He hadn’t quite understood how he’d been convinced into this arrangement. One moment, Lucifer was waxing poetic about “fatherly duties,” and the next, Alastor found himself standing in the grand foyer of Lucifer’s mansion with a small, red-eyed child staring up at him like he was both a snack and a challenge.

They blinked. Then smiled. Wide.

“Hi, Mister Alastor! Daddy said you can’t say no to me!”

The radio demon’s grin twitched. “Oh… did he now? How fascinating!”

What followed could only be described as a slow descent into chaos.

He tried reading them a story—they bit the book. He offered to make lunch—they insisted on helping, which somehow ended with the toaster smoking and a giggling, frosting-covered gremlin hiding under the counter. He attempted to entertain them with a little magic—they wanted to “try it too!”

“Put that microphone down, little one—no, no! Don’t press tha—”

BZZZT.

Half the lights flickered, a chair levitated, and somewhere in the distance, a chandelier fell.

“Oops.”

The child looked up with an innocent smile that was alarmingly familiar.

He exhaled slowly, his grin stretching just a bit too tight. “Ah, yes. ‘Oops.’ What a charming word for ‘irreversible catastrophe!’”

They giggled and climbed onto his lap, tugging on his bowtie. “You’re funny, Mister Alastor.”

“Well, my dear, some might say I’m hilarious—though, I daresay, your father would disagree if he saw the current state of his kitchen.”

“Daddy says you talk weird,” they chirped, twirling the end of one of his coat tails.

He froze, radio static humming faintly in the air. “Does he now?”

“Yep!” they said cheerfully, utterly unaware of the danger. “But I like it.”

And—damn him—he felt his grin soften. Just a bit.

“Well,” he said finally, adjusting his hat, “then perhaps you have excellent taste, my little mischief maker.”

They yawned and leaned against his chest, eyelids drooping. For a moment, the mansion was quiet again, save for the soft hum of his radio aura.

Alastor glanced down at them, their tiny hand gripping the edge of his sleeve.

He chuckled under his breath. “Goodness… perhaps he’s not entirely immune to charm after all.”