Let's Make a Deal

Believe

   Leaving Alastor alone in the Embassy was probably not the best thing he could have done. But, truth be told, the moment Michael was gone and the room was so fucking silent he had—panicked. That feeling that had been just barely over the precipice of snapping had finally swallowed him up and the King of Hell just simply couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and that panicking feeling that had such a clutch around his neck had finally choked him enough the only thing he could think to do was run. So run he did, with his tail between his legs metaphorically and just trying to keep himself above the feeling of drowning.

   He had stumbled through the palace in a blind panic, tumbled into his bathroom and turned the water to the shower on all the way to the hottest setting. Then, still fully clothed and just trying to keep his heart from strangling him, he had climbed into his shower and just sat there. The hot water burned along his body, searing his skin to what should be painful levels, and head buried in his knees. What was he supposed to do? Michael was right, the agreement to continue the protection of the Hellborns but also the Hotel itself now was far more than he could have ever hoped to come from this.

   However, if he agreed to the contract again—Charlie would hate him. She would hate him enough that he would probably never see his daughter again. Those seven years of distance between them had already been painful, the awkwardness that had grown between them still weighing on his chest. He doesn't want to go through that again, doesn't want to risk losing his daughter all over.

   But if he doesn't agree to this, Michael's threat was very real. To send the Archangel of Death, the Exterminators, and anyone else who wants a piece of Hell at them—they won't win against a full out war, especially if Michael comes with Azrael. To not sign that contract would be the same as signing a death sentence for the entirety of Hell. Lucifer isn't delusional enough to believe all the Sins would back them up either. Asmodeus, definitely, he was a good friend. Mammon, maybe, he thinks he's Lucifer's friend. Satan, definitely, but just because he enjoys bloodshed. But Beelzebub, Belphegor and Leviathan? Absolutely not. Beelzebub just wants to continue drinking and partying, Belphegor is so wrapped up in sloth that the idea of just getting out of their lab will be a hard no. And Leviathan is a fucking asshole.

   Now, four out of the seven deadly sins isn't bad—it's also not enough. The four of them could handle a lot, but Lucifer had so much more than them when he fought in the Heaven's the first time and that ended... Well, exactly where he was.

   Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

    He swung his fist to the side, slamming it into the wall of the shower and effectively putting his hand right through the tiles. The sharp edges dug into his skin, splitting right through it and ripping the muscles. He felt the pain almost immediately, dulled for the first few seconds as the heated, angry emotions crushing him down started to ebb into an almost sad and exhausted feeling. Hot, golden blood flowed heavily down his arm, mixing with the water of the shower and spinning down the drain to vanish.

   As he pulled his hand from the wall a sob finally slipped from his mouth and Lucifer wrapped his arm back around his legs, face pressed harder into his knees as he let himself cry.

   He found the definition for the strongest emotion, one he was incredibly familiar with; defeated.

   Sleep actually came rather easily that night, emotional and physical exhaustion taking quite the toll on his body. Lucifer had only bothered snapping a pair of clean pajamas onto himself before falling face first into the bed, his hand still split open and bleeding freely onto his blankets. At some point, in the night, his own angelic magic had healed the self-inflicted wound and the only evidence of it in the morning was the stains on his sheets. When he pulled himself from the bed he snapped them into the laundry room and let his magic make the bed with fresh linens while he got dressed for the day.