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serasfanfiction · 4 months ago

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Very little changed over the next several days between Alastor and Lucifer.

So little changed, in fact, that Lucifer would have added, 'if anything.'

Lucifer was self aware enough to understand that he didn't have much experience with the concept of dating. The lead up to his marriage with Lilith had been all mutual curiosity and respect as both parties explored their relatively new existence and each other. Lucifer had been attracted to Lilith's independence, her strong personality, and her breath taking beauty. Lilith had been attracted to his respect for her autonomy, his dreams and aspirations, and his dorkish personality.

That curiosity had quickly turned to heated passion. Everything that followed had been a whirl wind of action and reaction from the moment Lilith and Lucifer had utterly and completely derailed The Divine Plan.

All of this to say, he'd really only 'dated' one person in his life.

He wasn't completely naive to other types of relationships. He had eyes and ears that worked just fine. He had had more than enough time to observe other being's relationships from the outside over the last ten thousand years. He'd read stories. He'd heard songs and ballads. Not even living in hell was capable of completely eradicating the concept of love and romance. The Hellborn were just as capable as humans of having loving and meaningful relationships, even if it was warped to a degree by the nature of their species.

His biases had largely left him willfully blind to the fact that sinners were just as capable of building those relationships. Being at the hotel and living amongst some of those sinners was going a long way to opening his eyes to the things he had been trying to ignore. The hotel was indeed providing a space to indulge in those healthier emotions, but with the exception of Husk's and Angel's thing, many of the relationships he was seeing had formed outside the hotel.

So, Lucifer had his one relationship to base around what it might be like to give and receive love. He knew what love could look like from the outside in all its multifaceted glory. He knew what he himself was capable of giving and he had seen that sinners were capable of giving.

All of it left him with the utter and complete certainty he had no clue what to expect from this relationship.

In a moment of late night insanity, he had thought to see if he could draw any parallels between Alastor and Lilith to perhaps glean some guidance over how to navigate the situation. That plan had quickly backfired because they really only had three things in common: they were both fiercely independent, they were very driven individuals who would do anything to reach their goals, and they were both taller than him. So,that was a no go.

Lucifer was fine with letting Alastor set the pace for this. He was in no rush and this wouldn't be the first time he'd allowed someone else to set the tone of a relationship. He simply wished he had a better idea of what Alastor did want out of this. At that time, several days after their getting together, all Lucifer had gleaned was the impression that Alastor was enjoying his victory and savoring the accomplishment.

It was this feeling of being stuck in a holding pattern with little idea of how to move forward that set Lucifer's feet to bringing him to the radio host's door early that particular afternoon.

He was just raising his fist to rap his knuckles against the door, when it opened seemingly on its own. When he saw no one in front of him, on a wild guess, he looked down. There, only coming up to his waist, was one of Alastor's shadow minions. It danced lightly from foot to foot, a giggle on its lips, at the sight of him. Just as suddenly as it was there, it promptly vanished.

"Do come in, dear," came floating out from the depths of Alastor's room. "Someone might see you and then we'll never be rid of the questions."

Dear.

It still sent a little zip up his spine, the endearments. Said for him when no one was paying attention, they serve as little treasures to prove he hadn't gone around the bend and started making up truly tall tales.

Lucifer stepped across the thresh hold, closing the door behind him. He turned the knob as he did to hide any click the door would have given as it shut. Hand resting on the knob, he peered around the room for his partner.

As it had been the last time he'd gone looking for Alastor, the room was empty at first glance. The fire was lit, but no one sat in either of the two chairs in front of it. The bed was made and unoccupied. The bayou stretched out before him, the lone chair and table like wise left without their owner's attention.

Movement drew his eye. Popping up from behind the large roots of a tree was one of Alastor's minions. This one was smaller than the last - the height of a house cat on all four paws - its size resulting in it being nearly dwarfed by the roots around it. When it spotted him, it lept over the obstacle. Hands in the air in a most comical fashion, it scurried its way between the tree and the edge where the bayou met Alastor's suite. There, it paused, its tiny hands coming up to rest on the wooden planks that simply phased out of existence at the border between the two dimensions. It smiled widely up at him, its little tail swaying back in forth in a leisurely manner.

At least someone was thrilled to see him.

Lucifer cautiously approached. He would have thought if he could hear Alastor's voice, the owner of the voice would be nearby, but there was still no sign of the sinner as far as the eye could see. He knelt down at the border, holding his hand out to the little minion. It proceeded to rub its forehead up against his hand, not unlike a feline seeking attention from someone it had deemed worthy of it's attentions.

Lucifer huffed, amused. "Is Alastor around here somewhere?"

The minion nodded enthusiastically as it pointed off into the bayou. It bounced on its feet, making a 'come hither' motion. When he stepped off the edge of the boards and onto the grass of the bayou, the minion twirled around and scurried off.

Lucifer set himself to an easy pace. He didn't have to worry that the minion would leave him behind. Every time it saw it was outpacing him, it would double back. When he was within a meter's distance, it would be on its way again. This carried on for a while, past the point where Lucifer could no longer see Alastor's suite if he searched for it. He wondered, not for the first time, how deep this forest went.

Occasionally, he would catch sight of figures moving along the trees: eyes glowing in the darkness, peering curiously at them as they passed. Another pair of eyes watched from a nearby pond, the rest of the creature's body hidden beneath the water.

The minion paused at another large knot of roots. It lit up with excitement at whatever it had found. It bounced up, spinning around in mid air as it raced back over to him. Without a by-your-leave, the little being suddenly dug its tiny claws into his pants. A "Hey!" had barely left Lucifer's lips, before it had decided he made a good perch and proceeded to climb up his side. It settled itself on his shoulder, an air of content to it.

Lucifer eyed it, disgruntled but endeared enough by its cuteness to allow the indignity and let it stay. Feeling slightly put upon, he crossed the remaining distance to the tree the minion had stopped at.

All irritation disappeared as he got his first look at where the minion had been leading him. A medium sized clearing opened up before him, trees lining the edges, cutting a clear boundary between the clearing and the rest of the forest. Dark green grass and the occasional cattail swayed in a breeze lightly making its way through the clearing. In the exact center of the clearing was a pond, obviously intended to be the focal point of the landscape. Countless fireflies flitted around, offering more light than the moonless sky above.

Tending to the pond and whatever was in it was the elusive Alastor himself. He didn't look up from his work as Lucifer approached, the turning of his ears the only indication he was aware someone had arrived.

Lucifer stared around the clearing, taking everything in. He hadn't seen this much green and brown foliage outside his occasional trips to Earth since before he and Lilith had been dragged out of Eden. He could feel the faint wisps of the sinner's magic everywhere, suggesting this place was something Alastor had recently created.

It was beautiful.

"You've been busy." Lucifer did a complete 360° turn, taking everything in. "Is this where you've been hiding away?"

Alastor didn't immediately answer beyond a soft snort. He finished bringing a cattail into existence exactly where he wanted it, before straightening and dusting his hands off against each other, the leather of his gloves making a scuffing sound as he did so. When he turned to address his guest, there as pleased smile on his face. "I had meant this to be a gift for later, but since you are here..."

He held out his hand, offering it to Lucifer.

Lucifer glanced at it. For a moment, he thought the permission to touch Alastor was the gift - he certainly could have yielded the opportunity to do so as such. Lucifer was touch starved enough he would have gladly accepted whatever scraps the redhead was willing to offer.

Alastor raised an eyebrow at him, his eyes narrowing as if he could read every thought passing through his head. The redhead pointedly held out his hand a little further, indicating he wanted Lucifer to take it.

The blond cottoned on to the fact that Alastor was offering to show him something. Taking the offered hand, he let Alastor draw him closer to the edge of the pond he was working on. As he stepped up closer, the sinner gestured out to the pond with his other hand.

At first, Liucifer wasn't certain what he was looking for. He assumed it was something either in or on the pond. He was just opening his mouth to ask, when he spotted them.

Ducks. A family of ducks, at that, made up of a mother and six ducklings.

Lucifer felt no shame over the squee that slipped out, the high-pitched 'ee!' caused Alastor's ears to flatten against his skull. The king paid the discomfort little mind as he dropped to his hands and knees right there at the water's edge, wanting to get a better look at the animals.

The abrupt movement disloded his little passenger along the way, sending the minion tumbling head over heals into the grass. It giggled as it disappeared off into the grass.

The ducks were all a pure white, with orange-yellow beaks, and little black, button eyes. They were all smaller than the ducks he remembered, making them seem oddly chubbier and cuter for it. The babies trailed after the mother duck, all of them swimming along in a straight line as they made their way from one end of the pond to the other.

Lucifer stared, hearts in his eyes. Were his tail out, it would have been waging happily at the sight. Not daring to make any sudden moves least he scare them, he whispered, "Are they real?"

Alastor's tone suggested he was internally laughing at him. "They're quite real, my dear. They're called Call Ducks. Imported straight from Earth."

The statement was just alarming enough to grab Lucifer's attention away from the ducks. "Wait." He twisted around to frown up at his partner. "What do you mean, imported--"

He broke off as Alastor knelt down and retrieved his hand. Confused, he could only watch as the sinner poured something into it. Whatever it was, it appeared to be oats. "I feed them earlier," Alastor said by way of explanation. "But I think they will enjoy a treat."

As if he were seeing someone else's hand be moved, Lucifer watched Alastor guide their hand - one over the other - out over the pond. The redhead whistled, a single note. Lucifer might have been able to put together what he was witnessing on any other day, but his brain was too busy gibbering about 'ducksducksducks' to put two and two together.

The mother duck noted their presence, alerted by the whistle. She caught on to the oats almost immediately. Showing no fear, she started her way across the pond.

Any coherent thoughts proceeded to fall right out of Lucifer's head with little hope of recovery. Utterly enraptured, he could only stare as she made her way over and dug right into the oats, straight out of their hands.

And, of course, where she went, her children followed.

Ducks were known messy eaters. As she gobbled at the oats, some of it spilled out of their hands into the water. Not to wasted, the ducklings were quick to attack the treat. Nothing would likely be left behind by the time they were done.

By the time they finished, Lucifer was near vibrating with excitement. Eyes large and efficiently brain dead from the sight of his second favorite thing in the universe (after his daughter), he looked at Alastor, managing to get out a squeaky, "They're so cute!"

Alastor blinked at him. The blonde could only guess what sort of impression he was making in that moment. He knew he certainly didn't look even remotely like the King of Hell.

Lucifer simply didn't care, because ducks.

Alastor snorted, the noise sounding suspiciously like a cut off laugh. "I'm pleased to hear you think so, dear."

A corner of Lucifer brain power not being taken up by the neon lights flashing that ducks were here, in Hell, somehow, was sorry that he had likely just missed an opportunity to hear Alastor's first real laugh in his presence. "Where...?"

Alastor released his hand. "They were acquired from a rescue shelter that cares for wild animals." Alastor gazed out on his -and Lucifer's!! - little flock of ducks. "Only two of the children are her own. The rest were orphaned."

Lucifer reached out and ran the back of a single finger down the mother's back. She tolerated the attention, likely having gotten used to human's during her stay with them. He poured a little of his magic into her, just enough to find evidence of a recently healed wing. She quacked at the odd sensation, but didn't swim away.

As the children swarmed around her, giving him easy access to pet them too, he asked, "Did you steal some ducks for me?" He had been going for a teasing tone only for it to come out a little too much like wonder.

It was perhaps because of this that Alastor didn't take any offense. He only sounded amused as he countered, "Hardly. The human's were told they were being sent to a new habitat and here they are!"

Hell was certainly a new habitat, alright.

Alastor wasn't done. "The children are all from different parents. I felt it was a nice start for potential breeding pairs when they get older." He stood, wiping his hand off with a brush against his coat. "I might have to add another few ducks later for genetic diversity, but I felt this was a good start."

Lucifer felt what little brain power he'd regained over the last several minutes short circuit all over again, completely forgetting his attempts to woo a shy duckling over to him. His head snapped around to stare intensely at Alastor, uncertain if he had heard him correctly.

Alastor had said they were potential breeding pairs. He was talking like this was a long term project.

Alastor had also said they were a gift. For him.

Did that mean Alastor was indeed viewing their partnership as a potential long term project as opposed to a short term one?

He opened his mouth. He had no clue what he was going to say. He never got the chance to find out, as he was abruptly cut off by the loud bang of Alastor's door slamming open for the second time in as many weeks.

"Alastor! I know you're in there!" Vaggie's voice carried, far more than it should have considering how deep they were into the bayou. "Get out here. Charlie has the next exercise prepared and she wants you there!"

A flash of annoyance crossed the radio host's face. None of that annoyance was in his voice as he called back, "Do tell Charlie I'll be along shortly."

They could hear grumbling under Vaggie's breath. They were silenced as she shut the door, off to her next task.

There was a long pause. Lucifer wanted to ask if his theory was correct. Burned with the need to ask.

Alastor, sadly, was already thinking ahead. "You might want to run along yourself, my dear." His smile widened. "They might have questions if they knock on your door and you're not there."

Lucifer cursed him for being so logical. He only had himself to blame, really - keeping this on the down low was his idea - but they were having a moment and he wanted to explore it more!

If Vaggie did knock on his door and fail to find him in, it would be a hassle to pretend he didn't know they were about to do an exercise and he just hsppened to stumble across it. Better to be there and be invited.

With great reluctance, he gave the mother duck a last pat of farewell, before disappearing back to his room in a whisp of red magic.

No sooner had he returned to his room, then a knock came at the door. It wasn't Vaggie's voice he heard calling out to him, however.

"Dad? Are you awake?" It was Charlie's.

Lucifer had enough sense to magic away all grass stains from his ever-so-white pants and any other lingering evidence. He did no effort to hide his good mood as he opened the door, as seeing Charlie almost always brought a smile to his face anyway. "Hey, Char-Char! What's up?"

Charlie tilted her head to the side. Her eyes ticked back and forth as she scanned his face. A smile of her own pulled up her lips at his enthusiasm. "You seem in a good mood."

I have a new partner, he didn't say, not yet. He needed to tell Charlie about his relationship with Alastor, just as soon as he was convinced it was going to last.

Alastor got me real, live ducks, he didn't say, even as the thought caused a his heart to skip a giddy beat.

Instead, he said, "It always brightens my day when I get to see you." It was even true.

Charlie's whole demeanor softened. "Aw, it makes me happy to see you too, Dad."

Lucifer's heart skipped a giddy beat for an entirely different reason. Clearing his throat in a poor attempt to hide how happy he was with that statement, he asked, again, "What brings you up here?"

Reminded of her purpose, she reached forward and snagged one of his hands. Without bothering to ask permission, she pulled him out of his room and started dragging him (willingly) in the direction of the stairwell. "We're going to do the trust exercises you suggested!" She bounced a little as she walked, the movement causing their joined arms to sway up and down. "Even Alastor has agreed to join in!"

If this had been a week ago, Lucifer might have jumped at the prospect of playing a game where they had to guess the lie from a couple truths for the nefarious reason of looking for more material to use against a certain radio host. Post having started a relationship with the before mentioned radio host, Lucifer found himself excited over the prospect of potentially learning more information about his mostly mysterious new partner.

Lucifer's gift only went so far as to covering all of Alastor's sins. Everything else was a blank slate save whatever he had picked up over the last few months.

Speaking of his 'gift', it crossed his mind that playing Two Truths and a Lie with the King of Hell was arguably a bad idea.

Lucifer's gift-curse for seeing a sinner's sins applied to all sins, both in life and in death. Sins that ranged from the innocent little white lies to the most heinous of crimes. Granted, he had to be looking for it to see it, something he didn't do in general because he largely didn't care enough to look nor did he want to add to the mess in his head, but the fact still stood that for all intents and purposes, Lucifer was a living breathing lie detector.

He pondered mentioning this as Charlie gathered them all together in the main lobby several minutes later. Angel and Husk had already claimed a portion of the couch. The former of the two scooted over when he spotted Lucifer trailing along behind Charlie, who had yet to release his hand.

Angel patted the empty seat beside him. "You're always welcome to sit next to me, short stuff."

Lucifer laughed awkwardly, standing there for a moment after Charlie let go of his hand to go and commandeer the armchair for her and Vaggie. He was aware Angel flirted as easily as he breathed and he was still thankful for his new freedom and protection. He was also (mostly) certain the sinner didn't mean anything by it. The way Angel was slouched to the side with his legs across Husk's lap went a long way to supporting that assumption. He just knew if he did say anything, it was going to come out extremely off the mark.

So, instead of responding, he sat down in the open space, studiously ignoring the smirk Angel was throwing him, as if the sinner had been able to read that entire conflict and found him adorable for it. The corner of his lips twitched with the urge to pout. For the supposed King of Hell and all that, it seemed he was an open book, with all that people could apparently read him like one.

Vaggie entered the room with a plate of cups filled with what appeared to be water. Angel and Husk eyed it as if it were poisonous, while Charlie happily snagged herself a cup and downed it in a single go. It would sit empty beside the other untouched drinks for the duration of the game.

Alastor sauntered in with his usual nonchalance. Niffty skittered around his feet, having meet up with him at some point before reaching the main lobby. She gleefully took off across the room, and then hoisting herself up onto a chair that was far too tall for her. She didn't seem to mind, as she began to happily kick her feet, eyes darting around the room as if searching for prey.

Alastor took up an armchair near the couch, putting himself near Lucifer's side without them sitting right next to each other. His staff disappeared off to wherever he kept it while he didn't need it as he settled down and made himself comfortable. Noting everyone was present, he asked, "Tell me, Charlie, what sort of lovely task have you come up for us today?"

There was the slightest hint of sarcasm on the word 'lovely' to suggest he didn't actually want to use this word. Everyone knew that if he really objected to taking part in these, he wouldn't have bothered to show up, so Charlie chose to side step his lack of enthusiasm. Standing in front of everyone, she grinned brightly at them all. "Well, as you all know, I'm always open to suggestions and everyone seemed really excited for this exercise, so!" She took a deep breath, a fist pumping the air as she announced, "We are going to play Two Truths and a Lie!"

Angel perked up, showing his interest. Husk grunted, which was about the level of enthusiasm anyone could expect from him. Lucifer had been expecting it, as had Vaggie, so they simply smiled at Charlie's enthusiasm. Alastor tilted his head to the side. He didn't get up, which was as good as saying he was agreeing to participate. Niffty grinned at whatever she was thinking about, which could be worrisome.

Charlie, seeing no one was complaining, gained even more confidence in her choice. Most of her choices were met with some level of resistance, so she was always excited for the ones that everyone agreed to join in. "Alright, so the game is fairly simple. We each tell two truths and one lie. The goal is to see if everyone else can guess which was the lie."

She clapped her hands together. "I'll go first," she volunteered. "I had a gothic phase." She paused, considering. "I've never tasted brownie batter before." She grinned as she finished with, "I have read over 700 books!"

The group squinted at her. Lucifer knew she had had a 'gothic' phase, although that had merely meant dressing in black, dying a strip of her hair black, being rebellious, and dating the troubled son of a family the Morningstars had been close to, once. A painting hung as evidence of this truth in his workroom. He had never given Charlie any brownie batter before, but Lilith might have. The 700 books could be legit. Charlie did like to read. When she had had time to count all of the books she'd read, however, he couldn't fathom.

Deciding to get the ball rolling, Lucifer chimed in with, "The gothic phase was real."

Husk didn't look impressed, muttering, "Rebellious stage."

Vaggie and Angel looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown another head.

Lucifer shrugged. "There's a painting at the palace."

Charlie flushed. "Dad!" She protested. She crossed her arms. "I thought you got rid of that silly thing!"

The short king merely smiled at her. "You're scowl was so adorable. How could I ever get rid of it?"

Vaggie leaned in, suddenly very invested. "Do you have photos of it?"

"Vaggie!"

Vaggie and Lucifer ignored her. He grinned at her, conspiratorially. "No, but I can grab a picture of it the next time I'm there and send it to you."

Vaggie nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Charlie placed her face in her hands and groaned. She looked as if she were sorry she ever introduced them to each other.

Alastor watched the conversation without any change of expression. In a bored tone, he stated, "It's the brownie batter."

Charlie looked up from her hands as everyone, sans Niffty, turned to him.

The redhead inspected his claws, tone just as bored as he explained, "There was too long of a pause before it." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "We really must work on your poker face."

Charlie didn't appear as if she were on board with this idea. Angel appeared more concerned with a different point. Horrified, he turned to her and asked, "You've never had brownie batter before?"

Charlie paused. "Well, I've certainly had brownies before. Mom just didn't believe in eating the batter raw."

Angel pressed a hand to his chest. "Girl, you have not lived until you have had batter raw." He pointed a finger at Lucifer, his spine cracking as it required him to twist around 180° to do it. "We are making brownies tonight to fix this."

Lucifer held up his hands in surrender, amused. "Sure. Sure." Making brownies so his daughter could taste the brownie mix was hardly the worst thing a sinner had ever asked him to do. It would child's play for him to make certain the mix was safe for consumption without baking.

Uncertain what all the fuss was about, Charlie gestured to her girlfriend. "Vaggie, why don't you go next?"

Vaggie tore her attention away from Angel and Lucifer as Charlie addressed her. She leaned back in her chair, her voice draining of all emotion as she rattled off, "I like Verosika's music, I hate seafood, and I can knit a sweater."

Charlie nearly began to bounce on her feet, obviously guessing the answer. The rest of the group actually making an effort to play along all pondered the possibilities. Lucifer knew she didn't like seafood. Vaggie wasn't a vegetarian like him, she simply didn't care for seafood. He didn't have enough data to guess on the other two options.

Angel inspected her with narrowed eyes. "I'll eat everyone out here for free if you know how to knit a sweater."

Amid a groan or two of disgust and a hurried decline, the fallen angel glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The spider sinner smirked at her. "Exactly what I said." He leaned in. "So? Can you do it?"

His expression said he almost wised she could.

They stared at each other, daring the other to blink.

Eventually, she sighed and waved a hand, "Nope, can't knit a sweater."

There was an almost audible sigh of relief. Quick to want to change the subject, Charlie nervously said, "Well, that's one for Alastor and one for Angel." There were hints she was forcing her smile as she turned to the porn star. "Angel, how about you go next."

Angel affected an entirely different approach. He lounged in his seat, smile saucy and lazy. "Okay, I have a twin sister. I prefer men - if you know what I mean." Here he waggled his eyebrows at them, leaving no room for interpretation on this front. His smile turned to a grin, "I can also burp the alphabet, backwards."

Lucifer looked at the group. Charlie had moved closer to Vaggie to converse. Alastor and Niffty were still off in their own little world, not willing to tune in to the conversation unless necessary. Husk was gazing longingly at the bar, but was unwilling to move Angel's feet to get to it.

He also looked suspiciously like he knew the answer.

Charlie decided to take a stab at guessing. "You don't have a twin?" She sounded like it was too much of a question for it to be a statement. She wasn't certain of her guess.

Angel's grin turned into a wistful smile. "Nah, I have a twin. Never seen her down here, but she's real."

Charlie glanced at Vaggie. Cautiously, she asked, "Oh. Maybe she's in Heaven, then?"

The spider sinner didn't appear as if this was a touchy subject. "Oh, yeah, she was a sweetie. No way she'd ever wind up down here."

Relieved she hadn't stepped on his toes, Charlie smiled herself. "Well, maybe one day you'll get to see her again." Her tone was confident. She had complete faith that Angel could one day be redeemed, as she had seen his heart herself.

Angel rubbed the back of his neck. He liked attention, sure, but he didn't know what to do with the mushy stuff.

Taking pity on him, Vaggie said, "The alphabet backwards, then." She grimaced, as if she were imagining him doing it either way.

He beamed at her. "Right! But I can do it forwards, though." Everything about her expression begged him not to demonstrate. He grinned at her as he nudged Husk with his foot. "Your turn, Whiskers."

Husk didn't respond, clearly uninterested in playing in favor of getting a drink.

Angel dug his feet in. "Game first, then drinks."

The winged cat sinner threw him a dirty look. "Fine," he spat, not quite spitefully. "I love gin. I can play the saxophone." He pointed a thumb at in Alastor's direction. "I can drink Alastor under the table." He glared. "Happy?"

Angel, satisfied, let him up.

Alastor side eyed him. "Come now, Husker, you're not even trying." All he received in response was a grunt, a clear 'no shit.'

Angel kicked one leg out, while leaning on the other. "Smiles is right, Husk. That one's too easy." When Charlie and Vaggie shot him blank looks, he laughed incredulously. "Aw, come on! Haven't you noticed he doesn't touch gin unless there's nothing else to drink?"

Vaggie rolled her eyes. "Not all of us are avid drinkers." She glanced at the bar, where Husk had snagged himself some whiskey from his personal stash. He raised the bottle to her and then downed a mouthful.

Attempting to regain control of the conversation, Charlie nervously cleared her throat. "Well, yes. That was... enlightening." She looked between Angel and Alastor. "Since you both knew the answer, I think it's fair to give you both a point." She held her hands, one to each of them. "Which means you're both back in the lead!"

Alastor didn't appear to care one way or the other about this new development, but Angel at least seemed amused with it.

Charlie walked over to Niffty. "I think Niffty should go this turn!"

The little maid shifted, her attention going from every else in the room to the group with such intensity, several members of the original Hotel group began to remember the last time Niffty had looked that happy about a trust exercise. Charlie began to look nervous, while Vaggie and Angel began to brace for impact.

Niffty's expression was unhinged as she held up her needle. Her tone dreamy, she said, "I looooove cleaning." Everything about her tone suggested it wasn't the cleaning part she loved. "I once caught a roach the size of my head." Considering they were in Hell, this was absolutely plausible. "And we have rats in the basement."

Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel were alarmed.

"We have a basement?" Angel asked, turning to Lucifer.

Charlie and Vaggie also looked at him in askance.

Lucifer blinked at them. Yeah, sure, he had helped rebuild the place, but he hadn't rebuilt it alone. Surely the remembered they had a basement? "Uh, yes?" When this didn't soothe their worries, he further explained, waving both his hands, "But there's no rats or mice down there!"

Niffty sighed. That same dreamy tone was in her voice as she wistfully said, "But I wish there was..."

Everyone, sans Alastor, collectively went, "Nope." and that was that.

With Niffty out of the way, that just left Alastor and Lucifer.

Perhaps eager to get his turn out of the way, the radio demon decided to skip the line and volunteer. "Let me save you some time and go next, shall I?" It was uncertain if he was talking to Charlie or Lucifer, but they both nodded regardless. "Very well."

If anyone was going to give them a run for their money, it was going to be Alastor. Sure enough, he started with an easy one, "I hate sweets." Everyone nodded, the sinner having made no secret of this. "I worked at a restaurant before I became a radio host." He glanced at each of them in turn, face a perfect mask. "I was married once."

Complete silence. Even Husk had paused in his drinking.

Nothing about Alastor's tone or expression suggested which of the last two were the lie. It was clear which option everyone wanted to go with, but considering how obvious a lie it was, everyone had begun to second guess if it might be true.

Lucifer knew he could just Look. It would tell him without a doubt which was the lie. Besides the fact that it was obviously cheating, he wasn't too keen on resorting to using his powers to sus out if his partner was lying to him this early in their new relationship. Relationships were supposed to be built on trust and all that.

Alastor took in their reactions, enjoying watching them want to call him out on his obvious bullshit while also not being entirely certain he was lying.

Niffty, with the same unexpectedness of her taking out Adam, turned her head to look at him, her body creepily not following. Mournfully, she sighed, "No one has ever tied this bad boy down..."

Angel laughed nervously. "Ha! Right? As if anyone would want to marry Smiles, here."

"Angel!" Charlie glared at him. "That's not a nice thing to say."

Angel glared right back, unrepentant. "What? We were all thinking it!" He gestured to Alastor, saw the look the radio host was giving his hand and dropped it, but still argued, "Who'd want to date a psychopath like him, anyways?"

Lucifer pointedly did not so much as glance in Alastor's direction. He tried to keep his face perfectly blank. It was by and large the fact that no one was looking at him that no one noticed the faint blush to his cheeks.

By the time Charlie gave up on trying to get the spider sinner to apologize, Angel having fallen into a demure pout with his arms crossed, and turned to her father, all traces of his blush was gone. "That just leaves you, Dad."

Lucifer being over ten thousand years old meant that he had a lot of things he could pull from. Some of them would indeed sound wild, some of them mundane. He decided to go with a mixture. "I can see everyone's sins." He tapped his chin. "I gave birth to Charlie, not Lilith." He smirked. "Lilith and I lived with Adam and Eve for a year before I gave Eve the apple."

Charlie rolled her eyes, "Come on, dad, you could have made this hard. Obviously, it's--"

Angel twisted around, fixing him with a stare that was all wide eyed and intense. "You can see all of our sins?"

The implications of this seemed to sink in as Husk, Vaggie, and even Charlie joined in the curious staring, his daughter's original complaint gone. Even Alastor seemed to perk up at this, although nothing about his expression suggested if this was news to him or not.

There was something uneasy in Husk and Angel's staring, which made Lucifer shift in his seat. Holding up his hands, he was quick to reassure them of their privacy. "It only works on sinners!" When this failed to put Angel or Husk at ease, he explained, "It was something I was cursed with as King of Hell. I was supposed to judge everyone, but I haven't done anything like that in quite a few millennia."

He shrank back, wishing he had gone with something else instead. He didn't like the distrust in the eyes of the people he had been working so hard to get to like him. This was why he didn't get involved. He inevitably fucked up.

Seeing his mood turning, Charlie reached out a hand to him. "Dad--"

A phone rang, loud and shrill.

Everyone carrying a phone pulled out them out. Lucifer almost cried with relief when he saw it was his own phone. Holding it up as if it were something sacred, he said, hurriedly, "I, uh, have to take this."

He didn't care he was practically fleeing as he made a break for the stairwell. Without looking at the caller ID, he pressed the answer button. "Hello?"

Static greeted his ear, high pitched and grating. He winced, pulling the phone away. Holding it a distance from his ear, he tried again. "Hello, is anyone there?" When no one answered again, he said, "Look, if this is a prank call: ha ha, very funny."

Nothing. Just more static.

He went to hang up, only for the call to drop.

Irritated, he pulled up his call log. Not many people had his number. Lilith. Charlie. The other sins. The important Goetia. Sera, although she liked to pretend she didn't. Somehow, to Lucifer's eternal aggravation, Adam had gotten his slimy hands on it. He enjoyed calling up Lucifer every now and then to say shit when he was drunk and wouldn't remember anything the next morning.

He pulled up the log. There on the screen, read, PRIVATE NUMBER.

"Private number?" He muttered to himself, incredulous. He narrowed his eyes at the device as if it had betrayed him somehow. No one in Hell could block their number from his phone. The only being who was a) outside of Hell, b) had his number, and c) could do such a thing was Sera and she never bothered. So who...?

His grip on the phone tightened, as he remembered there was one other possibility. Someone who had his number and was potentially outside of Hell. Someone he had no clue where they were or what they were doing.

But why would Lilith be calling him from a private number? Why now? Why call him at all?

He shook his head. He would drive himself around the bend into total insanity if he started down that road. For all he knew, someone had dialed the wrong number. He heard it happened to other people.

Intent on returning back to the lobby and putting it out of his mind, he slipped his phone into his back pocket and turned around.

Only to nearly run right into Husk.

For the second time that day, Lucifer made a rather undignified noise, this time out of fright. He took a step back, nearly stumbling over the first step of the staircase. "Husk!" He placed a hand on his chest, his heart pounding. "Seriously, we need to get you a bell or something."

Husk's poker face was in full force, expression completely blank as he watched his king make a fool of himself. His arms were crossed, though not in a holding sort of way. Every line of his body was tense. He was seriously unhappy about something and his tone matched this as he stated, "We need to talk."

Lucifer took a moment to compose himself. He thought he knew what this was about. The winged cat sinner wouldn't be the first human he had told about the 'seeing sins' thing, but he would be the first to feel comfortable enough around Lucifer to confront him about it. The blonde pointed off in the direction of the kitchen. "Chat in the kitchen work for you?"

Husk nodded. He pivoted without waiting to see if Lucifer was following, obviously in a hurry to get this conversation over with.

Lucifer pointed to lobby. "Aren't they going to miss us?" The game was nearly over, with just his round needing to be concluded. He didn't particularly want to subject himself to more potential questions, but he was less willing to face his daughter's disappointment for bailing on the conclusion of her game.

Husk's ears swerved around until one was pointed in the direction of the lobby. "Al took off shortly after you did. Niffty didn't stick around much longer. The other's aren't expecting us back."

Lucifer peaked into the lobby as they passed. Sure enough, Alastor and Niffty were no where to be seen. Angel had commandeered the couch and was scrolling on his phone. Charlie and Vaggie were talking about something, the former of the pair briefly looking up to wave at him as he passed. Her expression still held hints of worry. Nothing about the wave indicated she wanted him to come in.

He was sorry he had soured her exercise, even if he was glad he didn't have to face anyone just yet.

No one, except Husk, it seemed. Upon entering the kitchen, they both took up positions that wouldn't block either from the door and would allow them both to see if anyone entered.

There was a long pause. When it didn't seem that Husk was going to break it first, Lucifer decided he might as well go. "Look, if this is about the sins thing, I haven't seen any of your--"

"You're an idiot." Short, and gruff, always to the point, this sinner was. Husk's body language hadn't changed, and he showed no concern for the fact that he had just outright insulted the Devil himself.

Lucifer paused, not having expected that. "Ha?" Lucifer placed a hand on his hip, the other going to his ear. "I know I'm getting up there in age, but I could have just sworn you called me an idiot." He pulled a face. Husk may be one of his daughters friends and also under his own protection, but he would still retaliate if this little sinner thought he could just randomly start insulting him.

Husk didn't appear intimidated. "And I'm not going to thank you." He swirled the whiskey in his bottle, once and then twice. "Whatever game you're playing with him isn't going to end well."

Ah, so they were having that conversation. Lucifer had been getting suspicious he was going to get nothing but silence from the sinner for the foreseeable future on this subject. It had been almost two weeks, he wondered what had made the sinner speak up now. Lucifer made a show of rolling his eyes. "I'm not sure why everyone seems to think I can't handle myself."

Husk didn't ask who else was questioning his life choices. He simply decided to go for straight the juggler. "He's got your daughter wrapped around his finger."

Lucifer internally winced. It wasn't like he had forgotten about the incident with Charlie. He hadn't forgotten about his and Alastor's standing deal and what was still owed. It had simply fallen to the way side in light of their romantic confession.

Where it would have stayed, until the next time Alastor came to feed.

He sighed, feeling as old as every one of his years. "Look, as I said before, I appreciate your concern-" and it was, regardless of the way Husk was presenting it, "-but Alastor doesn't have enough of a hold over me to stop me from taking him out if he actually tries to hurt Charlie."

It would devastate Lucifer to do it, even this early in the relationship. Make no mistake, however, Charlie was and always would be his number one priority, even if he was sometimes shit at showing it.

Crossing his arms himself and feeling done with the conversation, he said, "Look, if that's all this was about, don't worry. I didn't do it for a thank you." Although, he would have admitted, it would have been nice to have received one. "You're not in my debt, yadda yadda. Now if we could move along--"

Husk, on the other hand, wasn't done with the conversation. "That's not all," he interrupted.

Lucifer narrowed his eyes at him. He eyed the whiskey, tempted to turn it into vinegar. "Oh?" he asked, his eye twitting.

"Alastor wanted me to tell you: he's calling in his favor."

The chain around Lucifer's neck tightened in anticipation. Was this what Alastor had meant when he said that he would find a way to tell Lucifer about the favor? Slowly, he met the sinner's eyes. "What?"

"I don't know any of the details, okay?" Husk looked away, for the first time, his mask slipping and giving away how uncomfortable he was. He shifted his weight, bouncing the bottle against his leg. "Al... is on someone else's leash. His favor is to break his contract."

Lucifer felt himself go cold. How did this happen? When did it happen?

All of a sudden, all those little things he'd been seeing clicked into place, the puzzle taking shape. Alastor's interest in his ability to break contracts. His satisfaction upon witnessing Lucifer break Angel and Valentino's deal.

The stiches across his mouth, the ones that looked suspiciously like they might be keeping him from doing something, such as telling anyone about his situation.

He'd been such a fool. The pieces had all been there. He simply hadn't been willing to see.

Through numb lips, Lucifer whispered, "Who?"

Husk shrugged. "Don't know. I just know it happened some time before I met him."

Which could mean anything. Lucifer had no reference for how long Husk had been under Alastor's thumb, only that the redhead had viewed the contract as a prize and he hadn't gone after any Overlords in a while.

Lucifer brought a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes against the reality of the situation. Oh, Alastor, he couldn't help but think. Stupid, foolish sinners, every single one of them.

Anger brewed beneath the surface of his shock. Regardless of how or when it had happened, Alastor was his sinner. More so now than ever before. They had laid claim to each other, if only through words, and Lucifer would be damned thrice over before he was going to lose that stubborn asshole to someone else.

Alastor's words from that morning came back to him. 'A gift for later,' he had called the ducks.

He laughed, causing Husk's fur to stand on end. 'A gift,' indeed.

At least Alastor had put some thought into the damn apology.

Pulling his hand down his face, he teleported himself away, not bothering with a goodbye of any sort. He doubted the winged cat sinner was expecting one and Lucifer wasn't in the mood for wasting any time.

He was on the hunt and he had a feeling he knew just were to find his prey.

Lucifer materialized right outside Alastor's door. As he was reaching for the knob, he heard the unmistakable sound of the door's lock clicking as it engaged. He paused, hand hovering above the knob.

It made no sense for Alastor to call in his favor and then try to stop him.

Was the being he had made the deal with here? In the hotel? Surely someone would have noticed if some new stranger had been sneaking around the hotel, right? Could it be someone who already lived in the hotel? That made no sense, as Husk and Niffty had been on Alastor's leash, and neither he nor Charlie or Vaggie had the contract. So, who could it be?

Regardless, they were sorely mistaken if they thought a simple lock could keep the King of Hell from taking back his partner.

He opened a portal into the room, completely bypassing the door. Stepping through, he could instantly tell the feel of the room was... off. For one, all of the lights were out, even the fire. The only light came from whatever gave the bayou it's natural light.

The next clue came from when he spotted Alastor. It wasn't hard to find him, for once. The green glow of the stiches across his body made him a fairly easy to spot, drawing the eye right to him. The sinner was standing in the middle of the room. He didn't say anything to the intrusion, as the stiches were pulled tight around his lips. His eyes were wide over them, and although there was a hint of fear in them, they were red on black with rage.

He also didn't move as Lucifer cautiously approached. It was likely he couldn't, if the stiches on his body were playing a similar role to those on his mouth. At his feet, his shadow spread out behind him. Using the light of Alastor's hijacked magic, it worked it's way up the wall behind the sinner. It's silent laughter was in direct contrast to the sinner's anger.

Lucifer looked him up and down, affecting a nonchalant tone of voice, feeling pissy the sinner was still plotting, even now. "Quite the pickle you've got yourself into."

Alastor's eyes appeared to be the only thing he was still in control of. They twitched with irritation.

Lucifer was tempted to tease him. Oh, so very tempted. The almighty Radio Demon, known for being quite the talker, and here he was effectively silenced. His smile promised he was going to have fun with this later.

For now, there was bigger fish to fry: like discovering who exactly owned Alastor's soul.

Lucifer's hand darted out, forcing the contract chain into being as wrapped his hand around it.

Only to drop it immediately after. Frost had begun to appear on his hand in the few seconds he'd held onto the chain. He hissed, shaking the limb out as he took the thing in.

The chain itself was black. A black so true it ate at the light around it, as dark as the void at the center of a black hole. It had been painful to the touch because of the fact that it was colder than the dead space between the planets that made up his father's universe, so cold it had burned his skin.

He had never seen anything like it.

He had felt something like it before. Once, a very long time ago.

It had the same feeling as the darkness that had crept into the universe, all those millennia ago, intent on devouring everything in its path, until it had been driven down, down into a prison built just to contain it.

It had the same feeling as the darkness that had been unleashed on humanity when Eve first bit into the apple.

Rising up like a nightmare, Lucifer remembered the feeling he had gotten while traveling through Alastor's shadows. That feeling he could have sworn he had felt before, forgotten, but so familiar.

There was only one being that feeling had ever belonged to.

For the first time since agreeing to Alastor's terms, Lucifer felt a trickle of concern that he might not actually be enough to solve this problem. Unsure if he was more horrified or furious, he turned on his partner and hissed, "You made a deal with the Root of All Evil?!"

There was a superstition amongst humans. That to say the name of of the thing, you could potentially summon it. Maybe it only took uttering the name. Maybe it took saying three times. Maybe it took a ritual. Usually it was a load of hogwash and nothing would happen. A fun party game to frighten one's friends. After all, higher beings usually had better things to do then answer whenever someone called their name. If they were paying attention at all.

Some beings, however, were always listening. After all, so few beings knew their names, how could they not help but pay attention when someone called them?

All around them, the shadows darkened. They swarmed the border between the bayou and the suite, cutting off any retreat in that direction. Lucifer wasn't surprised to see the door and the portal he hadn't closed cut off as well. Dozens upon dozens of eyes all opened up along the walls and within the shadows, every one of them zeroing in on the two of them.

An eye opened up on the face of Alastor's shadow, leaving little room for guessing who was in control of it. It stretched up to the ceiling, until it was directly over the redhead. Hands spread out, green strings materialized between it's fingers and Alastor's body.

A puppet on a string.

Anger and fear battled for dominance behind the sinner's eyes. Anger was winning, but fear nearly took over when his arms began to rise up, hanging limply from the strings. He made eye contact again with Lucifer, which is when the blonde noticed something else in the redhead's gaze.

Faith. And under that, confidence. With a jolt, Lucifer realized that they were both in him. Alastor had laid down his hand and made his bet. That Lucifer could break this deal and set him free. A deal he had made with the Root of All Evil, no less.

The radio crackled to life. "Hello, little star." There were no words to describe Roo's voice. Every time Lucifer had ever heard it, it had unsettled him. This time was no different. In the darkness, it almost seemed like the voice was coming from nowhere. "I see you've discovered my toy."

Lucifer shivered, not bothering to hide it. "Pleasure's all yours, Roo." He looked up at Alastor's shadow and the eye staring right back at him. "I see you've been rather naughty, lately."

She laughed, the shadow forcing Alastor to bring a hand to his mouth. The redhead's ears flattened tight to his skull. Try as he as he so clearly might, however, there was little he could do to resist. "You're one to talk. Ten thousand years of marriage and all it took was seven years for you to move on?"

The shadow gave Alastor a shake. "Although, I suppose I can understand why." Roo's voice smoothed out into a drawl as she teased, "He's such a smooth talker, isn't he?"

Lucifer refused to dignify either of those comments with a response. "Let him go, Roo." He gestured to the room in lieu of Hell, expression sly. "We both know what happened the last time we fought."

The shadows writhed and wriggled around his feet, nearby but not quite touching. The sound that came out of the radio didn't sound human. Lucifer barely reacted, but Alastor's fingers twitched like he wanted to cover his ears.

It took little thought for Lucifer to unfurl his wings. A dim, divine golden glow appeared around his body, a shield against the weaker shadows.

"Ah, yes, the time you and your siblings sealed me away." The shadow raised Alastor's hand to his eyes, having him peer around as if looking for something. "But wait, what's this I see?" Both hands rose to cover his mouth in mock surprise. "Poor little Lucifer, all by himself. Abandoned again!"

She jeered at him, calling up a laugh track to join in with her.

Lucifer's mouth turned down. "Maybe, but where are you?" Roo was still sealed away, this was a fact. He would know if she had escaped. She had to be using Alastor as a conduit to manipulate the world from her prison. Which meant that for all that she was in control of Alastor, this was the extent of her reach. "Still in your cage if you're playing with dolls."

Even through Roo's control, Alastor managed to sneer at the word 'doll.'

Lucifer shot him an apologetic look, promising to make it up to him later.

Roo made a considering noise. "Does it matter?" The shadows trailed up the redhead's body, almost like a caress. "This one is mine, willingly given." Those same shadows sinched around him, hugging him in a overly tight embrace that Alastor quite frankly didn't care for. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. "You might have been able to take him from me, once, but how far you've fallen. Nothing more than a tarnished light fighting a losing battle against the darkness."

Lucifer flared his wings, his form brightening significantly. Around him, the shadows sizzled and screeched as the were scorched by the intensity of his light. Tarnished or not, light was light, and his still burned bright.

"There's that fire. Show me you have some fight left in you, little star." Alastor's hijacked shadow's grin only widened at the sight. "Take him from me if you can."

In the time she had been imprisoned, Roo had forgetten that Lucifer hadn't been just any angel. He had been the light bringer; Venus in the morning sky; the herald of the dawn: the morning star. He was the only one with enough power to hold Roo back, even just for a second.

And a second was all that he needed.

A bright flash of light filled the room, tenfold the one he'd light off the first time. The light would have been inconvenient to a human. Sinners or winners, they still contained the capacity for good and evil, light and dark. Alastor was little different, for all that he revealed in his status as a sinner. His soul was still contained some shades of grey.

Roo, on the other hand, was a being of pure evil, a darkness so vast and complete, there wasn't a shred of light in her. The burst of light burned her weakened shadows, some of them evaporating Ike steam under the first rays of the sun.

Most importantly, her hijacked shadow looked away.

Lucifer threw himself at his partner, pushed along by a powerful beat of his wings. Alastor squinted down at him as the blonde nearly collided with him, pupils the size of pin pricks. His rictus grin was strained, but real. It grew as Lucifer reached up, tapping the gem resting in the hollow between the sinner's collarbone on the radio host's bowtie.

The protection spells Lucifer had cast into the gem flared into being around them, just as the light from the fallen seraphim's stunt began to fade. A dome of Hellfire fell down around them, shielding them from outside attack. It wouldn't take Roo long to burn it out, between her own power (minute as it was with her imprisoned) and Alastor's stolen power. It would first, however, serve a crucial role.

It cut Alastor off from his hijacked shadow.

The green strings fizzled off inside the dome, allowing the sinner's arms to drop. Their continued existence outside of it a reminder of the threat they were under. That the moment the dome burned out, Roo would regain control of her puppet soldier.

Lucifer was having none of that.

He grabbed hold of the chain, wrapped it around his fists to get a good grip on it. The links began to burn his skin upon contact, his skin already beginning to form ice on it. He grit his teeth against the pain and held on.

Shadow minions slithered out of the darkness, scurrying around the dome and beating their fists against it. As one caught flame and burned away to ash, another instantaneously took it's place to inflict it's damage before it too burned away. On the ceiling, Roo's stolen shadow snarled. It didn't dare get too close lest it face the same fate. Cut off from Alastor, there was a chance it wouldn't reform under Roo's power.

The radio crackled and sparked. Roo's voice poured from it like sludge. "You can't break this deal, Dear Lucy." She cackled, enjoying watching him struggle. "He was never one of yours."

As she said it, Lucifer could feel a twinge of truth in her statement. The contract resisted him, not necessarily because it had been made with Roo, but because neither contractee had been a denizen of Hell when it was made.

Lucifer felt a flicker of confusion, a pause of doubt. His attention slipping for just a moment. The contract wasn't old enough to have been made when Alastor was alive and he was a sinner. Lucifer had read his soul and seen his sins. If contract was made after Alastor had died, but if it hadn't been made in Hell, where else could it have been made?

The warm kiss of leather brushed his cheek, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up to meet Alastor's red-eyed gaze. The radio host's expression was soft and as close to apologetic as the blonde had ever seen it. For the first time since Lucifer had stepped into the room, Alastor spoke with his own words. "You've trusted me this far, my dear." His hand cupped the side of Lucifer's face. "Trust a little longer. I will explain everything."

Lucifer searched his face. Alastor was good at subterfuge and distracting from his true feelings, but look long enough and one could see his tells.

Lucifer didn't need a curse or a gift to see he wasn't lying. This was a promise he intended to keep.

Lucifer leaned into the hand, turning his face into it as he took moral strength from Alastor's support. He gave the sinner a stern look from under his lashes. "We are going to talk after this. Keep your other secrets, but I want an explanation for how this happened."

Alastor nodded. "It's a promise."

Confidence restored, Lucifer turned his full might to the chain. Alastor took a step back, giving him the space he needed to work. The control Lucifer usually exerted over his form slipped, unleashing his true form and freeing him of any last distractions. "I don't care when or where Alastor made this deal." Tightening his grip against the frost forming on his hands, he growled out into the darkness, a threat and a promise, "Whatever he may have been before, Alastor is a sinner now. Which puts him under my jurisdiction."

Lucifer strained against the chain. It was still fighting him, but as there had been truth in Roo's claim on Alastor, there was also truth in Lucifer's. Whatever Alastor had been when he made this deal, he now quite firmly belonged to Hell.

Alastor's/Roo's shadow seemed to realize this, it's smile twisting down into a snarl. The shadow minions redoubled their efforts, throwing themselves against the shield with abandon. It flickered in warning that it wouldn't last much longer.

The King of Hell let out one last burst of light. If he was going to break the chain, he needed to do it now, as he wasn't going to be able to manage another burst like that. He knew he was finally making progress, when at blessedly last the chain finally started to give. Panting, he declared triumphantly, "And above all else, Alastor is mine."

The chain cracked, like fissures in ice. The radio gave off a static filled scream that caused Alastor to wince and cover his ears against it.

Lucifer couldn't spare it the attention, nearing his limits. His arms strained, muscles aching as he poured all the power that came with position as the King of Hell and all of its people, into pulling at the weakness in the chain until-

The link broke.

Like a ice breaking off under the heat of the sun, the chain link severed, setting off a chain reaction along the other links. Each cracked and broke apart, running off into the darkness in one direction and up to the collar around Alastor's neck in the other. The pieces fell like broken shards of ice to the floor, where they melted and vanished into the floor.

Cut off from their source of power, all of the shadows around them gave one last frenzied swarm down onto the shield. They managed, at last, to take it down, but it was already too late. They took out the last of the shield, as it took out the last of them.

The radio, now visible on the shelf, let out a truly unholy screech before the poor radio gave out, sparking as its death cut off the noise.

All of Roo's eyes closed as one. Alastor's stolen shadow shrunk in size, returning to the shape of a normal shadow at the sinner's feet.

For a moment, reality seemed to glitch around Alastor's form. One minute, Alastor the Radio Demon stood free in all of his glory.

In the next, there stood a figure in pale purples, blues, and pinks. Black horns now an ivory white. The only thing that remained the same between Alastor as Lucifer had always known him and this new(?) figure, were the tips of his hair and ears were still black.

The most noticeable - and perhaps most damning - however, were the halo and wings.

An angel's halo and wings.

Alastor... had been an angel?

Alastor took this in with not a ounce of surprise, confirmation as to the truth of the matter. If anything, he appeared annoyed with this new development. "Well, this is a unfortunate turn of events, if I do say so myself." He gave the wings a disdainful glare as they fluttered and ruffled up with his annoyance. "And after everything I did to get rid of all this."

He needn't have worried too much. Between one moment to the next, reality remembered the old (new?) world order. Alastor's form glitched for a second time, like a badly tuned tv. When he came back into focus, he had returned back to his reds and blacks, no wings or halo in sight.

The room fell into silence, save the soft crackle of the flame between Lucifer's horns. They both stared at each other.

It seemed, at last, it was over.

Lucifer stumbled, his vision greying out as his legs gave out underneath him. Alastor darted forward, catching him before he could hit the ground. Lucifer true form retreated, until all that was left were his wings, hanging limply behind him. They were likely making him heavy, too, if Alastor dropping to his knee was any indication.

"Lucifer?" Alastor sounded concerned and inching towards alarmed.

Lucifer had wanted to hear him call his name again, but not like that. It was nice to know he cared.

He mustered up enough energy to reach up and flick his partner on the forehead. Unlike the last time he'd done it, Alastor merely pulled a face. Lucifer's arm dropped down to rest at his side, as he no longer hand the energy to hold it up. "You have... so much... explaining to do."

He could hear Alastor saying something in response to this, but the words were lost on him. His vision was swallowed by darkness, taking his consciousness along with it.

The last of his strength giving out, Lucifer passed out.

-tbc

#radioapple #alastor #lucifer morningstar #deer lucifer fic #hazbin hotel #um #surprise?#there are things mentioned in this chapter #that i'm not certain when or if they'll ever be explored #but i do promise we will be coming back to the angel thing #next chapter in fact #:)

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tswwwit · 1 year ago

Text

Here's a thing! Reincarnation of Dipper who's not in the best of situations. (A Cult)

Got some gore and knives in here so watch out!

In the room of ritual, everything is ready.

Off in that wide and majestic space, the candles are lit. The circle is drawn. The altar spread with gold and trinkets, little offerings of delight and whimsy, tomes of knowledge. Along with the remnants of the latest sacrifice, dried in long trails down the stone.

The tomes, though. If one looked closely, they would see mostly encyclopedia volumes from like, sixty years ago. Because, yeah, those are going to be so tempting for a being of infinite knowledge.

Long chanting rings through the hallways, preparing the way. The ritual is in less than an hour. In preparation for the service, the servants of their lord make themselves presentable.

Dipper adjusts his robe - too big for him, by at least one size- and pulls at the neckline. It always drags up against his throat, in a tight, uncomfortable way. He tugs it down again, glaring into the small mirror on the otherwise bare wall.

Bill Cipher is the most powerful being in the universe, and his reach is infinite and his discernment of the mind and mastery of mysteries is unquestionable, yadda yadda yadda.

Dipper just. Doesn’t know what everyone else here expects to happen. Especially with the setup unchanged from the one he saw last year. And the year before that. And the one before that.

Odds are, this ritual is going to end up the same as every other one.

Pointless.

Dipper adjusts his robes again, and smooths out the front with slow strokes. As long as this is going to happen, he might as well avoid drawing attention to himself. He’s had enough ‘attention’ for more than a lifetime.

There’s a rhythm to these ceremonies. Dipper hears the footsteps, and easily tucks the hood of his robe up, only semi-stumbling as he joins the twin lines of robed figures leading into the ritual room.

As he tucks his hands together, covering them with long sleeves - Dipper spends another moment to silently sigh.

He joins the line, ducking his head as he joins in formation. The two lines of followers shuffle on with their long robes brushing the floor. He can hear them whispering to each other; varying levels of excitement, boredom. Talking about plans for after the ritual. He thinks he picks up one of the more devout members, almost humming with anticipation.

Despite the murmurs, the sight itself could be quite impressive. An all-seeing eye, if it was real, might even appreciate it.

Still, all these dramatics are so over the top. Just as fruitless and stupid as every other prayer, or ritual. Never worked before, not gonna work now. Dipper’s not sure why they’re trying the same freakin’ thing, over and over again.

For a bunch of people obsessed with the infinite power and knowledge Cipher represents, they haven’t accrued any.

And for that matter! If Bill Cipher’s eye is truly all-seeing, why hasn’t he ever responded? His triangle is emblazoned on every wall, and on their robes. You can’t look at a surface without seeing it staring back at you, and there’s no short of devout worshipers, constantly praying and doing rites.

Dipper dares a glance at one of the long scrawls on the walls, seething slightly at the handwriting. And the grammar.

If he was watching, surely he would have spoken up by now. Even if it’s just to critique the decor, which is tacky as hell.

The main ritual room fills up with warm bodies, and Dipper stands in an inconspicuous place. Just to the left, and not quite entirely in the back. At the front of the room, he can see the priest nodding approvingly, hands tucked behind his back.

Hidden under the sleeves, Dipper clenches his hands together. Breathing out a silent prayer of his own, to nobody particular. He can stand stock-still through one or two more ridiculous rituals, if it means no more prayers to a blind idiot god.

A week. Maybe two. That’s it.

Then he’ll be out of these robes, and far, far away from here. He’ll never see these people again. He’ll never have to chant a single verse again in slightly incorrect Latin. He’ll never have to kneel, or go before that stone altar again, not even once.

The outside world is - there’s a lot of talk about it. There’s always a lot of talk, more or less colored by personal experiences and levels of permission to go ‘outside’. Dipper’s learned, now, that well over ninety percent of the gossip is lies.

If his palms still sweat at the prospect, it’s because it’s… New. Different. But it can’t possibly be worse than here, and, like. Novelty is condoned by his not-really-a-god. Trying new things should be standard doctrine - if the priest wasn’t a total idiot.

Not much longer, now.

Out there, things will be better. Out there, Dipper will have a chance at having a life.

And there won’t be any trouble, since he’ll keep his mouth shut.

“Children of Cipher!” The high-pitched voice of the priest rings tinnily through the air. “We are once again assembled!”

Dipper bows in concert with his fellows. Staring at the ground is a good way to not roll his eyes.

A chant rises up, and he keeps his lips clamped together as he mirrors the ritual bowing and scraping and general genuflection. The priest will go on and on, no matter what he does.

All it takes to get through this is time. Another round of kneeling, then standing, then kneeling, until they stand at the last word in a thronging chorus.

“Brothers!” A louder, shriller call, now that everyone has been drawn close to a fervor. For all his faults, the priest does know how to read the mood - “Tonight is a special evening!” His arms thrown up, spindly and bare as the sleeves drop near to his shoulders. “Who will bleed for our god?”

The only thing that prevents Dipper from flinching is how much attention that would draw.

He hardly dares to breathe, lest some wayward motion be taken as ‘enthusiasm.’

Dipper keeps his head bowed, as murmurs start up around him and his forehead starts to prickle with sweat.

Sacrifices happen all the time. Mostly animals. Last year they got a goat, and that was considered a pretty big one and the stew afterwards was filling, and probably tasted pretty good.

Human blood, though. That’s - They haven’t done this in years.

The susurration of voices in the background grow louder, and Dipper stays bowed in place. Of course nobody wants to volunteer; ‘willing’ isn’t easily found when it comes to getting a knife in your flesh - but someone’s going to bleed, tonight. The ‘volunteer’ bit will be justified by whatever’s convenient.

Around him there’s murmurs, a few, low arguments. Tension is starting to rise, but for the most part, he’s being overlooked.

He nearly thinks he’s gotten away with it, too, when a hard shove on his back sends him stumbling forward.

“Here, brothers!” The voice rings in Dipper’s ears as he tries to backtrack, slipping on the robes of the person in front of him and dropping painfully to the floor. “The provider!”

Shit, shit, shit.

Dipper tries to glance back at whatever asshole pushed him, but the crowd’s already grouped together into a bunch of faceless clumps, drawing back from his fall.

He levels the worst glare he can manage, even as both his arms are seized by two of his so-called ‘brothers’. The big ones.

Gritting his teeth, Dipper digs in his heels. Struggling’s ineffective, protesting’s impossible. Gesturing wildly, including a raised finger in the general direction of the asshole who pushed him, Dipper gets dragged to the foot of the altar.

“See how he offers his flesh! See how he shakes with joy!” The priest jogs his arms in the air. Dipper shakes his head rapidly holding up his hands. “His arms, already offered!”

And for a moment Dipper’s simply annoyed at how obvious it is that the whole damn ritual is a farce.

“Tonight, we call upon the god! Tonight! We-”

Whatever else he’s yelling about, Dipper doesn’t pay any mind. He’s busy trying to use the loose robes to worm his way out of the guards’ grip. It halfway works, until one of them gets him by the bare wrist and painfully pulls it out.

The cold stone hits his waist. One of his sleeves is drawn to his shoulder. His arm pinned, bare and wrist upraised, on the stone.

Damn it, if he finds out who shoved him, he’s going to - he arches up, but firm hands hold his shoulders. There’s little time to think about revenge when he’s trying to find a way out of this. Arm, stuck. Shoulders, held. The exits, totally blocked by a bunch of crowded figures.

In a way, Dipper can’t truly blame them. After all, if the current sacrifice got away, who knows?

They could be next.

The priest seems pleased, at least. He paces in front of the altar, gesticulating wildly, and rambling on about god and blood, and other nonsensical bullshit.

Great. They have their ‘sacrifice’ for tonight. So, so super ‘willing’ too, what with how he, quote ‘rushed to offer himself’, end quote.

Dipper takes a long breath, holding it for three beats. Then he lets it out.

Okay. If this follows most other ‘human sacrifices’, it should be bearable. Some bloodletting, a nasty scar. Maybe a missing finger, but he’s learned to deal with worse. Push through the moment, wait for it to be over. Soon enough, he’ll be on the other side of this entire godawful situation.

Focusing on the transitory nature of pain helps him steady his breathing. And more importantly, slow his heart rate.

Calming meditation. He can work on that. Though it’s difficult, with the way the priest keeps going on and on about an ‘auspicious night’. Also, the very large, curved, very sharp-looking knife.

Dipper tries his best not to stare at it. Or to linger too much on the thought of knives and flesh and blood. If he could stop thinking, for once in his stupid life, it’ll be over before he knows it.

That’s totally not not the usual knife, though. He wonders where the hell it came from.

Last time, it was some basic utilitarian repurposed chef-thing, with a crudely engraved triangle on the hilt and the blade. This one’s much more… Ceremonial. Sharper, too, with a wicked curve and a gleaming edge, and covered in runes that Dipper’s never seen before.

He mouths a swear as one guard uncurls his fingers from the edge of the altar, turning his wrist back upright. The priest waves the very, very sharp blade around, yelling something that Dipper doesn’t bother parsing, even as his mind races. He can tell it’s definitely not Cipher runes on that thing, and not the old Latin their god prefers. Did someone go outside to find this? Another random artifact that the priest got his hands on? Seems like he’s always picking up useless semi-magic items.

The knife doesn’t feel ‘useless’, though, even from a glance. It radiates a pure and terrifying purpose.

Especially as it comes down, and rests against his wrist. Almost gently, its point bites a drop of blood from his skin.

The fetid breath of the priest pants over the altar. Dipper turns away, neck twisting as far as he can manage, eyes shut.

Please let this be just a bit. Just a drop. A small, tentative cut to fill a bit of the channels on the stone. There’s a sting to the metal, a slight burn, and though Dipper’s not one of the main Holders of Mysteries or anything, he feels like that’s a very bad sign.

Then he feels. Cold.

It runs down his inner arm, lingering for an instant before blossoming into sharp, bright pain. He nearly chokes on air, cringing into a hunched position as he feels the knife slide.

The catching drag of the old knife would have been painful, but that was mostly used for taking a finger, or maybe dragging across the back of the arm, in a more decorative than productive way of drawing blood.

The ease with which this knife cuts sends a deep, swirling nausea straight to the pit of his stomach.

“Behold, the flow! The magic gathers, my children!” THe priest’s voice warbles a bit as “With this tool, with this magic, our god will hear our call! He will behold our devotion, and raise us to glory! He will answer-” More and more words, variations on encouragement. Zero substance, all hype. A fanatical motivation speaker, Dipper thinks, half-hysterically.

Vapid or not, the result is effective. The sight of blood has certainly spurred everyone into a kind of frenzy, whether from fear or fervor, Dipper doesn’t care.

And they’re certainly getting a lot of blood. More than required.

Dipper struggles up against the hold, but it’s pointless. He ‘s stuck there for a few long minutes, oozing out for an audience that can’t even see half the damn thing, and it hurts.

The red trail gathers, slowly pooling down and into the engraven triangle. Enough to fill the shallow channels easily, which, uh. Dipper’s never seen before. With the other sacrifices it kind of stopped and clotted, but this moves like it’s being wicked along the surface.

He makes a face as his blood slowly travels through the lines, but can’t see any surface changes, or feel anything that might have been put on the stone.

Until it connects at the top point. Then it meets, completing the image of Bill with a strange, too-bubbly ‘blorp’.

Okay. Weird. But that’s plenty, right? Ritual done, blood offered, and now, he should get going.

Lurching upward gets the grip to loosen up on his arms, as the guards loosen their grip a bit. They already have what they need, and hell. Dippers deserves a friggin’ break. With the immediate attention off him, he can dare a glance at his arm -

And instantly averts his gaze to absolutely anything else.

The priest turns around, arms raised. Pumping them in the air, knife glinting in the candlelight. “Yes. Yes!” He swings the blade around, nearly catching one of the big brothers in the side. “See how easily the liquid flows. The power builds! I can feel it - the summoning, in this room tonight!”

The crowd calls out their enthusiasm, a high rising ‘oooh’ noise.

Dipper sighs, and tries to scoot back away from the altar. It’s done, at least; he’ll just have to cope with the aftermath. Could be worse.

“The other arm, brothers!” A loud, clarion call. Dipper whips his head around, as the priest lowers his arms - and turns back around. Pointing at Dipper. Again. “I feel the blade crave more!”

Uh, hello? What?

Dipper glances up at the knife. At how the slight sheen of blood has dipped into some of the runes, the faint glow - and goes ‘huh’.

Alright, he’ll admit. It’s definitely magical.

But he’s beginning to suspect it has less to do with Bill, and a lot more to do with other forces. Ones that might, say, make a ritual flow smoothly. Or make a fanatical asshole even more bloodthirsty.

Behind him, he almost feels the guards shrug, right before he gets shoved against the altar again. One of the assholes even dares to pat his side, in a brief bit of unexpected sympathy. Not that it means anything.

Dipper longs to curse them out, to scream at every single one of these absolute jackasses. Every one of them is just watching this happen. Nobody thinks about what happens next, ever, including -

He grits his teeth instead, hard enough that he thinks something might crack.

Everyone follows orders. The words of their supposed ‘god’, filtered through a man who’s fallible and frail and frankly fucking stupid. Always getting stupid magical trinkets. Always trying to find a link to that demonic god, constantly pursuing magic, and power, and influence. No matter the cost.

Why would he care if one of the too-few worshipers pays the price?

And fuck that.

Before, Dipper struggled as much as he could. Partly from fear, sure. But mostly to make a point. That this was stupid and painful, and wasn’t going to do anything anyway. Knowing that with enough kicking and protest, he might get them to cut things short.

Now, seeing the priest whip the blade back around, raising overhead with both hands - he fights.

A solid kick lands in the left guard’s groin, and he gets his wounded arm back. Dipper clutches it to his chest, but the other’s still pinned and being twisted, now. Another kick gets something softer, and he hears a huff from the priest. Then a loud, angry order to ‘Hold him down!’.

Dipper’s shoved into the stone, stomach digging into the edge of the altar hard enough to make him gag. His head hits the surface, more dizzying than painful. There's a hand gripped in his hair. Then his other sleeve is drawn up, his healthy arm extended over the table. Bare skin exposed, lying over the bloody surface.

He breathes heavily, nose nearly against the altar. It quickly grows hot from his breath, and moist, too, which is probably why his face feels wet. He doesn’t hear anything but his own harsh panting.

He never wanted to be a part of this, he never wanted to grow up like this. In a week or so, he was going to get out, and now he’s going to get hurt again, so soon, and he only has so much blood in him. He doesn’t want to die. He shuts his eyes, tucking up against himself. Hoping the weight of his body will drag his arm away where his own strength couldn’t, choking back a tightness in his throat. He was nearly out. He was nearly safe.

He was almost free.

He breathes harder, shutting his eyes tight. He presses his forehead against the runes, and the blood, and just wishes he wasn’t here.

Metal clangs on the floor, ringing bright as a bell.

There’s a sudden intake of breath. Dipper feels the hands release him, a shocked sound. Then the ‘flump’ of a lot of draped fabric, all at once.

Dipper keeps his face against the stone, breathing slower. That’s. That’s not how any ritual goes.

He can’t waste the opportunity, though. Now that his arms are free, Dipper pulls his sleeve back up, bundling it around the cut. Shit. Does he clench his fist or leave his grip loose? Which one slows blood flow.

Whatever interrupted this isn’t going to last. He’s only got a few seconds before everyone comes back to whatever passes for their senses, and tries to ‘complete the summoning’, or whatever the hell they were after.

Gotta act. Gotta - Dipper wheels around, panting for breath.

In front of the altar, all the robed figures in the room have fallen to their knees. The priest’s dropped the knife. Dipper scoots it a little closer to himself with a foot, watching as the zealot raises his arms in devout praise.

Dipper pauses. Still clenching tight on his wrist, though his sleeve is starting to feel damp. Things don’t just stop like that. The ritual has to continue. People should be surging up to keep the momentum, but the entire room is -

Oh.

Yeah, now he sees it.

All the candles were lit before. They give a little light to a room that’s never seen electronics in its life, dim as it is.

Right now, they’re bursting with flame, rising high enough to cast weird shadows over the cavern -

And it’s a very bright blue.

Shit.

Dipper whirls around, unsteady on his feet. Staring at a long, long trail of rising blood. Almost a string, or a reverse droplet, floating up from the triangle carved on the stone. In midair it spreads into a thin web, shapeless and vaguely pulsing.

Okay. That is definitely magical. And absolutely up to no good.

He fumbles around - where did he kick the knife? Maybe if he breaks it, it’ll interrupt this whole thing. Who knows what the hell that idiot priest did, or where he got the artifact, or what it does.

Dipper doesn’t know much about gods, or spirits, or demons, but anything that gets pulled in by a blood sacrifice can’t be a good sign. He spots the damn thing near the opposite corner, and braces himself on the altar. It he’s careful, he can reach it without alerting anyone. Maybe.

Which is when the entire hall fills with bright, loud laughter.

“Well, well, well, well, well!” The voice rings just as brightly as the laugh. Dipper jerks towards the sound, involuntarily, only to see a single eye open inside the breath web of blood. “What do we have here?”

There’s a resounding groan from the crowd. Various people start chanting, but they’re all using different verses, and the priest starts his own, presumably improvised, wail of praise and devotion. The end result is an ear-rattling clamor.

Dipper looks back at the altar. Watching the blood twist in this way, and that. The eye alights on him for a moment - he freezes - but it moves on from him quickly, examining the room.

There’s a lot to see, too. Maybe terrified, devout worshipers isn’t weird for a supernatural entity, but it’s thoroughly freaking Dipper out. Even the priest is on his knees.

“Boy, it’s been a while since I’ve had this kinda summon!” The net stretches, almost elastic; twisting into limblike shapes, and fractal forms. The slit-pupiled eye rolls back and forth. Then it blinks twice. “Might as well get dressed for the occasion! Hold on a sec.”

The eye shuts into nothingness. Moments later, the blood starts getting really active, pulsing faster, twisting into shapes like it’s alive.

Dipper spares a terrified check on his wrist, but. No, he’s not feeding it, or anything. This is something else. Someone else, taking the material and lending it power enough to grow.

Even as he watches, there’s a spreading arch of bone and the twist of veins. A fairly glorpy assortment of something between and below what looks like ribs, a strange thick blackness tinged with yellow…

He cringes back, and shuts his eyes. Shit, watching this is deeply unsettling.

Not that it’s gory, per se - that would imply that something’s being taken apart, when it shouldn’t be. This is something being put together, a way that it shouldn’t ever be.

He backs up a step from the writhing mass, getting more fleshy by the instant. Then grimaces, teetering in place. Blood loss, right. From the asshole who started this whole thing. He levels a glare at said asshole -

But. Beside him, the priest is quivering with tension. Trembling like he didn’t expect this to happen.

Frankly? Neither did Dipper. For all the times they’ve done a ritual, there’s never been a reaction like this.

This insane mass, forming insanely out of nothing. Or well, from blood, that spread out in a weird three-dimensional - triangle, oh shit -

He should have known. Should have noticed. This was a summon, and while the object used wasn’t for the right being, maybe that doesn't’ matter with so much gathered intent.

This is….

Dipper falls, awkwardly, to his knees. Then ducks down in as low a bow as he can manage, pulling the hood of his robe back over his head.

Part of him thought Bill didn’t exist, or at least not in the way these guys talked about him. Maybe they’d latched onto some other spirit or deity, and completely misinterpreted everything. Maybe they’d made it all up, including some of the really old texts. There was never any evidence that their lord and master was real.

But given what’s happening here…

Like hell is he gonna look like the only person who doesn’t.

Something - two things - go ‘clack’ on the altar. A few series of taps.

Then a long, pleased sigh, and the sound of soft movement, like cloth.

Dipper keeps looking down. The hood keeps him anonymous, another faceless shape in the crowd. Just one more figure genuflecting before his -

Before a god.

One that might not even deserve a capital letter on the word, perhaps, but still an entity that he should not, under any circumstances, piss off.

There’s a tap that sounds like a shoe, and a low hum. Something lands beside him with a thud. In the brief moment that he raises his head, Dipper catches sight of black loafers, and long fingers on an oddly human-looking hand.

He quickly lowers himself more towards the floor, holding his arm tight.

Yep, just one more super-devoted believer, same as all the others. Super not important enough to notice.

“You know, blood’s usually for blood gods!” Bill Cipher’s voice rings through the room. It’s higher than Dipper expected it to be. One of the fancy-looking black shoes kicks the knife up into the air, where it’s caught by the long fingers of that hand. “Pretty wild for you guys to pull this. With another guy’s artifact, of all things!” A chiding tut, and the knife twirls. “And pretty disrespectful, I gotta say.”

“My lord.” The priest’s voice is dry, even for a guy who already sounded half-dessicated. He rises to his knees, hands clasped together. “We meant no disrespect. We are here to serve you, master. As we always have.”

“Uh huh,” Bill says. In Dipper’s limited sight, he toys idly with the knife, pressing the tip against the finger of an opposite hand. A bead of something dark wells up, and he rubs his fingers together.

The priest recites several lines of a chant, making a triangle with his fingers. So eager, and so totally missing the disinterest in Bill’s tone- “We have always been searching for you, our worship unending! You honor us with your presence. You shine upon us your infinite glory!”

“Sure you have,” Bill says, sounding, if anything, bored. The blade in his hand flips around between his fingers, then back again. The motion reminds Dipper of a very deadly fidget spinner. “Do tell.”

Which is when the priest surges up, nearly grabbing onto Bill’s thigh. He’s only stopped by a rapid sidestep.

Dipper cringes back out of secondhand embarrassment. Bad move. Dumb move. ‘Devoted’ or not, Bill was bored already - and infinite beings of pure energy do not like being manhandled by mortals.

“Let us use this connection, and the blade! Let us complete the sacrifice.” The priest continues, undeterred. Shuffling closer on his knees, he spreads his arms wide, inviting and eager. “The blood could grant you all your power, that you might grant us-”

“Pass.” Bill says dismissively. The knife flashes, and there’s a wet, solid ‘thunk’.

Dipper catches a brief glimpse of the priest’s face - stuck in shock, pale and lined with age - just before his body falls to the floor, as limp as a ragdoll. The knife handle in his chest props him up at a weird angle, before a swift kick from a black shoe sends it tumbling down the short three steps of the dais.

Dipper cringes into a smaller ball, trying to scrunch himself into invisibility. He watches Bill pass in front of him, standing in front of the crowd. The hand rests on a hip, while the other is raised out of site. Still far, far too close.

On the one hand, Bill’s examining the congregation. Distracted, for a moment. Staying out of his attention is so, so great.

Dipper curls up in a much, much tighter ball despite that.

In every single one of his plans to get out of here, Bill Cipher existing wasn’t a factor. Much less his actual, physical presence. All he’d ever thought about was how this was bullshit, that the people he knew were awful - and how hopefully, nobody would notice if he left. Now the ‘god’ himself is here. Standing so near Dipper he could, if he wanted, stupidly touch the hem of his pants.

A distant, insane part of him chimes in with the stupid idea that it’s nothing to really worry about.

Like, compared to how he’s still losing blood, for example.

Right. Staunch first, panic later.

Dipper wraps his sleeve around his arm, as subtly as he can, teeth gritted. His first priority is to stop bleeding. No escape plan - or any plan for that matter - is going to be useful if he dies.

The immensely powerful nightmare god is also a problem, obviously. But in this moment he’s not the immediate threat.

“Hmmm.” Bill lets out a low, contemplative hum. It resonates in the room, with how deathly silent things have become. “Let’s see here…”

After a pause, he snaps his fingers. “Stand!”

The entire congregation leaps to their feet. One of them stumbles and gets a swift kick in the side.

“Sit!” Bill commands. Everyone drops to the floor. A low chuckle, then, “Turn around three times and bark like a dog!”

Oh, now that won’t -

Or maybe it will. Dipper cringes, back pressed against the altar. Don’t just comply, what the hell. Sure it’s a magical god-being, but - fuck. He watches the scene with a grimace.

Bill, though, seems to be having a great time. He’s bouncing in place, voice bright with enthusiasm. “Do a little dance! Twist yourself until your joints snap! Hell, start a fight with the guy next to you!”

There’s havoc in the room of ritual. Robed figures practically fall all over themselves, and Dipper notes with a nauseating turn that some of them have drawn knives of their own. Chaos reigns; an entire scramble to do each possible thing, all at once.

And Bill’s laughter rings out over everything, clapping his hands in delight.

Dipper’s trapped in this room with an insane madman, leading a horde of equally insane idiots, and he doesn’t have a way out. He hopes he’ll stay out of notice. He hopes that he’ll live through the next five minutes.

There’s no controlling the situation, but he can improve his odds.

The altar’s pretty close, and Bill’s turned away, for the moment. Dipper scoots back, inching himself towards the corner. With enough shuffling, he might be able to move behind it and get out of sight.

“Welp,” Bill claps his hands again, this time with finality. Some of the chaos stills. “You’re all annoying, boring little vermin, but maybe you guys could improve. I noticed the blood you used to summon me was real choice stuff!” The exaggerated sound of a kiss. “Very nice.”

Dipper feels sweat building up in his robes, and tries to be very still. Basically part of the ritual scenery. Anonymous furniture, at best.

“In fact. It was so nice.” The voice continues, at a lower tone. Almost a purr. There’s a clack of shoes on stone. “Let’s see who this little treat is!”

The god seizes Dipper’s wrist - the wounded one, sending a bolt of pain down his arm - and clamps his palm around it, incredibly tight.

Before he knows it, Dipper’s standing again, involuntarily, staring past his hood into a bright, glowing eye.

He’s meeting his god. He’s been noticed by Bill Cipher.

So far he’s not trembling, so. That’s one thing he has going for him.

Bill’s eye flicks down, then up again, almost thoughtful. Any question about his power is quickly tossed aside, because holy shit; the magic is nearly palpable, thrumming into Dipper’s skin and making his heart race.

He’s also sporting a bright, wide grin, in a face that makes Dipper do a double-take.

Like. He thought - he glances at the triangle on the back of the wall, then to the person in front of him.

Okay, it’s said that Bill Cipher can take any form he wants, human included, but, like. What?

Thankfully, Bill doesn’t seem to notice any of the insane, stupid things Dipper is thinking. All he does is raise his hand, and with one quick motion, sweep the hood off of Dipper’s head.

Dipper flinches back. Jaw clenched, eye shut.

Shit, shit, shit. Special attention. All the scenarios he can think of say ‘not good’. Best case scenario, it’s because Bill wants to thank him, for... Whatever his blood did. The rest of them involve increasingly terrifying ideas about what ‘nice blood’ means, and how much of it Bill might want. All of it, say. Maybe immediately.

Dipper can’t pull away, not with such a strong hold on his arm. Fighting is downright dumb. Trembling’s happening, despite his best efforts, and the intrusive thought bubbles up that, hey, at least there’s lots of pressure on his wound. Could be worse.

Nothing happens. For several seconds.

Eventually, Dipper peeks an eye open.

There’s Bill Cipher, looking back at him. His eye is literally lit up, the pleased grin wide on his face.

Dipper waits for an order, but the god doesn’t speak. He just wiggles his eyebrows. If anything, he looks oddly… expectant?

Fuck. Dipper has to do something.

What the hell, there isn’t any doctrine for this.

Sure, he knows all of the catechism, and each chant he was taught. He’s got an encyclopedic memory of everything he was taught about this powerful interdimensional god-being, he knows every ritual back and forth. The tenets spring to mind, unbidden: Be obedient, speak his words, serve him in all ways - and most of all, don’t think.

But Dipper can’t chant. He hasn’t been told to do anything yet. And though it’d be a death sentence, if serving involves more bleeding he’d be tempted to kick again. Hell, he literally just watched everyone else trying the other bits. They did exactly what they were supposed to, and that was ‘boring’.

He never could stop thinking, though.

Now, his mind is racing.

A little-known and never-preached fact about Bill Cipher is that he doesn’t, actually, like rules all that much -

So.

Dipper offers a hesitant, closed-mouth smile. He wiggles the fingers of his free hand, a bit awkwardly, in greeting.

Then ducks his head again, wishing he still had a hood to cover his face.

That didn’t make it weird, right? That’s a normal, devout thing to do. Coming from a totally religious guy, who’s only slightly damp from all the sweating.

“Oh.” Bill’s voice lowers to something like a purr. He tucks a knuckle under Dipper’s chin, lifting him to meet his single eye again. An eye that’s glowing now, bright gold and half-lidded. “Ten outta ten on the offering, guys. Very cute.”

Which is a little weird, but probably -

“Y’know what?” And Bill’s grin widens, bright and wild, as his thumb strokes Dipper’s chin. “I like this one.”

Uh oh.

Dipper tries sinking down into his oversized robes, but Bill just fishes around inside them until he can pull Dipper up again by his undershirt.

“In fact,” Bill declares, sounding proud. He pulls Dipper in closer, hand still clamped painfully tight on his wounded wrist. “I’m gonna keep him.”

What?

Immediately after that declaration, Dipper’s tugged in close, thumping against his side. Bill turns to start barking orders at the congregation, sharp and sneering.

Dipper can’t quite parse it. He’s still running over the last few words in his head.

In the ritual room, the candles flare even higher, temperature rising to an uncomfortable degree. Dipper watches two worshipers collide with each other in their frantic obedience, and can’t even laugh about it.

‘Keep’, Bill said.

What does that mean? Everything here is already ‘Bill’s’, in a way. But the way he said it sounded… oddly specific.

A hopeful part of Dipper chimes in that it might just mean ‘not let him bleed out’, but he’s never been that lucky before, and there’s no reason it would start now.

With everything else going on. With the presence of a god. e.

The cultists are bustling about; a few of them deposit things near Bill’s feet, like gifts upon the altar. Boxes, totems, more lit candles that Bill idly kicks over onto one of their robes, watching them flail at the sudden burst of fire.

Eventually, Bill considered the task ‘done’, or close enough. He sighs, shaking his head. “About time, guys! Talk about slow. Hard to get good followers these days.”

Bill clicks his tongue in distaste, then snaps his fingers.

Dipper hears a weird ‘zmmm’ sound to his left. He notices that Bill’s suit is really soft material, and also that he probably shouldn’t be grabbing it like this.

He doesn’t dare look at the sound. Not when Bill’s turned towards him with smug pride, like he’s pulled off a plan without a hitch.

“Man, it's only been fifteen minutes, and I’ve had it with these losers.” Bill gives the congregation a look of disgust, then turns back to Dipper. That grin reemerges like the sunrise. “Screw these guys, am I right?”

This time, Dipper’s smile is involuntary. He quashes it fast, but not before Bill notices.

“That’s what I thought.” Bill says, with deep pleasure. He takes a step closer to the altar, pulling Dipper along with a surprising lack of force. “So! What’d’ya say we ditch this joint?”

Dipper doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t know what’s been happening, either, other than it’s all been going way too fast.

But Bill Cipher is looking at him, still. Present, powerful. Eager for a response.

Dipper just shrugs.

He wouldn’t know what to say even if he still had his tongue.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Bill says, eminently pleased. Pulling Dipper in closer, with an arm suddenly around his waist. “Hold on tight! It ain’t a bumpy ride, but it’s a weird one.”

Dipper follows as he walks. Partly on automatic, and partly because what the hell else is he supposed to do?

About three steps in, he realizes they’re both walking on thin air, towards and over the altar.

He jerks his head over, blinking at the source of that ‘zmm’ sound.

Because of course summoning am interdimensional god-being would leave a remnant. He had to come from somewhere.

Like, say, a weird red-yellow gap in space, with nonsense things flung around in a black and bizarre starscape. Dipper catches a glimpse of something with two many limbs, and of a series of screaming mouths with no bodies, and a duck and a grandfather clock, tumbling through the air.

It’s almost like it might be a nightmare dimension. Who could have thought.

With nothing else to cling to, his free hand clamps Bill’s shoulder, tight.

“You’re my guest for the next while, sapling.” Bill says, squeezing him tight in return as he steps in - and drags Dipper alongside him, stalking into the portal. “Glad to have you!”

#Let's see if I have any fun facts here #I am very tired!#I meant to sit on this and edit it more but I am Posting because of Reasons #Blame one of my cats for this #Sorry about all the setup #The next chapter which I have already started is where the REAL fun happens #In that whenever I think of some of the plot points I cackle and think 'Get Loved On Idiot'#So that's a hint as to what happens #Man I can never think of fun facts while I'm posting. Only afterwards #Anyway I hope this was a reasonably enjoyable read!

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