ah,” Evangeline said, brushing her hand over the front of her apron before opening the door further. “Believe the lady said you’d be stopping by. Come in.” She twitched her head and stepped out of the way.

“Thank you, Evangeline.” He nodded and stepped in, the pale yellow of artificial light shining across the entryway. 

“This way,” she said, shutting the door behind him and turning left, heading into a receiving room.

The room itself was normal enough, nothing that screamed suspicious. It was polished and bright with dark polished wood, a few high-backed chairs and a fainting chair with carved legs. Heavy curtains draped over long windows, the floor was blanketed by ornate rugs and old paintings hung on the wall.

Evangeline rushed him into the sitting room and to one of the chairs, her steps silent on the rug.

 “Wait here, cher.” Evangeline said, sweet as magnolia, and shut the twin french doors he had walked through with a loud rattle, leaving him with the lingering scent of tobacco and flowers that rested in the various pots and vases.

“Yeah,” Lucifer mumbled, drawing his eyes over the room. “No problem.”

He drummed his fingers once against his thigh, then stilled them. The silence in the room felt thick, not empty, but listening. A house this old had its own breath, its own patience, and Lucifer had the uneasy sense it was giving him a once-over before deciding whether to spit him back out. It was a home lived in, that held its own life seeped into the wood itself. There was a constant soft ticking that cut through the quiet. A clock, somewhere deeper in the house. Slow, deliberate.

Finally, footsteps broke across the hallway that had Lucifer rushing to his feet.

They weren’t Evangelines, she had been quick, a practiced silent that all servants were taught. These were heavier, unhurried. They seemed confident in a way that made the back of Lucifer’s neck prickle and his palms sweat.

He straightened a little just as the French doors rattled once more, this time from the other side. 

Another lady opened the door, wearing a simple short sleeve yellow dress with a white belt over her waist and a polite collar at her throat. She wore a set of white gloves over her hands. Her italian features were complimented by the short hair that stopped at her chin and fell in soft curves, shaped like an ‘s’ near her left eye.

“Lucifer Magne,” she spoke, a wide smile spread across the lady's face that showed off all her teeth. “Well aren’t you a sight!” She quickly stepped into the receiving room before Evangeline had returned and grasped both of his hands. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. We’ve been scanning your samples for weeks now.” 

Her gaze flickered over him, not exactly assessing, as if she was confirming right now the kind of person he was from his appearance alone. Maybe she was.

Lucifer managed a stiff nod through the excited handshaking. “Mrs. Beaumont I presume?”

“Oh, heavens no, call me Rosie.” She said, releasing one hand but keeping the other confined, leading him into the room with a gentle insistence. “Anyone who’s going to be painting my walls should speak to me plainly.” 

Lucifer followed the scent of magnolias and cigarette smoke lingering behind Rosie as he did.

“Okay, Rosie.” Lucifer cleared his throat and sat in the seat opposing the one she had picked, hands folded politely on her lap. “I brought my sketchbook if you wanted-”

“Oh dear,” Rosie suddenly gasped, one gloved hand flying to her chest as if to clutch pearls that weren’t there. 

Lucifer froze mid sentence, the hand grabbing his sketchbook pausing. He looked up at her quickly, expecting to see something horrible.

“Where are my manners, have you eaten? You haven't, right?” Her brown eyes widened with a sudden urgency and before he could answer she barreled on. “I  certainly hope not. I got our cooks to prepare something special!”

She rose to her feet in one graceful sweep, already reaching for his arm as though the decision had already been made.

No sooner than he sat down, he was on his feet, being gathered up once more like the decision had been made hours ago.

“Painting talk can wait,” she gently insisted, the cheer in her voice warmer than the rays of the sun that bore down. Still, his stomach churned at the idea of eating here. “You simply must try our kitchen's hospitality first. We take care of our guests here, Lucifer. Can I call you Lucifer?”

Lucifer blinked, thrown off balance from how quickly they moved from the receiving room and down to a different hallway. “That’s….very kind ma’-er- Rosie. But I don’t want to trouble-”

“Nonsense,” she tutted, the word fell soft but final. “A hungry artist is a cranky artist. And we can’t have that now, can we?”

Somewhere, down some hall, a door slammed and Lucifer flinched. Rosie didn’t. In fact, her smile grew and wrinkles appeared at the corner of her eyes. “Come now, Lucifer,” she said, sweet as syrup. “Let’s get you fed.”

All the protests died in this throat as he was guided through a maze of halls and entryways. Rosie chattering about this and that, like she hadn’t received good company in so long, she didn’t exactly care what it was she talked about, so long as she had a willing listener.

Lucifer smiled and nodded along, Rosie’s arm resting on the crook of his elbow. 

It must be hard, he thought, being the wife of someone like an alderman. He hadn’t heard much of Mr. Beuomant, outside of what he’s read in the news clippings or the rare mention of him in one of Rosie’s correspondences. 

She must not have a lot to keep her entertained, Lucifer didn’t mind playing the part of entertainment for a moment. In the end he was still getting paid, and he was getting fed. Rosie seemed nice, harmless, despite what the presence of construction alluded to. It must have been her husband's idea then.

The kitchen was much like the rest of the home he had seen with polished dark wood. It was…impressively clean. The few workers milling about kept it organized with what looked like high quality equipment strewn about on counters. Hanging from counters were dried herbs that filled the room with a pleasant scent. A spice rack perfectly organized with neat cursive writing.

“Mrs. Beaumont,” a worker called, rushing over the minute they stepped through into the kitchen. They were a young boy, no older than twelve, and wore an apron across the front of their uniform. It was covered in what looked like grease and red stains. Sweat clung to his brow and his eyes were wide as he looked at Rosie.