Splitting at the Seams (RadioApple)

Part 5

Alastor tried. Seriously, he actually put the effort in.

The radio demon, bedbound and high strung, tried his thrice-damned best to convince himself to stay in the bed he had been unceremoniously confined to.

Despite what Lucifer or a particularly drunk and careless Husk might say, the Overlord did have a sense of self preservation. Seeing the extent of his bodily harm, hearing the king of Hell directly address him to warn him that he'd almost gone too far in his arrogance and antisocial manner, that he'd nearly finalized his over a century-spanning existence that very night and was set to pass away in a bout of fitful sleep, curled up against the wall in a room he had never before stepped in… if anything could be humbling, it would be that. Not to mention this unpleasant swell of gratitude he felt toward the angel for the lengths he had went to procure Alastor's survival - at no benefit of his own, having yet to request anything in return for such an irrepayable favour. And so he had listened. When Lucifer told him to sit back and relax, he listened.

Until 6 o'clock, that was.

Look.

Lucifer, sick of the smell and the tension and the place in general, had stepped out approximately a half hour after Angel had. Citing both the obvious and his daughter's certain concern, he'd gathered up his top hat, summoned his cane, bizarrely NOT made any attempt to retrieve his own coat from where it was still slung over Alastor's narrow shoulders, and made his way down to relieve her of her worries. Thankfully he had even promised to do so with a tale of omission, saving Alastor's Pride temporarily by giving her a more tasteful version of events until Alastor himself was well enough to either fake health and brush the entire matter under the rug, or admit the truth.

Obviously, he planned to do the former.

Thus he had been left to his own devices since 10.30 that morning.

The door had been replaced, set on magical constraints that prevented anyone from entering. All sound from outside was heavily muted, and in the already lazy morning, It was silent.

The Radio Demon had had a handful of options.

He could read. His magic was disobeying him at the moment, flickering and fraying in his hold when he tried to harness it, but it was better than it had been being when he'd been actively bleeding, and he was sure he could summon some reading materials if he concentrated.

Alternatively, he could converse with his shadow, which had made its presence apparent the literal moment after Lucifer had left and replaced the entryway, sliding out from under his bed with an expression conveying both sheepishness and deep worry. Normally, as it was an extension of himself, It operated largely as he did, synchronizing with his movements and copying his facial changes, but it was being wholly independent today and he couldn't muster up a reason to mind. It made for some level of distraction, watching it fret about in reording or disposing of all of the furniture that had been damaged or destroyed in the earlier chaos, hissing quietly.

Finally, and what he actually ended up doing, was taking account of the sheer magnitude of his condition.

Most obviously, his chest persisted in bothering him. At the least it seemed whatever fluid was flowing from that IV by his bedside contained an anesthetic, as while he suffered he suffered substantially less than he knew he should be. The telltale fuzziness was proof in itself. Still, the sensation of his chest being open was vile, as was the permeating sense that every slight adjustment of his torso sent his organs sliding about in his ribcage. Surely that wasn't happening, but it felt like it was. Repulsive.

It was a curiosity, the IV. There was a discomfort in his wrist where the tube was implemented, but the clear material caught his interest. As it had narcotic abilities, perhaps it contained opium? It was the only potent painkiller he knew was used in a clinical sense, as he was hardly hospital savvy. The demon had avoided them like the plague in both of his lives, and certainly never had he needed a drip before. Perhaps his victims might have if any besides the last had escaped… but perhaps not. If he recalled, the usage hadn't become common until a little after his time.