has Lucifer lost flying privileges yet? due to what happened last time someone was up high while pregnant
Lucifer: *tries to fly away*
Adam: Oh no you don’t! *immediately flies after him*
*cue Benny Hill theme music*
Alastor: *watching from the ground while holding Abel* Who do you think will win this?
Baby Abel: *has no idea what’s even happening*
Eventually the two fly down, both exhausted.
Alastor: Okay you two. Let’s get you both hydrated and back to the doctor’s office.
Lucifer and Adam: What?!
Alastor: No arguing gentlemen. You both are pregnant and that round of merriment you had could have cause some problems with the babies. Now come along now. I won’t say it again nicely.
Get him to his room! I'm sure he knows all the cramped hidey-holes that he can hide away in
Adam doesn’t stop moving until the doors to Alastor’s suite slam shut behind them.
The noise of the hotel vanishes instantly.
The two men look at the side of the suite close to the bayou.
There’s subtle magic that rolls outward like a slow breath. Cypress trees and hanging moss. Warm, damp air settles over them, thick with the scent of water, earth, and old southern nights. Fireflies flicker lazily above dark bayou water, croaking frogs and cicadas filling the silence that Alastor’s nerves had been screaming for.
Alastor freezes.
His pupils blow wide. His shoulders drop. His entire body goes tense and still all at once.
Adam: *soft, instantly recognizing the change* …Al.
Lucifer: *gentler than he’s ever sounded* We brought you to the Bayou. Like you asked.
Alastor: *is put down and takes one shaky step forward, only to stop short as warmth floods down his legs* …oh.
He looks down. His trousers are soaked. For a second, he looks almost offended.
Then instinct takes over completely.
Alastor’s breathing turns shallow and fast. His ears flatten tight to his head, fingers digging into Adam’s sleeve like a lifeline.
Alastor: *voice barely holding together* It appears… we are out of time.
Lucifer: *eyes widen, but he doesn’t panic* Okay. Okay. That’s fine. That’s good. That means it’s happening the way it’s supposed to.
Adam: *helping Alastor closer into the bayou area, but Alastor leads into the water* Hey, hey, don’t fight it. Let it happen. I’ve got you.
Another contraction hits—stronger. Alastor gasps sharply, claws flexing as he curls forward with a low, involuntary sound that he clearly hates making.
Alastor: This is *gah* unpleasant!
Adam: Yeah, nobody’s ever called it fun.
They walk over to where there was cozy bunch of moss. When they got out of the water, Alastor was completely soaked.
Alastor: Oh dear. I thought I’d at least keep some dignity and keep some clothing on.
Adam: Nah. Come in. We’ll help you get undressed. *starts to remove Alastor’s jacket*
Lucifer kneels in front of him, unbuttoning Alastor’s maternity pants he had tailored to his style, and began to lower them.
Alastor: *starts to unbutton his dress shirt, it clung to his uncomfortably.
So soon as Alastor was just in his bare flesh, he gets in his hands and knees.
Alastor: Th-thank you both… but you can leave me now.
Lucifer and Adam: *not surprised*
Lucifer: Stop that. No more of this “doing it by yourself” nonsense.
Alastor: N-n-no. M-must be alone *tries to crawl away, but Lucifer holds him still*
Lucifer: Alastor stop! We’re not—
Adam: *smacks Lucifer to let go on Alastor* Lucifer. Listen to him.
Lucifer: What the hell?! We both agreed—
Adam: He’s a deer! And does go into seclusion to give birth! His instincts are literally in control right now.
Lucifer: But he’s… *looks over and sees Alastor frighten and just trying to hide away* But what if something happens?
Adam: We’ll intervene then. But Alastor needs to be in seclusion. Otherwise he won’t feel safe enough and that will only stress him and Abel and that could lead to some birth complications.
Adam and Lucifer retreat quietly to the edge of the suite where the bayou thins back into polished floors and tall windows. They don’t leave entirely—just far enough to give Alastor space, instinctively understanding that this part isn’t for them.
Neither of them speaks.
They just watch.
Out in the bayou, Alastor is no longer pretending to be anything else.
He’s fully deer now.
On all fours, antlers lowered, breath coming in deep, shuddering pulls. His body moves on instinct alone—no sharp wit, no radio-host cadence—just an ancient, ingrained knowing of what to do and when to do it.
Time stretches.
Minutes blur into something longer.
Lucifer: *grips the doorframe, knuckles white*…he’s doing it on his own.
Adam: He needs to.
Another final, powerful contraction ripples through Alastor’s frame. He lets out a low, strained sound—half gasp, half cry—and then—
A small, wet shape slips free into the moss and soft grass.
Silence.
Then a thin, reedy sound cuts through the night.
A cry.
Lucifer exhales shakily, hand flying to his mouth.
Adam’s eyes shine. He doesn’t wipe them.
Out in the bayou, Alastor doesn’t hesitate for even a second.
He turns immediately, curling around the newborn fawn and pulling him close with trembling care. The baby boy is chubby and warm, blond hair plastered to his head, tiny hooves tucked in awkwardly beneath him. His hands curled into tiny fists. A short deer tail flicks weakly, and faint white freckles dot his face—barely visible against his pale skin.
Alastor lowers his head and begins to clean him. He licks away blood and fluid, nudging gently at the baby’s chest and sides, stimulating breath, grounding him in the world. The newborn squirms, gives another louder cry, lungs filling properly now.
Alastor freezes for half a second.
Then he exhales—a broken, relieved sound that almost turns into a sob.
He presses his forehead to the baby’s side, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory while removing his own from the fawn, ensuring no threat will find him.
Bonding.
Protecting.
Claiming.
Adam: *voice cracks, barely louder than the bayou itself* …that’s Abel.
Lucifer: *nods, tears slipping freely now* He came back to us through him.
Out in the moss and shadow, Alastor curls his body protectively around the newborn, one careful hoof draped over Abel’s tiny form. The fawn quiets almost immediately, soothed by warmth and heartbeat, hooves twitching as he nestles closer.
