Chapter Text
Lucifer fiddled with his new ring. It felt just different enough from his old, gold band that twiddling it around his finger was a warm reminder of the sinner that now owned his heart and not his long-failed marriage. He brushed his thumb over the antlers embossed into the silver.
He sighed and desperately tried to tune back into the meeting. What an aggravation that heaven wanted to discuss politics when he wanted nothing more than to huddle away in his rooms and keep his fiancée safe. Not that he could ever say as much out loud. Alastor would rather tear his own tail off than admit that he was vulnerable. Even on a day like today.
It was annoying that Sera insisted on setting this up on extermination day.
Right. The meeting.
He listened back in as Heaven’s emissary spoke. It seemed Sera couldn’t be bothered to attend this meeting. Granted, it was Charlie who was the real face of Hell these days, so he didn’t really want to be here, either. He simply had too much paternal instinct to abide his daughter wandering the streets of Hell on extermination day. No, no, no. She could be two hundred or two thousand years old, he wasn’t putting her in the line of fire like that… Not again.
Five years after the failed extermination at the hotel and his little girl was finally living out her dream. Well… sort of.
With the resounding success of the Hazbin Hotel Heaven had become worried that malicious sinners would still find their way up past the pearly gates. The mechanics of how a soul obtained redemption were vague and nebulous enough that Sera was compelled to act, refusing to risk an influx of former Hellish citizens. So, with Charlie’s pushing (and a little strong-arming by Lucifer, himself) the whole system was changed. Instead of sinners meeting a very permanent end at the tip of an angelic spear their souls were now sent back to earth for a second chance at redemption.
Not a bad deal in Lucifer's eyes. A great way to recycle souls instead of having to form a bunch of new ones every year, and let's just ignore the fact that sinner souls were the ones flooding the Earth now- Hell's proverbial overflow. Well, it wasn’t his problem, and from what he’d heard, things couldn’t get much worse on Earth anyways.
That isn't to say there wasn't a catch. All recycled souls got a full reset. No memories of their first life or subsequent afterlife. Charlie had rebelled against that caveat. What was the point of the trust exercises, therapy, and self-improvement provided by the hotel if none of the resident’s would remember the lessons learned?
Sera hadn’t seemed to care.
But it was better than death, right?
Charlie maintained that there had to be some kind of good to be had in trying, and Lucifer wasn’t going to discourage her. Never again. He would fall backwards off a rickety wooden platform as many times as she wanted, and if he happened to fall into the surprisingly warm arms of a certain Radio Demon then that was his reward for being such a good sport.
He wondered if Alastor would be willing to fall into his arms when he got back to the hotel.
Right! The meeting!
The emissary was prattling on about… uhh… statistics on Hell’s growing population? Or was it Heaven's? That would be a good sign, wouldn’t it? If more people were going up than down? Lucifer plastered on a polite smile as if he had been listening the whole time, and the emissary… Oh what was her name? Carly? Carol? Camille? Oh no. He had done it again. He’d just have to take all the paperwork back later and look through it by himself. He had never been very good at audible learning, not when all the knowledge he was ever supposed to know was pre-programmed into the very fiber of his being. What use did an archangel have for math?
None really, until they fall and have a whole realm thrust upon them.
He’d much rather have Alastor thrust-
Right… The meeting…
Lucifer sighed again, and if Carla(?) knew that she might as well be talking to a brick wall then at least she had the decency to pretend otherwise.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a moving shadow. He turned to smile warmly at the very welcome distraction. This wouldn’t be the first time Alastor had crashed one of his meetings via Ansel. And yes, Lucifer named his partner's shadow. It was a fine name, thank you very much, and more appropriate than calling it “Shadow” or “that thing” as Alastor had been doing. An awfully rude way to treat a piece of one’s own soul in Lucifer’s opinion.
Al knew very well how distractible the king was, and if anyone could understand the need for entertainment in a dull moment it was The Radio Demon. Having Ansel blowing him kisses and mocking... Corrine(??) with rude gestures would make this go much faster.
Lucifer’s smile dropped the moment he got a good look at Ansel moving anxiously along the wall.
He wasn’t smiling.
Something was very wrong.
Lucifer immediately hopped out of his seat, startling whatsherface before opening a portal to the outer doors of the embassy. Without a backwards glance at the surprised meeting attendees, Lucifer leapt through the shimmering portal with Ansel hitching a ride on his shadow. He looked down at Ansel, panic rising in his chest.
“Show me where he is!”
The shadow took off, and Lucifer unfurled his wings to keep up. His fear spiked each time Ansel’s form rippled - as if he was barely able to maintain his shape. They raced through the city ignoring the slaughter around them. Exterminator angels knew better than to confront the King of Hell, understanding full well they’d be splattered across the pavement with a single thought, treaty be damned.
They couldn't move fast enough. A flurry of worst-case scenarios flitted through the Devil's mind, and his eyes bled to a glowing red.
Ansel turned a sharp corner and there in a dingy alleyway was Alastor - or what was left of him, at least. He lay shredded and crippled in a heap, the expanding pool of dark blood beneath him seeping into the cracks of the cement to make a macabre mosaic. Lucifer gasped, rushing to his side, mind in a full-blown panic.
“No, no, no, no, no! This isn’t happening! Alastor! Al, sweetheart, look at me!”
The sinner cracked open his eyes, his breathing ragged and blood pouring from his mouth. The radio static that always surrounded him sounded faint and broken, like the volume had been turned down low and he couldn't find a channel. It skipped with every shuddering breath.
“Took you… long enough… my dear,” he croaked, his voice raspy and choked.
He coughed and blood splattered across Lucifer’s pristine, white suit. The king didn’t give a damn. He gently cradled Alastor’s head, resting it on his lap.
“Don’t talk, okay? You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine! Just hold on, okay?”
There’s so much blood…
Lucifer willed his voice to be as calm and reassuring as possible. His hands shook as he cut open his own wrist, deeper than strictly necessary, but he was taking no chances. He put his bleeding arm to Alastor’s mouth, gently opening his jaw to let the golden ichor flow down his throat to heal him…
But it didn’t…
The golden blood started to flow down the front of Alastor’s shirt, the shining rivulets mixing with deep red. His throat had been cut, Lucifer’s lifeblood spilling out alongside the demon’s own, useless...
Alastor coughed again, choking on the liquid flowing into his lungs. Lucifer whimpered as tears started to flow down his cheeks, desperation clawing at his insides like a rabid animal, a chant of no, no, no, no, no ringing through his head.
His demon, his beautiful, snarky, awe-inspiring sinner was dying, and he didn’t know what to do.
“Al, baby, stay with me! You’re okay! You’re tougher than this, you just have to fight, okay? Please, love! You just gotta reconstitute. Just focus on that! If you can get your throat healed, I can help with the rest!”
An annoyed blat of static didn’t so much pierce the air as it warbled around the two.
“Do be quiet… I’m trying to die… in peace.”
“Ha! You’re such a kidder! Leave it to you to make jokes when I’m just trying to save your life. Hahaha! That’s how I know you’re okay! You’re gonna be okay!”
Lucifer pressed a quivering hand to Alastor's throat not knowing how to stop the blood without cutting off his lover's air.
“Mon… Ange…” His voice cut through Lucifer’s manic rambling despite each word sounding like nothing more than a faint gasp. He reached up to grasp the angel’s hand in a weak hold, interlocking their fingers. Lucifer felt the cold metal of Alastor's engagement ring. "Find… Me…”
His body fell still.
Alastor’s static hum faded into silence, and Ansel caressed Lucifer’s cheek with an ephemeral claw. The shadow bent down as if to kiss their joined hands, phantom lips imparting a sensation of calm before dissipating in a shimmering ripple..
Lucifer held his breath, listening close, looking for another labored rise and fall of his love’s chest…
But none came.
All across Pentagram City exterminators, sinners, hellborn, and overlords alike put their hands up to cover their ears as a deafening, polyphonic screech ripped through the air.