Helping Hand of the Fallen

Chapter 4: Better With a Nice Meal

When morning arrived, Lucifer, still simmering with his frustration from the night before, channeled his energy into stress-cooking. He prepared Southern Oxtail Soup and Chicken Creole, inspired by what he'd heard about the radio demon's Louisiana roots.

As he cooked, he couldn't help but reflect on his own Fall. In tough times, he'd imagined someone preparing a heavenly meal for him—a hopeful fantasy given that, as a fallen angel, he didn't need food for sustenance. Nonetheless, he wanted to offer the radio demon a taste of home.

A better relationship with Alastor would mean less resistance, easier healing, and conclude in a quicker departure from his castle.

It's such a flawless plan, if he does say so himself!

So now, Lucifer stood in front of Alastor's door, carrying a tray with drinks: a dark coffee for the demon and a cup of sugar, spice, and everything nice for himself. He knocked softly to announce his arrival, not as a request for entry but as a signal that he was there.

Unsurprisingly, when Alastor opened the door, their ruby eyes locked in a heated glare.

Lucifer greeted him with a feigned cheerfulness, "Good morning, Bambi. Good to see you conscious and not a bleeding mess!" He then noticed that Alastor was still in his clothes from the previous night rather than the pajamas he'd provided.

"Aww, are you too embarrassed by the duckie pattern?" Lucifer teased. "I thought it might brighten your gloomy ass a bit." He smirked at the demon's reaction, then continued, "Or maybe you can't change your clothes and need some urgent assistance—"

"It's too short."

Lucifer blinked, momentarily thrown off. "Uh, what?"

"That blasphemy," Alastor grumbled, pointing at the pajamas, "is a crop."

'A crop?' Lucifer was genuinely confused. He was sure the pajamas were normal, perfectly fitting for Alastor's height. So, why—

He noticed Whispie, Alastor's shadow, subtly trying to catch his attention from behind its master. The shadow pointed at its own tail, giving it a little wiggle before quickly retreating back into Alastor's form before he could notice.

Lucifer blinked again.

Did the shadow really just betray its master to help him out?

Whispie normally didn't even have a tail afterall.

And speaking of tails... 'Is he self-conscious about it?' Lucifer thought, noting Alastor's genuine discomfort. The devil didn't even feel right about turning it into a joke. Instead, he just hummed thoughtfully, setting the meal down on the nightstand. With a snap of his fingers, a soft 'poof' echoed through the room, and a new pair of pajamas appeared next to Alastor, still in the same ducky pattern but now longer and looser, with a more comfortable fit.

'Too bad, it was a cute sight,' Lucifer mused, recalling how he'd noticed Alastor's tail the day before when he helped him up. It was healthy, not deformed or anything, but Lucifer could sympathize. He, too, had hated when others saw his wings during their pitiful stage of healing, no matter how divine they might still have appeared.

For someone as prideful and imposing as Alastor, having something as endearing as that tail must have been infuriating. Lucifer remembered how the demon reacted when he'd named his shadow 'Whispie'—that reaction had told him all he needed to know about Alastor's personality.

The radio demon, on the other hand, was taken aback by Lucifer's lack of commentary. 'Will he really not say anything?'

Not even a remark?