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There were no seasons in hell.
No cycles of any kind, really. In Alastors living days, the passing of a year was mostly marked by food - vegetables, finfish, oysters, and crawfish were all at their best in the right time of the year. Right here, his diet was rather consistent, with the variety being available on the spot, so he had nothing to complain about. His companions, however, as well as hotel guests, got nostalgic at certain times of the year.
Recently, he caught some of them looking outside wistfully, chatting about snow, pretty frost and various solstice festivities they miss from Earth. He saw ribbons in green, red and white, sentimental chatting in the corridors, and surprising surge of baking activities. Even Charlie was affected, despite never experiencing seasons herself, with some second-hand homesickness only someone like her could be capable of. Bless her hear, our special girl.
Well, someone like her, or - unfortunately for Alastor - her sentimental sap of a father, that he happened to be irrevocably in love with.
They seemed to make a lot of progress over the past months. Under Alstor’s relentless influence, his fallen angel got out more, mingled with the hotel guests and smiled like a fully dressed king of hell. Although their conversations rarely hit more delicate topics, Alastor felt more than comfortable with avoiding their inherent awkwardness and focusing on action. Most days, his approach worked wonderfully, bringing his partner out of his shell, ready to face his realm.
He knew this won’t be one of those days the moment he stepped into Lucifer’s quarters with his routine morning coffee, just to witness a heavy rain showering every inch of the room. Well, that’s new. The ozone smell felt familiar and would be almost comforting, if it weren’t a result of his lovers flare up.
Crossing the doorstep, Alastor manifested a little, ink-black umbrella from the shadows and warily approached the curled-up figure burrowed in a pile of soaked-up blankets on the bed.
“Would you care for a cup of hot coff-” Alastor hesitated, then quickly threw the cup into a tiny dimensional rift and pulled out another, closing the breach before the crack of shattering ceramics could reach them. “Hot cocoa! Extra marshmallows, and everything my dear liege enjoys.”
He awkwardly stretched out a hand with a cup towards Lucifer, getting in some rain in the process.
The golden eyes peeking from the wet blanket ball met the cup, then Alastor, but didn’t move. The rainfall weakened, though, so the deer counted it as a success.
Not getting more reaction, he sighted and sat down close to Lucifer, bravely ignoring the squelching sound and cold moisture quickly making its way through his clothing and fur. He hung the umbrella in the air over his partner and gently reached to cup his face with one hand. “Hey, duckling. Want to tell me what brought out the monsoon out of season?” a deceitfuly delicate hand extended from the burrow to finally grab the still steamy cocoa, and Lucifer took a small sip.
Then a bigger one. He chewed softly on a few marshmallows. Eventually, the devil slurped half of the drink and a faint, warm blush spread on his face. Simultaneously, the raindrops started to hiss upon hitting the ground, turning into a thin mist.
“It’s a bit hard to say, or maybe just to verbalise? Kinda easier just to feel. No, not easier, very hard, super hard, and tiring as hell.” the king started in a quiet tone, then took a large breath and slowly exhaled. “Expressing it is easier, I mean, NOT expressing it is easier. Maybe it used to be more doable, but I haven’t done it in such a long time that I lost the feelings-sharing-muscle, or something like that. I’m not making any sense, am I?”
Alastor immediately wanted to lie that he made perfect sense, but didn’t want to interrupt until his partner gets some steam out.
“What I’m trying to say, is that it’s not one thing, it’s never one thing. More like, all of it? The same ‘all’ as always.” Lucifer fixed his eyes on the cup, nervously turning it in his hands.
”I just really don’t want to go outside Al, please. And I don’t mean the hotel, I mean outside my room. Possibly even this bed. I just feel so exhausted.”
Finally, the deer decided that it’s time interfere, especially upon hearing a thunder-like rumble starting to rise in some inexplicable distance. The light tremor disturbed the water in the puddles dappled around the bed. The demon noticed a rubber duck gently wiggle on the surface, suddenly dipping its rump straight down and raising its tiny beak like a sinking ship. Except, without the sinking part.
Catching himself just in time, he suppressed a chuckle and refocused his full attention on the love of his life.
“I thought- “ he paused to inch closer and pick one of Lucifers shaded hands in his own. He immediately felt it squeeze back. “I thought that your moods improved. You were so cordial, for weeks on end, that I presumed you might be in remission of sorts. Or, at the very least, that it won’t get worse.”
Lucifer let out a small, breathy laugh, but his eyes remained somber. “It doesn’t exactly work like this.” He looked through the window at the ash-grey landscape surrounding the city, which, filtered through the mist trapped in the room, looked even sadder. “You can’t just fix it like a broken chair.”
His permanent smile, wielded like a weapon, faltered for a speck of time. The answer, while blunt, seemed perfectly logical. He could feel the first strings of guilt forming in his gut. To have exactly one person to care about, for his entire afterlife, and not even be able to tend to his health?!
On top of that, he still didn’t understand where he went wrong, only getting flustered and confused. “Why now?”
Lucifer took a long pause, staring at the ceiling, clearly oblivious to his lover’s growing distress. Eventually, he shrugged vacantly and downed the rest of the hot drink.
“There is something about this season that makes people think of home, miss it. Sometimes miss people. The past…” Still listless, the angel swished with the empty mug, other hand being occupied by more important matters, filling the room with gentle heat.
Every soaked piece of furniture or fabric dried instantly in a golden glow. “Anything that you can’t get back.”
Alastor listened intently, notably grateful for the warmth. An image of his maman momentarily flashed in his mind, scattering like a smoke just as quickly as it came. His ear flickered, but he tried to coat it as shaking off the leftover water from it’s tip. The deerman was successful enough to splatter a few drops on his paramour’s face, earning a little laugh.
“Alright, I understand that it’s a long-haul affair. No panacea.” the demon raised both palms in a quiet capitulation “I’m still going to try and lift your spirit!”
Back to assured mien, he gathered Lucifer in his arms and planted a tender kiss on his forehead, getting a delighted titter in response. “You can’t stop me!”
The fallen angel responded with an approving hum, too exhausted to keep his lids up. As his body relaxed, the mist finally settled down, restoring the room to its normal, dormant self. Alastor watched the rubber duck on the dry carpet fall to its bulbous side.
He happily cradled his beou in a sheltering embrace until he drifted back to sleep.
* * *
Radio Demon’s earthly mother taught him, among many other invaluable lessons, that there are no problems that won’t ease with a hearty meal. Hence, thoughtful cooking has always been his go-to solution for his partners' flare-ups. Even if the current melancholy of his king easily outmatched anything that Alastor had to deal with since they met, it was a start and definitely couldn’t hurt! With this resolution, the demon left the pitiful burrito, safely buried in his blanket den, and headed downstairs - afoot, hoping for a culinary inspiration to bless him on his way.
While finishing the list of hors d'oeuvres in his head, passing a recently added social room, which he hadn’t had any interest in so far, his attention was caught by a major commotion taking place inside. Impossible to miss, his right ear swivelled to the side, catching the sound of multiple voices joined in excitement.
Following with the rest of his head, he noticed a changing, colourful glow from between the doorframe and sporadic ‘ooh!’s and ‘aah!’s of the crowd - a telltale sign of a captivated audience.
Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Alastor got closer and silently moved through the keyhole, manifesting on the other side of the perfectly unlocked and openable door. But where is the pazzaz in that?
The ruckus appeared to be caused by a group of Sinners - hotel guests - enthusiastically watching a slide show projected on the entire wall of the room. It was a collage of scenes undoubtedly coming from Earth. Some were familiar, such as forests, lakes and historical city centres. Most were completely foreign and, admittedly, repulsive. Passionless, grey blocks, flattened ground covered in a sea of cars in brash colours, unreasonably vast and bright shopping markets, and streets upon streets, and more cars. His deer nose wrinkled in distaste, yet stayed in, as the onlookers started to depart, leaving the apparent orchestrator of the whole ordeal: a former VoxTech employee, Baxter, chatting with a current employee of himself - Husk.
“...where do you even get a priest in hell? Wait, I take it back…”
“...we were actually planning…”
“...anyway, he’s an old-fashioned guy. It probably wou…” the cat was finally so gracious to notice him approaching and promptly ended the conversation. “Actually, I gotta go. Good luck. Boss. “ he nodded respectfully to the Radio Demon and left him alone with the little fish fellow.
“Well, my! How can I help you, Sir?” He had never seen the little chum nervous, though this would be the closest so far. It would certainly caught his attention, if it weren’t already occupied to its limits. “Are you also interested in transmission from the Internet upstairs?”
His face presented a perfect image of puzzlement. “A what now?”
“I am more than happy to explain!” he always was. “See, the databases on Earth are now quite impressive. There is an image, or more likely multiple images, of every inhabited corner of the globe. Available freely to anyone alive and - as of now - deceased! Granted, they are a part of the hotel staff or a guest, of course.”
Any trace of anxiousness was firmly replaced with scientific passion. “The guests were particularly excited about seeing places they remember from their living days, although curiosity about the unknown lands would make way more sense. But that is just my personal opinion. In any case, would you be interested in having a go?”
The demon listened to the speech with increasing fascination, slowly evolving into unconcealed delight.
A plan started to form in his head. “Any place in the world?”
“Any that was touched by a human hand! Which, in practice, means everywhere.”
“Hm.” he examined the projecting machine critically. “Can you move the device somewhere else? To a different room?”
Baxter considered the question for only a moment. “All I need is an empty wall. Preferably a bright surface, but I like a challenge!”
And so, Alastor started relaying the request to his companion.
His family home and its surrounding bayou could, at face value could appear as a selfish choice when the mission was to remedy his suffering lover.
But there were no places that he was aware of, more naturally abundant in wild ducks, than the endless marshes of Louisiana!
They weren’t of the yellow, cuddly type that Lucifer seemed to adopt from children's books, but they were charming in their own way. Brown, with occasional green touch, not many would consider them beautiful - his king, the deer suspected, would be on that exclusive list - but they were spunky little fellas! Always in groups, full of personality, afraid of nothing to the point of stupidity, and constantly interacting with each other in, often, fascinating dramas.
As for himself, he wasn’t actually sure how he felt about going back to his motherland, even through a screen; or, I guess, a wall. Ordinarily, Alastor was not a sentimental demon. The past is the past, in his eyes, and there was no point in meddling too much in memories - the painful ones, and especially the cherished ones.
The home he grew up in would entail both, and plenty of that. He worked hard to get where he was, to distance himself from the helplessness that once was his predestination.
That didn’t mean that he was afraid of confronting his days gone by. Moreover, even if he was (he wasn’t), he would gladly take on the hurt if it meant Lucifer would feel better.
With conviction, he finished instructing the smaller demon and set to leave, before he was stopped by the mad scientist.
“Sir! If you don’t mind, I would like to use the opportunity for a request of my own. I will get straight to the point, as I am sure your schedule is busy.”
“Since you are the one who has been taking careful watch over Niffty for all these years. “ he cleared his throat. “I thought it to be tradition-compliant to ask you for her hand in marriage!”
Baxter was subsequently graced with a rarely seen on the Overlord image of deer in the headlights, before the figure silently dissipated into the shadows.
He waited a few seconds to comprehend what happened, then turned right back into his usual spunk.
“Mesalliance it is then!”
* * *
Happily bustling over the slowly gurgling pots, Alastor focused his mind on the surprise planned for tomorrow and his hands on mixing spices, vigorously compartmentalising the last part of his interaction with the absolutely-not-good-enough-fo…no, stop, none of that. That didn’t happen. The only emotion allowed was growing excitement about showing Lucifer something he hasn’t seen before, about sharing a part of himself with the partner he trusted, and possibly even his own, increasingly enticing, meeting with the past. It wasn’t all bad, after all, there was a certain magic exclusive to children, and children only. And there was beauty in the land that raised him, the undying hum of flora, fauna, water and earth. And finally, he supposed, there was love. He was being taken care of. He felt safe.
As his throat tightened in a knot, skin got weirdly warm, and finally eyes threatened to humiliate him explicitly, the soft memories quickly join the list of unacceptable topics that he pushed as far as possible - together of the though of killing Baxter, which makes no sense, he has no possible reason to-
FOCUS!
“Alastor!” the sudden loud, cheerful voice, surprising him deep in thoughts, almost pulled a startled bleat out of him, only stopped by covering his mouth with his hand.
“So good to see you, I was actually looking for you! Do you have a moment? Charlie looked at the simmering pots, clearly requiring no work other than a crumble of supervision.
“Of course, dear! For you, always.” The demon reluctantly turned to the princess, wearing his brightest smile, giving his expression an unhinged note.
“Oh great, thank you!” Either ignoring the visible strain or missing it completely, she didn’t skip a beat. “I wanted to ask you something, it’s about dad. I saw this morning rain hitting the windows on your level, on his side, except…I was outside? Is everything okay with dad?”
Immediately, Alastor forgot about his quandaries and rushed to defend his king's privacy and honour. “Absolutely, my dear! Don’t you worry your busy head. It was just a part of one of his duck projects. They actually float on water like the real ones, did you know? He patted Charlie on the head affectionately, weaving an excuse with unshaken certainty that always worked on dismissing her questions.
“Really? I mean dad being fine, not the ducks. I knew about the ducks. So what about the steam coming out?”
”Steam? Only from my pots, darling. Just common mist!” he stated, as if that made infinitely more sense regarding the situation. Realising he blundered, he switched the strategy to evasion before the princess could add any follow-up questions. “It was lovely to talk, as always, but I’m afraid I must farewell. I have a hungry king to feed, and it would be a pity to let a homemade meal get cold. I’m sure you understand!” quickly turning down the stoves and plating thick sauce over rice with magic, Alastor disappeared into the comfort of shadows.
The early dinner was met with no complaints; Lucifer never complained regarding Alastor's cooking, almost as a principle. There was still obvious sorrow behind his Amour’s eyes that even the best Étouffée in the world possibly couldn’t erase, but at least they were together, they were dry and warm, sharing a meal and companionship.
“Thank you, Alastor.” Lucifer looked at him with disarming earnestness. “For the food, too, but mostly for the thought. And effort. And time. I know it can’t be fun to nurse a fallen angel that doesn’t even know what is wrong with-!”
With all his devotion, the deer cupped his silly serpent's face with both hands and placed a sweet, reverent kiss on his lips, silencing any objections. “Nonsense, my petite pomme. The apple of my eye.” .He nuzzled his nose against Lucifer's. “Taking care of you is a privilege, not a burden. It makes me happy. Doting on you cures every sorrow, or rage.“
He realised how true that is, thinking about Charlie’s intervention. All the doubt and fear lost their power, trivial when his ducklings' needs were on the line. Placing one kiss after another all over Lucifer’s face, he felt wetness of tears on his circle cheeks.
“Good tears?” he asked worriedly.
“Good tears.” confirmed the devil and hugged Alastor around the waist with a firmness threatening to crush a few ribs and hid his face in the demon's shirt, letting it soak in his sobs.
What is a few ribs against love? They will regrow anyway. So Alastor let this demigod locked in a body of a niph do as he pleases, rubbing gentle circles on his back.
“I actually have a surprise for you. A big one!” he risked an attempt at making a bit of a bildup.
The reaction was immediate and spectacular, like night and day.
“I want surprise!” Lucifer wrapped his arms around his neck, looking more angelic than ever. “Pleaaase?”
“Tomorrow, my love!” too easy. “It is scheduled, unmovable, and you will have to wait. But at least you won’t have to leave the bed!”
“Oh” The angel dropped back to lying on Alastor with a pout. The sulk was quick, though, and soon they were back to lounging in comfortable silence.
* * *
They woke up in the morning still snuggled, still wearing yesterday's clothes, with just enough time to put themselves together before the meeting with Baxter.
The closer they got to the promised gift for his apple, the more excited he became himself. The warmth of all-night cuddles still lingered in his core, feeling more prepared to face whatever dark memories the house may bring. Maybe even a bit prepared to welcome some of the precious ones.
“Everyone ready?” their tech specialist spoke in a measured tone, in stark contrast to Lucifer almost vibrating on the couch in anticipation. “Alright, West of New Orleans, take one!”
The device came to life with a quiet hum. The wall lit up, first with just a white square.
Then with a full, coloured and sharp picture. It wasn’t a bayou.
Instead of his heart sinking to his stomach like a rock. It was a slow, merciless descent.
“W-what-” he stuttered like a rattled child, so far removed from an indomitable Overlord with hell in his grasp. The rock kept sinking, its path seemingly bottomless.
“That isn’t the right place. You made a mistake!” the disrupted static distorted his voice. Lucifer managed to look away from the screen and move it to his deer. He was genuinely terrified.
“No, I’m afraid it’s correct,” Baxter replied matter-of-factly with a hand on his chin, not disheartened by the Radio Demons' wavering composure. “The landscape has changed a lot in the last 100 years, your country being one of the prime examples.” he wasn’t exactly happy, but couldn’t help his own curiosity. “The rapid expansion of urban areas made investors reclaim a lot of unused land.”
The neutral tone that Baxter wore consistently, like a badge of honour, should have served to infuriate Alastor, breaking the strained wire keeping him from lashing out. He wanted it, needed to have someone to blame, or at the very least a distraction. Carnage, to feel anything other than the sorrow, its taste foreign, bitter like cranberries, blooming inside him into nothingness that pushed away everything else he was.
He couldn’t do anything. The image was too real, the landscape still vaguely familiar, despite everything.
He stood maybe two feet from the screen, his mien hardening into a mask of abject disbelief. It was a single digital snapshot, a flickering window into a reality that had sundered his sense of home. He wasn't there in person to breathe the chemical exhaust or to hear the rattle of countless industrial fans, yet the knot of transgression, of wrongness in his gut tightened with such visceral force it felt as though the immense blocks of grey bore a physical weight in the room. The wooden house of his youth, once held so dear, so feared, so despised, so his, was gone - not even a skeletal remnant remained to hold some ghost of his earthly life. It was like he never existed. His breath quickened, struggling to fit in his chest.
There was no murky water. No eerie copices, or overgrown paths veiled to strangers but welcoming a child growing alongside their odd shrubbery. No ducks.
In their place stood a soulless monolith of concrete and corrugated steel, a bastardised version of the land that had once been a sanguine cradle for his spirit.
The bayou, that former orchestra of crickets and splashes, leafy rustle and more mysterious noise, all the creatures lurking under the scum, burrowing through layers of peat. Je ne sais quoi of the Louisiana soil. Full of life. Full of death.
Now wiped from the face of the earth with a power he could not compare with.
“Turn it off! Cut the cable, do something!” a faint voice sounded over the ringing in the Creole deer's ears, too quiet to recognise.
His eyes wandered through the shimmering labyrinth of pipes, straight lines, simple shapes, omnipresent utility, looking for something familiar to hold onto with a desperation bordering on prayer. At the very edge of the picture, by a brook they didn't manage to dry out completely, he recognised a mockery of the wide stub of an old, dignified cypress. There was a plaque installed beside it. He could not read the note.
“I need to go.” he stated calmly and disappeared in an instant.
Lucifer looked uncanily terrifying with seraphine wings ripped through a pink sweater, eyes on fire and a tail wrapped around the projector, crushing it into pieces.
“Wait! No, Alastor!’ He tried to follow him wherever he vanished, but his love blocked the angel from his signal. Helplessly, he turned his ire towards the only other being in the room, but came to his senses before doing anything he would later regret.
He slumped on the couch, exhausted and worried, more than anything about the coolness of Alastor's reaction. Why did he not break? Why not cut the sofa in half? Why didn’t he cry at all…
“Before I forget!” The fish demon ripped the monarch from spiralling and approached him carefully from above, handing over an elegant envelope with somewhat messy handwriting.
“Oh, of course, the invitation! Thank you, Bonter.” he grabbed the paper and let his eyelids drop.
“Baxter”
“Banter”
“I guess it’s an improvement. Please give your entrée choices to Angel Dust, he insisted on organising a réception. And, for whatever it’s worth, I regret it turned out like this”
* * *
Days passed. Alastor let Lucifer in fairly quickly. He did not speak about the picture, and the serpent was not eager to mention it first. But he needed to help; to do something. His love tried so hard to make him feel better that he was determined to return the effort. He did not have Alastor's composure, consistency or drive. He only had his creation. So he gave it a shot.
“What are we doing here, darling?” the Radio Demon asked with a hint of waryness, though still mostly cool.
They were standing in his quarter, on the edge of plywood, facing the vast marsh.
Lucifer grabbed his hand and locked their fingers, unsure but determined. “I want to show you something. I’m not exactly sure if this will help at all…Shit, let’s take a leap!
The fallen angel reached forward with his holy hand, sending into the void his unyielding will. The earth answered.
It started with a tremor. The deer seemed startled, squeezing the hand harder. Looking around with wide eyes. Ears flickering.
Usually quiet and stagnant like a sculpture, the bayou got filled with a mass of raw, organic life. He could feel it almost instinctively, before the senses could distinguish creatures and critters in the pulsing tapestry of sounds and smells. Then his left ear pinpointed rumbling trees in the windless night. His right ear tuned toward lazy, thick splashing in the bog. Moss and lichen tickled his sensitive nostrils. Cicadas engrossed them with their clicky song from every side.
The sensory overload made him dizzy, different instincts fighting against the birthing ecosystem, all of it both new and vaguely familiar, all of it real. The corporeal flesh, not equipped to commune with a miracle, eventually gave out, the deer demon falling to his knees.
Before them, in an overgrown stream, he saw peacefully drifting ducks. Of the yellow, cuddly type.
Something frayed and worn out tethering him to every self-imposed guise snapped. He dived into memories pulled by each familiar call. The tears broke out abruptly like a monsoon. His cries spread through newborn nature, startling more feeble creatures, intriguing the bold ones.
He missed his home. He missed his land and everything he grew up knowing. The world that’s now gone, and he can never have it back. Identity lost to callous time, all of it so random and unfair. He missed his mom the most. Her face roused a wail that he didn’t know he was capable of.
Once the floodgates opened, which happened so rarely, he was inconsolable.
Lucifer had his hopes up that these were “the good tears” only for a few, bittersweet moments. After that, it was clear to him that he made everything worse. He had no idea how to handle a Radio Demon bawling and shaking like a child; likely, no one did. More stressed out with each passing second, he looked helplessly around, like someone was there to aid him, then wrapped himself around his sobbing partner like a weighted blanket. He didn’t even notice when he started sobbing too.
They stayed like this, lost in time, both crying and grieving, holding to each other for dear life. It came in waves, fewer for Lucifer. Eventually, Alastor quieted as well, only trembling lightly in his soulmate's embrace. Then it ceased as well.
“I don’t normally cry.” his voice came out hoarse, but calm, not cold, peaceful. “In fact, I can’t remember the last time it happened. Likely as a child.
“That’s a lot of missed crying. You just had to catch up.” They both laughed through exhaustion. It wasn’t even that funny.
“Sometimes you need to let it fall.” he added more tenderly. ” Just get it out. Then you feel better afterwards.“
“I feel better”, he admitted, his voice muffled through his duckling's shirt. He took a long pause. “It was me who was supposed to comfort you.”
“You did.”
His head flopped back to Lucifer's chest, where he nuzzled without reserve.
* * *
“Hey, Al.”
“Yes, Dearest?”
“Did you know that ducks look up to the sky during rain?”
“I did not know that.”
“You think they watch the stars in wonder? Or just wash their little faces?”
“I think they look forward to the rain ending.”
“That’s actually pretty sweet for you <3”
“What do you mean ‘for me’?!”
“Hehe!”
* * *
“Hey, Alastor?”
“Yes, mon Canard?”
“Can we go to the wedding as a couple?”
“...What wedding?”