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Chapter Text

The criminal rate in Pentagram City was spiking through the roof and Inspector Detective Lucifer Morningstar knew that the whole existence of legal system he was supposed to maintain was useless there. He lost his enthusiasm years ago, and he kept asking himself for what he was even there. To do paperwork, of course, because no one wanted to deal with the hundreds of petty crimes going on around every week. Back in the day, when Sera was still in charge of the precinct, his name meant something. She relied on him in the most difficult of cases, knowing that he had the ability to crack anything she might throw his way. Then, these two clowns - Adam and Lute - showed up with "proof" that Sera was a dirty cop and turned Lucifer's world around. He would never forget the hurt in Sera's eyes when he didn't support her at the court. Too much was on the line for him then (and how terrible excuse was that?) So, now he was stuck in the office doing work that even a trained monkey could manage, under the lead of two tyrants who work for the underground, arresting only those criminals that failed to pay the ridiculous "mercy tax". At the end of every second month, Adam and Lute went over their accounting ledges, to find the biggest unpaying fish in the sea to "exterminate," as they called it jokingly among themselves.

Maybe, just maybe, a day would come when everything would get back in order.

One didn't have to be a crime-solving genius to know that something or rather someone big was about to turn up on their doorstep, for it only took one look at Peter's pale face as he ended his call with Lute to figure it out. The boy, usually so cheerful and bright, was trembling with terror. He was hardly able to grab the keys from the pre-trial detention cells. Not long after, he heard the main gate screeching and Lute shouting insults. She kicked the door to the precinct open, pushing the perp inside with the point of her shiny silver gun stabbed between his shoulder blades. Lucifer noticed that there was a slash wound across the man's chest but despite the pain it must have caused him and the gruesome way the officer was managing him, there was a confident smile on his face. He was quiet too. Usually, these things didn't go smoothly, with every criminal putting up a fight with every officer within arm's length. This one looked much timider, and therefore interesting.

He was taller than Lucifer (although, that wasn't anything exceptional given his unremarkable height), with messy brown hair, dressed up in old-fashioned red suit. His left eye drifted slightly outward, giving the impression he was looking at two things at once. That sounded familiar... With one kick to the desk, Lucifer sent his office chair wheeling across the floor. It eventually bumped into a file cabinet and stopped. Aj- Ak- Al- there it was! The description fit the man perfectly and so Lucifer knew with unmistakable certainty that he was staring into the face of Alastor, a former radio host, better known as The Louisiana Cannibal.

Hmm. Maybe that day wasn't so far away...

Having put on a brave face, Peter strode up to the cell and held it open. However, Alastor stood glued to the spot, making no move to get behind bars. Instead, his head was turned, and his other eye was fixed on Lucifer with whom he was at least as fascinated as the inspector was with him. Lucifer was used to intimidation, but this man was no ordinary scum, and so he stared back with strange calmness in his heart.

"Move, your fucking ass inside!" Lute shouted maniacally, hitting Alastor over the head with the gun. The criminal grinned, his smile faltering for a mere second before he finally obeyed the young officer's orders. He stopped in the middle of the cell, with back straight, eyes searching and remained like that for as long as Adam and Lute were present in the building. Only once they left, laughing at their stupid private jokes and high fiving each other for the job well done, Alastor's forehead broke out in cold sweat. It was late, late enough for Lucifer to call it a day, and yet, when Peter approached him, he already knew that it wasn't going to happen.

It is worth mentioning that Peter was a young police warden with angelic blond hair who became part of the precinct only recently after Husk quit his job (according to Adam and Lute, he mailed them his resignation, which didn't sound at all like his style, but Lucifer was far too afraid to search for him anywhere, because the last time they talked, nasty things were said and they probably weren't friends anymore) and had respect for the senior colleagues on duty. In regard to Lucifer, his respect bordered on fear, no matter how much the Inspector smiled at or praised him. It was frustrating whenever he started stuttering in front of him, petrified to say something wrong that could anger Lucifer who, by the way, didn't feel scary or easy to offend at all. He liked to think of himself as intimidating to the perps and friendly to his acquittances.

"Aren't you going home, sir?" As for Peter's job, he was the one staying at the station and guarding criminals held in the cells. Recalling his expression from earlier, Lucifer couldn't let the innocent blond spend the whole night with Alastor alone.

"I was hoping I could keep you company for the night." He flashed the young man one of his charming smiles, but Peter looked at him even more nervously as if Lucifer had too many teeth in his mouth.

"But-"

"Or do you wish me to give you some privacy here with Mr. Al McCreepyface over there?"

Peter risked a glance behind himself - Alastor gave him a wide shark-like smile. The corners of his mouth twitched - a sign that he was doing his best to hide the pain his untreated injury must have been inducing from the moment he was brought in. The whole afternoon, he kept them all guessing how high his pain tolerance was. If a long bleeding slash across the chest only made his smile twitch and forehead to sweat, then he might as well react like that to one of his limbs being severed from his body. Let's be real, given his nickname, he'd be even happy to have a severed limb to nibble on. Lucifer could deny him the pleasure, but he wouldn't.

"N-no, sir," the warden shook his head nervously. "Y-you may suggest that it is n-none of my business and you'd be absolutely right, just-" Lucifer rested his head on the palm of his hand, telling himself to be patient, because losing his temper would do no one any good. Peter's seemingly pointless rant surprisingly had a point, and not exactly an insignificant one: "What about Charlie?"

Oh. What kind of a father forgets about his daughter? His eyes snapped towards the clock and the number they saw flooded him with panic. She's been alone at home for more than four hours now! "Shit!" he cursed under his breath. "Look, we can still make this work. Just a sec, I'll give you-" Lucifer wildly rummaged through the papers on his office desk until he found what he was looking for and handed it to Peter. "Here! Keys to my house. I must ask you to go there and make sure Charlie is taken care of while I finish my business here. Could you do it for me?"

The suggestion made Peter relax as he looked at the keys in the palm of his hand fondly. "Of course," he said softly but then his forehead wrinkled with worry. "Won't she be afraid when a strange man suddenly appears on the doorstep of her home?" Charlie was a ten-year-old girl with so many talents and interests Lucifer couldn't ever count them. Well, it's true that he hadn't ever really been engaged much in her activities. Although he wanted to spend more time with her, desperately so, he wasn't strong enough to do it. He hated himself for the bad thoughts that always flooded him when he was near her while, at the same time, his heart suffered whenever she was out of his sight. Her smile was like the sun - burned the eyes when you looked at it for too long and made you mournful when not seen under the dark clouds of depression. At least on Lucifer it had this effect.

Embarrassingly enough, it was Peter who was concerned whether his arrival wouldn't cause little Charlie a shock, and not Lucifer, to whom similar thought didn't occur at all. "Don't worry. Apparently, she can somehow detect who's friend or fiend, plus, considering your hair and face, she might even welcome you as some kind of an angelic protector," he waved it off, trying to sound casual, and could only hope that the girl wouldn't start freaking out once Peter entered the house. The argument was enough for the gullible warden to finally agree and leave, which left Lucifer alone with Alastor.

Observing from afar the dried blood all over the criminal's vest and pinstriped pants, Lucifer decided that it was just enough blood loss for one day and approached the cell with a first aid kit in one hand. Alastor watched the box being shoved in between the bars and to his feet, then he glanced skeptically at the other man. The Inspector had to laugh. "I admit that it would be hilarious if something deadly jumped out of it to kill you, but I'd honestly prefer if you survived this and actually attended your trial." Alastor contemplated his choices, then nodded his head gracefully and kneeled to rummage through the medical supplies.

"There are no scissors to cut the thread or the bandages," he complained. Unfortunately for him, Lucifer belonged among those responsible people who believe that children and criminals shouldn't be allowed to wield scissors and kept the sharp tool locked away safely.

The Inspector shrugged with his arms folded on his chest and suggested: "Use your teeth." The other was smiling, but at the same time looked utterly unimpressed. His eyes never wasted time looking at meaningless things - they avoided Lute before and avoided the pain-relievers now too. So, instead of popping the lid of the pill bottle open, he grabbed the thread and attempted to pull it through the eye of the needle. A minute and thirty tries later, when no progress was made, Lucifer's patience was wearing thin. "Have you seriously never had to patch yourself up before?" Alastor stopped squinting at the chirurgical needle at once, dropping his hands into his lap. Lucifer threw his hands up in surrender: "I'm just stating the obvious. You're not at all skilled with this."

"I would be, if I had two functioning eyes like a certain someone who's amused by watching a victim of police brutality struggle with simple seamstress task," the Cannibal remarked snarkily.

"Can't you just cover the lazy eye? Or close it?"

"For starters, I need to use both hands to accomplish the task I'm burdened with. And then..." he made a small pause, his eyes leaving Lucifer, drifting to the side self-consciously. "Not everyone possesses the ability to wink or otherwise manipulate their vision." The Inspector would call bullshit on that, if he hadn't witnessed it - Peter couldn't wink even if his life depended on it and it was hilarious. They didn't bully him over it or mock him for it. The warden offered his bad attempted winks to cheer the group up whenever the mood wasn't the best. It was granted to make them all smile and think positively again.

"Alright," Lucifer sighed with resignation and went to grab the keys. After years of service, he lost any illusion about the perps they were catching. They were all skilled liars and manipulators. At the same time, he considered them sad cases, who were born with sin in their blood and thus couldn't really help behaving the way to which they were made. Alastor's bad blood came from his father and, as the file disclosed, he killed him to rid his mother of the abuser, although there was evidence suggesting that Alastor suffered a great deal as a child under the man's firm hand. It is tragic to imagine what thoughts haunted the young mind when it tore flesh apart from bones in a fit of dangerous fury. According to the profiler, there surprisingly aren't many things that could trigger the Cannibal to strike. On the other hand, certain behavioral patterns apparent from Alastor's murders also show that the calm demeanor broke easily in situations others would see as too trivial to be worth spending years in jail for. Bearing all of this in mind, Lucifer entered the cell.

He knelt in front of Alastor, their knees an inch apart from touching, and offered his cupped hand. When the perp handed over the needle and thread, Lucifer took it as permission to stitch him up but before he started, he made a gesture towards the painkillers. The other shook his head resolutely. It was his choice if he wanted to suffer more and who was Lucifer to go against his wishes? Still, he refrained from putting the pill bottle away just in case he changed his mind. Slowly, Alastor's fingers worked their way down the buttons of his vest and shirt, holding the fabric apart without taking a single layer off. Such modesty was to be expected if you had read the files.

Despite acting all tough, Lucifer noticed very subtle clues indicating that Alastor was, in fact, suppressing a wince whenever the needle went through the skin. Perhaps it was the late hour that made the Inspector soft - next thing he knew, he started talking to the criminal, to distract him from the agony. "It's been, how long, seven years since your last murder? Man, I remember it like yesterday. New Orleans, right? Everyone expected you to show up there eventually, your beloved hometown, and you knew it. It must have felt like a challenge, I bet." Alastor's expression got dreamy with a tinge of sadness as he recalled those times. "The only ones who saw your face that day were the gutted victims police found in a sewer. Speculations were that one of the bodies belonged to you. What a masterful deceit. I thought you were dead, and it is kind of unbelievable to see you from up close, alive and breathing."

"Did you work on my case?"

Not expecting the monologue to become a dialogue, Lucifer momentarily fell silent. To hide his surprise, he busied his teeth with the thread, cutting it, then continued: "I did. Well, at least for a while until I was dismissed from service from the FBI."

"Why were you dismissed?"

Lucifer shrugged, securing the bandages around the criminal's stitched up torso. "For making a rather bad timed decision. Also, they didn't like how deep I was getting into the case. Thinking about it, leaving the team temporarily robbed me of any enthusiasm I had and anything I did from then on was... sloppy and without real passion. The feeling was lost to me, never to be found again." He no longer wanted to elaborate on the topic, knowing that he couldn't say more without revealing too much and decided to promptly change the topic: "There you go! This should last for a while. Still, you should find a way to redress it in a few days."

The two eyes, one healthy and one defective, were on him again, boring into his skin with even greater intensity than before and he allowed it. After all, this was Alastor's rare opportunity to take a better look at Lucifer, before the Inspector would be forced to put distance in between them, going too far to be more than a blurred image. "Thank you," Alastor's smile stretched wide. And it continued to grow off to the sides until it looked insane and menacing. "For all this and the gun." Gun?! Before he could pat his backside where he kept his pistol safely hidden away, he found himself standing at the gunpoint of a familiar nuzzle. Everything after that happened too fast. There were five gunshots in total. Something strong hit his chest, making him stumble back and fall painfully. Lucifer couldn't hear anything through the tinnitus in his left ear but one thing he knew for sure - he wasn't shot. Looking around, he saw that the one camera attached to the wall outside the cell had been destroyed.

Alastor checked the empty magazine before tossing the gun away as if it was covered in filth. He looked satisfied with the mess he had made and when he checked on Lucifer, he even threw his arms out in delighted surprise. "One target out of two hit! I could never have hoped myself to be more successful!" The Inspector was still partially deaf from the gunshot that must have luckily missed him thanks to the perp's bad eyesight. Something about what happened didn't sit right with him. The Cannibal's victims were never shot, only stabbed, strangled, or otherwise mutilated by the murderer's hands. Why use Lucifer's gun now? Out of desperation? One question piled over another, and he knew he would never ask any of them aloud because he preferred subtle hints for him to interpret them, solve them, rather than have the truth spoiled.

Having collected the empty shells and sorted through the remnants of the surveillance technology for a memory card, the taller man offered a hand to Lucifer, who itched to take it but was determined to resist in favor of not having his arm ripped away like the one musician in Nashville who angered Alastor by declaring Jazz to be dead. Seeing his reluctance, the other flexed his fingers, his jaw tightening the slightest bit: "I missed, you're alive. Today is clearly not your day to perish and who am I to challenge destiny? After all, if you are smart and cooperative, we could both gain something good out of this."

Reluctantly, he let himself be pulled up on his feet. "I'm not getting involved in your games!" he spat, brushing dirt from his clothes.

"Too bad. You're already playing." Although Lucifer's face mirrored an expression of a shocked person, he felt excitement pump through his veins, prompting his heart to pound strongly against his ribcage. "From the viewpoint of this ugly thing, which, by the way, is substandard in terms of performance in comparison to the classic camera obscura, you might as well be dead, and who is a better accomplice than a dead man?"

"How is that relevant? It's not like anyone can get to the footage now to 'see me die' as you suggested," Lucifer said, taking up the role of the voice of reason, for he knew well that the camera's data recovery was very unlikely at this point.

"You are right to a certain extent. Truly, no one will be able to rewatch the little show I put up here, but that is beyond the point, considering that they have already seen it live." The implication of being watched was ridiculous. No one would bother watching the boring police station where the only excitement means stealing ribs from Adam's food delivery. "I hear the sound of the cogwheels in your head turning. You probably think me insane." The last sentence came out as mere observation, untouched by judgement or anger.

"No." His thoughts were leading him in a whole other direction, the details of which he wasn't about to disclose aloud and insanity he dismissed immediately. Alastor has been around the criminal underworld for long enough to know of complex secret schemes the police had no chance of discovering unless they somehow got involved, however, those who get involved never report it as they either become converted or dead. Lucifer wasn't driven by power. The thing that got him going was justice, and that made him differ from all the rest. He could be the one bringing back order to this God forsaken city. Well... with a small help. His eyes drifted to his potential partner. "So, someone's watching you?"

"They watch all of us. Every second of our lives."

"How? And who exactly are they?"

He followed the tall man with his gaze as he walked around, humming a tune Lucifer didn't recognize until he settled on a chair, his leg crossed over one knee. "Let's talk business first." The change of tone annoyed Lucifer but at the same time he was curious what might come out of it. "With my influence, money and equipment, I am your perfect man in the background. The rest is on you, the one who will find a way to publicly expose their activities and tear down their empire. If you help me, and we succeed, I'm going to turn myself in as a reward." Lucifer certainly didn't expect that. Not to mention how casually Alastor said it - while smiling and picking at a blood that collected under his nails - as if giving himself up didn't mean an instant death sentence. The perp was smart and must have been aware of the capital punishment that would inevitably come. The offer was rather tempting though. With an achievement like that, Lucifer's voice would finally be heard, and he would tell everyone about Adam's wrongdoing. He would bring order back to Pentagram City. He would bring Sera back.

"What's in it for you?"

At that moment, it was as if Alastor's mask lifted, revealing his true self - a pitch-black darkness with two red gleaming sparks for eyes and pearl-white teeth sharper than razors. His voice appeared a tone or two deeper as he growled: "I'm going to have my revenge." It all was a sign of wreath so great that Lucifer dreaded imagining what they did to make the coldhearted murderer’s blood boil like that. From what he knew from the files and from what he remembered from his work in the field, there were only few places where he would be vulnerable. They were cracks in Alastor's shield. Hitting any of them would hurt the otherwise invulnerable man. So, the options were limited, but each one scored high on the scale of tragedy. Suddenly, the perp's face lit up as the careless mask clicked back in its permanent place. "So, what do you think? Do we have a deal?" He wiggled the fingers of his outstretched hand.

It should have taken him more time to agree. No. He shouldn't have agreed at all! Nonetheless, there was no time for pondering whether teaming up with a criminal to overthrow another criminal from a pedestal to get credit for catching both said criminals was morally correct or not. After all, they had already sealed the deal with a handshake.

"What now?" he asked, wondering if Alastor had something planned or if he was making up the plan as he went.

The former radio host got up on his feet swiftly. "Now you have to do exactly what I say." He demanded to know Lucifer's address and then, being familiar with all blind spots of the city surveillance, instructed him how to get home to avoid being seen on any of the street cameras. The criminal must have the complete map of vast Pentagram City burned into memory because otherwise there was no way he could remember every corner of it. This sign of obsessive behavior anchored Lucifer's theory about Alastor going through a trauma that made him disappear for so many years. "Get there safely, kindly make sure the blondie keeps his mouth shut or I will do it my way, and we will meet tomorrow to discuss further details of our plan."

"Meet? But where will I find you?"

With one foot already crossing the threshold, Alastor craned his head to look behind himself. "If there was a radio show about asking questions, I would employ you as the co-host!" he laughed. "Remember, I get found only if I want to, so, wait until I contact you, which will happen soon." Lucifer wondered if getting caught by Adam and the slash wound over his chest were also something Alastor wanted. It would open doors to many new questions but just as the perp, Lucifer was also already fed up with them. "Oh, and leave a bit of your blood on the floor, will you?" Having said that, the taller man was out under the midnight cloak of darkness and with him also disappeared the spell Lucifer must have been under when he agreed to all those things. Nonetheless, even as he cut his forearm with the sharp edge of the scissors he previously confiscated and watched the thick red liquid drip on the floor in front of the cell, he couldn't bring himself to regret the choice he had made. Fighting the smile that threatened to spread over his features, he left the office, leaving there all his personal possessions except for a family photo he kept inside a drawer, which he tucked away inside his jacket.

In the safety of his apartment, Lucifer felt his tense muscles relax. He shed his jacket, and, in the mirror, he adjusted the white vest with accentuating pink pinstripes. Taking one last look at himself, he gave his hair a quick brush with his fingers, he whispered: "Just act natural." After all, who better than he knew how to be in a cheerful mood when there's absolutely nothing to be cheerful about? When he was at the rock bottom, a smile was the only thing that helped him keep things together. It helped him keep Charlie in blissful ignorance. He wouldn't ever allow the little girl to see how much he was struggling at times, because otherwise, he feared he could lose her.

Thinking of his daughter, he couldn't wait to check on her in bed and kiss her forehead to scare away any bad dreams that might attempt to haunt her but firstly, he had to deal with another youngster. Peter was curled up on a sofa, snoring quietly. There were three cups on the table. The first one, painted in colors of rainbow, was empty and smelled of tea. The second one, white with golden winged books had remnants of coffee on the bottom. The last one carried a simple message: 'the Gratest Dad' (when Charlie presented him with her creation for his birthday, he didn't have the heart to bring up the bad spelling) and was full to the brim with now cold chocolate drink and one too many marshmallows. He picked up the last one and took a sip, then he reached out his hand to gently shake Peter awake.

The warden frowned, slowly opened his eyes, and hurled himself on his feet once his sight landed on his boss. "To your disposal, sir!" Lucifer had to laugh. He told him to relax and report on how things went in his absence from home. "Charlotte acted very responsible and didn't let me in until I described my badge and told her its serial number. She originally wanted me to draw a picture of the badge on a piece of paper she slipped under the door, but I didn't have a pencil on me and her crayon didn't fit through the keyhole." That was such a Charlie thing to do. Lucifer felt immensely proud. He reached into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and produced a twenty-dollar bill. Peter stared at him, confused. "I can't take that from you."

"Why can't you? I'm giving it to you for babysitting my daughter, with no strings attached. After all, I'm sure it was quite an inconvenience," he said, to persuade Peter to take the money. To emphasize it further, he waved with the valuable paper.

To his surprise, the warden shook his head. "Seeing Charlotte was the highlight of my whole week, maybe even the whole month if I'm completely honest with myself. So, I won't take the money because you've already given me enough," he said softly. Lucifer could swear he had never witnessed the young man looking so sad. "You are so lucky to have her, sir, to await you at home every day after you come back from work... after the mistreatment temporarily ends and you are allowed to breathe again." The Inspector wasn't the only one who mastered the art of hiding his true emotions, it seemed. He noticed that Adam was harsher on Peter than on the rest of the officers because the warden was the youngest in the precinct but naively believed that he didn't let the insults get to him. "Looking at Charlotte and her genuine joy of life is like looking at the Morning Star. She's a promise of better days coming." Peter turned to the slightly open pink door, fondness apparent in his gaze, then his eyes drifted back to his boss. "Don't ever let her go."

"I won't," Lucifer promised, for he was a lot of things, but fool wasn't one of them. From the moment he realized that Lilith, Charlie's mother, had left him to take care of the little girl on his own, he knew he would never give her up. Nevertheless, he wouldn't say a peep if Charlie ever decided to go her own way without him. The reason for that was simple - Lucifer just wasn't good enough to be a single father. The teachers at school called it parental neglect as if he were forgetting to check Charlie's homework deliberately. As if he was always working overtime deliberately. Forgetting her on purpose... They never paused to think about the position he had been thrown into, with little possibility of escaping from it, because otherwise they would know better than to think that a depressed man who resorts to way over-the-top behavior when feeling caged with a tendency to isolate himself from the rest of the world could ever be capable of A++ parenting. Lucifer had no idea what Charlie's stance towards him would come to be like once she's old enough to be aware of everything that was wrong with her upbringing. He only knew that he wouldn't stand in a way of her happiness, even if it meant having his heart broken yet again.

"I s-should get going," Peter said, rubbing his arm awkwardly. Lucifer walked him to the front door, once again thanking him for the service. Standing face to face with the fair-haired warden in the doorway, Alastor's words dawned on him - '... kindly make sure the blondie keeps his mouth shut or I will do it my way...'

"One more thing." The other looked at him expectantly. Although Lucifer rehearsed this on the way home, it couldn't prepare him for this moment. He had to choose his words wisely not to reveal too much and put the boy in danger. "Throughout the days that are about to come, you may hear bad rumors about me, and I need to know you have my back. Please, don't tell anyone you were here or that we had this conversation. I know it will sound insane, but I also must ask you to avoid being seen by the street cameras on your way out of here. It's difficult to explain-" A squeeze of his shoulder made him stop talking.

"No need to explain anything," Peter smiled. "I have never regretted putting my trust in you and I have no reason to believe this time should be any different." Perhaps, the innocent warden was secretly a guardian angel after all. His face fell after that. "My only concern is if you and Charlotte will be alright."

 "I'll make sure she'll be in good hands while I'm away. And as for myself, I promise to get back alive enough to rid this city of corruption and set us all free from our cages." The assurance put the gullible warden's heart at ease. Lucifer watched him go, thinking about the luck he got. Taking a sip of his chocolate, he locked the door with his free hand. With the cup still in hand, he comically sneaked into Charlie's room through the slightly open door. With steps lighter than feathers, he approached the bed, bent down to tug the soft strands of blond hair behind the little ear and plant a kiss on the newly exposed temple. He knew that his deal with Alastor was about to change his life forever (for better or for worse) but it was the thing of tomorrow. His top priority today was to enjoy the last few hours of his old life in peace and blissful ignorance of the threads that were to come. 

Chapter Text

His new life started unexpectedly. In no way was Lucifer a light sleeper, so it was out of pure chance that he had woken up at five in the morning to a murmur coming from the children's room. It wasn't unusual for Charlie to wake up early and start playing instead of trying to continue sleeping and whenever her dad picked up on it, he was quick to go and tug her back in, so that she wouldn't be tired for the rest of the day. Lucifer swung his legs over the edge of his too-big-for-one-person bed, adjusted his two-piece silk pajamas, and set off to the room across from his to perform his night duty yet again. But as he neared the door, his muscles suddenly grew tense as he realized that there were two sets of voices. Charlie was not alone. Of course, his first instinct would usually be to grab his gun and shoot before asking questions, however, since he recognized the second voice as familiar, Lucifer relaxed a bit and for the moment settled on silent observation.

The children's room was lit by a nightstand lamp, perfectly illuminating the faces of its occupants. The Louisiana Cannibal was lying on top of the bed on his stomach with his legs swinging behind him and his smiling head propped up on the back of his intertwined hands while Charlie sat on the floor cross-legged. Both were wrapped in fluffy blankets. On the floor was a pink box Lucifer knew contained Charlie's best drawings. She was pulling individual papers out one by one, showing each drawing to Alastor. For a child, she has always been incredibly perceptive and mindful, and so it was no surprise when she admirably subtly addressed Alastor's obvious struggle. "Your eyes are very special." The criminal stopped squinting at the drawing in his hands in favor of looking up at the little girl with an unreadable expression. "It makes me sad that they are bothering you."

Alastor laughed with fake carelessness. "What bother, my dear!" He covered the lazy eye with his hand. "All the better!" Charlie shook her head, got up to her feet, and gently removed his hand from his face.

"No, don't do this, please. I like your eyes very much." Then she ran off to rummage through her writing desk drawer. Lucifer couldn't see what it was she found, only judged by the snapping sound that it was something made of plastic. When she returned, there were two halves of red reading glasses in her hand, one of which she handed to Alastor. "Here! Try this!" Shocked, the criminal momentarily forgot to smile. "My dad bought these glasses for me when he thought I couldn't see well. I was wearing them for a while, and they made the world around blurry. The teacher said that I could see good, but not if I kept them and also that I should start reading more because I didn't know all the letters." (That wasn't Lucifer's greatest parenting moment, he admitted that.) Alastor held the object as if it was an old artefact with innumerable value before he composed himself and held the glass to his eye. "So?" she asked him, her voice and face full of expectation. When the perp looked at the drawings then, his lips stretched into a genuine grin.

"My eyesight feels as good as new!" he claimed and both Morningstars believed him. Now that he could see fairly well, one particular paper caught his attention. "What is this?" What he held up was a crumpled drawing of a duck with notes scribbled all around it. Charlie's eyes lit up at the sight of it, then she started to "yell" in a hushed voice, barely able to contain her excitement: "That's the Magictastical Backflipping Rubber Duck!! Daddy invented it! He drew many more of these, but this one is his greatest creation so far! He never likes what he makes and so I had to take this one from the trashcan to save it! But you mustn't tell him that." The legs of the man on the bed stopped swinging as he gave her a sympathetic smile.

"If he didn't know about it before, he certainly does now, I'm afraid." His good eye flicked towards the door, exposing Lucifer.

The Inspector was annoyed. What games was Alastor playing? In his house! With his daughter! He stomped inside and with a sudden surge of protectiveness he pulled Charlie by the shoulders closer to himself. Ignoring her confused questions, he looked straight at Alastor. "I don't remember inviting you to a slumber party." It was early in the morning, alright?! If the circumstances were different, he'd come up with a much more intelligent comment.

"Oh, and I thought that the invitation card got lost on the way! You know how sloppy post offices these days are," he said nonchalantly, while casually studying his long nails cut into points so that they look like claws. Lucifer didn't remember these from before and was amused by the idea that the first thing the perp did after getting free from the cell was to get a manicure. Wait, no. In no way could he be amused now. Alastor broke into his home, and Lucifer was pissed at him for it.

"That's some nerve you got to casually waltz in here and do... whatever you were attempting to do with her!"

The criminal pocketed his half of the glasses and although his smile stayed the same, his eyes were clearly stating that Lucifer's implications insulted him. "Why, we were having a little chat!"

"And if she didn't want to talk? What would you have done then?"

"You didn't look this concerned when you were spying on us just a mere minutes ago," Alastor bit back, dissatisfied with Lucifer's negative opinion of him. A strange feeling from when the Inspector Detective was patching him up re-emerged and took a hold of his chest, making it too constricted for the rapidly beating heart behind the ribcage. He had yet to decide whether he liked it or not, for it wasn't entirely unpleasant, but at the same time, it was new, and he hated new things more than anything. Teaming up with someone from the "right" side of the law was awful enough already... Although, what was there to complain about? It's not like Alastor didn't choose to exploit Lucifer and his weak spots. What is more, he didn't need to be in the inspector's good books for the plan to work, anyway. Then there was said inspector's daughter-

"Daddy?" The little girl turned to look at her father with big wet eyes. "I found him in our kitchen when I went to get a glass of water. He said his name is Al, that he is on a secret mission, and that I don't have to be scared, because he is your friend. Was he telling the truth?" It was apparent from the way her voice shook that should Lucifer feed her the raw truth about Alastor, confirming her concerns, she'd immediately start to fear the taller man. As irrational as it was, the thought terrified Alastor. Being around someone who liked him and then turned on him once learning the truth hit too close to home. Without realizing it, he smiled at the floor sadly, his shoulders sagged and fists relaxed. One of his hands sank into the pocket of his red jacket to absentmindedly rub the broken glasses with the pad of his thumb.

Of course, none of this fled Lucifer's attention. His grip on Charlie's shoulders weakened. "Of course he was!" he assured her. Then, grabbing her cheek teasingly, he got on one knee. "Al and I were both chosen to go on this super-secret mission I can tell you nothing about other than that it's super-secret. I invited him over to the house to discuss the details and - how typical of me - I forgot to state what time we should meet! As I know Al, he was too impatient and that's why you caught him wandering around so early. Oh, that eager beaver never ceases to surprise me!" Lucifer laughed but stopped soon after he noticed that the criminal and his daughter wore matching relieved expressions. "Now, how about you go back to sleep?"

Alastor cleared his throat to gain the inspector's attention. "How about breakfast instead? She is already up and there is nothing worse than going to bed hungry!"
The Morningstars simultaneously tilted their heads in confusion and then asked at the same time: "Breakfast? Now?"

"Let's take this conversation to the kitchen, shall we?" the criminal bowed slightly, crossing his legs and gesturing at his hosts to leave the children's room at once. He had his eyes closed. Only when he heard that the two sets of steps followed his instructions did he open them. Walking down towards the kitchen, he was yet again hit with that strange feeling. He refused to accept that it had anything to do with Charlie asking her father whether uncle Al wanted tea. No. The house was the issue. Staying there meant being too exposed and vulnerable, even after he had made the best efforts to cleanse it of immediate dangers. Speaking of which...

"Hey, Alastor?" Lucifer peeked from around the corner, sour expression pulling at the lines around his mouth. "What did you do with our television? It had taken me months of working overtime to afford it. Don't tell me you-"

"That loud picture box had to go." Alastor's mischievous grin stretched wide at the memory of the atrocity getting smashed with a metal bat in the back alley combined with the current sight of Lucifer's dismayed face. "But worry not!" His walk picked up a pace as he excitedly dove under the kitchen counter and emerged with a dusty radio. Without bothering to clean it, he put it on the stand where the TV used to be. "We will not be deprived of entertainment!" It took him mere seconds to find the frequency of the jazz station. Much to Alastor's delight, Charlie immediately ran to sit in front of it, fascinated by the music. Humming along the tune, he returned to the kitchen area and began to prepare ingredients for breakfast.

Lucifer stood in the middle of the living room, lost in what was happening until Alastor called him. Well... it didn't really help. The only real change was that now Lucifer was standing in the kitchen, looking as lost as before if not more. He interpreted Alastor's raised eyebrow as something critical, so he crossed his arms over his chest and started defending himself: "Look, I knew what I was signing up for after making that deal with you but it's a lot of changes happening at once and, usually, when things change in my life, it's for the absolute worst, so pardon me if I'm freaking out a little, it's just-" If Alastor didn't interrupt him, Lucifer would go on like this, drowning in anxiety until he'd be a mess of emotions.

"Can you cook?"

"Huh? What does it have to do with anything?"

"Can you cook?" the Cannibal repeated patiently, resting his chin on his hands, much like he did before in Charlie's room. Then it hit Lucifer - the criminal was trying to help him. He must have realized that, as a single parent, Lucifer had cooking on his daily to-do list. It was a normal thing for him to do every morning. What Alastor did was to find a way to make Lucifer feel more comfortable in the new situation. No one ever thought about his mental health like this before. Lilith hated it when her husband started to act strange, and she always used the chance to tell him off for it. As if he was capable of 'pulling himself together' at the push of a button. The criminal's pleasant demeanor left him completely speechless, and so he could only nod to affirm thar he indeed could cook.

The other man threw his arms up in the air joyfully. "Splendid! The breakfast will be ready in record time then!" A moment after, Lucifer was handed a chopping board with mushrooms on it. "Would you chop these for me, please? The amount should be enough for the three of us and then some more to take with." Something was off here.... Lucifer looked around the table.

"We had mushrooms in the fridge?"

"No," Alastor said simply while occupied with chopping onion. The one half of Charlie's glasses was back on his face, magically holding on. It looked ridiculous and yet the Cannibal was wearing it proudly, which filled Lucifer with warmth.

"What is this?"

"Hmm?" The perp took his eyes off the vegetable, but continued smooth chopping as he looked at the ingredient Lucifer was pointing at. "Capers." Noticing that Alastor was almost done with the onions, Lucifer chopped faster.

"Did you buy all this?"

"How else would it get here? Your fridge was terribly insufficiently supplied." Putting the onion in a small bowl, Alastor proceeded to chop green bell peppers. "Take the tomatoes, please, and crush them. Oh, this will be delightful!" He put a skillet over a heated stove and began to melt butter. Once the butter was hot, the mushrooms, onion and bell peppers were added into the skillet. As he stirred the cooking bunch of vegetables, he kept stealing glances of Charlie, who giggled and danced to the music. With a smile and a good dose of fondness, he noted: "She's a charming demon belle."

"You're not the first one to say something like that," Lucifer noted dully, focusing on cracking eggs into a bowl rather than on what was being said.

"Do you not agree?"

Lucifer's eyes widened. "I do! She's incredibly kind-hearted, polite, friendly, caring, etc." Alastor raised an eyebrow at the strange, rushed tone implying that talking about the little girl irritated Lucifer. The shorter man sighed, bending down to get a whisk for the eggs. "Those are all surface qualities you can guess not even two minutes into a conversation with her and I wish I could say: 'She's more than that,' not just because of the pride that resides in my heart, but because I've witnessed what exactly more means." The fact that he knew his daughter less than any of his coworkers troubled him a great deal. "I don't even know what kind of boys she likes." Alastor's comment: "Sadly, there are times a birth parent is a dud," was more than enough to make his blood boil, but it took one look at the smug grin, and every bit of grudge left him. Chuckling, he gently nudged Alastor's shoulder.

"Do you fancy a cup of tea? We need to have a toast." He handed the bowl with eggs to Alastor who poured them over the vegetable mixture in the skillet.

"I'd prefer black coffee. What are we toasting on?"

Gradually, three cups were put on the kitchen counter - a rainbow cup, a misspelled cup, and a silly cup in the shape of a deer head. The Inspector took the kettle and began to fill it with water. "On the birth parents who stayed," he winked at Alastor, knowing that the perp could relate like no other could.

Having taken great care so that the plating of the morning dish was flawless (which he achieved by not letting Lucifer interfere, because the man had no feelings for aesthetic whatsoever), Alastor was satisfied with his creation and promptly ushered his hosts-turned-guests to the table. As a true gentleman, Lucifer pulled out a chair for Charlie, who giggled at the attention. However, that was only one of few table manners they knew as it turned out. Setting down the plates, he had to control himself not to make a face when he saw that both Morningstars had their elbows on the table. His upper lip threatened to twitch in a grimace. To prevent it, he began introducing the food on their plates: "It is my pleasure to present you with the eggs Creole scramble on a crunchy toast! As surprising as it may appear to you, this recipe is rather old-fashioned-"

Lucifer almost choked on his tea. "Surprising?" he barked out, laughing. "Trust you to serve food old as the average listener of your broadcast used to be!" Insults had always been easy to get under Alastor's skin, especially when they concerned his job as a radio host. This time, no amount of willpower could stop his lip from stiffening in a way that made the gums of his teeth show slightly. The offence didn't go unpunished. Lucifer suddenly whimpered, clutching the shin of his leg that Alastor had kicked under the table. Charlie must have connected the dots and began laughing at what had just happened.

Satisfied, Alastor continued cheerfully: "As I was trying to say, despite its old age, this recipe's popularity doesn't waver even in these awful modern times. I hope you enjoy it!" He had no idea what came over him that he decided to cook for the Morningstars. It's been years since he last prepared food for a whole bunch of friends people, and the realization made him feel self-conscious. He told himself that it was okay if they didn't like it. After all, he was out of practice. Still, his eyes eagerly searched the faces of his test subjects for any sign of distaste but found none. Instead, he was faced with praise and his heart swelled at every single compliment his little creation received. It was... nice. Alastor missed nice things in his life. Luckily, no one saw the moment of weakness when the corners of his lips fell.

"Now it would be a good time to discuss the details of our super-secret mission, partner," Lucifer said with a bite of toast in his mouth. This time, Alastor paid no attention to bad table manners as there was another detail that surprised him - he was called a 'partner'. Of course, it was part of the radio drama they performed to keep Charlie oblivious but at the same time it felt like so much more. He found himself wishing to indulge in this pretense for as long as possible. "Although I don't really get just yet why exactly you are so secretive about our target."

"Of course!" Alastor stood up enthusiastically. He stretched out his arm to one side and moved his fingers. When nothing happened, the criminal looked disappointed. Lucifer had no idea what was supposed to happen but chuckled quietly at the failed attempt. The taller man cleared his throat, his tone of voice turning serious as he explained: "Our target, as you called it, is very wealthy, influential and dangerous. They own the underworld and spy on the whole city through the devices their company produces. They have dirt on each and every citizen of Pentagram City and wouldn't hesitate to use it to ruin the lives of whoever gets on their bad side. No one ever dared to even as little as imply that the Vee Tower might be used as a mafia base-"

"Wait-" Lucifer raised his arms, eyes widening impressively. "Does Mr. Vox know that someone is exploiting his company like that?!"

Alastor's brows flew towards his hairline. "I'd suppose so, considering he's one of the exploiters." Lucifer gasped, making the other roll his eyes so hard it hurt - he teamed up with the most oblivious man walking the Earth, just his fucking luck. On the other hand, this Inspector made ignorance look endearing.

The revelation made Lucifer upset and his lower lip quiver. "B-but if we expose Mr. Vox, all the shows might very likely get cancelled and I will never get to know if Martha finally dumps Rob and marries Amelia! I couldn't handle it if they cancelled another favorite broadcast of mine!"

"Mr. Vox," the other mimicked him with irritation. "Just so you know, his real name is Vincent and even without such stupid name he should be unworthy of your worship." He hated how respectful Lucifer seemed to be when talking about Alastor's biggest rival. "And it's not just Vox, it's all the Vees." the other nearly growled.

"Oh, my stars! Not the fashionista extraordinaire, too?!" he said, putting a hand on his chest in surprise. For a moment, he looked like he meant it, but then his chest started to move in jerky motions as he held back a laugh.

"I have a feeling like you're just messing with me at this point."

A bit of a laugh escaped Lucifer's mouth as he opened it. "Me? Never! I'm devastated because I was invited to model for her on the next month's Fashion Week show. I already bought new stilettos for the occasion." The rest of the joke got drowned in giggles of both Morningstars. "They're- they're so sharp I- I'm sure I'm gonna cut through the competition there!" The punchline was as dumb as Alastor expected it to be, and if his smile turned genuine after hearing it, it was only because he had been holed up in Martinique for the past few years and the lack of company took a toll on his sanity.
Once the room was calm again, Alastor continued: "We need to be very careful and destroy any electronic devices that might be recording us, endangering the success of our mission."

Lucifer raised his hand. "Objection! My TV was not VoxTek, but a cheap knock-off from a second-hand shop so you owe me a new TV, asshole." He silently mouthed the last word, taking into consideration that Charlie was still with them in the room.

"Quick to jump into conclusions, are we?" Alastor hummed, smug grin plastered on his face. He produced two small flat pieces of metal from his pocket, placing one of them on the table for Lucifer to inspect. It had a VoxTek logo on it. "This I found inside the cameras in the cell, or rather, in what was left of them." The criminal chuckled in delight, remembering his moment of victory over the surveillance technology. "And this-" He placed an identical chip next to the first one. "This I found among the insides of your TV when I gutted it!" Another proud smile. The Inspector opened his mouth, but Alastor beat him to it: "How is that possible? Well, partner, that's because everything that gets imported to Pentagram City is tested in the VoxTek facility to gain the official VoxTek seal of quality guaranty before it even makes it to the customers which gives them just enough time to plant bugs inside them." He then jumped to his feet, repeating the odd gesture, still with zero effect. "Let's get out of here! The car is already waiting for us, I am sure!"

"I need to pack some things for Charlie."

Then, in unison, they said:
"I can't wait to show her around my camp!"
"Lilith will hopefully take care of her."

Despite the smile, Alastor seemed heartbroken. "Who's Lilith?"

Looking over to Charlie and finding her adorably asleep with her head on the kitchen table, Lucifer whispered: "Charlie's mother, of course." The criminal looked startled as if this revelation meant something frighteningly profound. His face was making curious grimaces as the Inspector added: "We've met during our service at the FBI. She was so beautiful, and I was blown away by her, you know? We had a baby, and everything would have been fine if I didn't ummm i-if I weren't dismissed from work. I was a disappointment to her ever since and it must have been too much to care for my sorry ass and a toddler on top of it and that's why she- she left. But! I'm sure she would-" Lucifer hissed, feeling Alastor's claws dig into his shoulder through the fabric of his pajama top. Then he got pulled further from the table and the child sleeping on it.

"Did little Charlotte do something to upset you?" It was an odd question. How was it even related to anything Lucifer just said? He stared at Alastor with confusion and maybe just a dash of curiosity painted on his features. The more time he got to spend with the criminal, the more he craved understanding him. It was moments like this one when Alastor displayed great care for something that a stranger couldn't care less about and adopted the attitude of an old family friend who cannot stand watching his chosen family fall apart. Lucifer's train of thought was interrupted as the taller man shook him out of his brooding, probably because it took him too long to answer. "Are you angry she played with me instead of waking you up? Tell me!" The grip around his shoulder tightened.

"I have no idea what you're getting at," he said honestly, much to Alastor's growing frustration.

"I want to know why you want to punish your daughter by abandoning her." Finally, the conversation started to make sense, and it made Lucifer wheeze in suppressed laughter. "What's funny to you about such cruel betrayal?!" Alastor, not knowing the Inspector for long enough, naturally mistook his mechanical response to an accusation for something ridiculing. There's a significant difference between knowing that your parenting methods are imperfect and being outright confronted with your presumed mistakes.

"You have it all wrong, Al," Lucifer corrected him once his breathing steadied. "If I could, I would take her with me."

"Nothing is stopping you!" Alastor announced as if it should have been obvious right from the beginning. Now both of his hands lay heavily on Lucifer's shoulders. "Delivering her anywhere would be impractical and contact with another person would mean risking exposure that your death was staged. Besides, I can guarantee you that there is no safer place on Earth than my camp! No harm can be inflicted on the little princess if she comes with us! Should anything happen to her, I would take full responsibility and voluntarily have one of my limbs of choice served to you on a silver platter!"

Lucifer recalled Peter's plea and the promise he gave to the warden. 'Don't ever let her go.' 'I won't.' The vision that followed was the exact opposite to the heartwarming memory - in his mind, he pictured the twitching fingers of a bleeding severed arm lying among a serving of potatoes and gravy. "First of all, ew!" He took a step back from Alastor, which, surprisingly, made the criminal look pleased with himself. "And second of all..." Sighing in defeat, he accepted the tough decision. "You're right. The best way to ensure her comfort and safety is to have her under my wat- Woah!" The taller man unexpectedly spun Lucifer under their raised conjoined hands like a dancer and then pushed the Inspector towards the door.

"Brilliant! Now off into the sleeping quarters you go while I clean." Ignoring the annoyed groan from the other man, Alastor began to clear the table. The radio he brought with him had a serious purpose of preventing any undetectable eavesdropping devices in the room from capturing important intelligence giving them advantage over the Vees (that Alastor plans to expose them with a team including has-been legends in their fields, including Lucifer Morningstar). However, since it worked even better as a source of amusement, ideal to hum along while washing up the dishes in the sink, he left it on even after the discussion about their target was over. His hips swayed slightly to the music and overall, he was in such good spirits that he didn't have to strain his face to smile.

Having finished cleaning up, Alastor searched the cabinets, remembering he saw some plastic containers around there somewhere. Since there were leftovers from the breakfast he had made with Lucifer's help, he decided to make some more toasts in the oven. The rest of his crew will hopefully appreciate the food. Both sides will benefit from the homemade meal - the members of his team will be properly fed for once and he'll regain at least some of his old confidence as a cook. The rest of the containers he filled with whatever stuff in the fridge that was useful or edible for future use. Alastor could start cooking again. Why couldn't he? The answer to that was the same as to the question why he stopped in the first place...

Packing up took a while, especially since Lucifer had to pack Charlie's clothes and belongings as well as his own. He had no idea what things were important to her, which made the task so much more difficult. Clothes were the biggest issue until he gave up on figuring out his daughter's preferences and took those dresses, tops and pants that made her look the prettiest in his eyes. And as to her toys, he took only those that he had bought, without Lilith's advice or intervention, too proud to even think that her toys could be Charlie's favorite. Disappointed with himself, he returned to the kitchen area with the bags. He spared a glance at Alastor, who was deep in thought and decided not to interrupt him. Instead, he knelt next to sleeping Charlie and gently caressed her hair.

"Hey, Char Char," he whispered, and the girl began to stir awake. "You, me and uncle Al are going on a little trip. How does that sound?"

"Super-duper, daddy," the little girl yawned, hugging her dad around his neck as he picked her up, then fell right back asleep. Alastor watched with amusement how Lucifer attempted to balance carrying both Charlie and the heavy baggage, cursing under his breath that he should have put his backpack on before waking her. He offered a helping hand and, curiously, favored the children's backpack with puppies and wore it as proudly as the one half of Charlie's glasses. Truly, the man's cuteness spontaneity never ceased to amaze him.

They snuck out to the back alley where a beautiful, if a little beat, black Impala with blackened windows awaited them. Its driver sat on the hood of the vehicle, hunched and smoked a cigarette. Lucifer couldn't see much of his face, and yet he felt an intense sense of familiarity. From the back, the man appeared to have a tall figure, strong built and slightly grayish hair. The shock of seeing an old friend made the driver freeze as he turned to greet his boss' new companion. His jaw became slack, making the cigarette fall from his lips and onto the wet ground below his feet. Before Lucifer could say something, the driver's eyebrows fell into a position that was typical for the big grouch. "Well fuck me! I knew the address sounded familiar, God dammit! Of all the fucking people in this hell hole-!" he lamented, pinching the bridge of his nose so hard it was a miracle it didn't break.

"It's good to see you again, too, Husk," Lucifer chuckled awkwardly, giving a small wave. The former warden paid him no mind in favor of indirectly cussing at him and everything else that stood in the radius of his irritation (except at Alastor, because his sense of preservation would never allow him to go behind that figurative barbed wire). He was still the same as Lucifer remembered him. They used to be inseparable friends or at least that was what he thought until their ways became separate. The poison they fed each other in their last conversation never lost its effect, it seemed. While still grumbling unintelligibly, Husk collected most of their things and carried them to the trunk of the car. Alastor insisted on keeping the radio somewhere close to himself, claiming that it could be damaged in the tight space in the back.

On his way back to the front of the car, Husk was grabbed by the shoulders by his boss who chattered: "I see you and Husker here are already acquainted! How wonderful! It will make your integration into the collective so much easier!" Husk voiced his doubts about that statement, shoved Alastor's arm away and continued his stride. How did he end up here? Lucifer wondered, feeling cold worry twisting his insides. He really hoped Husk would be more open to a talk later in the 'camp' as Alastor called it. While the driver held the car door to the passenger seat in the front open for his boss, Lucifer settled in the backseat with sleeping Charlie on his lap and flinched when the door to the seat next to him opened and in slid Alastor. None of them commented on the unexpected choice. He fastened the seat belt around himself, keeping the radio steady on his lap while it played pleasant soft melodies.

Lucifer had so many questions but the one they were aimed at sat with his back straight and eyes closed, clearly not wanting to be bothered at the moment. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that Alastor had bags under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days (which couldn't have been far from the truth), and his smile was far from relaxed. The corner of his lips twitched with every bump on the road. The Inspector Detective considered following the example of Al and Charlie and trying to relax but eventually dismissed the idea, thinking that it would be much better to keep watch over his co-passengers. After all, he had a feeling that witnessing Alastor this relaxed was a rarity and felt responsible for the man's comfort and safety. From the window, he watched the sun wake up and rise above their heads. Morning was supposed to be a promise of a new day and even though there were inevitable dangers ahead, he was sure it was going to be a good day.

Chapter Text

A little after an hour, the Impala stopped at the outskirts of Pentagram City. Husk announced their arrival, leaving the car promptly to have a smoke. Throughout the drive, Lucifer had been contemplating whether was Alastor asleep and consequently in need for waking up. As it turned out, the criminal mastermind was a light sleeper, and his eyes shot open right at the moment the wheels of their vehicle stopped turning. He stretched a little, smile small but content, and then turned the radio off. Miraculously, he looked much fresher than at the beginning of their trip. "Is little Charlotte good at climbing ladders?"

"Why? Is your 'fortress of solitude' located 20,000 feet above the ground?" Lucifer huffed.

Alastor made a dismissive gesture with his hand, chuckling. "Heavens, no. More like six feet under!" He climbed out of the car, then leaned back in to carefully pick up his cherished radio. "And, for your information, solitude is unfortunately hard to come by in my camp. It is full of busy bees, always buzzing something into my ear. Makes one look forward to retirement." In Alastor's case retirement meant a death sentence, so Lucifer failed to see the appeal, still hoping that the perp had his escape plan ready when or if that time comes. The taller man with the radio left to speak to his driver.

"Wake up, Charlie," Lucifer caressed his daughter's hair, remembering that he forgot to take a hairbrush. And towels. He began to chew on his lower lip anxiously. Why can't he do anything right? Not to mention how bad he grew to feel after he realized that he gave Charlie no choice but to stay with him. Surely, she'd love to have a say in the question of who to be with - him, or Lilith. But then again... what if she'd favor her mother? Although he swore to himself to never become an obstacle to her happiness, even if it meant leaving him, he did his best not to provide her with that opportunity. Was he a bad person for that? Charlie hugged him close, smilingly. "Remember the trip I told you about? You slept through the whole drive and now we're here."

She looked out of the car window, eyes wide and curious. "Where is here?"

"I have zero idea but, in a while, we'll be visiting a hidden base full of undercover agents."

"Woah!" He loved seeing her so excited. Despite the fact that it wasn't for the first time that she was in awe in connection to Lucifer's job, it was the only time it felt right, as many times before, the stories from work he told her were much more exciting than what actually happened. This, on the other hand, was real adventure that would be worth telling someday.

"Once we're inside, you must follow the instructions of the adults there, understand?" Charlie nodded. "And always ask before you touch anything." She nodded again, this time more eagerly. Then he scooped her up in his arms, spun them around playfully as she shrieked in happy surprise and then put her on the ground. From not afar, Alastor watched them giggle with a fond smile.

"Hey, boss?" Husk said to get his attention back. "You really think it was a good idea to have him on board? Let alone with a kid?"

Alastor pretended to brood over it and eventually nodded resolutely. "Seems like I really do! Why shouldn't I? After all, having once been an expert in criminology, forgotten after being embarrassingly dismissed from his high position, he is a perfect fit for my camp. And the little princess is merely an added bonus to our merry collective. I bet Vaggatha will be thrilled to have someone of her age to help her clean the weaponry." Husk gave him a skeptical look. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it." Alastor was about to leave, when the driver gripped his wrist, yanking him back.

"And when they served their purpose? Will you let them go or have them serve you forever like you did with us?" Because that's how his boss had always dealt with people in his vicinity - chewed them up and spit them out repeatedly until they became his puppets. He saw it many times in the past. Working with Alastor had always meant being bound to him forever and even in his seven-year-long absence, everyone who had been under contract with him dreaded the day he'd come back to rip them out of their lives.

"You're forgetting who you're speaking with," Alastor growled, digging his nails deep into the hand that held him in place. Yelping, the driver let go. "Stop acting like I ruined your picture-perfect white picket fence life, Husker. We both know that you would be walking far filthier places if I did not pull you out and gave you a purpose, so, I would watch my mouth next time, if I were you. Especially around Lucifer."

"What's going on here?" Lucifer inquired to know. Little Charlie was holding onto his hand tightly, shivering slightly in her silk pajamas.

Alastor's smile switched from threatening to innocent in a matter of seconds, making Husk swear to himself that no matter what the punishment was going to be, he had to warn Lucifer from his psychopathic boss. Poor guy didn't know what kind of a game he agreed to play. Not to mention his kid who doesn't deserve to follow the fate of other girls Alastor charmed into giving him their trust. "We were having a minor disagreement, that's all. Now, I believe, everything is ready for our descent."

Husk took his cue and walked over to what Lucifer later identified as a fake sewer lid, uncovering a ladder. Lucifer went first, to assure Charlie, who climbed second, that he'd catch her if she were to fall. Alastor followed right after them and despite his best efforts to hide it, he was out of breath when joining his new accomplices. The tightened fist that disappeared behind his back was another indicator of the existence of some sort of discomfort, perhaps caused by the slash wound Lucifer patched up for him the day before. When Husk climbed inside, closing the opening behind them skillfully, they were ready to walk through a dimly lit hallway of the strange underground complex.

The further they went, the closer they got to the lively atmosphere of the camp. Every step got them closer to the feet stomping into the rhythm of upbeat disco music and to the flashing lights that accompanied the ongoing party. While Charlie started to bounce uncontrollably, wanting to dance, Alastor was noticeably displeased. Cringing, he eventually put a stop to the merrymaking by switching off the source of the music - a radio remarkably more modern than Alastor's was - which gained him the desired attention. "I've been gone for a day, and you already started losing your heads over it. Should I be concerned or offended?"

With an audible click of a switch, the light settled down, giving Lucifer a better look at the three people inside - all in various stages of womanhood - as well as at the interior design. The walls were raw, existing solely for holding the ceiling up, and not to be decorated with hanged pictures or shelves. The biggest attention grabber was a large panel with an indefinite number of buttons, above which hovered screens of diverse sizes. Just like the radio, it looked fairly modern, and, without a doubt, was an eyesore to Al, who very likely only barely tolerated it as long as it was helping him get that revenge he longed for. Probably the only piece of decoration he was fully satisfied with was a 3D model of the V Tower and part of the Pentagram City surrounding it made of cork. The stoppers came from bottles at the nearby bar behind which Husk slipped as soon as they entered and poured himself a glass of whiskey there. The rest of the main room was filled with arcade machines and sofas to sit on.

Loud giggling ripped Lucifer out of his mental tour around the main room and he turned around just in time to see a short redheaded girl of unclear age jump and crash against Alastor's chest. The force sent him a step back and without a doubt, made his wound ache. However, instead of trying to pry the girl away or at least warning her about his injury, he bit back the pain, held her close and with a tight smile listened to what she had to tell him.

"I'm sorry, King Roach, please, don't be mad! Cherri suggested we play some music and dance so I wouldn't be sad anymore. I missed you and thought you wouldn't come back this time," she explained, her initial smile crumbling as her lower lip started to wobble at the horrible memory of her earlier feelings. Alastor patted her back affectionately, with a soft voice: "There, there, Niffty. Time to be sad is over. You know I always come back. If a little later than promised." He cocked his head to the side in that adorable way of his, dismissing any possibility of his permanent disappearance. Lucifer started to suspect that Alastor did not plan to keep his end of the deal about turning himself to the police and made a mental note to ask what it was about.

A girl with wild hair in her mid-twenties approached the group with a grin and tried to unglue Niffty from the criminal boss, but since her limbs were tangled around him so perfectly firmly, the girl could only watch Alastor struggle to keep his composure. "This is Miss Cherri Bomb, the greatest hacker and gadget master of this century! She manages our operation from the inside through this monstrosity," Alastor motioned to the computer, giving it a suspicious look. "I keep a watchful eye on it, checking it every few hours for microchips." Having filed this to the 'typical Al behavior' folder, Lucifer ignored him and instead stuck out his hand for Cherri to shake as he introduced himself to her. The corners of her lips fell, and her face was full of scorn when she refused to take his hand and folded her arms over her breasts stubbornly.

"So, you're the hot stuff boss almost got killed for?" Her eyes roamed every inch of his body, making him uncomfortable.

"Well- I- In fact, it was-" He had no idea how to respond and fiddled with his hands. To his surprise, Cherri and Alastor both burst out laughing at his sudden awkwardness. He looked over at them, confused and on the edge of angry.

"Chill out! I'm just messin' with ya!" And with one swift movement she shook, slapped and fistbumped his hand. "I should have known he would willingly get himself in a fight with the Dickmaster to get you on board."

"Language!" Lucifer gasped, fast to cover his daughter's ears. It earned him an eyeroll from Cherri.

"He's been lookin' for something to amuse himself with for weeks now. Wish I knew it involved gettin' ducked up so bad." She was obviously teasing Alastor, and by the look on his slightly flushed face, it was working. "Speaking off..." Cherri trailed off, reaching under her computer desk and producing a long staff which she carefully handed to Alastor. "I fixed that microphone for ya."

At the sight of it, Al turned delighted. He took the staff in his hand and spun it in the air between his fingers. Lucifer had to chuckle for himself - after all, he finally found out what the man was trying to do before in his kitchen. It also dawned on him that the object must be very cherished, always in his hand, when interacting with it had already become something so impulsive. "Splendid! If we had more money to spare, I'd give you a promotion for this!" His attention then slipped from the staff to Charlie, who peaked curiously from behind her father's lanky legs. The little princess' eyes shined as if she just found a treasure. He followed her line of sight and at the end he found a pale girl slightly older than Charlie with long hair obstructing half of her face. "And there's the last member of the party, Vaggatha! Her skills and intellect truly exceed her age. Come join us, darling!"

At the mention of her much-hated nickname, Vaggie straightened up her back to appear taller and stronger than she was. It was sad just like it was admirable. She nodded curtly at Lucifer, but her expression softened once she finally got an unobstructed view of Charlie. Her "Hi," was accompanied with a small wave that the other girl was too shy to reciprocate and, instead, used her hand to fix her hair.

Lucifer couldn't understand her behavior at first. "Hey, sweetie, why don't you introduce yourself?" However, when Charlie blushed, looking up at him sheepishly, he understood. She might not like any kind of boys. Although he wasn't completely sure if he read the room right, the Inspector figured it didn't matter as long as Charlie would be comfortable with her preferences. He knelt in front of her to get on her eye level. "You look dashing! More than enough to make a new friend today!" he encouraged her, sweating and praying it would work. Luckily, Charlie has always been a brave one. She smiled, leaving her father's side, but not yet establishing eye contact with Vaggie.

"I'm Charlie," she muttered, "do you want to play?"

Vaggie corrected her own name and then shrugged. "Sure, but there is not much to play with since certain someone-" she gave a nasty side eye to Niffty "- killed all the bugs around here." The girl hanging around Alastor's neck only giggled innocently.

"Gross," the little Morningstar cringed. "I have my toys with me. We can share them!" Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck her brain, and her chest began to bubble with excitement. "Daddy! Where's my bag?"

Lucifer slid the backpack down his shoulder. "It's right here, but careful, it's-" But Charlie was already too excited to hear out his warning and instead she hugged the big bag to her chest, jumping and laughing with joy.

Alastor recognized the chain of events as his ultimate opportunity to rid himself of the burden he was forced to carry for the past minutes. "While I can appreciate good fun, safety always comes first! Niffty, please, be a dear and see to it that the little ladies are looked after. And show Charlie around while you are at it. Thank you."

Niffty nodded quickly. "At your service, King Roach!" And in a moment she was at her feet, pulling the girls by their tiny hands to lead them to the most interesting places around the underground complex.

"Well, now that you've officially encountered all the residents, I can officially welcome you to my Hazbin Refugee Camp!"

"Wait, that was everyone?" For a goal so massive as taking down an entire underground organization, they were incredibly understaffed. At least one (or two, he still wasn't sure about Niffty's age) were children! No wonder they were looking for someone like Lucifer to help them.

Ignoring his words completely, Alastor spun around, snatching the bottle of whiskey from the bar, uncaring for the grunts of protest from Husk. "I'm sure there's a lot around here to be explored and people to talk to about the daily happenings in the camp, partner. Feel free to indulge while I'm busy elsewhere." When Lucifer asked where Alastor was going, his question was dealt with the same way as the one before. In slightly frantic movements, the criminal unpacked the food containers and dumped them into Cherri's arms. Surprise flashed over her features when she viewed the contents of one box. "Let me know if everyone was satisfied with the meal. I feel on a roll, I might make more tonight!" Then, with the staff in one hand, the whiskey bottle in the other and the radio that was now in a portable case hung over his wrist, he left. Lucifer could hear an echo of his whistling until a door clicked somewhere, cutting the sound off.

"Seriously, where did he go?" he turned to Cherri for an answer, hoping that she wouldn't confirm his rising fear that he became a ghost and that's the reason why no one can hear him. She sat down behind her computer but didn't seem busy enough to not respond like her boss did before her.

"To his studio. He does that when he's in any sort of pain. The idiot thinks it's the only way to maintain his creepy reputation, but it really works only on some of us here." Very subtly, she nodded her head towards Husk, who still mourned the absence of his bottle. The former warden had never been too big on trust, let alone when it came to authorities, so it made sense that he would be wary of every Alastor's action. It was especially difficult to guess what the radio host was going to do the next minute. For all he knew, one little misbehavior against the common etiquette could have lethal consequences, and that applied to everyone, even to Lucifer.

"Does it happen often then? I mean, he getting injured on his outings?"

"No. I don’t think I've ever seen him wounded. Mentally, he's hurtin' all the time. Although..." She smiled down at the food boxes. "The fact that he cooked somethin' means that his mental health must be improvin'. He's been avoidin' everythin' he was passionate about up until now." When he opened his mouth to ask one more follow-up question, she glared at him sharply. "No, I don't know what the fuck happened to him. It's not like he tells us his personal shit. We may all look like friends here, but what we really do is to fight one common enemy to gain somethin' for ourselves."

"Is that so? What do you seek to accomplish then?"

The fingers that were typing away at a computer froze, taken off guard by the request. After all, she did suggest that their personal motives were mostly unspoken of and hoped it would draw the line there. Well, apparently not. Lucifer's reflection on one of the screens showed that he meant no harm. He was either absolutely oblivious to Cherri's discomfort or faked his ignorance well. The fact that Alastor chose him to be the new addition to his little team persuaded her to think that the former was correct. She knew her employer enough to know what he appreciated the most in others - straightforwardness. Although always excellent at reading people's non-verbal behavior and being a little cryptic himself, he opted for caricaturesque characters who unwillingly wore their hearts on their sleeves all the time. To him, these people made the best associates since he could be more at ease around them. Come to think of it, Alastor must have met some really fucked up people to favor such specific kind of company.

"How much do you know about Valentino?" she implored to see much detail she should involve in her explaining.

The Inspector hummed, staring into nothingness briefly as his mind worked on digging any memories of newspaper articles he might have read, connected to the porn director and his business. "Valentino, also known as 'the Moth,' for his love of long furry cape coats, which, if you ask me, are the worst crime against fashion ever committed. He is the major shareholder of the Vox Entertainment Company and honorable resident of V Tower. According to his autobiography, undoubtedly written by a paid writer, he started off poorer than a mouse and had to work his way up the hardest way-"

"Okay, for Satan's sake, stop!" Cherri spat out, cutting him off. "Do you have a fuckin' degree in Valentinology? No. Don't answer that." Lucifer slowly put his hand down, realizing with delay that it was a rhetorical question. "As you obviously know, several of his employees reported his behavior as sexually and physically abusive, but none of the allegations actually got investigated. I... I have a friend there, Anthony, or Angel Dust, or whatever the fuck he calls himself now who works with that dipshit. Valentino has enslaved him, and the worst of it all is that Angel got weirdly attached to him. Last time I saw him, he had bruises and bitemarks all over his body... He yelled at me. That never happened before, so I was too shaken up... I should have grabbed him and ran... If only I didn't-" She felt a gentle hand touch her stiff shoulder, rubbing it. Although it felt good, comforting, she didn't allow herself to relish the feeling it was giving her and brushed Lucifer's hand away.

"Well. Doesn't matter anymore," she shook her head, her focus returning to the bright screens. "The most important thing is that I'm on a path to save Anthony. Al promised he'd do anythin' to set my best friend free." A dark bitter laugh came from behind the bar. Lucifer saw Cherri's reflection rolling her eyes at the sound. She gripped the edge of the desk and spun herself around 180 degrees to give Husk a proper bitch face. "Not wastin' any time, huh? Not gonna wait at least an hour before givin' him 'the Talk,' fucker?"

Husk put down the glass he was polishing and threw the clout over his shoulder. "Someone's gotta warn him, since I'm apparently the only one who Alastor doesn't have completely wrapped around his finger. I'm not disillusioned like you lot, because I saw what's hiding behind that smile of his and it wasn't pretty." Up until now, the driver slash bartender avoided looking at his former colleague, so when their eyes finally met, Lucifer felt the weight and seriousness of Husk's words. "Don't get too close to him," he said. "Everyone who does becomes his hostage for life. The deals he offers are unfair, he uses them to trap people, bind them to himself with chains. That psychopath won't let me leave until I pay my debt to him. The catch is that no matter what I do, it's never enough, and the price for my freedom keeps getting higher every time I'm close to reach it." He poured himself a shot and drank it.

Cherri stood her ground. "It's bullshit!" she spat. "Do you really think that the person you knew seven years ago is the same person you know now? People change. I may have no idea what had happened to him, but I'm not blind, and can see that whatever it was left him devastated. You should open your eyes for once."

"Nobody is denying that. He deserved to be fucked over by the Vees. Must have been a shock to get a taste of his own medicine. But it doesn't mean he's suddenly some martyr, keeping to his holy promises."

"How can you say that about anyone?!"

"He's a serial killer, for fuck's sake! Should have been executed long time ago!"

Cherri shook her head, extinguishing the fire in her eyes. There was no point in arguing, let alone when the reoccurring quarrel never ended with the discovery of common ground. "You should work on your judgement of character."

"At least my judgement isn't clouded by fucked-up sexual desires..." Husk muttered under his breath.

Lucifer frowned at these last words, turning around only to find out that Cherri probably didn't hear them. Were they intended only for Lucifer to hear? Why? What was Husk even implying? The Hazbin Refugee Camp was full of unsolved mysteries, and Lucifer hoped to find the underlying cause of them all. After all, he used to be one of the best in the field, right? But first, he should check on Al.

When Charlie first laid eyes on Vaggie, something in her heart told her the girl was someone she needed to know. Her posture hinted at fearlessness, but also emotional restraint. Befriending her and making her feel more comfortable became Charlie's number one goal. She couldn't help staring at her instead of paying attention to where they were going or whatever things Niffty was frantically introducing. At the end of the short tour, she'd be able to describe Vaggie's face and body in the tiniest details but couldn't find the way to the kitchen if her life depended on it. Wait, was there even one? She couldn't remember.

Niffty eventually excused herself to endeavor in cleaning, an activity in which she found immeasurable pleasure, leaving the girls with a cautious warning to have safe fun and avoid making any mess, because as much as cleaning excited her, disarray also frustrated her.

Once alone, Vaggie explained her role in the Camp - she guards it from intruders at night. Should anyone figure out their hideout and enter the hallway with the ladder, it was her responsibility to stop them and alert the adults. Charlie immediately jumped at the opportunity to spend more time with her exciting new friend, and offered to keep her company on duty, and was happy when Vaggie accepted it. She had no idea that the pale girl agreed to her proposal not only because their slowly building feelings were mutual, but also because of the strong protectiveness of the younger girl she already felt. Vaggie remembered how it was when she first arrived at the camp - although she had Niffty there, she didn't feel safe - and wanted a better start for Charlie.

Until dinner, the girls were allowed to entertain themselves with whichever way they wanted, and Charlie's toys were a nice change compared with the daily practicing and occasional game with bugs. The puppy-patterned bag held popular toys, many of which Vaggie used to own, like the View-Master with five different sets of reels, Etch-a-sketch screen with random scribbles of ducks and bad spelling or the rainbow-colored hacky sacks. However, what caught her attention the most were Charlie's stuffed animals. "These are Razzle and Dazzle! I got them from daddy. They are dragons, and they are insparble!"

"I wish I could have taken at least one of mine with me here..." she sighed nostalgically. The tone of her voice saddened Charlie. As luck would have it, her daddy showed up from around the corner, looking even more lost than at the school grounds.

"Daddy! Here!" she waved at him. Lucifer looked startled for a moment, as if he didn't recognize his daughter's voice, but as soon as he spotted the girls, he smiled and marched to them, greeting them with a deep bow. Charlie used the opportunity to hung herself around his neck and whisper into his ear.

"Of course it's okay if you want to give Maggie a toy!" he chuckled too loudly, his eyes unnaturally sparkling at the sight of such a lovely display of childish generosity, ignoring Vaggie's correction of her name.

As if she only then realized what was being discussed, Vaggie widened her eyes. "I- I suppose If there's one you don't like that much..."

"No, silly!" Charlie cocked her head to the side. "You get to choose which one you love! I know it will be in good hands, so you can choose any you want!" She waved her hands over all of her toys to indicate the vast number of options. Vaggie wrapped her arms tighter around Dazzle, but remained silent, thinking that what she wanted exceeded Charlie's will to provide her with something to keep and enjoy. Unfortunately for her, the ever-perceptive little Morningstar noticed her silent choice. "Dazzle it is!" She announced happily.

"Wait!" Vaggie protested. "You said you got them from your dad," she glanced at Lucifer, seeking any hint of disapproval, and, to her surprise, finding none. "and that they were inseparable. I can't take him away."

Lucifer watched the scene in front of him unfold. On one side, there was his small naive Charlie, who would selflessly give away beloved object to someone, who needs it more than she does, not asking anything in return, not even the friendship that she so obviously craves. On the other side stood Vaggie, who was forced to mature up too early in life, and whose adult way of perception wouldn't allow her to give in to her inner child's craving and instead rationalizes the other girl's presumably unwise decision. He decided to step between them and find some common ground. "Well, we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, but when we do, you two, along with Razzle and Dazzle, can visit each other as much as you want! No separation is necessary. Right, Char Char?" His daughter nodded her head fast, and then both she and her father turned to Vaggie. "If Maggie agrees."

"It's Vaggie," she narrowed her eyes, but then her features immediately softened. "But I'd like that." Lucifer grinned at them dreamily for a long minute, until Vaggie broke that weird Alastor-level creepy moment, asking: "And you were looking for...?"

"Oh! Where could one find Al and his studio?" Vaggie gave him the directions, but not without warning him that he might not be welcome inside. It's nothing personal, Alastor is just like that with everyone without exception. Lucifer assured her that he would respect Alastor's wishes should he send him away.

"Thank you, ladies. I am most indebted to you," he bowed and left the opposite direction he was instructed earlier.

Vaggie watched Lucifer's retreating back until she was sure the adult was far enough not to overhear their conversation and only then spoke up again. Her tone suddenly turned serious. "Your father is a cop, right?" Charlie confirmed it, even though she had no idea why it was relevant. "My parents were too," Vaggie continued. "Then one Sunday, deputy Adam and Lute appeared at our doorstep. I didn't know who they were at that time because the man identified himself as 'Dickmaster-'"

"Language!" Charlie gasped and briefly covered her ears, mimicking Lucifer's reaction to swearwords from earlier that day. It was an endearing sight.

"-while that woman was menacingly silent. He asked if my parents were home and I didn't want to answer, because I could somehow feel that these were bad people. Before I could send them away, however, my mom invited them inside... They locked themselves in the kitchen and wouldn't let me in. At the end of it, my parents just weren't the same. I can't explain it. A couple of weeks later, there was a mysterious phone call and that day, my parents didn't come home from work. I haven't seen them ever since."

"I'm so sorry to hear that." The other girl looked like she was about to cry. "And you got here after that? Uncle Al took you in because you had no home?"

"No. Alastor heard about my attempts to assassinate Adam and offered to help me finish the job next time. With your father here, we might actually have a chance to get to him." She was grinding her teeth, making her jaw look tight. Her eyes strayed momentarily, as if they could see pictures from the past, details that were left out for the sake of both brevity and Charlie's innocence. Another sense joined in, and she could hear the gossip that was being spread all over Pentagram, accusing her parents of corruption and secret work for the underground. Last time she spoke to Adam, he laughed at her face, supporting the rumors, adding that they didn't need much persuading to join him. He'll pay for lying to her like that.

"Are you okay?" Charlie gently touched her shoulder with concern. "Should I get Uncle Al?" Hearing the second question got Vaggie out of her self-induced trans and she escaped the other girl's touch as if it burned her.

"Why do you keep calling him that?"

"He's my daddy's friend, and I call all his friends 'uncles'! And he made breakfast for us too!" She said it as if there was no way an evil person would serve them a meal, and the act itself was enough to prove Alastor's goodness of heart. This way of thinking was dangerous when you lived in Pentagram City. Even more reason to shield Charlie from it without breaking her idealistic nature.

"But don't you think he looks creepy?" Vaggie's voice was clear from any remnants of irritation now. She was curious to know what other things made Charlie trust him this much.

Her new friend gave it a thought, and then said: "Well, daddy says that people who look unfriendly usually make the best friends. A bit like you! You don't look friendly at others but are a genuinely nice person!" Instead of questioning her further, Vaggie hid her blush behind a cough and suggested they should continue with their game before Niffty would call them for dinner. 

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, Lucifer wandered through the complex of the halls, stumbling across many doors - some open, some locked and one board up - and got acquainted with the layout of the place. So far, he found a well-stocked armory and library, a dusty dancing salon, a broom cabinet, but no studio with Alastor in it. His new friend surely relished in being holed up far away from society. It was very likely that he acquired this habit during the time he spent in hiding, and Lucifer would have developed this thought further if it weren't for the victory of finding a dim neon sign that said "On The Air" and marked the entrance to Alastor's sanctuary. He reached for the handle but pulled his hand away as soon as it touched something wet and sticky. Sniffing it, he immediately recognized the smell of blood.

Considering Alastor's discomfort in the car, his breathlessness at the ladder and Niffty's love assault, it was safe to assume that the stitches got torn, opening the chest wound and causing fresh bleeding. For some reason, the injured criminal thought it would be a better idea to hide away with his pain until he'd somehow got it under control, rather than letting Lucifer help like he did in the cell. He knocked at the door and much to his confusion, it was answered cheerfully by: "Invited visitors I shoot immediately, uninvited ones even faster. Your choice."

It hit him that something about the voice wasn't quite right, as if it were laced with radio statics, and the realization kept him from walking away. "Was that a recording?" Without waiting for another attempt to fool him into leaving, he decided to turn the doorknob and peek inside to see the real state of things. "Shit," he cursed under his breath at the sight of the renewed gap in Alastor's chest. Without the stitches keeping the flesh together, the edges of the slash wound pulled apart, revealing the tissue underneath.

"Why, I am perfectly fine! Don't you worry." Except that Alastor didn't look fine at all. He sat on the floor, his upper body leaning against the high mattress of his bed. The red suit jacket was haphazardly thrown over a nearby chair, and his unbuttoned waistcoat was soaked in blood. This time, it was clear that the words weren't coming out of the criminal's mouth - his clenched jaws stuck in a painful grimace made it physically impossible. Lucifer cast his eyes at the staff clutched in Alastor's fist and concluded that it must have been coming from the microphone in the top part. The Inspector would bet that it contained recordings of dismissive responses to the most frequent questions on Alastor's wellbeing, so that the tone of his voice wouldn't give away the real state he was in.

Alastor raised his hand and resolutely pointed at the door that was now fully ajar, before he let it fall back on its red mark on the bottle of whiskey. The gesture confused Lucifer. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, without intending to respect the answer. I won't. I can't. The other man hesitated before shaking his head no. There had to be another reason then. "Do you want me to close the door?" This time, the nod was positive. Of course, Lucifer thought to himself, it must be humiliating enough for him that I'm here, the last thing he wants is more witnesses. He did as he was told then inquired to know where the medical supplies were.

There was an uncertain pause before Alastor answered, his voice now tight with more than agony. "In the lower left door of the cabinet." From the way his eyes wouldn't meet Lucifer's was obvious that he didn't want the Detective anywhere near that cabinet but was driven to it by circumstances. Pft, it's not like seeing what's inside would be so deeply personal or embarrassing or whatever that Alastor would have to kill him over it, right? Ridiculous!

For the first time since entering the room, Lucifer looked around to take in the decorum. It seemed that Alastor took some time to paint most of the furniture in his favorite shades of red, so that, when the style of each perfectly differed, they would match at least in color, making it all look much less mismatched together - the result was impeccable. He smiled at the mental picture of the dreaded cannibal with a can of paint, a brush, and his lips slightly pursed as he concentrated to not miss a single spot. The biggest eye-catcher was the desk with radio equipment, adorned with memorabilia, including maps, mugs, brooches, and vintage posters, mainly from Martinique, with some additions from Haiti and New Orleans. Lucifer passed around a picture frame that was put face down to prevent passers-by, and maybe even Alastor himself, from looking at its contents.

Next to the desk were several bookshelves, which mostly contained non-fiction about broadcasting, like a collection of volumes of Everyman's Guide to Radio or The Radio Amateur's Handbook, but also several cookbooks, and curiously, one lone book about sharks (its cover looked lovingly worn, and yet it was left neglected far back between the other titles). He passed around those and found himself standing in front of the cabinet.

Right as he opened it, a disgusting stench wafted through the air to assault his nose, bringing back memories from his glorious FBI days. In front of him stood what could have been only described as an occult altar. The inner walls of the cabinet were covered in symbols, written both in ink and blood. In the corners were dead roses, the smell of which was beaten by rotting flesh on various animal skulls. Burned-down candles in the front indicated frequent use. And, finally, in the center of it all, behind a small bowl with dried blood at the bottom, stood the familiar dusty radio. A crown made of dead bodies of big fat roaches was hung on five invisible strings above it all like a halo.

"What takes you so long?" Lucifer heard Alastor growl somewhere from behind. It reminded him why he opened the cabinet in the first place. Leaning against one wall was a wooden box with an engraving of a set of deer antlers positioned over a medical cross. He pulled it out with the utmost care not to knock down any of the things and disrupt the altar's layout, then he silently closed it and returned to Alastor, whose face was drained of any color. Without further ado, he began to examine the wound.

Tending to the injury now was as different as it could have been from the last time. Alastor could barely keep up his ever-present smile, or maybe he didn't even bother maintaining it, and was surprisingly vocal whenever the needle pierced through the tender skin (in the sense that he sharply reminded Lucifer something in the sense of 'be more careful' and occasionally even yelped). When the restitching was done, Lucifer took a clean handkerchief out of his pocket (Charlie can be a messy child like any other, so he always keeps one close at hand) and began to tap it along the stitches to absorb most of the blood-stained fluid that oozed out of the gap before his intervention.

While he was bandaging Alastor's chest, Lucifer noticed that the criminal eyed the pain-relievers that he so resolutely refused before. Considering Alastor's eye condition, it could have easily been a misunderstanding, but to be completely sure, he handed him the bottle. "I'll get you some water for tha-" He watched helplessly as the other spilled three pills into the palm of his hand, threw them in his mouth, and swallowed them with the last sip of his whiskey. Without commenting on it, he finished by cleaning the sticky blood from Alastor's hands. It revealed pinkish lines across his palms, that Lucifer connected to the bowl in the cabinet. Judging by their number, slitting his palm for whatever purpose the altar existed seemed to be frequent and completely normal for Al.

He recalled that back when he still worked on the Louisiana Cannibal case, they worked with a theory that the murders were of religious nature of some sorts. Unlike the missing organs, the absent bones weren't so likely to be mere trophies. At first, they were mostly tibias, which led them to believe that Alastor was practicing Palo Mayombe, meaning he used the long bones as wands to 'rule forces of darkness,' but the phenomenon soon stopped, and he started to focus more on scapulas, hinting at a switch to scapulimancy. Whenever they got close to understanding his motive, he changed direction, leaving them empty-handed once again. Then everyone eventually abandoned the theory altogether because they thought Alastor was just distracting them by making them think there was more to his killings. Everyone, except Lucifer. Damn, it feels good to be right!

The Inspector sat down two feet from Alastor, mindful of his apparent constant need of personal space, and relaxed. He sensed that this Alastor was different from the one he had met. More real. More human. Perhaps it was the lack of his enemies watching him. Perhaps he didn't consider Lucifer to be a thread. Perhaps they became friends. Whatever it was, it told Lucifer that at least in this moment, he could speak openly with the man.

"I suppose I understand now that you needed to contact me somehow, but was getting nearly killed by Adam necessary?" Lucifer asked, aiming for a mildly amused tone, even though, in reality, he felt none of it. If anything, the low sense of self-preservation worried him. Despite their relative closeness, he had no hopes to ever find out what Alastor's been through to make him so determined to push the media overlords from their high pedestals at the cost of his own life.

"I admit that the plan was for Adam to ruffle my feathers convincingly, and not to cut the whole wing off," Alastor replied. His unusually unguarded expression was an open book, allowing one to skim through chapters about irritation with the inconvenience on his chest, anger at own failure and, strikingly, fear left from looking death straight in the eye. To conceal the raw emotions at least partially, Alastor gave Lucifer a wide grin. "But who's complaining? It worked in the end, and now you're on my wonderful team." Was it only his imagination playing cruel jokes on him or did Alastor's eyes dilated as he looked at him? Unfortunately, it was more likely that they got larger due to the dim light in the room.

Stop! Focus!

"You mean your totally oblivious team."

Alastor raised the bottle of whiskey and mourned the loss of its contents. He got up with a grunt, allowing to be supported by the other man, and then walked to a small table with assortment of various alcohol. His hand minutely hovered over the bottles. "Come now, I have had much worse crimes on my record than withdrawal of information from my associates. See anything you like?" Of course I like what I see, but since it's about drinks you're asking... The invitation to drink together was declined. Consequently, Alastor rejected the idea to continue drinking alone.

"And don't change the subject. A lot of them rely on you. They deserve to know about our deal. Or do you not plan to keep your part?" At that, Alastor looked offended.

"So very keen on seeing me justly dead, hmmm?" he teased, but there was no humor in his voice, then explained bitterly: "I profess the sanctity of all the deals I make." For a fraction, his eyes flickered to the cabinet with the altar in it. "As to the camp, some things are best left unsaid. It's better for morale." To be completely honest with himself, it wasn't their morale, but rather his own disillusionment that prevented him from presenting them with the new circumstances. Inside the annoying depths of his heart, he longed for connection, like the one he used to share with his mother and often fooled himself with fantasies of friendship. Knowing that no one would cry at his mortal body's funeral was far too crushing for his healing soul, and so he stayed as far as possible from the knowing. Ignorance is bliss, as the wise men say.

Something flicked over Lucifer's features, and it didn't go unnoticed by the other man, who couldn't say he understood it. He never came across an emotion like this one. "I might have agreed with the terms and conditions you'd set, but it doesn't mean I plan to enjoy your execution, and neither should you," the Detective said earnestly, his steely gaze leaving no room for arguing.

It might have been the pain-relievers, or it might have been the alcohol that loosened Alastor's tongue, either way, the comment made him want to share some of his backstory. "Let's stop beating around the bush, shall we? You saw the skeleton in my closet, and it is awkward for both of us to pretend like you did not. I know that any conversation about my death is irrelevant, and it would be a waste of both of our times if I were to pretend like I don't." Even under the influence, he expected himself to be reluctant to dig up some of his history but found himself feeling keen on the prospect. It was exciting, just as it was scary. "I won't die."

He was met with puzzlement. "What do you mean you won't? It is true that the botched execution rate is around 3 percent, but it doesn't really affect the ending result, only prolongs the suffering to unnecessary length."

"I know, and it's not what I meant at all," Alastor interrupted him, his smile growing more and more mischievous by the second. "My mortal life might end, but my consciousness will be carried over to the afterlife. You see, I have discovered a powerful ritual that allows me to reach the dark side. It took a while to figure out, but, eventually, a demon picked up my call, and we've established a simple exchange - a golden ticket to get me among the top-shelf overlords of Hell for nothing more than a favor, a task to complete and then enjoy eternity of fun."

His face darkened as he pronounced the word 'fun.' It rolled over his tongue as something deliciously sweet. Oh, to think the real meaning of the word meant 'murder!' It was for the second time Lucifer saw the nightmarish shadow slowly creeping across Alastor's face, making him project horrible pictures in the hollow abyss.

"So, just to be clear, did you like, sell your soul?"

"Souls are Hell's currency! It was a transaction like any other!" The way he put it so casually was unsettling. As if they weren't talking about the essence of his being bound to a demon, but about buying gum at a candy store.

"Doesn't that make you the demon's pet?"

Alastor grimaced at that. "It would take more than owning my soul to force me into submission. Trust me when I say that those who ever tried, did not end particularly well."

Did he think that the criminal was disillusioned? Yes. A little insane? That too, but who is in their right mind isn't? But did his interest in the man weakened? The opposite was true.

The regime at the Hazbin Refugee Camp was strict, with everyone being expected to perform their duties flawlessly, but despite Alastor's leadership skills, it often lacked organization, and that was an issue Lucifer had taken upon himself. After a few days of sorting out notes from Cherri, Al and Husk, and putting the police practice in use, he managed to create a bulletin cork board which connected the most important findings into something coherent. It unfortunately revealed blank spaces of their research. Cherri struggled to climb up the hill of cracking the most guarded Vee Tower systems, only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure, while Al and Husk spent most of their time bent over the 3D model, looking for possible good infiltration spots and finding very few. (It's worth noting that even Husk became worried the very few times Alastor failed to conceal his troubles with regular breathing.) Charlie too found her place in the camp, and along with Vaggie responsibly guarded the main hall. And Niffty did... well, whatever Niffty does.

Most of the time, they ended up working separately (unless someone urgently demanded a group consultation) which seemed to have negative effects on the camp's overall mood, and it was Lucifer yet again who decided to do something about it. Just like before, he worked with sole pieces that needed to be put together, but instead of using the bulletin board, he used the kitchen that has been boarded up the entire time. With Niffty's help, he rid the room of dust and filth, creating a pleasant gathering spot for all to enjoy.

He would never forget Alastor's face when he was presented with Lucifer's little project. Standing in the kitchen, the criminal looked so young, like a schoolboy, captivated by the comforting smell of a meal cooked with love, welcoming him home.

Lucifer cleared his throat and began to explain: "I've noticed that barely anyone bothers to take a proper lunch break, opting to eat it hastily while working instead, and I'm convinced that at least one meal together a day would be enough to reduce the exhaustion we all feel. You know, just to meet up, relax and chat."

As expected, the idea was welcomed with open arms. However, it was met with surprise when Alastor turned up in the kitchen the very next day, attired in an apron and humming the radio's catchy jazz tunes. The kitchen thus became the main hub of activity and joy, where music was played, tasty food was consumed, and jokes were being told. At the end of every meal, right before they broke up their assembly, the crew agreed on the best course of action.

One evening, they received disconcerting news that momentarily disturbed their improved mood. The impact of Lucifer's disappearance was immediately notable across all Pentagram City papers, who fell for the ruse that the long-gone Louisiana Cannibal had shot and dragged the Detective Inspector into his den to feast on him (this part actually threw Alastor into a pained maniacal laughing fit), there was only one person who's theory differed, and the person was Lilith. She reported her husband to have severe mental problems that, without proper medication, may trigger a dangerous obsession with danger. According to her, Lucifer kidnapped Charlie and ran off with the criminal he volunteered to guard, because his ill mind felt drawn to him. A nationwide search was subsequently launched.

Lucifer couldn't believe his ears, but what hurt him the most weren't Lilith's crude accusations... Peter joined her, speaking up about the last night he saw his boss, providing evidence that supported her claims. He didn't mean to betray him, only did what he thought was the right thing after hearing her statement. After all, who should know him better than his own fucking wife? No one doubted her words afterwards and Lucifer became 'a dangerous former officer of the Federal Bureau of Investigation suffering from a mental health condition currently evading the authorities.'

Luckily, his team wouldn't take Lilith's side and collectively offered to commit a murder should he wish them to. He laughed it off as an attempt to cheer him up, however, once he took notice of how quiet and tense Alastor was, he became more serious.

"Don't even think about it!" he warned. Sure, he was angry at her for trying to ruin his public image, but he couldn't wish anything bad happened to her. Ever.

Alastor shot him with a defiant look, and they had an intense stare-off until the criminal backed down with growled: "Fine!" Then he snatched his cane and stomped out of the kitchen, fuming angrily.

The first one to break the silence that had fallen was Cherri. "Well, this is new," she said, amazed at Alastor's outburst and too easy surrender. You didn't have to be a genius to figure out that such behavior wasn't usual for someone so composed like Al, the more difficult part was to get to the bottom of what exactly caused it, especially while bearing in mind what Husk always worked so hard to remind him of:

"That radio psychopathic freak is nothing but deceiving you. It's the only thing he knows how to do. Love, care or protectiveness, that's all below his level. Or so he says to himself. All criminal minds are fueled by constant justifications of their actions, and he's no fucking different."

No. He didn't believe it. Couldn't. Husk was too petrified of Alastor to see him objectively like Lucifer undoubtedly did. Even if, I repeat, even if there was a speck of truth in it, it would only solidify his conviction that Alastor was robbed of certain pieces of himself and was desperately trying to glue himself together with everything he found during his walk of life, including high emotional self-control and a constant feeling of superior power over those who might try to shatter his foundation again. But most importantly, he was, in essence, a man with a powerful sense of law and justice, believing that individuals who exhibited misogynistic tendencies, promoted domestic violence, or otherwise restricting other people's freedom should be held accountable for their actions. He was doing humankind a favor! Umm, i-in his own fucked up way, that is.

Look, before you start mailing him the 'I can change him' t-shirts, understand that he isn't some pathetic or naive girl who has a crush on the villain of the story. No, no, no, no, no. No. It's just his experience! He has met the scum of the world and was helluva good at reading them. Alastor doesn't fit the pattern. He doesn't fit any patterns! That's what makes him so interesting. And for the record, he doesn't have a crush, you have a crush!

...

Shut up!

As if destiny wanted to compensate them for the times when they were barely successful at managing their tasks, luck began to turn in their favor, which led to steep improvement. Cherri, having finally managed to hack into the Vee Tower's sophisticated system, gained her team several advantages, one of them being the building's precise layout with all its secret rooms and corridors. Thanks to it, Husk and Alastor were able to find vulnerable points where the success rate of infiltration was exceptionally high. In just seven days of intelligence gathering, following the mafia boss' routines and subsequent forming of plans and strategies, they will be ready to gatecrash the party.

Or so they thought, until a certain slithery guest appeared at their doorstep.

It was deep into the night before Day D, Charlie and Vaggie were huddled under a soft blanket in their usual lookout spot, hidden behind a pile of crates so that potential unwanted visitors couldn't see them. The older girl let herself be persuaded to take a nap and let the other handle their shared duties. Her pale head was resting in Charlie's lap, pinning her down, but not unpleasantly so. The young Morningstar suddenly didn't know where to put her hands, until they experimentally slid into the long pale hair and over the ever-so-cold cheek, where they seemed to fit perfectly. Vaggie stirred, but only to press her face into the small warm palm.

Sitting like this, she could put all her troubles away.

Her daddy teased an adventure, but, so far, it didn't seem like the thrilling trip he'd been advertising. They were barely allowed outside and she soon began to mourn the lack of sunshine on her skin or hearing the simplest of sounds like the chirping of birds.

None of the adults ever pushed her away whenever she showed an interest in a conversation to make up for the lack of socializing, but whenever she got even remotely close to asking about "the outer news" they redirected her attention elsewhere. She had heard all sorts of things that made her uneasy, like that Uncle Al hurt lots of people, or that her daddy's mind was sick. She also missed her mom. It was true that she barely ever wanted Charlie around, sometimes only one week a month, usually less than so, however, now that she was so fierce about having her daughter home, it just wasn't possible.

While she wasn't encouraged to open the Pandora's boxes, they took a great care of expanding her skill set. She was taught how to read, write, draw, how to handle a broom, fight with a spear and how to behave like a true lady. But none of it could take her mind from the swarm of questions prickling at her brain. Only being with Vaggie could do that.

It made her heart swell when daddy allowed Vaggie to visit them once the secret mission is done! She couldn't wait for their first sleepover, and movie night, and sunset, and everything else they could experience together. Having heard the story about her parents’ disappearance, Charlie wished for her new friend to get the family reunion she longed for, while promising herself to do whatever it takes to fill the hole in case things wouldn't go so well. Either way, they will stay close. Like sisters! And Uncle Al could-

Charlie held her breath and pricked up her ears when she heard a noise coming from the entry hallway. The tapping sound of someone descending the ladder was unmistakable and it made panic rise in her chest. Carefully, not to make any noise, she shook Vaggie's shoulder, and immediately as the girl opened her eyes, Charlie gestured at her to be quiet, because there was danger nearby. She then watched Vaggie crawl to get her spear.

They watched a beam of light licking at the walls curiously, if a little shakily, as Vaggie waited for the right moment to jump into action. The intruder was getting closer and closer to the crates, and finally the older girl cried out, shoving the sharp point of her weapon mere inches from the startled person's big round glasses. The torch fell out of their grip, and Charlie was fast to grab it, flashing it in what she now knew was a face of a man, whose shrieking intensified with the added exposure.

"I come in peace! I come in peace!" he repeated, shutting his eyes close and wrinkling his nose. The man was tall, with long dark hair and a high-pitched accent. Later on, everyone would also take note of the lisp he spoke with.

Despite his room being the furthest away, Alastor was the first one to come (Vaggie could swear that creep never sleeps), scrutinizing the strange man with fierce gaze. When he failed to recognize him as unfamiliar, his expression morphed from intense to mildly confused. "Who are you?" he asked, cocking his head to the side like a cat.

Their visitor raised his arm to reach for his hat, and yelped when Vaggie prevented him from it with her spear. "M-my name is Pendleton, s-sir! You must hear me out, please. I came to warn you."

Alastor seemed to be considering it but stopped right as his eyes fell on the torch in Charlie's hands. He bent down to her, pointing at the petite device. "Could I borrow that for a second, my dear?" She nodded, handing it over. A part of the design was a logo that consisted of three Vs. "Can't say I'm pleased to be meeting you, Mr. Pendleton. There are quite serious reasons for me to think that you came down here to spy on us."

Pendleton was quick to catch the torch that was thrown at him with dripping distaste for both the device and its possessor. "Let me assure you that this is a misunderstanding! Until recently, I did work for the Vees, but then-"

His attempt at explanation was interrupted by Lucifer, stepping out from the group of the remaining hazbins with a gun with his hand. "Who are you! Are you carrying any identification on you? I want to see it. Now."

Annoyed, Alastor rolled his eyes and hissed over his shoulder: "You're late, Lu. The situation is already being managed by me, so, why don't you back down?"

"Sorry for doing my job! I bet if you're so much better than me at it, you have already checked if he carries any weapons with himself," Lucifer remarked smugly.

Shit. He didn't. "The only armed person here is you! And we are back to problème numéro un!" He raised his cane and used it to push Lucifer's arms down so that he'd stop aiming at Pendleton.

Lucifer dangerously waved his gun around, exasperated, complaining: "How am I the number one? He should be number one!" And as he said so, he used his gun once again to point at Pendleton, just for his arms to be knocked down again (to the distressed tall man's relief), this time more violently.

Husk then joined the debate. "Are we gonna act like he didn't outright admit working for the Vees? As I see it, we should just kill him." Hearing this, Pendleton started to sweat profoundly. He had never experienced such rapid shifts between fear for his life and relief in the space of a few short minutes.

"He only admitted working for them in the past," Alastor corrected, his patience wearing thin. "Killing him would certainly be spectacular, but, A, there are children in the room, and B, he might be a good source of enemy intel."

"No arguing there. Bet he's snitching on us right fucking now!" Husk insisted, yanking Pendleton by the lapels of his grey vest.

From the top of the crates, Niffty purred: "He looks like a bad boy!" while polishing her little knife.

"Cease to exacerbate the current state of chaos at once!" Alastor raised his voice, finally silencing the annoying bickering over the faith of the pathetic soul that wandered into their base. As if by magic, he changed his demeanor as he turned back to Pendleton with a smile and a polite gesture to continue speaking. "You were saying...?"

With great urgency, their intruder spilled the vital information he came to share, hoping to finish before anyone could get to murder him or worse. "Mr. Alastor, my employer Mr. Vox didn't send me to you to be his man on the inside, because he already knows you're about to ambush the Tower!"

In reaction to the revelation, Alastor's eye twitched, his neck cracked and his smile became so unnaturally crooked, Pendleton feared the famous cannibal might actually turn to the Wendigo demon many crazy theorists claim him to be. He had never been so close to seriously considering joining their mad clique. A deep, low growl of the beast in front of him reached his ears. It sounded like words but were difficult to make out. "I'm s-sorry, could you repeat that? I didn't quite-"

"Who is the traitor?"

Although he could see only the back of Alastor's head, Lucifer could imagine from Pendleton's horrified expression what face the criminal bore as he asked those words. He might have seen a glimpse of it now and then but thank fuck he never stood at the receiving end of it. His memory helpfully supplied him with the conversation he had with Alastor earlier that week, about his deal.

What if he actually managed to speak to a real demon from Hell?

What if the demon left him with more than just a promise and a request of an unspecified favor?

Feeling afraid, he did the only thing he was confident he could never do wrong - protect Charlie. He put away his gun and scooped his daughter into his arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" Alastor snapped at him, not caring that his tone frightened the little girl. She's been crying for a while now, and Lucifer had to hold back, because otherwise he would soon end up punching Alastor in the face or at least holding him at the gunpoint.

"I'm taking Charlie away. You're scaring her."

"She better be scared! Any one of you could be a spy, including the little princess."

"You can't actually mean that." Lucifer's voice was weak. His fascination for the man turned bitter and spoiled. How could he be only another scum without any sense of righteousness? That is not who Alastor was supposed to be! His reputation and life are at stake here, and for whom? Just another monster?

Meanwhile, Alastor turned back to Pendleton, the tip of his cane switching places with Vaggie's spear. "Tell me which one of these lowlifes I should hold responsible for fucking me over!"

And he brought his beloved daughter straight into the beast's den.

By the look on the faces of everyone present, including Cherri who joined them only after she heard the situation escalating, they all shared similar thoughts. But it wasn't until the last piece was added to the puzzle that their reality completely shattered.

"The spy is not a who. It's a what."