Archive of Our Own

This isn’t how Lucifer expected to visit the Hazbin Hotel again — with a postcard scrawled with Heavenly font. 

Not like this.

And yet, Lucifer still knocks on the door. He comes not as a father; not today.

Today, he comes as the King of Hell.

The war against Heaven had taken its toll on Hell — on its soldiers, on its citizens, on the very entirety of Hell itself.

Much had been lost that day.

Charlie opens the door, and she welcomes Lucifer in with open arms. She looks at him with concern, with love, with all that warmth and light Lucifer remembers from her childhood. Unthinking, he presses the postcard into her hand. Two pairs of eyes glance at the paper before meeting again in the center, twin eyes catching as five words begin the change Charlie has been looking for.

A Sinner has been Redeemed.

The war had left its impact — on Hell, on all the planes in between…

And now, it has impacted Heaven.

I is for Impenetrable

The Hazbin Hotel is filled with soft light — in the lobby, in the kitchen, through the hallways and stairwells. Castle Morningstar had never been this bright, never this open, never this free.

Darkness is where Lucifer resides, in a place withholding of the feeling that the Hotel exudes.

It's…

It's different.

No figments of a past once lived, no ghostly apparitions to taunt Lucifer from the shadows — a sinking feeling etched into the cracks and crevices of the place he'd once called his home.

That he still calls home, even if it hasn't been the same in many, many years.

His feet carry him behind Charlie, mind half listening to the words that spill past her lips. He catches pieces, filing them away to remember later. Lucifer resolves to not fade away like he has before, like he had all those years ago.

Lucifer had never wanted to disappear into himself, into his Castle. Something had always kept him there, though — a memory that lingers at the edge of his peripheral, blurry and faded. So close, yet so, so far away.

They're rounding the corner to the staircase on the second floor when he sees it — a familiar frame and portrait. 

He blinks and it's made of stone bricks.

Rubbing at his eyes, Lucifer looks again. Sir Pentious covers the canvas. Serpent eyes stare out over the Hotel, watching over the residents as if he were here — overseeing all those he'd given his life for. 

A selfless act that had stuck it to the man, as Angel Dust had said.

“He sacrificed himself for us — for me, for my dream,” Charlie says behind him, and Lucifer glances over his shoulder at his daughter. She wrings her hands together at her waist, lips pinched together as she looks at her late friend. After a moment, her eyes turn to look at Lucifer, mouth pulling into a small smile when she continues. “He allowed us to know that Redemption works.”

He had, hadn't he?

He's the reason why Lucifer received the letter he did, the one that he passed onto Charlie. The Sinner who could, would, and did.

“They all belong here. Heaven is never wrong.”

Charlie taps him on the shoulder, drawing Lucifer from that voice in his ear. She looks at him with concern playing on her features — she shouldn't worry for him, Father knows he hasn't deserved it.

“I think I… I'm going to go — not used to being out of the Castle.” Lucifer hopes his chuckle comes off more reassuring than nervous. He doesn't know who he's trying to reassure, Charlie or himself.

He can overthink that later.

Charlie's smile falters for the briefest of moments, and suddenly, Lucifer feels himself falling back into a grief as ancient as it is deep.

Back when his mind was unkind, when his manor was unfair… when his memories were unfaithful.

“I'll be back soon,” he hastily says. Lucifer means it; every word.

“See you, Dad…”

As he disappears into a portal crafted from centuries of work, Lucifer has never meant anything more.

Returning to Castle Morningstar comes with its own issues — did he forget to turn on the lights, or did the Castle turn them off while he was gone?

Does he really need to answer that question? Does he really want to?

Doesn't he already know?

Silence greets him inside the foyer, just as it always does every morning he awakens. Only the faintest glow shines somewhere on the second floor, likely the one lamp Lucifer keeps in his room — it's the one place that his magic alone works, the one room in which the Castle's own doesn't.

Is that of the Castle's accord or his own?

Lucifer may never know.

He snaps his fingers, lights blink slowly to life across the empty Castle — they flicker, drowning under the Castle's magic before ultimately falling to Lucifer's own. Only the hallway to his study stays unlit, just as it always does, just as it always has. Undaunted and unwavering under Lucifer's conviction, wholly and fully under the palace’s control.

It's the one hallway Lucifer stays away from. It's the one hallway that he avoids. 

It's the one place in this haunted place that reminds him of things that Castle Morningstar hadn't always been like this — that light once filled these halls, that life once roamed here, that Castle Morningstar had always been alive in more ways than one.

It's the last place Lucifer ever wants to be. There has been little reason for him to travel down into the darkness of the East wing — Heaven doesn't call, Michael never answers, and every question he's ever asked stays ignored.

His first footstep into the hallway is one Lucifer doesn't mean to make. As are his second, his third, his fourth… 

Reflections in glass frames don't match his own.

Lucifer ignores them in favor of the wall up ahead.

Stone. Bricks painted with the image of a woman clad only in the flowers that surround her form. Crisp lines from every point, every curve — from her cheek to the thorns on the roses near her feet. 

Lilith Morningstar no longer graces this Hellish realm. Her memory, though, lives etched into the very fabric of it.

“Charlie was right.”

You were right.

Lucifer doesn't voice those final words. He's sure Lilith heard them anyway, wherever she may be.

His eyes catch the letter tacked on the wall next to the mural, an old warning from Heaven — an omen for all the bad that would befall them if the Morningstars dared to go against Heaven. It's been tacked there for ages, Lucifer can't remember when he got it; he also can't remember when he didn't have it. It's been a mainstay of this Castle for as long as he's been aware, but for the first time, Lucifer finds himself actually reading it — inhaling violent threats, letting them process, and finally landing on plucking the letter from its home.

Charlotte Morningstar had been correct. Sinners can be Redeemed.

Heaven's threats weigh a little less when they're proven wrong.

It's raining the next time Lucifer begins prepping for his next visit. His anxiety dampens as he watches the rain, as he listens to thunder rumble and lightning crack across the sky.

Thunderstorms are a rarity in Hell.

They have always been a rarity in Hell.

Caught under Heaven's scrutiny, caught in a web of deceit, distrust, denial — storms had always been diminished. Nothing more than angry downpours by the time they landed in Hell. Heaven wanted to see, wanted to expand, wanted to rule.

Wanted any and every reason to torment those they considered less.

Any and every reason to torment Lucifer and the angels that had followed afterwards.

He almost fears what this storm means — had there been a calm before it? Was the mere month between the battle and the present enough of a calm to grant them a new turbulence?

The thought of replying to their postcard crosses Lucifer's mind. He almost wants to follow through with it. He wonders if Gabriel will answer, maybe Sera, maybe—

“Do you really believe one is enough, brother?”

Lucifer whirls around — expecting to see nothing. Expecting just a disembodied voice, just the words of a man he once knew.

He doesn't expect to see him there, to see Michael, Archangel of Protection — of strength, of guiding light. Associated with everything Lucifer knows that he isn't.

His body flickers in and out, as if only there by pure spite and a power only manifested by this vindictive palace. 

But, his eyes are the same. That deep blue, dark in a way that only Michael could pull off. Mysterious. A mask to all the carefully crafted bullshit built behind it. He is still very much the Michael that Lucifer remembers in Heaven. The only difference is that this is a vision and the real Michael won't even grant him a second of his time.

Lucifer almost doesn't know which he'd prefer.

Still, he nods. Still, he follows orders and acknowledges the question asked — because the answer miraculously hasn't changed since the first time it had been asked.

“It might be all we need.”

He meant it more then, he believes it less now. Still, it feels like the truth when faced with the fact of the matter — a Sinner was still Redeemed.

As the ghostly figure dissipates from the hallway, as silence once again takes over this place, Lucifer hopes that it's all he needs.

He dreams of nothing — visually. Within a void, an abyss of his mind's own making. No matter where Lucifer runs, there is nowhere to go. Circles, squares, rectangles, and whatever else shape he runs in, he always winds back in the same spot.

Lucifer dreams of nothing, but he doesn't dream in silence. Cries of terror fill the vast expanse, sounds of running — an escape from something or someone.

He doesn't know who, he can never pinpoint it to just one. Because it never is just one. It's a cacophony of tones, each lost in the next. 

They remind him of the Fall. They remind him of the Exterminations.

They remind him of the mourning of the Queen.

Lucifer sleeps fitfully in his own bed, never quite fully rested at the beginning of each morning. He supposes he can blame the creaks and moans that echo through the Castle as the sun rises.

He supposes he can blame his own mind for the war it wages on itself. He’s always been to blame before, why would this be any different?

Lucifer visits the Hazbin Hotel thrice more before going in further than just the lobby. He can’t give the exact reason as to why — can’t bring up the new voices that have joined his dreams, can’t tell Charlie that he sees her in his halls. That she haunts it as a ghost of her childhood, all those little moments that Lucifer missed and wishes he hadn’t. That her laugh cracks through thick walls, that her melodies mimic those of her mother, and that she filters through every hollow chamber and empty hallway.

He can’t tell her that her words echo his own.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

He can’t tell her that he still doesn’t know how to answer that.

All Lucifer can do is listen as she talks about her venture, as she gushes about each new Sinner, and as she finally turns around and asks him another, equally dangerous question.

“Do you believe that this can work?”

He hadn't answered her then — he couldn't. He didn't know how.

He still doesn't.

Because Lucifer hasn't known what to believe in a very long time — how, in what, in who. Every answer he'd once known was lost to wars he'd never wanted to fight. Lucifer has never been the demon to ask these questions to.

He's never been the angel to answer them, either.

He can only walk through his Castle’s empty hallways now, listening to every one of her questions as they fill his mind — passing through every wall, crack, and crevice that resides in this hallowed place. He had never answered any of them — couldn't, wouldn't. Lucifer doesn't know if he knows anymore.

Grief clings to these walls, suffocating and binding, locking the palace in a sea of all-consuming regret.

There used to be honor here. It was an honor to live within these walls — in this Castle, with his little family, with what little remained of what once was. In the aftermath of the Fall. Back when Lucifer believed in the good of humanity, back when he believed in the good in his choice to give them theirs.

Back when the world was still black and white, and Lucifer hadn’t seen all the shades of grey in between. 

Back when this palace was still filled with light and life, and darkness was just a thing that clung to shadows…

There is no honor left here anymore…

A child's laughter suddenly breaks through the quiet, its echo causing Lucifer to stop and turn — a small girl runs past him, blonde hair trailing behind her as she races in the direction of the foyer. Lucifer pauses momentarily, hesitating only a second before his feet move on their own accord, chasing after the only thing he's never second-guessed believing in. Lights flicker as he sprints, blinking in and out in time with the wavering vision that runs ahead of Lucifer.

When he enters the foyer, she is gone. Lucifer blinks, and blinks once more, but only a vacant lobby stares back at him.

Empty.

Alone and lonely.

He takes a step forward, breath held in anticipation of her reappearance. His knees shake beneath his weight, ready at any moment to run or to sink to the ground in a puddle. Castle Morningstar hasn’t liked Lucifer in a long time. It has had zero qualms in ever making that dislike present…

And yet, this is different. This isn’t a push…

Charlie's ghost blinks back into existence across the foyer, back turned to him before facing him again — grin wide and toothy, yellow eyes glowing in the dim lighting of the Castle. She waves at him, and all Lucifer can do is wave back. It must be what she's waiting for because she runs off into the pitch black of the East wing.

It's a pull.

Lucifer doesn't hesitate now, doesn't wait a singular moment before sprinting off after her. His feet move faster than his brain can catch up, and he ignores all the signs that have kept him out of this hallway — those lights that don't so much as flicker, the long lost photos, and that lone mural.

All forgotten as he chases after the only reason he has left to believe. All washed away under the soft, radiant light of the child he'd known all those years ago.

Lucifer lets her guide his way, and for once, he doesn't think of turning around. She sprints into his study, and he just slips in when the door slams closed behind him. 

He's used to using a lamp if he ever visits this room —not that he has many reasons to— but there's a soft glow that lights it for him instead. Lucifer swallows when he sees the new envelope that sits atop the desk against the back wall — it's light, soft, smooth in a way that Heaven's have never been. Unblinding, unangelic, unheaven.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, like an angel drawn to an Apple, Lucifer walks forward until he can just read the inscription on the envelope — stylized, scripted block letters spell out the Hazbin Hotel, reminiscent of the old sign that hung above the Hotel before the rebuilding. Charlie's name is scrawled beneath the logo, the words to Dad following below it.

With trembling hands, Lucifer opens it to find a folded letter inside. In his daughter's smooth, chaotic handwriting is a short message…

Your room is open to you anytime. I'd like to know you more.

Choking back a sob, Lucifer wipes away a falling tear. Darkness has surrounded Castle Morningstar for as long as he can remember; the only lights that had ever shone here were blown out long ago, along with every bit of hope Lucifer had left. Light had left this palace a long time ago.

It lives on somewhere else, though. Inside a hotel on the other side of the Ring, in a place where hope, rest, and everything Lucifer once thought dead lives.

Light lives on in the form of Charlotte Morningstar and the Hazbin Hotel.

Heaven will have to try much harder if they wish to blow her light out, too.

Lucifer pauses when he walks by the mural, and he looks over to face the mother of his daughter. He runs his fingers across the vines etched into the stone beside her leg. He searches for the right words to say, the right way to convey the way he feels — he can almost hear Lilith's laugh as she waits for him to continue.

His words are slow, deliberate. As if reassuring the Castle as much as he's reassuring himself.

“I'll be back soon — Charlie needs me there.” Lucifer looks up and meets Lilith's closed eyes, swallowing before saying, “I need to see it for myself.”

That night, Lucifer dreams of golden hair and the sounds of a child running and laughing. He dreams of a place within the silence where sound can play, where dreams overcome nightmares, and where Michael's haunting voice is just a whisper in the wind.

“Lilith has proven that she is prone to Sin, just as you have, Brother.”

Once, those words would have sent Lucifer scrambling to wrong the rights of his choices. Once, they would have been cutting, slicing him to the bone with red, hot anger.

Now, they flow by unacknowledged. Forgotten as an image of their postcard floats past his vision — Heaven had been wrong. Michael had been wrong. Their promise, their sworn testimony, that Sinners couldn't be Redeemed — that their bad, that their choices in life would always outweigh whatever good they would accomplish.

That nothing would ever be enough to drag them from this pit…

“Do you believe this can work?”

He doesn't know.

But Lucifer doesn't need to in order to believe in Charlie.

Lucifer returns to the Hazbin Hotel the next day — in a flurry of red and gold magic, false confidence surging through him at the prospect of being perceived. He's here to see his daughter, here to see how this Hotel works, here to find the hope that has eluded him for so long.

He wants to try, even if he doesn't know where to even start.

He finds Charlie in a room downstairs, outfitted as an office — pictures of the Hotel staff and their guests are scattered along the walls; a frame stands out amongst them — it's the Hazbin Hotel before the battle, placed next to the Hotel at its grand reopening. 

Fallen, and risen from its own flames.

“Hey, Dad!”

Charlie smiles at him like he wasn't just absent for the last hundred years of her life. Like he isn't the failure Lucifer knows himself to be. She talks with him like he's been there the entire time, like he didn't disappear for a whole month before returning when she asked.

When she eventually asks him to join a class session, Lucifer agrees with little hesitation. He smiles at her, and his voice holds conviction he didn't know he had when he says, “I want to see what you do.”

Art therapy.

Charlie had asked him to join a therapy session.

Lucifer can only wave awkwardly at the other Sinners and move to his seat in the corner of the room.

“Listen to them.”

Listen to what they have to say, listen to their reasons for all the choices they'd made in their living lives — the choices they'd made because they could , because they had to, because it was the only way to survive.

Charlie hadn't asked him to participate, so Lucifer isn't. Instead, he listens as Sinners cry, as they reminisce over the hardships they'd faced — war, famine, drugs taken and sold in order to escape the inescapable. All those choices, or lack thereof, that had led them here.

Lucifer Morningstar hasn't believed in the illusion of choice in a very long time. It's a farce, a trick of the light — an unreality that one cannot escape. Offered up by those who claim to provide it, sucked back into itself the moment an unsuspecting victim takes the outstretched hand.

Choice is a lie told by those who have the means to get away with them.

Lucifer knows that fact far too well. It's a truth that he's never been able to walk away from.

His own choices had led him here, every single one.

“What are you drawing, Dad?”

Lucifer startles before smiling up at Charlie where she stands above him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowing on the painting he's been absentmindedly working on, and he looks back at it to see what she does.

Sinners’ voices drown out in the background. Time crawls to a halt.

Flower petals dot the canvas, lying on green patches of leaves — foliage that hides someone beneath. Hands held in a prayer over her chest… she looks exactly like she does every day.

Even in this new place, even without the Castle's influence, its magic still follows him everywhere he goes.

Lucifer excuses himself before Charlie can ask questions about sins he can no longer recall.

Fleeing is better than answering. 

Fleeing has always been better than answering.

It's what Lucifer does best.

He escapes to the seventh floor, where Charlie had told him his room is. He doesn't want to go back — downstairs, to the Castle, to face his daughter. Lucifer would rather lock himself away.

He walks down the long hallway of his floor. Only two rooms are on the seventh floor, and they're both holed up at the end of each long path. Lucifer grumbles under his breath at the larger size of the Hotel now, pointedly ignoring the fact that he helped in rebuilding it this way — extra rooms, extra floors, anything needed to get Charlie's dream just a little closer to reality.

Lucifer's positive that Charlie told him his room was to the right — maybe he said right, he's never been good with directions. All he can do is continue walking to find out — if he turns back here and walks into Alastor's room, that tacky asshole is going to hold it over him. You do make it quite easy to do. Lucifer rolls his eyes and crosses his arms as Alastor's taunt floats across his mind.

He'd rather deal with Michael.

The door Lucifer finds at the end of the hallway is bright red — a little brighter than he'd probably choose for himself, but Lucifer will never fault Charlie for anything she may give him. Instead, he opens it willfully, pushing open the door wide into the large room just behind.

Lucifer blinks. Is he in the right room?

An antique radio sits atop a desk against one wall, books line a dark wooden bookshelf, there's a deer head mounted above a fireplace. Lucifer knows that he and Alastor haven't exactly gotten along, but he still doesn't believe Charlie would condone such violence as hanging a deer on the wall.

Let it be known, Lucifer Morningstar did not mean to break into the Radio Demon’s quarters. 

He just really needed a map.

He should be leaving, Lucifer should be turning around, walking backwards, tripping over himself if need be. Anything to get on the other side of that doorframe and head toward his bedroom on the other side of the hallway. It's not fear that makes Lucifer need to act, but an overwhelming feeling of knowing he wouldn't like it if someone barged into Castle Morningstar unbeknownst to him.

Not that the Castle would probably have any issue in scarring someone without his help.

Still, though, Lucifer finds himself staying in place. Finds his eyes wandering around the room, taking in all of the Alastor scattered across it. Vinyls, a few antique radios…

And a desk covered in photos.

Lucifer really should be leaving now. There's nothing to keep him here, to keep him wandering around a room that doesn't belong to him. If anything, he should mock the gaudy wallpaper and walk away.

And yet…

He's almost to the wall when a rustle startles him. Looking to his right, Lucifer blinks at the swamp that resides in an opening on the other side of the room. Has that always been there? Sparing a glance back at the photos, Lucifer instead walks towards the open door. He hears the magic that thrums through the thin frame separating its dimension from this one.

A pocket.

Alastor must have created it after the renovation.

It's fascinating.

Lucifer's already walking down a worn path in the trees before his brain catches up with himself. His fingers trail across smooth leaves, jagged and snared in places as he walks — it feels more real than the garden inside the Embassy, less like the quasi-earnest attempt of bribery, less mocking, less like anything Lucifer has seen in Hell.

It reminds him of Earth.

The water in the bayou is still — stagnant, unmoving… it reeks of death, of loss…

It reminds him of…

Something flashes in front of his face before moving away, only to flash again seconds later. Lucifer's brows furrow as he reaches out to the six, little lights that now fly around him — fireflies.

He thinks of Eden. The last place he'd ever seen these bugs was in the Gardens of Eden.

Lucifer swallows. He hasn't thought of Eden in so, so long. It's all he sees now as he looks around. Unmoving water keeps its melody, the sound of rippling falls over exposed tree roots fills the air. The darkening blue sky lit only by the fireflies that mimic stars in the night.

This place is much closer related to death than the life inside suggests, and yet, it absolutely teems with it. It's stunning, it's vibrant, it's everything that Lucifer had ever associated with the Gardens of Eden before the Fall.

He misses it.

“There are only two rooms on this floor, and you somehow still choose mine. ”

Lucifer stills and slowly looks over his shoulder. He's greeted with the sight of Alastor standing in the clearing behind him, peeking around a tree just off the path Lucifer had followed — his antlers outstretched, eyes narrowed on the angel in his domain.

Lucifer blinks, and reality shifts. He's no longer in the bayou, no longer in the everglade from a future world he'd never witnessed. Instead, Lucifer stands inside a past he's oh, so familiar with — Eden.  

And in front of him stands not Alastor, not a demon — dead, gone, forgotten. In his stead stand two humans — alive, here , and as clear as the image that's been burned in Lucifer's mind since he first saw them.

“Oh dear, it appears that I have broken his majesty.”

Swallowing thickly around the forming knot in his throat, Lucifer blinks as the vision fades and he's left to face the Sinner that stands before him. There's suddenly something so human about Alastor in this place, in this little pocket.

In the singular connection the demon may hold to his previous life.

Moments pass in silence, two demons staring at each other. Alastor widely gestures at the portal leading back into his room, sharp claws pointed directly at the door leading into the hallway — back to where Lucifer should have been instead of waltzing around a forest that doesn't belong to him.

Lucifer blinks again, out of the past and into this present, and he glares up at the deer. He brushes past Alastor with ease, waving him off like he's the one with the breaking and entering issue; and with spite built up from millennias of dealing with Heaven's bullshit, Lucifer quips over his shoulder, “Your wallpaper is as gaudy as your fuck-ass bob.”

Static rends through the air, and the smile that crosses Lucifer's face is wicked. As he finally steps past the doorframe and into the hallway, he tacks on a final, “See you later, Bambi.”

The walk to his room is spent in comfortable silence, a quiet so unlike what Lucifer is used to. He wonders if he could get used to it.

Lucifer dreams of silence that night. There is darkness here, in this void; but no more are the screams, no more are the haunted echoes of those he once knew. No more are the nightmares Lucifer has come to associate with Castle Morningstar.

It's a respite, a night of rest that the Castle has forgotten to offer in many, many years. A night of quiet, comfortable peace.

Lucifer dreams in silence, but he doesn't dream of nothing. He can feel something beneath his feet; he takes a step backwards, and soft blades of grass brush against his heels. He can smell the roses even if he can’t see them — can see the ripples of waves somewhere in the distance, can see six lights that hover above. Unblinking, unwavering; like stars in the night sky.

There is light here, too, in this void. No more is the pitch of night, no more are the shadows that swell and swallow.

No more are the memories best left in the past.

Three days pass before Lucifer escapes back to Castle Morningstar. He tells Charlie he’ll be back soon, promises that he will return; but Lucifer hasn’t left the Castle in a very, very long time. He needs time to adjust — to the curious looks, to the knowing and unknowing glances. To get used to being a King again.

He just needs a little time.

Castle Morningstar is just as dark as it had been when Lucifer last returned. Once more, forgotten are the lights that are here to light his way — he probably shouldn’t be surprised, what with the Castle’s normal amount of animosity; and yet, he wishes it were different.

Wishes it were closer to the Hazbin Hotel. Homey, cozy, light and full of so much life. Not for the first time, Lucifer wishes it was like it was back then — all those years ago when so many souls lived here. When a broken family still loved here, even when the romance had all but left. Back when Charlie still ran through these halls and that game of chase the other night wasn’t just with a ghost.

Lucifer walks through empty corridors, wandering through his home like he’s done so many times before. He thinks of the last few days spent at the Hazbin Hotel, thinks of the last art therapy session he’d joined — he painted a bayou, and a Sinner thanked him for giving them the ability of choice.

“I would do it again.”

They had said it proudly, meeting his eyes as they said it. It felt real, genuine, and Lucifer still doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

Would he — do it again? Give humans the ability upon seeing what it had caused? Upon seeing what all it had taken away?

Lucifer doesn’t know. 

He wonders if he ever will.

Getting lost in his own Castle is much easier than it really should be; Lucifer had just walked past the library, and suddenly, he's in a different hall on the other side of the building.

In the East wing.

How did he wind up here again?

Lucifer has half a mind to turn around and walk back to his room, to concede that the Castle wins; he'll go back to the Hotel, at least he's wanted there—

A blip of light shines somewhere down the hallway. 

He's walking towards it long before his mind catches up with his body, only one thought playing on repeat through his brain.

The lights don't work here.

They don't listen to Lucifer, Castle Morningstar has never listened to Lucifer. Its magic has left this place in darkness ever since Lilith died — lost at sea, forever mourning all that had been taken away.

And yet…

There is light here.

His feet pound against stone as Lucifer runs towards his office — is it Heaven? Is it Charlie again?

…Have the flowers finally bloomed?

Lucifer skids to a stop in front of the mural, eyes wide at the six pinpricks of light that scatter across the stone, hidden within blooming roses. Six — just like he had seen in his dream, just like he'd seen in Alastor's bayou. Six little lights that suddenly change everything Lucifer knows about this place.

Light lives here, too. For the first time in so very long, light lives here, too.

Lucifer visits his office once more that next morning, firing off the first letter he’s sent in years. He asks nothing for himself, no questions asked, no answers demanded. He asks for Charlie — for extra ears to listen, for extra space for her word to spread, for everything that they had never offered to him. With a snap of golden magic, the letter disappears out of this realm and into another.

He can only hope they’ll listen now.

As he passes by the mural on his way out, Lucifer glances up at the lights that now guide the way to its presence. It’s almost as if a truce has been reached, an impasse that neither Lucifer nor the Castle are willing to breach — an odd feeling that this wasn’t supposed to happen, and Lucifer stumbled across something he shouldn’t. 

Like, for once, Lucifer had been one step ahead.

His walk back toward the lobby is met with little interaction; he can even see his own reflection in the photos he passes.

It’s only as he walks through the threshold of the West wing that it shifts again. 

Lucifer snaps his fingers, willing dim lights to power on. They flicker, they flutter, blinking in and out of existence as they resist the Castle’s pull. They work for him here, but suddenly that changes. One by one, lightbulbs bust down the main corridor, throwing the space back into the pitch. 

Brows furrowing, Lucifer looks over his shoulder — expecting a visage of Michael behind him, hiding somewhere amongst the shadows that now overtake the hallway. Instead, he can only see the faint glow of the foyer at the other end of the hall. The space is empty otherwise.

And yet, Lucifer has never felt more crowded than he does at this very moment. 

He ignores it. Like he knows how, like he knows best. Whatever truce existed in the East wing is completely gone in the West. 

Panes of glass glint in the dark, casting the only shimmers of light that Lucifer is granted. He walks briskly past them — talking with a ghost had never gotten him very far within these walls, he has very little hope that will change now.

“Why do you do these things, Brother?”

That makes him pause. Stopping in his tracks, Lucifer’s breath catches as he turns to face the voice — an image of Michael flickers inside the mirror on the wall. His twin in most things except those that mattered; golden hair hangs longer than Lucifer had allowed his own to grow, green eyes, the opposites that had always made them attract. 

“Why must you break everything you touch?”

Anger pools in those green eyes, full lips pull into a frown the likes of which only infect Lucifer's dreams. If he doesn't answer soon, big brother will be angry with him. Not for the first time, Lucifer thinks he should just stay angry.

Anger had always suited Michael.

“And loss has always suited you.”

Michael pounds on the glass then, and Lucifer’s hand splinters it as he reacts with the mirrored version. Hands gripping the wooden edge of the mirror, Lucifer's voice barely above a whisper when he says, “And this time, it suits you.”

The vision fades into a cloud of dust, and Michael’s glare bores into Lucifer long after he’s already gone.

Later that afternoon, when he’s ready to walk away, to step into a portal and go back to the Hazbin Hotel, a final question flickers through his mind — unanswered for oh, so long. Lucifer has never known how to answer it…

“Am I doing the right thing?”

This time, he thinks he does.

As he steps into a conjured portal into his room at the Hotel, the answer sits at the tip of his tongue.

Yes.

Lucifer enters into a quiet hotel lobby; the only sound that permeates the silence is faint music coming from the kitchen area. He walks in expecting to find Charlie, only to pause when he sees Alastor instead — cooking something at the stove, the savory smell mixes with his staticky hum as music plays on a radio on the counter.

Backing away slowly, Lucifer makes to leave the room when Alastor's voice breaks through the air. 

“Ah, his majesty finally returns — perhaps there were some truths to what Charlotte said.”

Blinking slowly, Lucifer asks in the straightest tone he can, “What did Charlie say?”

Alastor tsks and looks at him over his shoulder. Voice darkening slightly, the demon snidely remarks, “Only that you ‘would come back’ — Charlie is a smart, capable woman; perhaps you would be aware of this if you were ever here to see it.”

“Take care of her.”

The words whisper across his mind, an echo of a memory hidden in a foggy past. His head pounds at them — then and now, Lucifer is being asked to take care of his daughter, to see her. He hasn't before, but he is trying.  

Is trying ever really enough?

Alastor must take pity on him because he sighs, and says, “She is hosting a movie night tonight — she and Vaggie are out gathering supplies. Charlie would like it if you could be there.”

Slowly nodding, Lucifer swallows thickly and with a wavering voice says, “I'll be there.”

Later that evening, Lucifer finds Charlie in the den, setting up the movie night Alastor mentioned. She beams at him when he calls her name, and she immediately asks if he wants to watch with them. He must pause too long, because Charlie's suddenly backtracking and offering to let him go.

Finally breaking from his thoughts, Lucifer shakes his head and apologizes. It's been a long day, he assures. Agreeing to her request is easy, and he lets Charlie lead him to a seat in the back of the room away from everyone.

“Alastor doesn't like to be inside the group — it can be a little overwhelming. I thought this might help you adjust a little easier to the crowd.”

Lucifer blinks at her, his voice low as he thanks her.

“Perhaps you would be aware if you were ever here to see it.”

Alastor's words flit across his temple.

He wants to be, he wants to see Charlie's strength, wants to see her create possibilities Lucifer never thought possible. 

Charlie leaves him with his thoughts to welcome other guests, and Lucifer smiles to himself. He looks over at where Alastor pops into the room from the shadows, halfway in and halfway out — ready to bolt when he so chooses fit, yet still here because he was asked, because he wanted to, because somehow he knows his daughter better than Lucifer does.

After the movie ends, Charlie excitedly lets the others pick another movie while she gets more snacks. Taking his opportunity, Lucifer sneaks away to help her.

“Thanks, Dad.”

It's fine, he tells her. Because it is, because it's the least he should do. Because he wants to be here, and he wants to prove it.

Alastor is gone by the time they return back to the den. Lucifer tries not to think about his absence. He watches the movie, he sits through credits for an extra scene. He listens as demons converse, he waits for Charlie to turn to him — for her to look at him like he was the father he'd been all those years ago; before everything changed, and Lucifer became a ghost of the angel that fell from Heaven's grace.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

For inviting him into her home, for inviting him back into her life.

For giving Lucifer a reason to have hope.

Lucifer takes the elevator up to the seventh floor, and pauses just outside of the doors. The sound of doors closing fills the air, followed by the grinding of metal as the trolley moves back downstairs. Small lamps lining the walls cast a dim glow over the narrow hallway — if Lucifer looks hard enough, he thinks he can make out Alastor's doorframe. 

He almost wants to go back to it, to sneak back into the bayou that holds the lights that shine in the darkest depths of Castle Morningstar. The thought sinks like an anchor in his mind, and Lucifer briefly wonders how many times he can blame getting lost… on a floor with two rooms.

He shouldn't. Alastor doesn't have to know.

Lucifer thinks about it.

And finally, he decides.

He takes his first step to the right when a skip of static echoes behind him. Lips pulling into a deep frown, Lucifer listens to Alastor's voice break through the otherwise quiet hallway.

“Are we lost again, Sire? Need I escort you to your room?”

Lucifer's eye twitches and he gestures at the pictures on the wall. “A guy gets lost one time — calm yourself, Bambi, I was just looking at the pictures.”

Good job, Lucifer.

Alastor looks like he doesn't believe a word of it. Fair — rude, but fair. Still, the Sinner walks past him with a flick of his wrist. This time, Alastor tosses his last words over his shoulder as he walks to his room.

“Do let this not become a habit, Sire.”

Lucifer's dreams haunt him now in a new way.

He's still encased in darkness; he hears faintly the sounds of running water, the rustling of grass and leaves as wind rushes by — dull, barely there, but oh so real. Lucifer thinks of the bayou, he thinks of Eden.

There is only the ghost of something in this dreamscape, hidden deep below the darkness where color is sure to shine.

There is nothing here.

There is everything here.

And Lucifer wants to see all of it.

Despite Alastor's previous warning, Lucifer finds himself thinking more and more of the bayou. A brook's melody filters through his dreams, meticulously blending with the sounds of his every day. 

Lucifer dreams of something so light, airy, and free. He dreams of an edge — so far down, so far above everything that he seeks. An edge of glory, an edge of nothing, an edge of all that ever was.

More than once, he wants to walk towards the lights in the center — a straight line to all that he wants. More than once, he thinks about it, more than once he tries to conjure his wings.

More than once, Lucifer allows those same lights to guide him to the pocket they'd originated from.

Down an empty hallway and outside of a room not his own — he never walks in, never chances getting caught. There's an unspoken rule here; Lucifer cannot enter Alastor's room.

Then one day, a golden opportunity presents itself, and he breaks that silent rule.

Alastor is out — Overlord meeting, chatting with Rosie, picking off Sinners one by one in a demented game of tag — Lucifer isn't sure, but he takes the opportunity to walk in unnoticed.

It's supposed to be a quick in and out, a quick check on the space that invades his dreams — a quick check on the fireflies whose glow now lights the darkest depths of Castle Morningstar. He will be gone long before Alastor returns.

It's supposed to be a quick visit, until he sees the pictures on Alastor's desk. He's moving toward it before he knows it — it's just a small detour, it's fine.

Stepping up to the desk, Lucifer allows his eyes to glide across the images laid here. He can barely make out the figures in the pictures —  faded with water damage, the memories inside lost amid a fog of condensation. 

Lucifer blinks and reaches out. He's seen this before, he's fixed this before — a vision of an old, damaged photo of Charlie flits across his mind; his golden magic the only thing that could bring it back to life once when he destroyed Castle Morningstar in a moment of hatred and self-doubt. 

Swallowing past the forming lump in his throat, Lucifer snaps his fingers and watches as a dusting of gold restores the pictures to their former glory — they aren't of Alastor as a demon, not of him with his friends or his enemies down in Hell…

Human Alastor stands only marginally shorter than his demonic counterpart, and in every photo he has his arm wrapped around the shoulder of an older, shorter woman. She looks at him like he's hung the stars; Alastor's eyes hold a softness in them that Lucifer would've never thought possible.

Caught in his thoughts, he almost misses the sound of the doorknob turning. Lucifer whips his head around to see the door opening, and he snaps his fingers to teleport out in a flutter of red magic. If he meets Alastor's eyes as he disappears…

Well, that's for the Sinner to bring up.

“Sire — is there a reason why you keep appearing in my room?”

It comes one night after Lucifer returns from the Castle. He walks through a portal to his floor when he's met with the Sinner. Alastor looms over him, eyebrows raised and smile unamused.

He could lie. Lucifer could wave it off again, could ignore what he'd done. Could snap and make the photos go back to what they were…

Could disappoint Charlie.

Lucifer frowns at the thought. 

Looking anywhere but at Alastor, Lucifer says, “Your bayou — it reminds me of a place. I wanted to see it.”

“And is that why you disturbed my photographs?”

An image of Alastor as a human floats across his mind, followed by the woman smiling at him in all of them. Lucifer knows better than most that pictures may be the final reminders one may have of a past once lived. He only hopes that someone would do the same for him if given the chance.

Lucifer shrugs and looks at a picture of Niffty’s roach crown hung on the wall. Thoughts far away, he finally mutters, “You were right to call me out about not being here for Charlie. Just call us ‘even.’”

Alastor shakes his head with a tsk, “And I suppose you believe that I will let you into my bayou now, is that it?”

Lucifer does look at him then, yellow eyes meeting red when he truthfully says, “I've lost pictures before — of places and people I will never see again. I know that I would like to have them back — wouldn't you?”

A record skips somewhere in the hallway, and Alastor's ears pin back as he takes a step back. Red eyes look directly into Lucifer's own, searching for any lies that may lie there — it's a look that Lucifer would know anywhere, has been on the end of searching for those same lies.

Another moment passes in silence before Alastor returns to his normal stance of towering over Lucifer. The angel feels his eye twitching, “You know, you seemed a lot more pleasant when you were alive.”

Alastor straightens with a crackled laugh, “I assure you — I am just as pleasant now as then, Sire.” He makes a show of mulling over his words, humming to himself.

Lucifer wonders if he can get away with locking him in a bottomless pit for a day or two.

Then, as if by the grace of all that is unholy, Alastor speaks, “I suppose I am grateful to see those pictures again. Come, Sire,” he waves Lucifer toward his room. “I would much prefer to invite you to my room than you barging in unannounced.”

As Lucifer follows him in, as images of a forest from before pass across his mind's eye, he offers up something he never thought that he could before, “I'll tell you about a little garden I used to know.”

Alastor stops at that, and he turns back to face the angel. Red dials spin in blackened eyes, tone crackling as he speaks. “Hmmm… Are you proposing a deal?”

Lucifer shakes his head with a chuckle, “No deals, Bambi. We're just trading stories.”

Hours turn into days, and days turn into weeks in the Hazbin Hotel. Lucifer only visits Castle Morningstar when he has to — to check for Heaven's response —if they've even given one— to check on the state of the palace.

To check if all the lights are still off, or if the Castle has allowed certain ones to stay on.

Lucifer only sees Michael occasionally now — his brother's vision still lingers in photo frames, still stalks at the ends of darkened hallways. Watching, waiting for Lucifer to interact. Hushed whispers still fill empty corridors.

And yet.

When he leaves for the hotel, Lucifer looks forward to his next visit.

Visiting Alastor's room is not meant to become a habit.

A habit, though, it becomes.

Once becomes twice, turns into three and four times that Lucifer visits the bayou.

“When I'm in my recording station, you can come here.”

Lucifer takes every chance — when he's not helping Charlie with Heavenly paperwork, when he's not hosting an art therapy class. When he's not wandering the darkened hallways of Castle Morningstar.

When he's not listening to Alastor's broadcast on a radio that doesn't belong to him — two inscriptions hidden underneath dictate its original owner; A.B.

He stands here, in this openness — in this vast, dense forest surrounding an everglade. He watches fireflies as they buzz by, he listens to the wind as it rustles the trees. Taking in the sight of deer and alligator, taking in the sounds of crickets and frogs. 

Remembering Eden, and filling in new memories of how Earth has grown since its beginning. Eden never died completely, never faded out of existence like Heaven had hoped.

It had inspired everything that the Earth would become.

Most of the time, he's here on his own. Sometimes, though, Alastor will join him after his broadcasts — a cup of tea just like Lucifer likes it, a hushed whisper of cher against his temple, a dance that leads them through the entirety of Alastor's little pocket. 

Sometimes, the thoughts get too loud, the touches become too much, and silence is the comfort that they turn to.

Tonight is one of those sometimes. Tonight, the only sign Lucifer has that he's not alone is the soft hum of static that comes from behind him.

Lucifer has come to enjoy these nights — the good, the bad, and all the little sometimes in between.

He doesn't look away from the water’s edge, doesn't acknowledge Alastor beyond a short nod. He doesn't need to — he never needs to.

It's the most seen Lucifer has felt in such a long time.

Tonight, a conversation from that night's session filters through his mind, a question to an old statement made by a Sinner.

“Would you do this again?”

Lucifer's certain they mean hosting sessions, but he hears the meaning hidden behind them — would he redo Eden all over? Would he take the Apple of Knowledge again, would he still give it away? 

Would he risk making Hell once more?

If he'd had a choice. Lucifer scoffs under his breath — nothing is ever by choice.

Yet…

“I would do it again.”

Alastor's acknowledgement comes in a soft huff, and Lucifer continues before he can clam up, before he can push it all away again. 

“I would give Eve the Apple again — I'd give humans the ability to choose. ”

Over and over.

As many times as it took to be here again — in this hotel, in this bayou, in this tiny pocket.

Choice was always meant to be a chance granted, but Heaven had turned it into a joke.  

“Humans do not know how to care for themselves, Brother. They rely on us to lead them down the right path.”

Lucifer had believed Michael for so long. He'd been made to believe him, torn down every time he'd tried to make others see the truth, too.

Choice was a farce in every realm that made it one. Lucifer doesn't want it to be a shame here, too. Choices had led Sinners to Hell, and choices could lead them out of it.

Lucifer opens his eyes to see a familiar edge. He's dreaming again, but it feels different here. Energy sizzles the space around him, and it ripples through his nervous system; it beckons him — it reminds him of those nights in the Castle, when Lucifer had chased visions of light through empty hallways.

Six lights hang in the distance — calling, tugging, gripping onto every piece of Lucifer and refusing to let him go.

Gritting his teeth, Lucifer allows the lights to once more guide his path. He conjures his wings and tucks them against his back; one foot in front of the other, he sprints into the unknown — because it feels familiar, because it told him to.

Because it whispers come find me in his ear.

Propelling from the imaginary cliff side, Lucifer extends his wings — gliding, floating, looking for any signs of a place he once knew. It no longer exists; not here, not in Hell, not in any place that Lucifer can reach.

Sin-kissed fingers reach out as he closes in on the light — inch by inch, one step closer to the lights that guide him home. He brushes against the glow, and the abyss implodes.

Falling.

One minute Lucifer is in the air, and the next he is falling — stunned, dazed, and unable to look away from the rift that now exists above.

Space, time, and everything in between.

His back makes impact on something soft, and Lucifer falls through what feels like leaves and branches; only to be unceremoniously dropped onto the hard ground below. Left to stare at the treetops that surround him on all sides, left to sit up and scan a clearing that is so much like Alastor's bayou, yet so, very different.

When Lucifer pulls himself to his feet, he feels the pulse in his chest before he sees what causes it. The forest feels familiar, and Lucifer's chest pounds when he follows an equally familiar path. Two right turns, take a left, and he's standing on a hill overlooking the Tree of Knowledge.

Before he can continue, before he can run toward a past he'd lost, the space fades. Flickering like the visions of Michael inside the Castle, disappearing from his sight — but never from his mind.

The last thing he sees before he wakes up is a stone wall painted with roses that emit a radiant glow; vines climb along spaces in the stone.

And then, he's staring up at the canopy above his bed at the Hotel.

Lucifer had found the Gardens of Eden… and he thinks he might know where it is.

Lucifer spends the next day thinking about Eden. He leads a class while thinking about it, he helps Charlie draw up a letter to Heaven while thinking about it. He listens to Alastor's broadcast with it flickering through his mind.

He thinks of where it very likely hides, thinks he wants to visit — Lucifer isn't sure if he's ready to face the damage her death had done to Hell. If he's ready to face a reality where it isn't really there.

Making a decision after hours of contemplation, Lucifer waits outside of Alastor's radio station for him to be finished. When the deer tilts an inquisitive ear in his direction, Lucifer plasters on a smile that feels more forced than he's trying for.

“Remember that little garden I told you about?” When Alastor nods, eyes narrowed in suspicion, Lucifer chuckles. “I think I might know where it is.”

“Didn't you say that it was gone?”

Lucifer's smile morphs into something more real, a long lost hope of regaining something — always on the tip of his tongue, right there for him to find. So close, yet always so far, far away. Shaking his head, he says, “It might just be missing.”

Alastor perks up at that, grin widening playfully. His voice is tinged with pitching static when he says, “Oh, and is His Majesty inviting me on a journey?”

Rolling his eyes with a grin, Lucifer snaps and conjures a portal into the vast darkness that is Castle Morningstar. He turns back to the Sinner with an outstretched hand — mirroring every time that Alastor had offered his own to Lucifer.

“Would you like to find out with me?”

Like a moth to a flame, like a Sinner to the King of Temptation, Alastor takes it.

And Lucifer leads him into the place that he calls home.

The entrance to the Castle lights easily under Lucifer's magic, just as it always has; but his will ceases to exist beyond the East wing — he supposes he should be used to it. 

Still, a pang of doubt lodges itself in his chest. 

Had he been wrong?

Alastor scoffs next to him, waving off the problem as if it were Lucifer's fault. Starting to snark back, Lucifer's interrupted by a sharp snap cracks through the air.

Waves of green magic drift through the hallway, wrapping around each inactive lamp. With a twist, a pop, and almost no resistance, the East wing hallway flickers back to life.

For the first time in so, so long, light overtakes the hallway. 

Light, open, and free in a way that Lucifer doesn't remember ever seeing before.

He leads Alastor down the hallway with purpose, the Sinner’s thrum of static, the only sound punctuating the silence that falls over them. Lucifer doesn't remember any of the photos that line the walls, forever associating them with his twin cloaked in gold. 

The mural is easy to find — halfway down a straight hall, the only place on this wall not covered in Lilith's bad choice of wallpaper. It has always been pristine , no cracks, no signs of age even though Lucifer doesn't remember a time when it wasn't here. 

Now, though…

Sharp lines that once accentuated and stood out against a dull color pallet are now smudged — roses stand out amongst the hazy watercolor of mixed hues. Vines grow through cracks in stone, inside the small spaces where grout has failed.

It's exactly what he'd seen in his dream.

Somewhere along the way of dislike and disdain, Castle Morningstar had tried to push him to find this again — that piece of life that had always been part of Hell's ecosystem. 

A forested garden much like the bayou that has acted as a second home to Lucifer for almost a year. 

Stepping up to the wall, he looks at Lilith's face — studying her for the first real time, searching for any sign of knowing what she had locked away.

A vision of Lilith running behind a curtain that covered a doorway that once stood here flashes through his mind, and Lucifer blinks it away — he remembers now…

The mural formed as if by magic right after Lilith had died. 

Heaven had taken the Queen of the Fallen, and Hell had taken Eden.

Now, Hell is giving it back.

Lucifer reaches out, hands tracing over vines that now grow from cracks in the stone. Memories once clouded over surge to the surface, and his voice wavers, “Hell wasn't always like this.”

Lilith's song floats through his mind — calm, empowering.

All of Hell had risen.

“At one time, there was hope.”

A war was beginning.

For hope. For peace.

For all those little wants that Heaven deemed them undeserving of.

“We thought we could do better."

Lilith's melody morphs into screams of terror.

Blood splatters against Lucifer's back, Lilith falls…

Lucifer can almost feel it — on his clothes, against his skin. In his mind’s eye, he kneels next to the woman from his nightmares. He can almost feel her frosty grip on his arm, so foreign now, lost to time, when he reaches out. 

Closer.

Closer.

His hand makes contact with cold, icy skin. Lilith's eyes meet his own as her final words burn into his brain.

“Keep her safe.”

“—cifer? Mon cher.”

Lucifer blinks slowly as he wakes back to reality. Alastor stands beside him, one hand wrapped around his own, attempting to pull him away from the wall. Lucifer looks up to meet the Sinner's eyes, and Alastor asks him.

“Are you alright?”

Slowly, Lucifer nods and looks back at the mural. Something had been taken from him — mentally and physically, rewiring his brain to forget something that had never belonged to anything but Hell, itself.

“The Gardens of Eden used to live here — behind this mural,” Lucifer swallows and wraps his hand around a loose brick. Drawing in a deep breath, he looks back at Alastor, grip tightening. “They still do. Would you like to see them?”

When he receives a nod in response, Lucifer turns back to the mural and pulls out the brick separating them from Eden.

One by one, each brick crumbles to the ground in a cloud of dust. Alastor pulls Lucifer away just as it falls, and he promptly ignores the demon’s protests to wait a moment!

Lucifer can't though — he knows what lies beyond here. He can feel it, that same call that had drawn him to Alastor's bayou. The same call that had eventually led him here.

He steps over demolished bricks, taking in the light that appears just on the other side; taking in the endless sky that spreads over the forest Lucifer hasn't seen in many, many years. His eyes lock onto stars that shine in the distance, casting a soft glow across the darkening sky. Looking down, Lucifer can pinpoint the trail hidden among rose bushes that will lead him to the Tree of Knowledge and its forbidden fruit. 

A hand grips onto his own then, and Lucifer looks over to see Alastor hovering above him. Scoffing to himself, the deer says, “It appears your memory hasn't failed you yet, Sire.”

Lucifer laughs and takes a step forward into the forgotten forest. He looks back up at the Sinner, smiling genuinely when he glances back at Eden. Slowly, he lifts Alastor's hand to place a soft kiss against his skin. 

Yellow eyes meet red, and Lucifer speaks, “Thank you, Al — for coming here with me.”

For everything else rings unspoken between them.

Lowering Alastor's hand, Lucifer gestures with his free hand out over the wide expanse of trees before them. For the first time in so, very long, Lucifer feels like he's back home.

“Welcome to Eden, Alastor.”