Chapter Text
It’s been two weeks since she was… banished to Hell. She’s hesitant to use that word, to use banished (maybe abandoned would work if circumstances were different), but there’s no other way to phrase it given the way in which she had ended up here. Lute, that crazy bitch, had been the one to tear out her wings, had cut out her eye and stabbed it in front of her. All because she’d not been able to bring herself to kill a kid.
Huffing out a sigh, Vaggie tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching Charlie bounce about in front of the hotel, in front of her new hotel.
When she’d first looked up at the sound of footsteps a fortnight ago, she’d been certain she was about to be killed, sure that the biggest pain in Adam’s ass had hunted her down by the trail of golden blood she’d been shedding (and part of her had welcomed it; what a way to go, cut down by the only being that’s ever stood up to Adam’s jackassery, the only being that’s punched him the face and gotten away with it).
But no, the closer Vaggie had looked, the more differences she’d seen. Oh, the hair and a hell of a lot of the face had been familiar, but Vaggie knows now that Charlie is a lot softer in appearance than her sister. In personality too, she assumes, though she’d not really spoken to the elder Morningstar princess to know for sure. All of Vaggie’s interactions with her consisted of two instances; one in which she’d been punted out of the way so the woman could get at Adam, and the most recent one where Vaggie (along with several other exorcists) had been ordered to get in her way so Adam could at least get a start on his scorecard.
She’d gleefully accepted the small pleasure of enjoying the fact Adam still hadn’t killed any sinners this time in spite of that stupid plan, as declared by that talking TV demon that seems to be on every fucking channel. Gods, isn’t anyone sick of hearing his voice by now? Well, evidentially not given the entire population of Pentagram City seems delighted to listen to him. Or rather, the topic he’s speaking about.
Vaggie has always been on the other end of it, listening to Adam bitch about Lucifer’s daughter and how she was fucking up his fun on extermination day. She never once considered how the other side would feel about her (from the TV programmes, she’s gathering that the sinners see her as some kind of hero, though that might just be what the media is trying to portray her as).
“Vaggie! Vaggie, come look! Isn’t it cool! I mean, it’s gonna take a lot of effort to fix up, but I’m so ready for the challenge— wait, are you sure you want to be helping me with this? Don’t you have something better to do?” This is another thing that, in Vaggie’s mind, is sure to make Charlie stand out from her elder sister – the self-doubt. The lack of confidence in her own ideas. Oh, she’s sure it’ll disappear as the woman gets more and more invested in her goals, but for now? It’s a stark difference from that determined, immoveable woman that’s been waiting on the other side of that portal every time they’ve come through.
Hell, Vaggie isn’t even sure just what Charlie is trying to do. But, after the woman had nursed her back to health, Vaggie wasn’t about to go off on her own in Hell without repaying her. If that means acting as her bodyguard (because there’s very little she’s good at, but hurting sinners? She’s been doing that for years) then so be it.
“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Vaggie answers truthfully, tucking a soft smile away to the corner of her lips when Charlie all but beams at her, eyes sparkling, teeth gleaming, cheeks so rosy and cute. Hell, since when were residents of Hell so attractive? Vaggie doesn’t remember seeing anyone like her during her ventures down here over the years. But then again, she’d not exactly been looking in that respect.
“That’s great! I—” Charlie breaks off, some kind of unholy noise tearing through her throat and, for a second, Vaggie’s worried as fuck. But then it registers Charlie is just inhaling at superhuman speeds, all so she’s got enough breath in her lungs to then shatter Vaggie’s eardrums with her next cry.
“CHESS!”
And she’s gone, tearing off down the stretch of road between this hotel-to-be at the top of the hill and the rest of Hell. Vaggie watches her go, amused for all of the four seconds it takes her to register exactly what, or rather who, Charlie has shot off to greet.
Coming to a halt on the curving road, Lucifer’s eldest daughter (Francesca Morningstar, the woman that Charlie affectionately refers to as ‘Chess’, the woman who is the biggest threat to angel-kind down here) has her arms spread wide open to welcome Charlie into them. Only Charlie doesn’t just step into the hug— she leaps in.
Vaggie watches the elder sister’s legs shuffle with the impact, taking three sure steps back until she’s got her balance because Charlie has wrapped herself around her like a koala, legs tight at her hips, arms around her shoulders and she’s practically crushing Francesca’s head into her chest with the force of her hug.
Vaggie doesn’t fail to notice that Francesca had dropped something to the ground in order to catch her younger sister, and she very determinedly does not gawk at the sight of Adam’s mask, still broken from whatever blow the woman before her had landed on it in their last fight. Because he’s left it, or been forced to leave it, one of the two.
Then those eyes – so alike Charlie’s and yet so very not – flick up to look at her.
Oh.
Well, if this is how Adam felt under her gaze, then Vaggie suddenly gets why her former boss is now in the process of losing his mind over his extermination day fights.
Charlie invites her elder sister in for tea, because of course she does. Nevermind that they don’t even know if there’s clean water coming to the building (or even working plumbing at all!), it doesn’t stop the younger sister from shuffling her in.
“Come in! Come in! Grab a seat, Chess, I’ll go see what we’ve got— I did ask Razzle and Dazzle to bring some stuff over, but you know how they are…” She trails off, catching sight of Vaggie and Vaggie tries very hard to not look as uncomfortable as she feels. And she does feel uncomfortable. Because this is Charlie’s family— anyone would be uncomfortable meeting the family of a new friend, especially when she looks like such a charity case. Hell, the bandages aren’t even off her head yet, still covering the empty eye-socket.
None of this seems to register in Charlie’s mind though, because she just grins and comes bouncing over, planting her palms down on Vaggie’ shoulders and steering her closer to Francesca. Which— yeah, that’s not exactly where she wants to be. In fact, for the last few exterminations, that is exactly where she desperately wanted to not be.
“Chess, this is Vaggie, my new friend! She’s gonna help me do up the hotel!”
And then, despite Vaggie’s desperate, silent prayers, she disappears, off to get some tea, or whatever equivalent the future-hotel currently has in stock.
It leaves Vaggie staring at Francesca, who stares right back. She’s got one hip cocked ever so slightly to a side, so that she can rest the stolen helmet against it while tucked beneath one arm. Coupled with the jacket she’s had made from a robe she’d once forced Adam to shed, she looks like a walking antagonist for the head of the exorcist army.
Vaggie likes her already.
“I’m not going to be nosy about this,” Francesca says, gesturing to Vaggie, head tipping to a side while a little smile slides across her lips. “But I’d love to have a quick chat, if you’ve got the time.”
Vaggie doesn’t get a chance to respond before Charlie is back, three huge energy drinks balanced in her hands, because that’s apparently all they have.
Charlie gives her sister a tour like the place is already finished, open to the sinners of Hell, and they have several successful former residents already parading about in Heaven.
For the record, Vaggie still isn’t confident this is going to work, like, at all. She’s here because Charlie’s here; this is the woman that’s tried her damnedest to nurse her back to heath, who had taken one look at a figure bleeding from a life-changing disfigurement and simply rolled up her sleeves in response. If Charlie wants to try this… then Vaggie will offer her the support the woman deserves.
No, it has nothing to do with the fact she’s a little pretty.
Well, maybe a little bit.
It’s not a thought that Vaggie wants to be having with Francesca walking along beside her. Unlike Vaggie, who is holding the hellish energy drink by forefinger and thumb and has made no attempt to open it, let alone take a swig, Lucifer’s eldest daughter is downing the drink like she’s been travelling through a desert sans supplies.
She’s also still clutching Adam’s helmet at her hip, secured there by the entirety of her arm. Is she that proud of her trophy? Vaggie sorta gets it; if she’d had a chance in Hell of getting that helmet off Adam via fight, she’d have taken it. The bragging rights would have been unreal.
So, when Francesca begins to do just that, Vaggie isn’t surprised in the slightest, other than for the fact she’s held off long enough for Charlie to show her the entirety of the hotel before she’d done so. All it takes is the younger Morningstar daughter finishing up her tour, slapping herself on the cheek and proclaiming, “Oh, I’m so sorry for talking your ear off, you’ve got something to tell me too, right?”
That’d been a nod enough for Francesca to begin, shattering all of Vaggie’s perceptions of her being the second coming of the devil incarnate with how she lights up like some kind of hellish Christmas tree.
“I got his mask off!” Francesca croons, hefting the broken mask off hi question up between her two palms, held aloft and displayed, a championship trophy that’s never been won before. Because it hasn’t. No sinner’s ever managed to get a hit in on Adam, nevermind force him to abandon the mask in order to keep fighting. Hell, Vaggie’s not even sure if she’s seen his face before, and they were both occupants of Heaven until recently. “Did ya see, Charlie? Did you see?” She waggles the helmet about between the two of them, back and forth like it’s dancing about and Charlie – like any sensible person would do – makes no attempts whatsoever to take Francesca’s trophy from her hands.
“I— yeah! I did see it, Chess! I mean, you got hit a lot—” Charlie pauses, looking her elder sister over but she doesn’t look too worse for wears. Hell, Vaggie can’t see any glaring injuries and she likes to think she’s something of an expert in picking those out. “—but as long as you’re okay, I guess?”
“I’m great,” Francesca says with a dismissive wave of one hand, holding the helmet up as if it’s a skull as she’s a Shakespearean actor, contemplating if she wishes to be or not to be ‘great’. “I think we’re really starting to bond, don’t you?”
Really starting to bond?
Vaggie looks between Francesca and Charlie, suddenly unsure. She’d assumed the sisters were close with one another, had assumed they were on good terms, but if they need to bond— but that doesn’t make any sense? What is the relevance of this conversation to them bonding?
Charle groans, tipping her head back and palming her temples.
“Chess. I love you, but I do not need to hear about how you’re seduction attempts are going.”
Seduction attempts?
Wait— what?!
Vaggie lingers by the two sister as they talk, though they mercifully don’t touch on the topic of Francesca’s ‘seductions’ again. It’s a good thing that neither of them truly address her because, quite frankly, Vaggie’s in no fit state to be conversing.
Looking back on things through this new lens, it’s easy to see, easy to make sense of. The actions at least. It makes sense why Francesca would come at Adam so ferociously, why she wouldn’t go about putting as many angels out of commission as she can in favour of getting in Adam’s way. Adam, after all, has (had) the highest kill rate of any of them.
But she’s not actually gunning for Adam simply to prevent deaths. No. Francesca Morningstar is fighting Adam because she’s attracted to him.
First of all, blegh! Uck— what fucking awful taste. Lesbian or not, there are some men that Vaggie can look at from the viewpoint of someone who may be attracted to men and see why they’d consider a relationship with them. But Adam? Adam is not one of those men.
Holy fuck, how bad is this woman’s taste in men to look at Adam and think ‘yeah, I’ll have me a piece of that’. Disgusting.
But secondly, and most important of all— Adam doesn’t have a fucking clue.
Vaggie’s listened to enough of his rants to be sure of that. Her former boss genuinely thinks that Francesca is fighting for the sake of his history with her parents (and that’s a fucking mess isn’t it— why does this woman find Adam even remotely attractive again?). He’s spent a good portion of his time since that second loss obsessing over the thought of beating her again…
And maybe that’s what Francesca wanted to happen, Vaggie realises. She doesn’t understand why in the slightest, but she can deduce that much.
She’s so deep in thought that she doesn’t register that Charlie is abandoning them both in the lobby to accept a delivery until the other woman is already half-way down the stairs, a chirpy ‘I’ll be right back’ floating after her.
That’s when Francesca takes the opportunity to turn to her, give her a sweeping look up and down, before lifting Adam’s shattered helmet up and planting it atop her own head. She’s removed the LED mask-plate during their tour— she’s spinning it about her fingers now, grinning and looking utterly ridiculous with Vaggie’s former boss’ horns curving up atop her head.
“I’m not gonna dig into your past, though between the two of us, it seems pretty obvious. Just make sure you don’t drop it on Charlie out of nowhere, okay?”
With no other way to respond – because the last thing Vaggie wants is for Francesca to just casually mention Charlie’s been helping one of the angels who’ve massacred thousands of her people – Vaggie simply nods her head in agreement.
Part of her wishes she didn’t because in the next moment, Francesca leans forwards, grinning wildly.
“Great! Now, tell me in the insider goss’; what’s Adam’s opinion of me?”
Fucking yikes.
“Adam!” Pushing open the door to Adam’s apartment (only after she’s sent out a little pulse of magic to make sure that he’s alone because walking in on the man once had been more than enough, she’d learnt from that mistakes decades ago), Emily bounces into the entranceway, inspecting the wide variety of shoes that’re all kicked off by the door – some are dating back centuries, then there’s some more recent boots and what she’s half-certain are Air Jordans – before she continues further into Adam’s lair.
Like all other buildings in Heaven, it’s still light and airy, though he’s chosen to decorate it with a nod to that music he’s got into in the last sixty or so years, rock and roll. It’s not really to Emily’s taste, but she supposes that everyone’s different and if it brings him joy…
Padding a little further into the building and now quite certain he’d not heard her first call, Emily peers around the corner of the doorframe into the living room, half expecting to find Adam… well, she’s just sure what she’s expecting. Something Sera wouldn’t approve of, that’s for certain. But no, there’s no Adam in his living room either, not slobbed out on the sofa, channel surfing, nor is he consuming take-out. Which is what he’d been up to all the other times she’d come to visit (give orders from Sera, a bit of both; he’s the first human soul in Heaven – it makes perfect sense for Emily to talk to him, doesn’t it? Even if all his descendants are so very different to him).
“Adam?” she calls again, sing-songy as she continues into the apartment, venturing towards the office that she has never once known Adam to use in all the time they’ve been acquainted, but there’s a first time for everything she supposes. And yet, when she opens the door and does indeed find Adam inside, she’s still knocked for six.
“Oh, you’ve been busy!”
“What the fu— Emily?!” Adam snaps around to look at her, slamming the papers he’s holding in one hand down atop his desk, wings fluttering with surprise before they settle back into that lazy slouch he’s always got them in. She’s not sure how that could be comfortable, but it must be given that’s how Adam’s always got his wings.
That’s not important though. What is important is—
“Who’s she?” Emily flutters closer, letting her wings lift her off the floor so she can better inspect the pictures that’re spread out across one wall, golden string pinging from one image to another, along with lots of notes about fighting styles and tactics. Or, that’s what she thinks it is anyway.
Emily tips her head to a side, trying to read Adam’s disgraceful handwriting but it’s clear he was scribbling all this down at speed because she can barely make heads or tails of it.
“Hey! Stop snooping!” Aureate feathers spread out before her eyes, blocking the wall of thoughts from her view, but they’re not quick enough to prevent Emily from snatching up one of the pictures.
The woman on it isn’t that old, probably not that much younger than Emily actually. She’s rather pretty, though also quite odd-looking too. Not like any angel Emily’s ever seen which is—
Oh.
She doesn’t have a halo.
Emily blinks, inspecting the picture a little bit more but there’s definitely no halo on there which means—
“Adam?” Emily looks up at Adam, who’s wearing a face she’s never, ever seen on him before. First of all, there’s no mask (what’s happened to his mask? He loves wearing that thing) so she can actually see his full human expression. And it’s a new expression too, one she’d almost say is some kind of holy cross between panic and worry which is odd. Why would he panic about her seeing some picture of a demon he’s got…
Oh. My. God.
“Is she your girlfriend?!” Emily squawks, flapping the picture, turning the image back so she can better inspect it. Oh, Emily knows that Adam has some kind of job relating to Hell, not that Sera will give her too much information regarding it, saying it’s of no real importance, just something to keep the first man busy, that Emily doesn’t need to worry too much about it given Adam’s plenty capable.
“Is she—” Adam chokes, waving his hands around, blood pooling beneath his cheeks and giving him a flustered, golden glow. “No! She fucking ain’t!”
“So you have a crush on her then!” Emily concludes, feeling her heart leap at the thought. This is wonderful! Adam’s never been one for long relationships (which Emily sort of gets but doesn’t; both Lilith and Eve had been long before she was around, but she can understand that they might have caused trust issues, what with the whole arguments and apple thing) but that he’s showing interest in someone— and a demon at that! Oh, it’s like forbidden love! It’s like that play from Earth, the Shakespear one! This is amazing!
Emily whips her head around to look up at Adam, who appears as if she’s stunned him. Of course she has! How long has he been hiding this from everyone in Heaven? The first man, the first human soul in Heaven, falling in love with a demon? Oh, is she hellborn? Is she a sinner demon? Which is it?
“Adam,” Emily whispers, clenching the picture in her hands in an attempt to subdue the urge to start jumping up and down with the excitement of it all, “I’m so happy for you! You have to tell me, how did the two of you meet? How do you know each other? Who is she? Why does she look so familiar?” There’s something about the woman that ticks something at the back of Emily’s mind, a notion that she should recognise something about this demon. Emily’s never been to Hell though, nor involved with anything to do with the place. Why would she look at this picture and think there’s something she should know here?
“Damn it, Emily,” Adam snarls, grabbing hold of the picture and tearing it out of her hands, leaving her clutching at nothing as Adam angrily slams the image back on his wall-web of thoughts. “That’s not—” He cuts himself off with a huff, scrubbing his hands through his hair, like it’ll draw the right words out of his brain if he gives his scalp some encouragement to send them through.
She waits, semi-patiently. Okay, so she’s bouncing on her heels, eager to hear anything, everything. Adam is, well, Adam. So this is exciting! Her eyes flutter around the room, taking in everything else she can that Adam’s not blocking with his stupidly big wings, and her gaze lands on a leaflet of some kind on his desk.
Emily is over there and scooping it up before Adam can get a hold of her, her own face heating something terrible when she realises exactly what it’s a leaflet for. Wow— Hell is shameless, isn’t it? They just… advertise this without any kind of attempts to be subtle? Just openly admit what they’re doing, what they’re catering for?
Then her eyes are caught by the message and Emily coos, fluttering up and out of Adam’s grasp as he makes a lunge for her.
“Emily!”
“Are you really going to meet her at this place?” Emily squeaks, twisting the leaflet around to shove it in Adam’s face and he’s quick to snatch it from her, snarling down at the paper.
“Don’t to stupid— she just thinks she’s fucking funny, writing that shit on this shit!” Adam waves the leaflet about in a manner she expects an unruly human would wave a club about during a revolution. It’s something she wants to ask more on, but then her attention is caught again on the pictures that Adam’s abandoned to instead come over this way. And she spots something else.
“Oh! You’re wearing matching clothes!” She flies back over to the picture that has her attention; it’s one of the girl with a jacket on in the same colour as Adam’s fancy robes, the dark-coloured ones she knows he wears for his job but she so rarely ever sees. “That’s so cute!” Spinning around to face Adam, Emily grins, landing so she can rock back on her heels again, smiling up at him. “Don’t worry, Adam. I won’t tell anyone your big secret.”
Oh, this is so wonderful! Adam’s found someone he’s interested in after all this time! From what she’s managed to decipher from those notes, they must spend some of their time sparring— that’s not something Emily particularly understands, but then the former human before her has spent a lot of time recently practising with his axe, which makes sense if that’s how he’s showing off to this girl!
“I’m not—” Adam cuts himself off with a frustrated snarl, planting both his palms atop his face and then forcibly dragging them down, pulling at the skin of his cheeks until his hands slide off his chin, slowly turning into a praying motion, looking upwards for guidance. Which is silly— they’re in Heaven. Neither of them need guidance.
Speaking as if the words are being pulled like molars from his mouth, Adam says, “Thank you, Emily. For keeping this secret. About the c— about Francesca.”
Francesca! So that’s her name! Emily takes on last look at the picture of Francesca wearing a jacket so similar to Adam’s favourite outfit and she beams.
“No problem! If you ever need any help, I’m more than happy to!” After all, it’s her job to bring joy, isn’t it? Oh, and… “By the way, Sera wants to see you.”
“…Fuck.”