Work Text:
If there is one person that Lucifer refuses to lose to, it’s Alastor.
Alastor is the class’ mysterious bad boy, the sort of person who shows up fashionably late but dresses up all prim and proper. He doesn’t care for lessons yet gets every question unfailingly correct. It pisses Lucifer off when Alastor scores higher than him in the subject, because he is a prefect and by extension, one of the smartest people in class. So, a random bad boy who never studies should, theoretically, not be outperforming him in every single science subject.
They are evenly matched—Lucifer’s sure because he’s been keeping count. He’s better than Alastor in Latin, Mathematics, theatre, dodgeball, book binding, crocheting, mask painting, tea appreciation, rubber duck making, and the art of cutting a piece of construction paper in a straight line.
Alastor, on the other hand, is proficient in Biology, Chemistry, Physics, Literature, latte art, public speaking, tap dancing, tennis, fixing old radios, and the very useless art of playing the piano.
Lucifer always preferred the violin.
In any case, that is besides the point. The point is that he and Alastor are rivals. At least, he sees the both of them as rivals. Alastor doesn’t seem to notice, or he’s keeping this rivalry under wraps. Both scenarios only serve to irk Lucifer and grind on his already short fuse.
It only stands to reason that their competitive spirit would be ignited once again when they are to complete a scavenger hunt. It’s part of a school trip out to a forested heritage trail. There’s no way Lucifer is losing to Alastor in treasure hunting. That’s just not a thing that happens.
To his relief, he and Alastor are on different teams. It would be a tragedy if they had to, ugh, work together. That would never happen, not as long as Lucifer lives. Which would be for a very long time. Whilst Alastor stands by the side, continuing to project his edgy, mysterious image as his team discusses the first clue, Lucifer is leading an active discussion with his team about where the first clue could be.
The heritage trail is split into the sculpture park, the forest path, and an abandoned church in a clearing that has since been turned into a museum of sorts. Their first clue speaks of angry birds, nestled where they can watch over resting bodies. The most common association with the phrase “angry bird” are the goofy cardinals in the mobile game, and where else would one be more poised to find a cardinal—of the clergy—than in a church?
Much to his disappointment, Alastor’s team seems to have figured it out too, with Alastor stabbing a finger at the church on their map. Lucifer narrows his eyes at him as Alastor’s team prepares to head out, joining two other groups that are making their way past the sculptures. Alastor peers up at that exact moment, his head tilted and wearing his signature grin as he locks gazes with Lucifer.
“What are you looking at?” Alastor says, in that singsong voice of his. “Surely, you wouldn’t need help at the very first clue, would you? I am, of course, always poised to lend you my aid—”
“Hell no,” Lucifer hisses. “I’m gonna finish the scavenger hunt before you! Just you wait and see!”
With that, he storms off. One of his teammates, a larger boy who goes by Husk, says, “Don’t you ever get tired of that?”
“Tired? Tired of what? Why would I get tired of proving that I’m better than that stuck-up wannabe gangster?”
His other teammate, Angel, looks him dead in the eye. “Uh, because that’s hella gay?”
“Excuse you, I’m pan. There’ll be no pan erasure while I’m around, bucko.”
Angel rolls his eyes. “Who the hell says ‘bucko’ anymore?”
“Guys,” Sera snarls. “Concentrate!”
A few other teams made their way to the church by the time Lucifer’s gets there. Alastor is there too, hanging out around his group, peeking over at the worksheet and breaking his cool facade every so often. The next clue is easily found near the back of the church, between the rundown building and the untouched graveyard behind overgrown with weeds.
“Ugh,” Angel groans as he picks up a piece of rolled up paper from the jar on the ground, cleverly concealed behind a drainage pipe. “Whose great idea was it to put something like this here?”
“The teacher’s,” Sera answers tonelessly.
Lucifer holds a hand out. “Give that here.”
“What? No,” Angel clutches it almost protectively. “I’m not gonna be an accessory to your main character drama. I wanna solve it too—whoa!”
Husk plucks the roll of paper from his hands and he unrolls it. “Let’s see here… ‘I am the oldest of the old, home to songbirds and centipedes. Find your next clue where the darkness reigns.’”
“This one is significantly less convoluted,” Lucifer says. “The oldest of the old, you said? That’s gotta be that big ass tree in the middle of the forest. You know, the one with the signs all around it.”
“Yes, we know,” Sera says. “Come on, let’s go.”
Angel grumbles something about them not respecting his words nor him as a person. Husk tells him he’s being dramatic. Sera doesn’t care. When Lucifer glances around him, he finds Alastor’s team long gone.
*
The trek through the forest is nothing short of tiring. No wonder the Geography department paired with the P.E. department to hold this heritage trail activity. Angel almost stumbles over a rock once or twice. Sera glides along as though her feet aren’t even touching the ground. Lucifer actually falls flat on his face.
“Whoa, careful,” Husk says, grabbing Lucifer by the underarm when Lucifer trips for the umpteenth time. The difference between this one and the many other times his foot got caught on a root or a stone is that he’d have fallen rather near a cliff. The wooden railing has long since rotted away, a rickety reminder of what it used to be. If he pitched a little farther left, he would have rolled all the way down to the foliage below. He won’t die, but he may break a bone or two, which also doesn’t sound fun.
“They should really fix this place up,” Lucifer mutters.
“Yeah, but no one comes here enough to invest the time and effort into that,” Angel quips.
The rest of the day passes quickly. The sun gravitates towards its pinnacle in the sky, providing much needed beams of warm sun to the Earth. It’s not wintry, but the chill of late autumn is starting to seep under Lucifer’s skin. By the time they are down to the last clue, only a few teams are still at it. Other teams have long since dissolved and have either left or are now lounging about the clearings, the picnic benches, wherever they can sit. With few teachers chaperoning them, it is to be expected.
At some point, Angel did ask to be excused. Sera would never let it happen, being a student councillor. It doesn’t really matter to Lucifer—this is a matter of pride for him. He’s not letting Alastor take this victory over him.
Speaking of which, his day has been surprisingly devoid of Alastor. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t seem to have even seen the boy anywhere the past hour or so. He was too focused on solving the riddles put out before them. Did they already finish their task and are now relaxing somewhere? Did Alastor beat him in this aspect as well?
Well, that’s a blow to his pride.
A flick on the forehead snaps him back to reality. Angel frowns, tilting his head. “What are you so out of it for?”
“Out of it? Me? Nah,” Lucifer scoffs with a wave of his hand. “I’m just, uh, deep in thought. About the riddle.”
“We’re at the last clue,” Husk says, “and Sera has already solved it.”
“Yeah, so spit it out,” Angel says, his hands on his hips. “What’s got you so hot and bothered?”
“Well, I don’t see Alastor anywhere.”
Husk snorts. “You two should just kiss already.”
Lucifer does a double take. “Do you know how betrayed I feel right now? I thought you’re on my side! Kissing that… that little boy who’s too big for his britches? Are you serious?”
“Okay, I admit that he does have some sort of ego problem, but you also have some sort of ego problem, so everything checks out,” Angel says, clasping his fingers behind his head. “You two are a perfect match. Made in heaven.”
Lucifer makes a gagging noise.
“I’m sure he’ll turn up eventually. He always does,” Husk says.
“No way. He needs to be here for me to gloat at him,” Lucifer insists. “I’m going to search for him.”
Not because he cares about the guy. No, no, “care” is the farthest word that can describe… describe whatever this is. This is a rivalry. He just wants to one-up Alastor, and he can’t do that if Alastor is not here.
Lucifer ignores Sera’s protests—that they are not done yet, and the team should stick together for now—and he pads off towards the forest. Alastor has yet to leave, because Lucifer did not see him leave. If Alastor made an attempt, Lucifer would have known, seeing as how attuned to his rival’s presence he is. That means that he must be around here somewhere.
He’s halfway through the trail, at the treacherous cliffside section when he spots a gaggle of students hanging around by the edge of it where the rail snapped. A sinking feeling seizes his stomach as he jogs over.
“What’s wrong?” Lucifer asks.
“It’s, uh, your best friend,” one of Alastor’s teammates tells him, a boy by the name of Abel tells him. “He’s gotten himself into a sticky situation. Except, it’s less sticky and more… fell down a cliff.”
Alarm bells ring in Lucifer’s head, and he rushes over to the edge. Two other classmates—Zestial and Carmilla—are trying to make their way down the hill. However, it’s steep and they are more in danger of falling over and suffering the same fate as Lucifer’s rival, who is sitting at the bottom of the cliff with his leg bent a very wrong way. The sight of its terrible angle almost makes Lucifer sick.
Well, that won’t do. With his rival on the verge of death, how can Lucifer ever prove his superiority? Dire situations call for drastic measures.
“W-Whoa, what are you—” Abel cries, but he doesn’t finish his sentence before Lucifer’s already skidding down the side of the cliff like a snowboarder as though gravity does not exist. Clouds of gravel and dust trail after him like a comet’s tail. He only yelps when he loses his balance towards the bottom and trips on a branch growing out of the cliff face. He smacks his face into a bush, yelping when thorns pockmark his cheeks, his nose, his forehead.
“Lucifer, what?” Carmilla cries.
“I’m okay!” Lucifer yells back as he extricates himself from the tangle. He stumbles back, screeching like an owl when he trips on a protruding root and lands flat on his butt. That puts him at Alastor’s eye level, the latter wearing a strained smile on his face, like he isn’t suffering from the pain of breaking his leg.
“You have decided to join me in the fiery pits of Hell, then?” Alastor says. Even his voice is tight.
Lucifer snorts. “Of course, not. I’ve come here to show you how superior I am. I wouldn’t have fallen down myself, per se.”
“You really have a death wish—”
“Now, now, none of that. Don’t forget whose mercy you’re at here.”
Alastor can only growl at him like a wounded dog. Lucifer thinks it’s sorta cute.
Cute! He scolds himself in his head. Did he just really think that? Of his rival? Whom he hates? This day has gotten from bad to worse.
“Why don’t you run along and boast elsewhere? Or is this your new idea of humiliating me?” Alastor snaps. And… oh, there is none of those niceties and platitudes he’s so full of. This Alastor is all menacing glares and sharp quips, reeking of desperation. Desperation to stay in control, even when he’s not.
“I’m not humiliating you. I’m here to remind you that there’s always someone better than you.”
“If that’s not the epitome of humiliation, I don’t know what is! You’ve always been like this, you self-serving prick.”
Oh, it happens so rarely that it’s music to Lucifer’s ears. Hearing Alastor curse, that is. There’s just something oddly magical about it.
“Hey, I wouldn’t be called Lucifer if I weren’t prideful,” Lucifer says, wiggling his brows. “It really makes me wonder what my parents were thinking when they named me. Then again, they don’t read the Bible.”
Alastor scoffs.
“Did you know that there’s a demon named Alastor? Hell’s Executioner, they called him. Maybe you’re—”
Alastor shoots him a look. Lucifer hums placatingly.
Back and forth and back and forth they go. Lucifer talks most of the time. Alastor snarks sometimes, when he finds a point particularly amusing or offensive. When the rangers arrive and begin the rescue operation for the two reckless teens, Lucifer thinks that Alastor’s forgotten about his leg injury, because he’s listing two hundred ways he can murder Lucifer and get away with it.
As Lucifer settles in the ambulance next to Alastor, the latter exclaiming an indignant “What are you doing here?”, he finally lets himself relax. It’s been a long day, after all, and only God knows they need some rest.
*
It’s hard to say what changed that day. For one, Lucifer would never let Alastor live down the fact that he was on crutches for the better half of a year. Alastor would hiss at him like a threatened cat whenever he brought it up.
Yet, the very same Alastor would eat the tuna mayo sandwich that Lucifer buys him during lunch. He’d also drink the chocolate milk that Lucifer puts on his desk every morning. He’d let Lucifer keep him company as they do their homework silently after school, and he’d let Lucifer carry his bag across the school as he limps (pathetically, Lucifer may add) to the pickup point where his mother would pick him up after school.
That, Lucifer supposes, is a start.
“What’s starting?” Angel, who sits in front of him in class, asks as he tilts his head back.
“Oh, just…” Lucifer catches sight of Alastor sleeping at his desk, and he resists the urge to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl. “My high school romance.”
“Your… what?”
“You heard me,” Lucifer says, and he sighs like a lovesick schoolgirl. “My high school romance is just beginning.”
Angel blinks once. Twice. He traces Lucifer’s gaze, but he doesn’t seem surprised at the target of his affections. Instead, his incredulity lies elsewhere.
“Dude, we’re graduating next month.”