Healing Wounds (Part One)
Hazbin fic: (Lucifer x Alastor)
Hello! Sorry for the hiatus! (I burnt myself out on Batman, but I swear I have more ideas for when the time strikes) I recently discovered Hazbin Hotel. Well, the fandom. Soooo, please accept this Radioapple ship even though I haven’t even watched the show. :) Also, this series takes place after the events of season two.
Trigger warnings: Mild injuries
Word count: 969
Part two
The hotel was alive for the first time since it opened. It was overflowing with voices and movement to the point Lucifer felt almost dizzy with it.
After all, it had been a long time since he’d been around this many people. Around any amount of people, really.
Every smile is a struggle, every helpful comment was like sandpaper in his throat, and he was bleeding through his bandages. Again.
After politely excusing himself, he made his way to the only place left in the hotel not being swarmed with guests.
Unfortunately, that happened to be the stairs leading to Alastor's tower.
Unable and unwilling to walk up all those stairs, he sits on the bottom steps. After all, even if he could make his way up there he’d risk running into that damned bellhop.
It was a struggle to even pull off his coat, every movement pulling at each one of the various puncture wounds on his body.
It was times like these that Lucifer missed heaven. The other angels wouldn’t have left him in such a state. But thinking it over, maybe they would have now, after everything he’s done.
For a minute he forgets what he was doing, lost in thoughts of the past and self loathing.
“If I didn’t know any better your majesty, I’d say you were moping!”
That irritating staticky voice was exactly the last thing Lucifer had wanted to hear at the moment.
“To be moping, one must be sad. As far as I can tell there’s nothing to be sad about! We stopped Vox’s mega genocide weapon, the hotel is thriving, and everyone’s both alive and well!”
Alastor raises a brow, his eyes pointedly turning their gaze to the growing bloodstain on Lucifer’s button up.
“Well, relatively well.” he amends, annoyance seeping into his voice.
Alastor laughs, and Lucifer just can’t deal with Alastor's mockery today. So he pushes himself up off the stairs, his hand moving to his side as he makes his way across the room.
“Oh come on Lucifer. There are many people you can lie to, but it’s just silly to think that I am one of them.”
Lucifer can’t help but to laugh, hand on the door. “Oh yes, because you know me so well.”
He pauses as Alastor reappears in front of him, a rubber duck Lucifer had lost some time ago perched on his palm.
“I notice more things than you think, little king.”
He’s too stunned to notice the nickname as he takes the tiny toy, and by the time he looks back up Alastor had already vanished. Most likely, he left to make someone else's life miserable.
But the whole thing has made Lucifer feel a little bit better, even if he’s reluctant to admit that it was thanks to a sinner. Alastor no less.
He stands outside his studio doors.
His chest aches, and he gently puts his hand over it before opening the doors. Which is the most extreme reaction that Alastor allows himself as he slips into the privacy of his studio.
His shadow helps him, pulling off his coat and bringing his chair, hovering nervously the whole time.
He can’t help the staticky hiss that escapes him as he stiffly lowers himself into the chair.
Normally, being thrown around was nothing for an overlord, especially one as powerful as Alastor. But with this wretched chest wound …
Even taking off the bandages was a bother to his innards, each movement pulling on his sore joints. To his dismay, the wound was much worse than the last time he had a chance to look at it. Whether it was from all those little shocks Vox had so childishly lavished upon him or from almost dying to an angelic weapon again, he didn’t know.
The stitches on the ugly thing had either frayed or snapped, leaving the final few groaning with the effort of keeping his life blood inside him.
As Alastor stitched himself back up, he thought about the next step from here. He had managed to get out of all his deals, even if his plan with Vox had spiraled a little out of control. Really, he had never imagined that picture box would be stupid enough to try and kill them all! In any other circumstance, Alastor would have gotten a good laugh out of it.
He pauses his work when he sees his shadow playing with something he had left on his desk.
“Ha! Messing with that little toy? What, you think I should have given back both of them?”
His shadow was holding the other rubber duck Lucifer had “lost” as if inspecting it. In truth, Alastor had been snatching them to oh so helpfully return whenever he needed the fallen king's favor.
It peeves Alastor as his shadow continues to turn the little toy over in his hands. “What exactly are you trying to imply?” He asks his own shadow darkly, knowing it tends to lean toward the more emotional side.
His shadow simply threw the duck at his face, and Alastor’s hand flicked up into the air, catching it faster than the eye could follow.
Alastor’s smile strained as he squeezed the wretched thing, threatening to pop it. “You think I care about this little thing? It’s leverage, against a king who’s happy to be used as a tool.”
His shadow tilts its head, not agreeing, but not relenting either. Alastor sighs.
“I don’t know what you’re suggesting, but do me a favor and don’t bother me with this sort of thing again.”
He doesn't check for his shadow’s response as he shoves the duck into a drawer, going back to fixing up his wound.
After all, he had to be quick about it if he wanted to start his broadcast on time.