God Help the Morningstars

by Optimism_Personified

Summary:

He rolled his eyes for extra emphasis. "Pfff! Oh please, baby duck. It takes waaaay more than a little tumble to hurt your old man! I'm stronger than I look."

"You're not just saying that?"

He pressed his forehead against Amiel's. "Promise I'm not, sweetie. I'd never lie to you."

Except that he had. And he would again, if need be. To protect his son. Keep him safe. And keep him away from himself, and the ever-growing pile labeled "Lucifer's issues" that was accumulating in the back of his mind. But there was no reason to tell Amiel that. If one of them had to have their memory of this moment soured by guilt, let it be Lucifer.

*****

This is my take on the "Charlie Has a Brother" AU idea, while also being a series rewrite/expansion, and a deep dive into the messed-up, complex psychology of Hell's Royal Family.

Buckle up buttercups, because the Morningstars are NOT okay.

Chapter 1: Family Matters: Part One

Lucifer Morningstar was not a happy person. He had every reason to be. He was by far the most powerful being in his realm. He was married to the most amazing woman he'd ever met. He had a family. And yet he was hiding away in his workshop, making rubber ducks, letting his thoughts wander wherever they decided to.

He'd always been taken by the birds. They were cute little critters, goofy and elegant in equal measure. But Hell, with its fire and brimstone and eternal damnation, was not exactly a place for them. Sometimes it barely seemed like a place for any living being whatsoever. Sure, there were birds native to it, yes, but they were all too sharp, too pointy, and way too eager to tear your guts out and devour your liver. However, Lucifer was nothing if not resorceful.

Despite being banished from Heaven, the token of his Father's long bygone affection still burned in his blood. The Gift of Creation was not just mere power. It was a privilege, to have reality bend to your whims, but it also came with an unbearable yearning to birth into existence, to make something. Had he remained in Heaven, Lucifer would have been able to use it as he saw fit. In Hell, it was more akin to an annoying, constant itch that he rarely got the chance to scratch.

But itch or no itch, Lucifer could have, at any point, just... snapped his fingers and given himself a duck pond in the backyard, real, live ducks and all. But that would be cruel to the creatures. It would be denying them freedom. They'd be forced to stay there, confined to the palace gardens, never to stray too far away, lest one of the dangers of Hell snuff them out. Lucifer knew far too well what being condemned to spend eternity in Hell felt like. He'd never willingly inflict it upon anyone.

So Lucifer chose the next best option. If he couldn't have live ducks, he'd just replicate them.

It started as a simple hobby back in the early days, when he and Lilith were stuck trying to bring some semblance of order to a place as opposed to it as Hell was. It was an occasional thing, something he did when he had nothing better to kill his time with, or when things got too stressful. Out of the two of them, Lucifer had always been the more sensitive one. Lilith made plans and led the charges. His heart had never fully been in it. Lucifer stood on the sidelines, cheered for her, made the occasional public appearance, and generally did what his wife advised him to.

But... Bit by bit, things had changed. And with those changes, his hobby gradually became more and more of a... means of escape. Whenever life became too hard, and his bad choices too glaringly obvious to ignore, he'd close himself up in his workshop and go to town. Designing and snapping into existence dozens upon dozens of unique ducks of every shape and size imaginable. The activity steadily ate up more and more of his time. Not that his time could exactly be put to better use.

"Behind every great man there's a greater woman." And boy was that true for the two of them. The King of Hell was an almost ceremonial title at this point.

And just as she had been insistent on taking up the brunt of the work that came with running a kingdom, Lilith was adamant about taking on the added weight of childrearing. In her opinion, Lucifer lacked the proper kind of temperament for it. He'd end up making any kid grow up to be too soft, which was a big no-no in a place like Hell.

The Queen's way of bringing up kids was one of the main reasons why Lucifer locking himself up went from a once in a century incident to a common occurence in the first place.

Lilith had great plans for their daughter, Charlie. She was the Princess of Hell, the heir to the throne. She needed to be instructed, and Lilith was determined to provide those instructions and to shape a perfect successor to the crown. Someone who'd have the skills necessary to know how to inspire love in the hearts of her subjects, and strike fear in the hearts of her enemies. A beacon that the realm could rally around.

Lucifer had seen no point in it when it was first brought up. The two of them were immortal. Not to mention the most powerful beings in Hell. Heaven treated Hell as little more than a trash heap where discarded human souls were stored. Their Embassy was so rarely put to use that its chief function was to look ugly and stick out from the rest of Hell's infrastructure. Unless something went majorly wrong, the two of them would be left alone to rule as they saw fit, until the end of time. The idea of children seemed nice, but a successor to the throne was far from necessary.

While Lilith was pregnant, Lucifer had tried to advocate for giving Charlie a life free of burdens, as happy as one could have in a place like Hell. His wife was quick to shoot his suggestion down.

With all her being, Lilith believed that Hell would rise up one day, and that Heaven would pay for what they had done to the two of them, for the way they enforced their short-sighted rules on all of creation. Charlie was to be the centerpiece of this plan. The losses would be heavy. And perhaps... the two of them would end up among them. Hell would need to be able to pick itself back up, whatever came to pass.

Lucifer didn't want that. The prospect of his own death worried him... surprisingly little. But to risk his wife's life? His then unborn child's life? No. Never.

Besides... He was quite content with never seeing any Heavenborn's face again. Too many bad memories. And the pressure of such a role... it seemed far too much for a single child. An uprising would bring nothing but misery. But his wife was not easily persuaded.

In the end, Lucifer relented. He trusted his wife. So he convinced himself that perhaps the sense of purpose, that which he so sorely lacked himself would do their child good. It certainly did Lilith good.

She became even more motivated, even more determined to bring Hell to greater heights. The uprising was Lilith's dream. Her hope for the future and greatest ambition. But in that shining future, the Queen of Hell saw no place for one other person.

There was a knock on the door, and quiet as it was, it snapped Lucifer out of his duck-making daze. He hadn't even gotten the chance to get a word out before he heard the door open and close again. Lucifer spun around in his chair, taking in the sight of his secondborn.

Charlie, though she took after him considerably in the looks department, was a perfect mixture of her parents. Despite her angelic herritage, she was a demon, and a powerful one at that. A suitable heir to the throne of Hell. Their son was not. He'd somehow taken almost exclusively from one side of the family where it counted most. Lucifer's side.

At a glance, Amiel was Lilith in miniature. Long, honey blond hair. Violet eyes. Even his skin tone was a perfect match for Lilith's own, from the time before their Fall, when she'd been Adam's intended bride. The only problem were those large, white wings on the boy's back. Still in the process of shedding downy feathers and developing a proper plumage, they were barely more than decorations. They wouldn't be carrying their son through the air for quite a while longer. But their very existence branded him as something that had no place in Hell. An angel. And not a Fallen one like himself. A real, honest-to-Father angel. All Amiel lacked was a halo. Only those of Heaven were granted those.

Lucifer plastered a smile on his face, waving with one hand while simultaneously trying to prevent a newly created and precariously tilted pile of rubber ducks from collapsing on top of him with the other. All the while, he tried to smother the burning feeling of shame blossoming in his stomach. He'd hidden away in here for... how long was it this time? Three days? Five days?

As a father, Lucifer was a failure. His so-called "kingdom" was no more than a prison. It was intended to be a prison. But Lilith saw something more in it, so he forced himself to pretend to see the same things she did. Ultimately, it didn't matter one bit to him what became of Hell. But his children? They were another story. Lucifer cared about his family, more than anything, and yet he was as uninvolved in the lives of his children as he was in the lives of his "subjects." Stumbling from one bad mood to the next, barely ever poking his head out from his workshop. Perpetually waiting for his children to come to him, and only rarely going to them.

As was the ruler, so was the parent. Lucifer withdrew into himself and let Lilith have free reign. Even when it came at the cost of time spent with his own children. Even when it came at the cost of their happiness.

He really was a failure of a father.  But oh well. Lucifer was a failure in so many fields. What was one more item to add to an already long list?

"Hiya duckling. Why're you up so late?" He paused for a second, blinking. In truth, he had no idea what day, much less hour it was. "It is late, isn't it? I kind of lost track of time, you know how it is, designing ducks and making ducks, and designing more, and making more, and so on and so forth." Lucifer chuckled awkwardly, tugging at his collar.

His son's voice was quiet as he responded. Charlie was always so animated whenever she snuck away from her mother's watchful gaze long enough to snag some time with her father. Amiel, on the other hand, sounded far too mellow for someone so young. "It's not that late, Daddy. I was just... lonely. Mom took Char with her again."

Ah. Yes. His son was lonely. Amiel's visits to his father were quite a bit more frequent than his sister's. To say that Lilith treated her two children differently would be the understatment of the millenia. To say that he'd tried his best to amend the issue, the overstatment. Lucifer gnawed on his bottom lip, barely mindful of his sharp teeth.

He made sure to pump some more false cheer into his voice when he responded. "Well then! How would you like to come up here and not feel lonely?" He gave his lap a pat.

Amiel responded with a simple nod, coming closer and obediently waiting to be picked up. His baby boy carried himself stiffly. Never brushing against anyone or anything, in sharp contrast to his older sister, who spent an about equal amount of time dashing around and being on the floor after bumping into things.

A necessary precaution, Lilith had called it. The root of any angel's power was Holy Light, she argued, and Holy Light could kill demons. Even sinners. Permanently. Their children were both immensely powerful, but they lacked control. Lilith had seen it fit to caution Amiel extremely early on on the dangers of his abilities. Or rather, seen it fit to have her husband do so. He was the angel, after all.

To his credit, Lucifer had protested. Too little. Too meekly.

The palace had very little in the way of servants, and none of them interacted too closely with the Morningstars. They were administrative help, not maids or caretakers. Charlie was a child too, and yet they'd never given her any instructions other than the generic "be careful." And Amiel posed no danger to any member of their family, Lucifer had reasoned a long time ago.

Lilith had remained firm in her decision, and, though his heart ached, Lucifer quickly gave up on opposing her. He never could bring himself to truly put his foot down, even when it came to his children. Not with Lilith. Their arguments, rare as they were, always made for a true spectacle.

Perhaps he should have pushed harder when he had the chance. But he loved them all equally. And when angered, Lilith could say some... hurtful things. So... Lucifer backed down. He took Amiel, scarcely old enough to even understand him, and explained, in the simplest possible terms, how Holy Light was never to be used on demons. Or at all, if he could help it, until he was old enough. Lucifer had hated the look of fear that darkened the purple of Amiel's eyes that day, and never seemed to leave afterwards. Hated himself, for allowing it to happen. For making his child afraid of himself. But he did it nonetheless, and immersed himself in duck-making for the following month.

He let his wife deck out their youngest in gloves and high socks, covering as much skin as possible. An extra safety measure. Lucifer had consoled himself by saying that he looked adorable. Like a cute Victorian child, in his frilly shirts and knee-shorts.

One gloved finger shyly poked Lucifer's knee, bringing him back to the present. Amiel was looking up at him with those large, violet eyes.

"O-oh. Oops! Daddy got lost in thought! Sorry, apple pie. Up we go."

His son weighted next to nothing, even with Lucifer's angelic strength taken into account. It was still too early to tell, but he was probably going to be closer to him in height than Lilith. Oh well. Amiel had his mother's looks, so he'd look absolutely stunning in heels, if he opted to wear them.

Lucifer plopped his son gently onto his lap. The weight of a small child on it felt... comfortable. Right. But at the same time... just a bit foreign. Like all things not done often enough to become habits.

The guilt hit him again, but he pushed it back down. He could kick himself when he was alone. Father knew he was already a lousy enough dad as things stood. No need to get distracted with that and get caught in a self-hate spiral while his son was on his lap.

Amiel blinked curiously at the overflow of ducks flooding his desk. He had just about enough height for his eyes to poke above the table. "Were you making duckies again, Daddy?"

Oh goodie. Even his son, a literal child, picked up on his unhealthy coping mechanisms. Lucifer did his best to brush off the embarrassment with an awkward laugh. "Ahaha, you know me, duckling. Always making more works of art. It's hard work being THIS talented!" He grabbed a duck at random and held it in front of his son's face. "D'ya like it?"

The duck he picked was... not his best work. The craftsmanship was, as per usual, second to none, but the design left a lot to be desired. It was made of glass, and covered, or perhaps more accurately, absolutely slathered in gemstones with no particular rhyme or reason. The two rubies gave the duck's beady eyes an uncomfortably demonic look, and they clashed horribly with the ring of sapphires around its neck. Lucifer had also decided to follow up that chromatic catastrophe with a generous heaping of emeralds on one wing, and topazes on the other. Yuck.

Amiel frowned. "It's very shiny."

Daddy's little diplomat. That skill would serve him well. Despite all the training Lilith gave her, Charlie was hopelessly honest and just as stubborn. Compromise was not a part of her vocabulary. Just a few months back, she'd kicked Mammon in the shin and told him that "You're a money-obssessed meanie, Uncle Mam!" She wasn't wrong by any stretch of the imagination, but... It took a while to smooth out Mammon's ruffled feathers.

"Daddy?" Lucifer looked down, only to see Amiel, with his head thrown back, looking up at him. "Are you feeling sad again?"

His jaw dropped. "Ah–huh–wha," was all that left his mouth.

Lucifer's baby boy gave him a look that reminded him of a teacher mentoring a particularly slow student. "You were gone for a week again. And you only make lots of duckies when you're feeling sad."

Well fuck. Was Lucifer really so... pathetically predictable and easy to read? That his own younger kid figured him out completely? He scrambled for an excuse.

"No, no, no, duckie, Daddy's not sad. I just..." He trailed off clumsily, grasping at straws. "I just had so, so, so, sooooo many ideas I wanted to try and make; I lost track of time!" He coughed awkwardly into his fist. He was rambling. And he'd used that excuse once already. It sounded just as unconvincing the second time around. No normal person would lose track of time for a week straight. But he'd never been considered normal, not once since the beginning of his existence.

Amiel still bought his excuse, or at least acted like he did. The boy said nothing, but Lucifer didn't miss the couple of gentle pats his child gave his thigh.

Pathetic. He was so pathetic. Such a wreck that his child had to resort to playing dumb and comforting him. Lucifer wanted to lock himself in some dark room and stay there for a few centuries at least. But he couldn't.

His son had said that he was lonely. Amiel... never asked for much. He was an extremely self-reliant child. Pretty closed-off too. So the fact that he explicitly told Lucifer that he came to see him because he was feeling lonely... it meant that his baby boy really needed him. He had to step up. Poor company that he was, Lucifer could be there for his children every once in a while. He wasn't in the best headspace, but he'd make do. He's been making do for ten thousand years now. That was plenty of practice. He needed to pull himself together. For his child's sake.

He wrapped his arms around Amiel's torso and brought him closer to his chest, extra mindful of the wings. He bounced him on his knees ever so slightly, careful not to jostle him too much. Amiel wasn't a fan of sudden movements. Charlie liked being thrown into the air. The one time Lucifer had tried that with his secondborn, Amiel had shrieked while in mid-air, and he ended up with a wailing toddler.

"Don't be so quiet, apple pie. Come on, tell me what fun things you did today!"

His attempt to animate Amiel a bit wasn't all that successful, but his baby boy obliged him at least, speaking up as Lucifer took to carding his fingers gently through his child's golden tresses. "Char and me played with Razzle, Dazzle, Lulu and Lighty. She convinced me to try and help them cook when it was time to make dinner. Razzle had to clean the celling."

Lucifer snorted. He didn't even have to ask who made the mess. "How did Charlie manage to get food on the celling?"

"I think she was trying to copy you, Daddy. The way you flip pancakes. But we were making spaghetti."

He bit his lip, though it was from trying to hold back laughter this time. It was a losing battle. His voice came out all wheazy. "W-why did Charlie think it was necessary to flip spaghetti?"

Amiel shrugged. "I don't know. They still tasted nice. That batch we weren't allowed to help with. But Charlie didn't finish her plate." A hint of... something crept in his son's voice. Something unpleasant. "Mom decided to take her along on her trip."

Lucifer froze, the laughter he'd been holding back dying in his throat. "Mo-Mommy went on a trip? W-what did she say before she left? Exactly?" He had no idea. And trips always meant a few days away from home. Lilith hadn't told him. She always told him, no matter how sudden the matter was.

Amiel nodded, though Lucifer didn't miss how that hint of something became more pronounced in his voice. There was... hesitation certainly, but... bitterness too. Well hidden, far too well hidden for someone so young, but... Lucifer knew where to look. "Yeah. Mom said she's going to the... Envy Ring I think? For five days. She said it would be a good learning experience for Charlie."

Five days ago. Five full days that she'd be dragging Charlie along to meetings that would do nothing but bore her. And... She hadn't even told him. She knew how he got sometimes. How he could hole himself up in his workshop for days... or weeks if left unattended. Sure, she took care not to have Charlie unsupervised. But... Amiel? She had always been too distant with their son, but... to leave him to fend for himself? Surely she can't have done that.

Lucifer took a deep, preparatory breath. He asked a question, hoping that he'd get a satisfactory answer. Terrifed that he wouldn't. "What did Mommy tell you to do, buddy?"

His son stared at his lap. His bottom lip found its way between his teeth. Lucifer stared at it for just a moment too long before gently prying it away with a finger. He didn't say anything. Even if he wanted to, his mind drew a complete blank. The guilt burned in his gut, much worse than before, hot and gnawing on his insides. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments longer before Amiel finally spoke up.

"Nothing. She just left."

He bit his own lip again, chomping down on it hard enough to almost draw blood. It was as he feared. Lilith... she had the capacity to be a loving mother. Lucifer was certain of that. Though he thought that she was putting far too much on Charlie's plate, the two of them had a strong mother-daughter bond. Between mother and son, however... there was no love lost. Lucifer would never forget the look of pure, crushing disappointment Lilith had sported on the day of the birth of their secondborn.

It had been... a difficult ordeal. It happened during the middle of the night. The Queen had been drifting in and out of consciousness, woozy and out of it throughout the entire process. He'd been right by her side, holding her hand as she did her best to crack his fingers in her grip. They had agreed earlier not to send for Charlie, so it was just the two of them, surrounded by Belphegor's finest doctors.

The birth took hours, and almost as soon as it was finished, Lilith passed out completely, though one of the doctors assured him that it was more out of simple tiredness than the pain. However, he informed Lucifer, there was something urgent to discuss.

He could still remember how his heart almost stopped when he heard those words. How terrified he was in that moment of something having gone wrong, either with Lilith or the baby. The doctor, an ancient-looking goat whom Lucifer thought had been present for Charlie's birth too, told him that the mother was fine, and that the baby was fine too... depending on how you looked at it.

"What do you mean... depending on how you look at it?"

"It... might be better to simply show you, Your Majesty."

And show him they did. A child, freshly cleaned, but still not wrapped up in a blanket. With its back turned to Lucifer, so he could see them. A pair of wings, comically oversized on an infant and covered in barely more than white fluff and littered with a few bald patches, twitching meekly in the air. Nothing in the universe could have prepared him for that shock. He'd never expected to see another pair of flawless, white wings. Even his own now sported red feathers, stained by his Fall. Frankly, what he was seeing was impossible. Or should have been impossible at least.

And yet, despite everything, Lucifer felt his lips forming a wide, beaming grin. He loved Charlie; he had loved her from the moment he first laid eyes on her, but... an angel. An actual angel. Like he had been. The thought of having an angelic child made his heart flutter. Things between him and Charlie were... complicated. Not by Lucifer's own choice. Far from it. He hated everything about the situation. But there would be nothing of that sort with his second child. There couldn't be.

And... Lucifer was almost ashamed to admit it, but... he felt the slightest droplet of pride, lodged, buried deep in his chest, completely separate from the pride of a newly-minted father of two. They might have cast him out of Heaven, but they couldn't remove Heaven from him. Not entirely.

He never thought to consider how his wife would feel about this unexpected development.

The old goat gave him a few moments to collect himself, before offering Lucifer to hold his son. Usually, he'd have refused. Call him old-fashioned, but he believed that a mother should be the first to hold their child. It was how they'd done it with Charlie. But the Queen was still sleeping peacefully, and Lucifer could barely contain the happiness. So... he agreed.

A few moments later, he was handed his newborn son, wrapped up in a duckie print blanket and matching cap, both provided by Lucifer himself. The medical team hastily packed up and left, offering muttered congratulations and hurried bows as they went out the door. It was uncustomary to leave a baby and mother so soon after birth, but their work was more or less done. They'd given the all-green to both, and even should something happen, Lucifer was more than capable of fetching them within seconds.

They all seemed to be somewhat unsettled, but Lucifer was too busy drowning in happiness to pay them much mind. He spent the following half hour dancing around the room, slowly rocking the drowsy baby in his arms.

He had such pretty eyes. Just like his mother. He... in a way, he was a reminder of both of their pasts. Their son looked so much like Lilith had, before being cast out of the Garden. But those wings, currently buried in the blanket, were all Lucifer. Not the Lucifer of today, prone to mood-swings and riddled with self-doubt and regret. The enthusiastic dreamer, the Morning Star. He hoped his child would grow up to be like that, only without the... well, all that made the Lucifer of today who he was. He hoped that his son would grow up to be happy and bright-eyed, unafraid and free to dream.

Eventually, the Queen of Hell woke up from her nap. Lucifer descended upon her immediately, incapable of reining in his enthusiasm.

"Lili! Lili, look at him! We have a son! Here! Hold him!"

If she minded his treatment, she didn't show it. Though she was a bit drowsy still, Lilith stepped up to the task at hand. Like always. She had always been a go-getter. She held out her arms and took the baby.

His wife looked so proud, for a few fleeting moments. Exhausted as she was, she practically beamed as she laid eyes on her son, taking in his big, violet eyes, and the tiny tuft of hair in the exact shade of blonde as her own. She never said it out loud, but she needn't have. Lucifer knew her well enough to figure it out on his own. Lilith had always been the tiniest bit jealous of how much their daughter looked like him. Now she'd finally gotten back at Lucifer.

And then something twitched inside the blanket Amiel had been swadled with. And in that moment, it clicked in Lucifer's brain that he forgot to mention the fact that their son was an angel. He got too swept up in the happy moment. But his newborn son had seen it fit to give him a reminder to be a dutiful husband and rectify his mistake. It was for the best to break the news gently to his wife. It'd do no good to expose a new mother to shocks. And an angelic child sure was a shock. But he was too late. Lilith panicked, and undid the blanket.

The wings fluttered uselessly in the air. For a few seconds, the Queen of Hell simply stared, mouth open. Lucifer found it almost funny. That sort of expression suited someone like him, not his always prim and proper, regal wife. But the expression didn't last long.

The disappointment came soon after. Sheer, unfilitered disappointment. She wordlessly wrapped the blanket back up and handed him the baby, her arms trembling just the slightest bit. Lucifer had never seen her hands shaking before. Ever.

"Take him," his wife said, not in a tone of a parent wanting to give their partner the chance to share the happiness, but of a merchant pawning off a cursed item of some sort. Lucifer grabbed his son on pure autopilot, brain struggling to process what he was seeing.

"Darling... what's wrong?" The words tumbled out of his mouth in a jumbled mess. His tongue felt numb in his mouth, his entire body felt numb in that moment.

Lilith looked at him incredulously. "What's wrong?" She pointed at their son. "That. That's what's wrong. He's wrong. How... how did we... how could have we possibly ended up with... that?"

"Th–that? Lili, you're... you're talking about our son."

She almost flinched at the word. "N-no. I... we'll discuss this later. Just... take him away, Luci. Leave. Please leave."

Lucifer couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. He was rooted to the spot, still struggling to process that what he was hearing wasn't just... part of some nightmare. His brain refused to accept the situation. That Lilith, loving as she was to him and Charlie... couldn't even bear to look at their newborn son. He knew. He knew how deep her hatred towards Heaven ran. How much she wanted payback. Justice. But... surely she couldn't be so blinded by it to hate their son for it?

He tried to be both firm and gentle. "I can't just leave Lili. Talk to me. I know this is unexpected, and probably scary, but... he's our son."

"He's an angel, Luci." Lucifer could almost swear he heard it, though he prayed it was his imagination. Disgust. Kept barely in check, balancing daintly on the tip of her tongue. Held back by the skin of Lilith's teeth.   

By his nature, Lucifer was an overthinker. Not much of a doer. But in that moment, he didn't think. He acted. His wings, all six of them, manifested and spread out with a barely audible whoosh, like a peacock's tail. They were the complete opposite of his newborn boy's wings. With their white spines and crimson feathers, they held a sense of regal grace that Lucifer himself never seemed to properly display, even when he tried so hard to.

"So am I."

For a split second, the Queen of Hell's face betrayed a bit of panic. She was caught off guard. Probably hadn't expected him to be so bold. He was rarely ever bold, after all. But she wasn't fazed for long.

"You know that that's different, Luci."

For once, he found himself pushing back. "How is it different, Lili? How am I any different than him?"

"You are a Fallen angel, darling."

"And he was born in Hell. I'd say we're both outliners."

Lilith seemed to be struggling with an answer. Lucifer couldn't remember the last time he saw her struggle with anything. "It's still not the same, Luci. It just isn't. You know how they are. Judgmental. Narrow-minded. You were the one exception." She sighed. "Please leave, darling. I need some time for myself."

She was pushing him away, Lucifer realized, a sense of panic igniting in him. Why was she acting like this? What had her acting so desperate? Lilith couldn't have been afraid, surely not of the tiny bundle nestled in Lucifer's arms. Angry perhaps? She didn't seem to be blaming him, at the very least. That was encouraging. Not herself either. But their child? He was the only option left, but... he was as blameless as one could be.

Running out of things to try, Lucifer latched onto familiarity. When Charlie was born, they'd prepared a list of names, sat down for hours staring at their then newborn girl, and tried to figure out what to name her.

"But Lili... we need to pick a name. I-I'll hold him if you're not ready to, but we can't just leave him nameless." The short-lived bravado had left him. He was practically begging her, hoping she'd reconsider, that she'd snap out of it and accept that the bundle in his arms was their child. That she'd be able to go back to those few moments, which now felt like an eternity ago, when she'd been the picture of a proud mother.

Her voice carried no pity. For either him or the child. It was... more faint than usual for the Queen, but it held the familiar trace of her no-nonsense, commanding tone used for royal business. "No, Luci. I... we'll talk later, I promise. We'll solve this problem later, but... I need time to think this over. Just... go away. Both of you. Pick a name." Her lips had curled into an expression vaguely reminiscent of a grimace. "Something... fitting for him."

"Please don't cry, Daddy. It's fine. Everything's fine."

Ah. The present reasserted itself so violently, Lucifer felt almost nauseous. He had... gotten lost in thought. And his cheeks were wet. And Amiel had somehow turned around on his lap and was kneeling on it rather precariously, with his arms doing their best to wrap around his back, and his small face buried in Lucifer's chest.

Wonderful. He managed to space out again. And he had actually broken down crying. In front of his child, whom his mother had just left behind, and who was definitely in dire need of comfort himself. Lucifer wiped his tears clumsily with one hand, and used the other to return the hug. All the while, his mind all but screamed at him. Excuse, excuse! He needed something. Anything!

Amiel unburied himself from his chest before he could think of what to say and looked up at him, expression a mix or confusion and concern. "Why are you crying, Daddy?"

How was Lucifer supposed to answer that? The consequences of decades of ignorance and letting things fester had just hit him in the face. But he couldn't mention any of that. Now he needed to put on a brave face and provide some sort of believable explanation for his son.

He blinked rapidly, and let one hand rest gently on the side of Amiel's head, the other holding him steady so he wouldn't fall from his lap. "Daddy's fine, duckling. I just... I was just..."

So much for the brave face. He trailed off. He had nothing. Absolutely nothing. Pathetic. Ten thousand years of playing pretend, and he couldn't even do that right.

Amiel's voice was quiet to the point of being barely audible. But Lucifer could still pick out the emotions in it. A mix of worry, sadness, and most disturbingly, resignation. "Do you want me to leave Daddy? I can leave if you want to be alone again." A pause, just long enough for one quick nibble of Amiel's bottom lip. "Did I make you sad, Daddy?"

It took all he had not to start crying again. Lucifer felt as though he might hurl from the guilt. His chest heaved, and all the air from his lungs felt as though it had evaporated. He knew that he had messed up. But... how did it come to this? How could he have let it come to this? Why was Amiel's first guess as to why his father might be sad his own presence? Why was his first instinct to leave?

He grabbed his son and pulled him even closer, burying his little head in the crook of his shoulder. His baby boy's golden hair tickled his nose. It smelled of flowers from the palace gardens. Charlie was in a bit of a flower crown phase. The smell had stuck to her most readily available model's hair.

When Lucifer spoke, his words had a conviction to them that they rarely had nowadays. "Never. Never in a million years, apple pie. There is nothing you could ever do to make me sad. You make me so, SO happy."

"You make me happy too, Daddy."

The sound was somewhat muffled, mumbled into the fabric of Lucifer's vest. But Lucifer could hear it. His baby boy sounded... somewhat unconvinced. Not of what he was saying. Amiel was shy and less vocal than his older sister, but he was plenty affectionate, in his own subdued way. What he was so hesitant about were definitely Lucifer's own words.

The guilt might as well have become a physical pain at this point. A nice, clean stab through the heart. What had he done?

Lucifer loved Amiel. He loved his family. And his own inaction had hurt them. In so many terrifying ways. 

He couldn't fault Lilith for her hatred towards Heaven. She'd always been stronger than him, mentally. He'd chosen resignation; she'd chosen anger. But... no. This... she had gone too far. And he messed up. Failed as both parent and husband.

Lucifer had thought that giving Lilith the freedom to keep her distance would be good for both mother and son. That she'd grow used to the fact that their secondborn was an angel. Warm up to Amiel. An look where that genius idea got him. Lilith always provided the bare minimum of parental guidance when it came to Amiel, but now... she just abandoned him for a few days.

He had thought it would be better for his son too. It would do Amiel no good to have one of his parents openly showing their dislike towards him. Lucifer had deluded himself, thinking he would provide all the parental care and affection Lilith couldn't until she was able to, and everything would turn out fine. Somehow.

Instead, he poured gasoline on an already flimsy bridge and handed Lilith a matchbox. Locked himself away every chance he got. And now his child was sitting on the lap of a father he knew much less than he should have, hesitant to accept that he made Lucifer happy. Fuck. Just... fuck. He was quite possibly the worst being in all of creation. He deserved to be cast down to the dark, wretched pit he called his kingdom. Tossed aside, hidden from all the world. If only they'd have seen it fit to toss him somewhere more remote. Where he couldn't cause harm to anyone else.

No! No.

This was not the time for pitying himself. Forget hating himself for his fuckups. Forget wishing he'd made different choices. Forget drowning in self-loathing. Life had seen it fit to give him a long-overdue wakeup call. For once in his miserable existence, Lucifer needed to act like a proper father, and put his child in first place. Start fixing what he should have never let break in the first place.

If only Lucifer had any notion of how he was supposed to do that.

Where was he even supposed to start? With Lilith? Or maybe talking to Amiel would be easier? But then again, he wasn't exactly the problem. Lilith was. Ugh! No, that was unfair. Lilith wasn't the root of the problem either. He let this happen. Ran away when he should have helped his wife work through her own emotions for the sake of their child. When he should have been there for said child. Lucifer was the problem. The fuckup. The one to blame for everything...

Two small hands tugged gently at his coat, trying to get his attention. "Daddy? If you're not sad because of me... do you want to make duckies together? So you're not sad anymore?"

Typical. Lucifer really was hopeless. He'd almost spaced out again, went down the slippery slope of self-doubt and loathing. Luckily, his son was there to ground him. And despite everything... trying to make him feel better. Sometimes it made Lucifer wonder how Amiel could be an angel. Angels were callous and self-serving. His son was anything but.

Despite his best efforts, one thing had made itself perfectly clear. Lucifer was simply wasting his time trying to come up with a solution to the mess he had created. It was going nowhere. His emotions were running wild. He was too stressed to think properly, unable to string two thoughts together without getting overwhelmed by the urge to kick himself mentally.

Besides, there was a much more urgent problem that required his attention. Amiel.

The two of them were going to be alone for the following five days. Lucifer... didn't spend too much time around his children. Partially because of his own issues, partially to appease his wife. He didn't know much about children either. Back when things were so much simpler, when Charlie was just born, he'd been a real mess. Dressing up, diaper changing, feeding... You named it; he sucked at it. Amiel thankfully didn't require any of that, but... he was a smart child. Lucifer had seen the way he acted, while telling him where Lilith had gone. He understood the situation well enough. Lucifer couldn't just let him wallow in negativity like... well... like Lucifer himself. He had to step up as a father and distract his little duckling. Keep him happy. Spend every waking moment with him...

Despite everything, the edges of his lips tugged upwards. In a way, this was what he needed. No Lilith safety blanket to take care of all his responsibilities. He was forced to step up as a parent. Forced to spend time with his son. It was pathethic that these... less than happy circumstances were needed for him to act like a proper father, but oh well. Beggers couldn't be choosers. He could do this.

"That's a great idea, sweetie! That way, Daddy can feel happy, and you don't have to feel lonely anymore! We have the house aaaaalll to ourselves for a few days. We'll hang out and have lots of fun together!"

Finally, Amiel smiled. It was tiny, and much more subdued than any of Charlie's even most half-hearted grins, but it was there. He said nothing, but he went in for another hug, snuggling against Lucifer's chest again.

For the first time that night, Lucifer felt something other than guilt pooling around in his gut. It was a warm, pleasant feeling. Familiar, but unfamiliar. It was how he'd felt the first time Lilith and him made love. When he first held his children. How he felt every time either of them would stumble into his workshop while he was in one of his better moods, and he'd hold them on his lap and entertain them with light shows or play the fiddle for them.

For a moment, he felt regret. He... he'd been missing out. How much of this had he deprived himself of, locked away on his own volition? Let himself be deprived of without protesting? This was what parenthood was supposed to be like!

Lucifer did his best to squash the feeling of regret. Yes, he'd been stupid. Yes, he had missed out on so much already. But he was doing it now! And he'd keep doing it!

He felt inspired. He did say that he should keep Amiel happy. So why not start right now? "That's not all duckie pie! Daddy has a surprise for you!"

Amiel unburied himself from his chest, blinking up at him, eyes practically sparkling. The expression suited him. Made him look younger. More innocent. "Really?! A surprise?"

"Mhm! A very special surprise."

"What kind of surprise?"

Oh fuck. Fuck. Why did he say that of all things? Why did he double down on it? He'd been so excited, he got swept up in the mood, and... just spoke without thinking. Which was a nicer way of saying that he lied on the spot. There was no surprise. The only surprise of today was the fact he was going to leave his workshop, and though it was plenty special of an occasion, presenting that as a special treat would be very... cheap.

"Ahaha..." he tapped the fingers of the hand that wasn't holding onto Amiel against his desk in a rapid, nervous rhythm. "Wouldn't be much of a surprise if Daddy told you, would it now? But I'll show you real soon."

"Okay! I can wait."

Good to know that despite everything, some things never changed. Lucifer was still as much of a champion when it came to putting his hoof in his mouth as he'd been millenia ago, when he'd first tried talking with Lilith, the charismatic charmer that he was. Not.

But he'd make do. Lucifer was nothing if not resourceful. If he stalled for time for a bit, made a duck or two, he could probably think of something both good enough and doable to serve as a surprise. What Amiel didn't know wouldn't hurt him. What did it matter that Daddy's surprise would be just as surprising for Daddy as it would be for his son?

Notes:

So yeah... this fic. This fic has been on the backburner for a while now. Season One definitely seemed to imply that the Morningstars have issues. So, naturally, my thought process was to crank it all up to eleven. And add another child into the mix. Who is also an angel, because, why not?

Oh, also, English is not my first language. I think I have a good enough grasp on it for effective writing, but if anything feels weird or janky, feel free to point it out so we can all laugh at it.

Chapter 2: Family Matters: Part Two

Notes:

Chapter two is finally up! I'm SO sorry it took this long. I wanted to post it a day after the first one went up, as it was mostly finished and practically the second half of chapter one, but... You're not done writing until you're done writing. The last section of it gave me way more trouble than I expected it to. Truth be told, I'm not completely happy with how the final version turned out, but I think it's as good as it's going to get.

This chapter also contains our first SONG! A most likely horribly off beat rendition of "More than Anything", owned by Vivziepop and studio A24, and rewritten (ruined) by myself. To all but the most tone deaf of readers, my sincere apologies.

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

As it happened, Lucifer could not think of a surprise both doable and good enough.

Stalling started out promising enough, though weaving the fabric of the universe while brainstorming yielded some... interesting results. ("Why's the duckie got three heads, Daddy?") He still made the end results work, and Amiel seemed entranced as Lucifer effortlessly adjusted the rubber duck's appearance in front of him as if it were nothing. Lucifer ended up turning the poor thing into a homage to Greek mythology. Myths were one of Humanity's less horrible inventions. Sure, they were wildly wrong in their explanations of how the world worked, but sometimes a good story would come out of it. Lucifer could appreciate the imagination that went into them, if nothing else.

Making ducks in someone's company turned out to be... a nice experience. Lucifer chatted with his son, and let him doodle on some construction paper he had lying around while they designed ducks together. His boy had the gift. Not of Creation, but for duck making, which was probably the best usage of Lucifer's power anyway. Amiel had simplistic, but surprisingly stylish design ideas. Lucifer's heart fluttered at the bedazzled smile his little duckling gave him when he made his design appear out of thin air. A pale pink duck, with white accents on the head feathers and wings, and cute, heart shaped eyes. It even had an adorable little ribbon around its long neck. It wasn't anything groundbreakingly creative, but it was a competent, well-rounded little design. He felt proud.

Lucifer even managed to hold himself together mentally. For the most part. Now and again, he'd feel the prick of guilt or regret, a yearning for all the missed chances he was never going to get back. But his son's presence, and the pressure to think up a surprise kept Lucifer pleasantly focused and grounded in the present.

But five ducks into their father-and-son duck-making session, Lucifer ran into a problem. Amiel started yawning, and his already unsteady lines became all the more squiggly.

That was bad. Lucifer was not ready. He had absolutely nothing to show for his effort, except vague, half-baked ideas. But his time had officially run out.

However, there was still a ray of hope he could cling to. His son was almost conked out on his lap, to the point he had to keep one hand on Amiel's chest to keep him from smacking face-first into the desk.  So maybe his lack of ideas wouldn't matter. Maybe his half-asleep baby boy would end up forgetting about the surprise, and Lucifer would have another full night to wrack his brains.

Amiel didn't forget. Not by a long shot. It was kind of adorable how suddenly his duckling switched from being drowsy to being excited, asking if it was time for the surprise.

Lucifer's big mouth, he quickly learned, had a bit of a weak spot for his son. It also apparently wasn't content with ONLY instigating the whole mess. Oh no. While his brain was stuck panicking and scrambling for an excuse, his mouth decided that the hoof already occupying it might as well have some company and popped the other one in as well, saying Lucifer would take Amiel to his surprise right then and there.

Now he was hefting his definitely-not-sleepy-anymore son around the palace, taking turns through the corridors pretty much at random. His workshop was tucked in one of the far corners of the palace. The Morningstars' personal rooms were in the center, for the sake of privacy. It was quite a walk. A totally unnecessary one, considering Lucifer could have just opened up a portal, but he was in desperate need for more time. Amiel had been a bit confused, but didn't protest and seemed happy to be carried. Once he was in the mood, his son was a real cuddlebug.

All things considered, neither of them were in a hurry, so Lucifer let his body lead the way, while his mind was fully focused on thinking of anything, anything at all surprise-worthy.

He'd narrowed things down to something material, something he could whip up on the spot, but the particulars  evaded him. A new toy of some kind? Maybe a plushie? Amiel liked soft things. But no, he already had dozens of those. He toyed with the idea of a hairclip as well. Lucifer had a lovely little design stuck in the back of his mind for weeks. A heart-shaped apple, he could make that out of a ruby, and then decorate it with gold in the shape of flames... No, that wasn't any good either. They were nice things, but... too simple. Too small. Lacking in meaning.

Lucifer knew that Amiel would be happy with anything, but the guilt still tormented him. He'd been failing as a father for so long now. This was his chance at redemption; he couldn't just toss his duckling a hair accessory and call it a day. It had to be something grand and meaningful. It had to be perfect.

Amiel chose that moment to pipe in, having finally grown bored with the silence. "Daddy, are we going to your room?"

Lucifer took a look at the space around them. The palace corridors were quite samey, but he'd been walking through them for a long time. He knew his way around, and all the little tricks to avoid getting lost. Portraits were a good way to gauge where you were. Like the two currently staring Lucifer in the eyes.

One was an adorable little portrait of the then-trio that made up the Morningstar family. An infant Charlie, Lilith who held her, and him, with an arm wrapped around Lilith's shoulders. It was a commemorative piece, but it rang a bit hollow. The idea the artist tried to project was a perfect, happy family, but he'd insisted on the royals' neutral expressions and stiff postures. Spoken like someone who probably never had kids of their own.

The other painting was older. Far older. There were no children on it, only Lucifer and Lilith, this time smiling happily. Lucifer smiled in most portraits, but this one was ancient enough that the expression was more than likely genuine. Lilith was smiling too, but hers was more subdued. Regal. Making Lucifer's own look like an overzealous clown's. He didn't mind it then; he was sure of it. Rulling came naturally to her. Lucifer was just along for the ride. But now...

Lilith had always had a tendency for... unorthodox decisions. He never cared much for them, when Hell was concerned. If she wanted the Goetia, who were mostly sniveling sycophants, to have some say in making decisions, he gave her his seal of approval. If she wanted the Sins to have a meeting about something, he would call them.

But the decisions she made about their children... Lucifer never liked them. Hated them in fact. And yet he never spoke up about his own feelings on the matter. It was easier to ignore his bad feelings. Convince himself that Lilith knew best. But what happened tonight was eye-opening.

He should have spoken up so much earlier. No, he should have done much more than that; he should have fought to have his voice heard. Listened to. Perhaps if he had done so earlier, way back, they wouldn't be in this situation now.

When was the first time he could have shown some backbone?

Looking back on his actions— no, lack of action was terrifying. But he had no need to dig through his past. His first failure as a parent was quite obvious. And he couldn't forget it, even if he wanted to.

The first three or so decades of their life with Charlie were pure bliss. Unlike anything he'd ever felt before. All those little voices that sometimes got to him in his moments of doubt went quiet. The whispers, cruel and keen on second-guessing his every move, simply couldn't be heard over his own inner voice, which was busy shouting "I love you, duckling!" Over and over, every second of every waking hour of his every day. It was addicting, being so happy after quietly fighting off misery for millenia. He'd always been happy with his Queen, but... parenthood was something else entirely.

Lucifer wanted more. Lilith wasn't exactly against another child, but she did require a bit of convincing. She wanted to wait a couple of decades longer, so the age gap would be a bit larger. But even the indomitable Queen of Hell couldn't resist a good pair of puppy-dog eyes. She was an observant woman. Even a blind man could have seen the change in Lucifer. The simple difference between looking happy and being happy. Who was she to deny him even more happiness?

So the Queen of Hell caved. He cried when she teasingly told him to start thinking up potential names again.

He should have known better. Some people were simply destined not to be happy for long.

One night, Lilith, almost all the way through her second pregnancy, sat him down. They'd just finished putting their daughter to bed and settled in the living room, when she told him that she thought it would be for the best if he kept his distance from their daughter.

That had been... a bit of a bombshell. It was a good thing that they sat down. If he really focused, Lucifer could still recall the feeling of numbness that had settled into his legs when he heard those words.

She tried to explain herself by reassuring him that she'd never ask him to be an absent parent, and saying how it pained her to ask this of him in the first place, but perhaps one-on-one time with Charlie should be kept to a minimum. At the very least, their daughter should spend more alone time with her. Lucifer was simply too good, she said. Too soft. Still, despite everything, too much of an angel. And his mood swings made him unreliable.

It was not her goal to create a monster, Lilith assured him. Nor was she trying to make him feel bad. She was simply worried for their child. She'd spent so long beside Lucifer, after all. She knew all about the pain his big heart and even bigger dreams brought him. Was it so wrong to try and protect Charlie from suffering the same fate?

Lucifer could have handled it better. Instead he cried. Then pleaded, and promised he'd do better, and be stronger. Then cried some more on his wife's lap as she ran her long, elegant fingers through his by-then-thoroughly-messed-up hair. But he knew that he couldn't deny her words. He was a mess. That night alone was more than enough proof.

It hurt. It hurt so much to have all the worst parts of him pointed out. Knowing that they could, however unintentionally, bring harm to his daughter. And... oh Father. Not just his daughter. No, Lucifer had to be selfish. One child was not enough for him. No, he wanted another kid. Another person to bring pain and misery to. Had he listened to Lilith, he wouldn't have been in this situation. She wanted to wait, to be sensible. But no, Lucifer wanted another child to dote on NOW, so he could keep his feelings at bay. Selfish. Utterly selfish.

It took him hours to run out of tears. Lilith waited, patiently. Gently consoling him throughout it all. And when he finally calmed down...

He hated the very thought of it, hated himself for even considering it, but he agreed. For Charlie's sake. For their unborn child's sake too. And as his alone time with his daughter became shorter and scarcer, and Lucifer more and more miserable and withdrawn, he told himself it was still for her sake. Better not to see her father than to see him like that.

Amiel's arrival, ironically enough, helped stave off the pain for a little while. He was handed off to Lucifer whenever any sort of work came Lilith's way, so he still had someone to care for.

But it was never quite the same. He loved his children equally; that wasn't the problem. He even still saw Charlie every once in a while. She craved her Daddy's presence, sneaking away whenever Lilith was distracted.

And yet, Lucifer never felt as happy as before. Some days, he felt worse than on the day of his Fall. This mess... It wasn't how a family was supposed to be. Keeping away from each other for this reason or other. Their family dinners, scarce as they were, resembled some complicated flowchart, unspoken rules dictating who was allowed to talk with whom, and to what extent.

Eventually, Amiel too was encouraged to leave the nest and not stick so closely to his father. Not by Lilith's suggestion this time. Lucifer did it out of habit, out of a desire to spare his child the sight of his miserable self. But it never seemed to work quite as well as it did with Charlie. Perhaps it was the lack of Lilith's company that led Amiel to keep running back to Lucifer? Whenever he'd try and disappear, fade into the shadows of his workshop, his son would, sooner or later, come knocking on his door.

"Daaaaaddy. Are you getting sad again?"

Ah fuck. And he'd been doing so well with not spacing out. With not digging into his own scabbed-over past. His stomach burned with shame.

Lying still came as easily as ever though. It wasn't even lying, strictly speaking. Lucifer wasn't feeling sad, per se. More... introspective.

He put on a cheeky grin. "Nope, duckie. Just got lost admiring my handsome visage." He stuck his free arm out, and lifted his chin, striking a pose straight out of one of Lilith's fashion magazines.

Amiel gave him a searching look. Probably trying to figure out if he was lying. For a child, his duckling was surprisingly perceptive. But not quite perceptive enough. Having apparently judged him to be fine, Amiel spoke, tone impatient. "If you're not sad, can we go? And you didn't answer. Is the surprise in your room, or are we going somewhere else?"

Well, Lucifer gave it his best shot. He'd fought tooth and nail, but he was simply beaten. He well and truly ran out of time. He chewed on his lip, feeling embarrassed. All that hype, and he was really going to end up giving Amiel a simple hairclip.

Lucifer tried his best to keep the disappointment out of his tone. It wasn't easy, but he managed. "Yeah, sweetie. We're going. And yeah, the surprise is in my room. So get ready! It's gonna be a good one!"

Nice going, Daddy Duck. Lucifer just kept digging his own grave, drumming up a surprise that didn't exist. But there was a smile back on Amiel's face, so Lucifer considered it a small victory, temporary as it was. There was, however, definitely some disappointment incoming, once his overhyped gift was received.

The rest of the trip to the bedroom the King and Queen usually shared passed by in uneventful silence. Well, uneventful for Lucifer's little passenger. Lucifer himself was again wrestling with his guilt, trying not to get overwhelmed. And he was failing. Why did he have to go and blabber on and on about how great the surprise was going to be? And why was his stupid brain incapable of producing any good ideas? Why was he such a failure of a parent, even when he tried his best?

He tried to rein himself in, but the thoughts kept multiplying, buzzing in his head like a swarm of flies. Failure. Tryhard. Wreck. Why did every time he tried to do something good end up a disaster?

Lucifer continued down the halls, only barely aware of his surroundings. He was too busy beating himself up mentally.

Eventually he made it to his door. Polished red wood, shining with a glossy finish. An apple and a pair of horns entangled together, expertly carved and filled in with gold. Painstakingly designed and brought into existence by himself some one hundred and fifty years ago, when he and Lilith decided to renovate on a whim.

He kicked it open carelessly after fiddling with the doorknob, before kicking it closed a moment later.

The room looked as it always did after one of his bouts of self-imposed isolation. Perfectly neat, with not a single fold on the covers or a thing out of place. Barely lived in, even. He couldn't for the life of him get the covers to stay perfectly pristine, but like most things Lucifer was bad at, Lilith managed.

The bed, which they'd put there a couple of decades ago, still looked brand new, the deep red and the golden accents unblemished. Lilith's vanity, despite the sheer volume of makeup on it, was perfectly organized. There wasn't really much in the room besides that. Just a pair of nightstands. The one on Lucifer's side of the bed was the only messy part of the room. He'd deposited a few of his favorite ducks there, but their placing was haphazard at best. Lilith's nightstand held only an alarm clock. Also duck-shaped, Lucifer's handiwork. The door to the walk-in closet was tucked in one corner, and the door to the bathroom the other. For a royal bedroom, it was remarkably sparse in its furnishing. However much she valued  her freedom, Lilith liked to run a tight ship.

Amiel blinked in the darkness, still held tightly in Lucifer's arms. He'd been in their bedroom a few times, but those occasions were few and far between. The chances of finding either of his parents there were slim, and the chances it would be Lucifer slimmer still, so he steered clear of it.

He squirmed slightly in Lucifer's grip. Even with the dim lighting and the somewhat awkward angle at which he held his son, Lucifer could tell that Amiel was confused. There was, after all, nothing of interest in the room. No conspicuous package, no eye-catching gift or toy.

Well. There was no way around it. It was time to be a disappointment once again.

Lucifer took a deep breath, inhaling slowly through his nostrils. He had to grit his teeth and just confess, but the words lodged themselves in his throat. He wasn't ready for the momentary disappointed frown, and the fake, hollow gratitude that would probably follow after it. He wanted so badly to cling onto the fragile sense of proper fatherhood he felt while making ducks with his son. But no. It had to be done. It was his fault for making promises he couldn't deliver on.

"Daddy? Are you sleepy?" Amiel was craning his neck, doing his best to look Lucifer in the eye. "If you're sleepy, the surprise can wait. You should rest."

Pff. What a thought. Lucifer was an angel. Getting tired wasn't in the cards for angels. After his Fall, things changed, but not by much. Lucifer could sleep, but he could also just as easily go for weeks without rest. Basic human needs were... well, just that. Basic human needs. To say that Lucifer needed food or sleep to survive would be a stretch. They helped make living easier, but he could power through without them, as he had on many occasions. There was no bed in his workshop.

"Daddy's not sleepy, apple pie."

And even if he were, he couldn't just go to sleep. Lucifer and Amiel were alone. Amiel, unlike him, was used to eight hours of sleep and three meals a day. It simply came with the territory of not coming into existence much earlier than the concepts of rest or sustenance.

His son was more than capable of putting himself to bed, but Lucifer felt like that wouldn't do tonight. He'd help his duckling get changed, and brush his hair. Lucifer tucking his children into bed was a somewhat rare, hard-to-predict occurence. It all depended on moods, both his and Lilith's. But now he felt more than up for it. He could give his baby boy some extra attention. Make their time alone spe–cial...

It hit him suddenly.

Oh Father above.

Lucifer was an idiot. He was such an idiot.

He'd been so determined to make something, to prove himself as a good dad, that the obvious slipped his mind. Lucifer always had a habit of stubbornly hyperfocusing on the particulars and ignoring the bigger picture. That's what cost him his seat in Heaven, after all.

Sure, Amiel would like anything. He was not a demanding child. But what he would most certainly love was extra attention. Some quality time spent with his father.

His haphazard decision to bring his duckling to his bedroom turned out to be a stroke of unintended genius.

Lucifer dropped Amiel gently on the bed, of course managing to mess up the covers. He crouched down, so he could look his son in the eyes. Up close, they were quite distinct from Lilith's. Hers, like Lucifer's own, were slitted. Reflected the light, giving them a somewhat eerie glowing look. Amiel's eyes lacked the slits, and seemed to catch every bit of the dim light, making them shimmer.

"You ready for your surprise, duckie pie?!"

Oops. That had come out a bit too loud. And he might have invaded his baby boy's personal space just a tiiiny bit in his excitement. To Amiel's credit, he only flinched a little bit as his father got in his personal space, baring those oh-so-sharp teeth.

"Mhm," his son nodded vigorously, making his hair splash about Lucifer's face like a wave of molten gold.

Lucifer flicked his son's nose playfully, mindful of his claws. "Good, good!" He pursed his lips and rubbed his chin with his hand, the perfect, overly exaggerated picture of a man thinking hard. "Then you wouldn't be opposed to a little... hmm... let's say... five day sleepover? Right here, with Daddy?"

At that, Amiel's eyes lit up in an altogether different way. For a second, their usual violet changed to gold. Lucifer felt a pang of... nostalgia perhaps? His own used to do that, back in Heaven. Some angels' Light was simply like that. Reactive to their emotions, bubbling up to the surface in times of excitement.

"Really?! Really, really?!"

Oh goodness, his duckling was almost too adorable. The nearly blinding smile, the glowing eyes, and the jittery flaps of his wings. For all the Lilith in Amiel, in that moment he was all Lucifer, God's Favorite, Heaven's Morning Star.

And yet, Lucifer bit the inside of his cheek.

For Charlie, this level of excitement was normal. That much Lucifer was certain of, even with their limited time together. But to see Amiel so genuinely excited? It was almost foreign.

No! No. Bad brain. Bad. He was supposed to be in the present moment. Giving his son his full, undivided attention. And above all else, he was supposed to be happy. Happy his child was happy. That was what parenthood was all about, was it not?

He nodded almost as enthusiastically as Amiel had, his hat holding on for dear life. "Really, really. Daddy DID tell you we were going to have some fun while the girls are away, didn't I? What's more fun than sleepovers?!"

Lucifer was not prepared for what life threw at him next. And he did mean "threw" quite literally.

Amiel tried to give him a hug. A great, big hug, the kind that was exclusive to children, and that they only gave when words failed them.

His duckling pounced on him from his seated position, and... Both of them went down. Frankly speaking, it was embarrassing. Lucifer should have barely moved, despite the added weight. Amiel was tiny. The distance between them was, what, a foot or two? And yet, the moment his baby boy's body slammed into his chest, Lucifer stumbled back and toppled. He clutched Amiel to his chest, his wings coming out to break his fall on instinct.

The voice in his head blared, despite the danger being nonexistent. "Keep him safe. Keep him safe. Keep your child safe."

They landed on the floor in a messy heap, Lucifer with his hair sticking out in random directions and his hat beside him, and Amiel, mercifully, still safely held in his arms. Lucifer's wings twitched uselessly below him, not used to being laid on.

Amiel blinked at him, hands clutching fistfulls of his vest in a tight, tight grip, processing what had happened. For a moment, he looked adorably confused. But then Lucifer caught it. The bottom lip wobble. Faint, but unmistakably there.

A timely response was of the utmost importance here. Lucifer was not going to let his child cry over something so minor. He sat up, slowly, so he could reposition his arms behind Amiel's back. His duckling slid of his chest and right into his waiting embrace.

He kept his tone light, pumping all the cheer he could muster into it."Soooo... should I take that as a 'Yes Daddy, there's nothing more fun than sleepovers in all of Hell', or am I misunderstanding something?"

Amiel looked away, bottom lip no longer trembling, but his eyes definitely clouded with worry. "Sorry for hurting you, Daddy."

Lucifer laughed. Granted, it was a bit forced, for Amiel's sake, but the entire situation was genuinely funny too. The King of Hell knocked on his ass, from what might as well have been a poke to him.

He rolled his eyes for extra emphasis. "Pfff! Oh please, baby duck. It takes waaaay more than a little tumble to hurt your old man! I'm stronger than I look."

"You're not just saying that?"

He pressed his forehead against Amiel's. "Promise I'm not, sweetie. I'd never lie to you."

Except that he had. And he would again, if need be. To protect his son. Keep him safe. And keep him away from himself, and the ever-growing pile labeled "Lucifer's issues" that was accumulating in the back of his mind. But there was no reason to tell Amiel that. If one of them had to have their memory of this moment soured by guilt, let it be Lucifer.

Again. No. Bad brain. He was doing good. For the first time in so long, Lucifer felt like he was doing a good job at being a father. He would not let his pessimism-addicted brain ruin this for either of them.

Lucifer got to his feet slowly, still keeping a firm hold on his son. "Now, if we've all got the extra adrenaline out of our systems, want to change into our PJs and get this party on?"

Amiel tried to answer, only to be interrupted by a yawn. Ah. Without the suspense of the surprise to keep him afloat, it seemed that his son had finally reached his limit. He was a cute yawner too. Tried so desperately to dial it back, only to end up with his eyes clenched almost all the way shut and his lips awkwardly half-parted. Even his wings stiffened with the futile effort of holding back the sleepiness.

"On second thought, maybe we could turn in a bit earlier tonight, huh?"

"But—"

"Hey. No buts. We have all the time in the world. We don't even have to change out of our pajamas tommorow. We can have a lazy day. How's that sound?"

Amiel pouted. The childish expression suited him, much more so than the worried looks and frowns that would have been more at home decorating an adult's face.

"Fiiiiine. But I could have stayed up."

"No one was doubting that, sweetie. Now, time to change."

Lucifer found out a long time ago that getting dressed was yet another useful application for his Father's gift. Why waste time with all the buttons and zippers and sleeves when he could just snap his fingers and be wearing an entirely different outfit? And the best part? It worked on other people as well, so it only took him a second to get Amiel into his nightgown. Breezy, with long puffy sleeves, and colored a pale shade of baby blue. It was a little feminine, especially with the slightly low cut on the back, but there was a practical reason for it. Wing holes were not fun to deal with, and Amiel was young, so this was the best solution.

Lucifer's own outfit was much less charming. A completely ordinary set of pajamas, cream colored, with razor thin stripes and accents done in chestnut brown. A far cry from his excentric and somewhat zany daywear. The only splash of personality were the socks. Knee high and made of thick wool. They were the color of dense smoke, and covered in adorable little cartoon ducks. Lilith had called them embarrassing on numerous occasions, but Lucifer liked them. They were comfy, cute, and they kept his hooves warm when Lilith invariably hogged the entirety of the blanket.

Having taken care of their clothes, Lucifer, still with Amiel in his arms, settled down on the bed, plopping his son into his lap. A moment later, a hairbrush popped itself into existence in his waiting hand. His other hand rested lightly on Amiel's shoulder.

"Let's get that immaculate hairdo of yours brushed, huh buddy?"

"I can brush my own hair, Daddy."

Lucifer's free hand left his baby boy's shoulder, moving up to pat his cheek gently. "I know you can, duckling. That's the whole point. Let me pamper you a bit."

"Okay," was his son's only answer, voice quiet and soft.

After that, Amiel went quiet and surrendered to the hair-brushing, but Lucifer could tell that he was enjoying it. His wings drooped, but in that languid way that an angel's wings did when their owner was at ease, not the limp, "I'm surrendering to gravity" slump of sadness.

They spent a few minutes in comfortable silence, with Lucifer slowly working the brush through Amiel's mid-back length hair. He felt... relaxed. Much more so than he usually was. There was nothing special in the act, but the domesticity of it, being close to his son... It was simply nice.

Oh! But he'd almost forgotten. The hairclip. He may have stumbled upon the perfect surprise, but there was no reason not to spoil Amiel a bit. His duckling deserved it.

Making it was not hard. Lucifer was not kidding when he said he'd had the design stuck in his head for weeks. He had every detail figured out. Ducks may have been his go-to, but sometimes he did like to get out of his comfort zone and design something else.

He simply closed his eyes for a second, focused on picturing the hairclip, and clenched the hand that wasn't busy brushing Amiel's hair. A moment later, he felt it gently digging into his fingers and palm.

Lucifer took a moment to inspect his handiwork. It came out perfect. The red was vibrant and eye-catching, and the gold would blend nicely with Amiel's hair. Red and gold. Not his most creative work, truth be told. That color combination was something of a symbol for the Morningstars. But it looked pretty, and his son would like it. That was all that mattered.

Amiel had relaxed fully in Lucifer's lap, breathing getting softer and eyelids drooping slightly. He was trying to prove a point, that he could definitely, most certainly, absolutely stay awake, but it was a trying effort. Bedtime was calling, and it was no longer Amiel's choice whether he'd answer.

Lucifer was smooth with it. Gently brushed some of his baby boy's hair to the side and simply stuck the hairclip in.

That did the trick. Amiel jolted slightly, before tilting his head back and blinking drowsily up at Lucifer. The sleepiness made his eyes look even larger than usual.

"Daddy? What was that?"

Lucifer gave him a cheeky, teeth-showing grin. "Just a little gift, duckling. Do you like it?"

Amiel fiddled with the hairclip in his hair for a moment, fingers a bit uncoordinated, before managing to get it out. He held it delicatly in his palm, like it was some sacred relic. Lucifer observed him, already fighting the urge to simply... bury his duckling in presents of every shape and size imaginable. But no. Lucifer knew Amiel better than that. It would just be too overwhelming for him. Though there would definitely be gifts coming in the following days of their sleepover. His baby boy's reactions to them were just too precious.

Amiel stuck the accessory back into his hair with the utmost care. "Thank you, Daddy. It's really pretty." He wriggled awkwardly so he was sitting sideways on Lucifer's lap, and buried himself in his father's chest. For a moment, he was quiet. And then...

"I love you."

It was almost too much for Lucifer. He bit his lip hard enough for it to hurt. It just barely worked, helping to keep him from bursting into tears again. He still kept an arm firmly draped across his duckling's back, just in case. Wouldn't do for his baby boy to see his father crying twice in one day.

Of course, Lucifer knew that Amiel loved him. Both his children did. But to hear it said to him, so softly, so sweetly, and oh-so-sincerely... it made his guts tie themselves into knots with a strange mixture of happiness and shame. He didn't deserve it. He most definitely didn't deserve his children's unconditional love, not after being such a spectacular failure of a father.

Usually, that thought alone would have been enough to send him into another one of his self-loathing spirals. But this time, somehow, Lucifer teetered on the edge. Sure, he was a failure, but... He was taking steps to correct his mistakes, wasn't he? He was finally stepping up as a parent, and he was going to have a long-overdue talk with Lilith once she came back.

"I love you too, sweetie."

There was still time for him to redeem himself.

They hugged for a few moments more, before Amiel pulled back. And stared quite intently at Lucifer.

"Whatcha looking at duckie? Do I have something on my face?"

"Your wings are out, Daddy."

Oh. Oh right. He'd completely forgotten about those. One of the very few perks of being a Fallen Angel was that his wings only came out when needed or when he wanted them out. But that also meant having to consciously fold them back into his body.

He'd been quite the flier, once. But after his Fall, he preferred not to look at his wings. Lucifer was still as skilled as ever, even with the lack of practice, but he rarely ever flew, and only preened his wings when the feathers were about to fall out, which wasn't all that often. Angels' feathers were sturdy little things, and built to last.

Lucifer folded them back in with a thought. Amiel was still staring at the space his father's wings were occupying a moment before, lips pursed, violet eyes slightly narrowed, and brow furrowed. He was the very picture of focus, surprising for someone who'd been fighting off sleep for well over an hour at that point.

"How do you do that, Daddy?"

It made sense that he'd be curious, Lucifer supposed. Amiel was still quite young, and trying to figure the world out. His wings were a permanent fixture, just like Lucifer's own once were. But... there was no easy way to explain how his wings worked now. Or... any way, really. Lucifer never gave it much thought. They popped out when he willed them to, sometimes when he didn't, and that was that.

He chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to think of an explanation. "Well, you know... they just... come out when I want them to. Not much more to it."

Amiel looked unimpressed. Or disappointed, Lucifer couldn't quite tell.

"That's really it, Daddy?"

"Yup. Why?"

Amiel bit his lip, gaze drifting off somewhere to the side. He didn't meet Lucifer's eyes when he answered.

"So you can't... teach me how to do that?"

Lucifer froze. Where had THAT come from?!

"W-what? Apple pie, why would you even want to do that?"

Oh no. There it was again. That bottom lip wobble. Visible, even with Amiel's teeth chomping on it quite hard. A bit too hard for Lucifer's liking. He pried it away from Amiel's teeth with a finger. Lucifer wondered briefly whether his son had picked that habit up from him.

Amiel hesitated, fiddling with a lock of hair. But eventually he spoke up, voice a barely audible whisper. "Because... maybe... that'd make Mom happy? She doesn't like my wings."

Oh. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How was Lucifer supposed to even begin to untangle this mess? What was he supposed to say? He could lie, but... No one couldn't spin a lie believable enough to deny the obvious. Lilith did have a strong distaste for their son's wings. For Lucifer, they were a token of a life lived so long ago that it felt like a half-remembered dream. For Lilith, they were a painful reminder of those she sought to take revenge on. But Lucifer couldn't just go out and say that. His brain felt like it was about to short-circuit. He scrambled for some kind of answer, preferably one that'd have nothing to do with Lilith's feelings towards Amiel's wings.

"Darling, it's not something normal angels can do. Daddy's... not a normal angel anymore."

Amiel let out a sort of choked-back whine. And then the tears came. Thick and ugly, going down his face and staining his cheeks. Lucifer's jaw dropped. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his son cry. And he had no idea how to stop it.

His son did not sob. The only sounds Amiel gave off were those jittery, shallow breaths. But they were more than enough to break Lucifer's heart.

Lucifer’s first instinct was to break down and cry too. He hated it, seeing his children in pain. His second instinct was to find a way to blame himself for this, because it certainly was his fault. But he couldn't do that. Not now. Not when his child needed him.

Calming his son down was the most important thing now. Everything else could wait. He picked Amiel up and held him against his chest, with the boy's head resting on one of Lucifer's shoulders. That's what worked best when he'd been a baby; surely it would at least help now?

"Shh... shh, duckling. It's fine. Everything's fine. Don't cry. Please don't cry. Daddy's here."

Amiel held onto him for dear life. For a minute or so, he only cried, the shoulder of Lucifer's vest and the shirt under it both getting fully soaked with his tears. Lucifer was still in shock. Where had all of this come from? And... how long had Amiel been holding it in?

Eventually, his son found his voice, though it quavered to the point of being almost incomprehensible. The words came out all jumbled, panted out between too-short breaths. "S-so... she... she'll never l-like me? B-but... y-you have wings too, Daddy."

All the tears were a knife through Lucifer's heart. This was just a nice, long twist of it. His poor, poor baby. Lucifer was an idiot. He'd underestimated how much pain Amiel was in. Underestimated just how much he'd fucked up. He knew he was mostly to blame for this mess, but Lucifer couldn't help but be angry at Lilith too. He underestimated how much she'd hurt their son too. Had being left behind without even so much as a goodbye been the final drop in the bucket?

He rubbed his baby boy's back in a futile attempt at comfort. He was grateful for the fact Amiel couldn't see his face. Lucifer had made a valiant effort, but his own tears got the best of him. Still, he forced his voice not to waver. He had to try and explain this all to Amiel.

"Oh Amiel... it's not your fault. I swear to you, this has nothing to do with you. Mommy's just been hurt. Badly."

Lucifer hadn't meant it that way, but in his mind, it almost sounded like he was trying to defend Lilith. He was usually quick to back her up, whether it'd be the Goetia  getting too mouthy, or one of the less-tactful Sins getting too fired up. But now, the words left a sour taste in his mouth. He may have let this happen, but she... she was in the wrong too. She had not acted like a mother.

"But I never hurt her! I'd never... hurt her. I wouldn't ever hurt... anyone."

Lucifer knew that. Amiel was a gentle child, through and through.

He hesitated. Their children knew of their Fall. However, they'd agreed to leave most of the details out. To spare everyone the pain. But... how else was Lucifer supposed to make Amiel understand why his mother acted the way she did? Was he even supposed to try and explain that? He knew how that would sound. Like he was trying to absolve her of the blame. Lucifer just hoped Amiel wouldn't take it that way. His only goal was to get his son to stop blaming himself for this mess they found themselves in. Lucifer and Lilith were the ones who did this to their family. Amiel was blameless.

"I know duckling. I know. It wasn't you. It was Heaven. They... hurt both Mommy and Daddy. Badly. Since then, Mommy's been... very angry with them. And—"

Amiel cut him off. "But I'm not like them! I've never even been there!"

His baby boy's grip on the back of his vest grew tighter. His voice was hoarse and tired. No wonder, with how hard he was crying. He couldn't keep going forever.

The point Amiel made was a good point. A perfect one, actually. One that Lucifer himself had made, all those years ago. And should have kept making, until his wife saw reason.

"I know, sweetie. You... you may have never seen Heaven, but when Mommy looks at you... all she sees is Heaven. But I promise you she's not angry at you, not truly. She's just confused, and scared, but none of that is your fault. I promise."

Father above, that felt downright vile to say. His "comforting," if it could even be called that, rang so hollow in his ears. It was the truth, but it felt like a cheap excuse.

For better or worse, Amiel had nothing left to say, and Lucifer had no idea what more he could say that wouldn't make everything so much worse. All he could do was be there and provide a shoulder to cry on. So he did, and the two of them stayed like that until Amiel's crying dwindled down to the occasional sniffle.

His son finally relaxed his death grip on his vest and pulled away slightly, but Lucifer didn't put him down. He conjured a handkerchief and gently wiped away the worst of the tear stains from his face. The silence was stiffling. Lucifer should have said something. But... no words came to mind.

Amiel looked down, avoiding his eyes. The crying seemed to have drained every last ounce of the energy he had left. His head lolled from side to side. Lucifer's son was more asleep than awake. The sight should have been endearing. Adorable. But the way they got to that point was...  it was too much for Lucifer. Everything... this situation... it was all so overwhelming.

The words left his mouth not because he wanted them to, but because he needed them out. Needed to... apologize, even if his duckling was probably too tired to even understand him.

"Daddy... Daddy's sorry, sweetie. I... made a mistake. A lot of mistakes. And they ended up hurting you. I don't know if you'll ever be able to forgive me for them, but... but... I swear I'll make it up to you. We'll have a sleepover, every week. I won't let you feel alone ever again. And I'll fix this. I'll talk to Mommy. I promise."

Amiel mumbled something, but it was too quiet and jumbled for Lucifer to make out. He'd fallen asleep. So Lucifer did the only thing he could. He tucked him in, gave him a kiss on the forehead, and then sat himelf down on the edge of the bed, head resting heavily in his hands.

The chances of Amiel remembering his apology were slim. Maybe that was for the best. It couldn't make up for what he'd put his own child through. Nothing could. But those words were all he could offer in that moment.

Amiel stirred, wings twitching under him slightly. It was no surprise that he was fidgety, given that he'd pretty much fallen asleep crying on Lucifer's shoulder.

He could help with that at least. Lilith was by far the best singer in the family, but his voice was nothing to scoff at either, even if he favored the fiddle.

The words and the melody came to him on the spot, colored by what he was feeling.

     

I never told you that when,

I first had you on my arm,

The whole world seemed to fade.

So don't be afraid,

I won't let you go again,

There's nothing I wouldn't do for my little star.

 

More than anything,

More than anything,

I'll protect and love you more than anything.

 

But his "little star" had cried himself to sleep, all because his father had been too useless to do ANYTHING at all.

    

After all the years, I still owe you so much,

Why don't you hold a grudge?

I should've said something but I was afraid.

Her hate, towards your pretty wings,

I waited endlessly,

For her to see you're not her enemy.

But in the end,

Will I make it up to you?

Can I show her you're a child worth fighting for?

 

More than anything,

More than anything,

I need to make her see that more than anything.

 

He cut himself off. No lullaby was supposed to be that depressing. But at least it served its purpose. Amiel seemed to have settled down.

Lucifer bit his lip as he stared at his sleeping child. He dreaded what the following day would bring. Sooner or later, and most likely right after waking up, his son would remember it all. The tears, and the heart-wrenching sadness.

But this time, Lucifer would be there for him. Be it a shoulder to cry on some more, or a distraction from the sadness, he'd do whatever was necessary to help his child get through this. And once Lilith came home, he would do what he should have done long ago. He'd let both of his children slip through his fingers far too easily. Let Lilith's feelings towards Heaven dictate their lives and hurt them both. But that would change soon. He'd make sure of it.

Notes:

Told you I ruined the song. T_T And it's such a nice one too.

Once again, comments, reviews and pointing out my stupid spelling mistakes are all highly welcome and much appreciated.

Chapter 3: Confrontation

Notes:

Oh my GOD. I feel so terrible for how long I made everyone wait for this chapter. Life really tried to do me in. Writer's block, rewriting every scene at least two or three times from scratch, sudden home repairs that needed doing, and... oh yeah, my phone decided to be like Daddy Duck and tried to fly. It did not end well for the poor thing, so I was stuck doing nothing for two days because I CANNOT write on anything else.

I'd like to say that it's all been worth the wait, but perfectionism strikes once again. I'm not sure. At the very least it's a LONG chapter. Hopefully it'll be at least somewhat enjoyable.

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

A shrill jangling right in his ear was most definitely NOT how Asmodeus wanted to start his day. Stupid humans and their inventions. Leviathan had the bright idea to adapt the "telephone," adjust it so it ran on magic instead of whatever humans used, and give one to each of the Sins, for "business correspondence."

What the fuck was he thinking, supporting that idea? The Lord of Lust was not a morning person.

He groped blindly for the phone, not even bothering to remove his sleeping mask. The quicker he got this over with, the better. And if it was yet another one of Mammon's brilliant money-grubbing schemes that required his urgent attention... Asmodeus was personally going to go down to Greed and beat the Sinsmas tree lookalike asshole to a pulp.

His fingers finally found the handset. "Yeeeeeees," he drawled, voice hoarse and slurred with still-clinging drowsiness.

The voice on the other end was quiet. Practically a whisper. "Could you babysit tomorrow, Ozzie? And the day after? I... It's urgent."

So it was Lucifer. Wonderful. The one second most likely to run his mouth for a while, beaten only by Bee. He flicked his mask off and tossed it to the nightstand. A sidelong glance towards the clock told him just how early it was. 4:21 AM.

Asmodeus tossed his head back, glaring at the celling and sighing dramatically right into the handset. After so cruelly being denied his beauty sleep, he wasn't in the mood for being nice, no matter how supposedly urgent the matter was. He was annoyed, and he was going to make that very clear.

"Why of cooourse, Your Majesty. But if I may ask, is there any reason why you're calling to ask me that at four fucking AM?"

A beat of silence on the other end. And another. And another. Lucifer remained quiet as a grave. He wasn't the type for cold, silent anger. That had always been Lilith's weapon of choice. But Lucifer was never the type to choose his words all that carefully either. Especially not with the Sins. Something was not right. Asmodeus sat up slowly, still waiting for an answer.

"If you're trying to answer me telepathically, Your Majesty, lemme tell you, it ain't working."

Lucifer sighed on the other end. "I fucked up Ozzie. I fucked everything up."

Being the Lord of Lust had certain perks. Emotions were Asmodeus' area of expertise. He was a master of picking up on them. Not that he needed to try all that hard in this particular case. Lucifer sounded tired. Drained off all energy. And also like he was barely holding himself together. There was a poorly hidden shake in his voice here, a small but noticeable crack there.

Not to mention that the King of Hell was most definitely NOT one for being open. Lucifer bottled things up. He only cracked when he was well and truly backed up into a corner. So, to have him say something like that... what could have happened?

Maybe being sarcastic was not the right approach here. He tried to be gentler. Lucifer was surprisingly delicate for a supposedly all-powerful Fallen Angel.

"I'm sure things aren't that bad. What happened?

Oh fuck. Were his ears going bad, or did he just hear Lucifer sniffle?

"Everything... everything happened, Ozzie. I ruined it."

His voice was getting shakier on the other end. Asmodeus was torn between trying to do damage control and getting to the bottom of things. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, pondering, but in the end, he went for the latter. Curiosity killed the cat. Or the cock, as Mammon so eloquently labeled him, thinking he was being clever. As if that bastard had had a single clever thought since the start of Hell.

"I'll need you to back up, man. What exactly did you ruin?"

The only answer was the muffled sound of hooves pacing on a carpet. And sharp, shallow inhales. Shit. Perhaps he should've gone for damage control instead. He tried to backtrack.

"Lucifer, breathe. Come on. Deep breaths. In and out. No rush. Tell me when you're ready."

On the other end of the line, the King of Hell took a single deep, shaky breath.

"I... I'm a horrible father."

Ah. That... that was... complicated. Out of all the Sins, Asmodeus was one of the closest to the Morningstars. That was in no small part thanks to the kids. They were all honorary aunts and uncles, but both Amiel and Charlie had clear favorites, and "Uncle Ozzie" was on top of both lists. The children liked him. Came along often. Asked him to come visit too. Told him silly little secrets, but also not so silly ones.

So he knew... how things were. How much Lilith expected of Charlie. How distant she was with Amiel. And how distant Lucifer could be with... everyone. Children's perception had a way of smoothing out reality's sharp edges, but they were smart kids. They picked up on more things than their parents gave them credit for.

There was an argument to be made in favor of what Lucifer just said. But agreeing with him would do nobody any good. He was obviously not doing okay. A little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone.

"What makes you say that? You've been doing a fi—"

Asmodeus didn't even get to finish. The dam broke all at once. What followed was such a mess of words, he could barely follow along.

"He cried, Ozzie. He cried because he thinks Lilith hates him. I tried, but... I couldn't... And I..."

Another shaky inhale on the other end. "It's been days since then. We've been alone this time, the two of us but... he's... he's pretending to be fine. I can tell, Ozzie. He's not fine. But I... I don't know what to do. And now... Lilith's come back, and then she went away, and she'll be coming back again, and I... I need to talk to her about this and fix everything, but I don't know where to even start!"

All three of his heads blinked slowly. He could feel their eyes on him, silently asking, "You catch any of that?" Asmodeus had, some of it. The "he" in question was probably his nephew, and as far as he understood, Lilith was away, but that was about it.

"Luce, no offense, but... could you slow the fuck down a bit?

More pacing, and an even longer silence this time. It went on for half a minute straight. Just as he was about to give up on waiting for an answer and say something else, Lucifer groaned.

"Ugh! It's not important! I don't have time to explain. I just... I need you to come pick up the kids today. They can't be here for this. Please! I need you to keep them at your place the entire day. And tommorow. Maybe longer."

Asmodeus didn't have any pressing matters to attend to, and even if he did, he'd have cancelled them. He was fond of the brats. But that was beside the point. Lucifer seemed to be fraying at the seams.

"Okay, okay, I can do it. But back up." He made sure to say this next bit in the gentlest tone possible. He knew how Lucifer was. But it was worth a shot. "You don't sound like you're okay. We're both awake already. You could come over and we can talk about it."

A nervous chuckle came from the other end of the line, mixed with what he was now sure were sniffles. Asmodeus could almost see Lucifer waving a hand around dismissively. "I'm doing just peachy, Ozzie. You know me, Oz! Don't have time to be anything less. Be there at 9:30, okay? Okay. Bye!"

"Don't you dare—"

The phone clicked. Bastard. He'd actually hung-up on him.

The only thing keeping Asmodeus from chucking the phone at the wall was the fact Levi would have his heads for that. He still set the handset down with a LOT more force than strictly necessary.

Typical Lucifer. He would poke his nose out of his den for a second, start to open up, and then just... retreat. That's what made him so frustrating to deal with. He was one of them. The Sins, minus a couple of outliners (Mammon and occasionally Satan), were actually surprisingly supportive of each other. But noooo, Lucifer had to play the lone wolf.

Asmodeus flopped back onto his back and groaned, slapping his hands roughly over his face. He had a bad feeling about this.

As far as he was able to gather, something happened... with his nephew? And now Lucifer was finally going to do what he should have done long ago and talk to his wife.

Asmodeus... he tried to play marriage counselor a few times before. He was Lust, after all. Out of all the Sins, marriage was closest to his area of expertise. For the longest time, his services weren't needed. Luci and Lili were an almost perfect couple.

The only two times he seriously tried to change something were after Charlie and Amiel's births. Not that he accomplished anything. Lilith had ended up offended both times. She hid it well, but the message was crystal clear. "Do not teach me how to parent my children."

Had he made a mistake by giving up so easily? Asmodeus was just an uncle, and not even a real one at that. It wasn't his place to parent the Prince and Princess. But he couldn't deny that he cared about the brats. About their parents too. Lucifer and Lilith were there from the start. Back then, it was just the eight of them. The Seven Sins, and The Queen of Hell, the better half of the Sin of Pride. Before their children, the Sins were the closest thing the royal couple had to a family.

Asmodeus only had their best interests at heart. He always had a sneaking suspicion that doing things the way she did would blow up in Lilith's face. She had the nasty habit of... getting too caught up in her past. For the most part, it served as a great motivator. But it also made her somewhat... resistant to taking advice. She was never really willing to listen.

Neither was Lucifer, for that matter.

He was usually the more reasonable one, but he wasn't the easiest person to reach in the first place. They all tried, but it was pointless. You could bang on his metaphorical doors all you wanted, unless Lucifer decided to let you in, you weren't getting in. He was a recluse through and through.

And though he tried to hide it well, none of the Sins were blind. Things had only grown worse after Amiel's birth. They sometimes had little meetups, just the seven of them. Not all of them could make it every single time. Nothing strange about that. They were busy demons, after all. But ever since his second child was born, Lucifer became an almost total no-show. And it wasn't because he'd suddenly become a full-time family man. No, the way his children talked about him made it perfectly clear that he spent the majority of his time alone. Asmodeus did not have kids, but he was no idiot. That was not how things usually went.

He had no idea why. Lack of love was definitely not the issue. Lucifer adored his children; that much was obvious. But he seemed to be so determined to keep his distance. It pissed him off. Asmodeus had tried to get to the bottom of it all a few times, when it was just the two of them. Lucifer always found the most creative ways to change the subject, every single time without fail.

So eventually, Asmodeus gave up and let the Morningstars be. He focused on his duties, and being a good uncle.

With time, his worry dwindled. The children never seemed to be outright unhappy whenever Asmodeus was with them. Sure, sometimes Charlie could be moody and complain about her mom making her do stuff, and Amiel often took a while to defrost, but he'd chalked that up to just kids being kids. Royal kids, no less. Great expectations and all that.

And yet...

"He's pretending to be fine."

That's what Lucifer had said, right? Were they... were they both just pretending to be fine? All this time?

If that was the case, then things could get ugly. Real ugly. Despite Lucifer being the Sin of Pride, Lilith was the one who had that in spades. And Lucifer could be protective, especially of his family. He was like that with his wife, even though she was more than capable of handling herself. Asmodeus could only imagine what he'd do if someone was hurting his children. Even if that someone was his own wife.

Asmodeus sighed before dragging himself out of bed and making a beeline for the kitchen. There was no going back to sleep after all this, so coffee was his best bet for making it through the day without conking out. And maybe something with a bit more kick. But not too much. He had to pick up the kids in a couple of hours.

Despite his best efforts, his talon thumped restlessly against the kitchen floor while he waited for his coffee. One of his heads was biting the inside of its cheek.

Hell's power couple arguing would do nobody any good. Their marriage was strong. They'd both gone through a LOT together. And yet, Asmodeus was still worried. Was it strong enough to get through this? Would it still stay strong if the two of them ended up at each other's throats?

He took a long swig from the first bottle that he could find. Wine, by the taste of it. Tasted old too. Probably a gift from Bee. She knew her alcohol.

But it didn't help calm him down at all. If anything, he felt even more on edge. Both of his heads were gnawing on their cheeks now. He cared for the Morningstars. He couldn't help being worried.

Not that it would do him any good. The matter was not his problem to solve. All Asmodeus, along with the rest of Hell could do was, ironically enough, pray for the best.

 

*******

 

Lucifer was sprawled out on the couch in the living room, face down. Hair a mess, legs resting on the armrest, and one hand limply hanging off the couch, fingers almost brushing the carpet. As soon as he sent Ozzie and the kids on their merry way, he tossed his hat on one of the chairs, chucked his coat over it carelessly, and just... collapsed.

He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

No, that wasn't quite right. He was sure he couldn't take it anymore. The silence of the empty palace wasn't helping either. It drove him insane. It offered far too many chances for doubts to creep up on him. And creep up they did.

He tried to hold them at bay. He had promised himself he would do better, be better. For his children's sake. The last thing he wanted or needed right now was to backslide into old habits. But... it was so hard, he was so, so tired, and he had fucked up so many different things in so little time.

To his credit, he had managed to hold himself together the entire week. More or less. He even somehow reined himself in earlier today, after that disaster of a phone call with Ozzie. But now he needed a break.

His wings came out and wrapped around himself, forming a sort of cocoon. It was a pointless act, really. He was already alone. But the dark felt comfier. He sniffled from within it.

The last five days had been a never-ending nightmare. What should have been a nice bonding experience with his son ended up being... not a complete failure, but... it all felt so hollow. Like they were a pair of amateur actors, putting on a particularly bad show. Memories of all the things he and Amiel did swam around his mind, over and over, cutting into each other and mixing into a hazy, dreamlike mess. An outside observer might have found them endearing, had he seen them. A father and his precious child, growing closer. But Lucifer was no outside observer.

It was all a total sham.

There had been no more tears after that first night. Not a single one. Lucifer had expected them, at first. Then he hoped for them. Yesterday, he'd been close to cracking and outright demanding them.

From the moment he woke up after crying his heart out, Amiel clammed up. They two of them spent the days playing, talking, cooking, and eating together, and yet... that spark of genuine hapiness in his duckling's eyes had gone cold and dim. And nothing Lucifer did seemed to reignite it for more than a minute or two at a time.

One thought kept surfacing in Lucifer's mind, poking above all the rest. One that should have made any father proud. Instead, it only made him feel more ashamed.

Amiel was... so much like him. Father and son. Both hiding away whenever their emotions grew to be too much for them. Raising up their walls so no one could see them hurting.

And what did Lucifer, great father that he was, do when he recognized the signs?

Pretty much nothing.

Just like before. His stint as a good dad had lasted all of one evening.

His brain kindly supplied the usual pickings from its repertoire of insults he'd already heard a thousand times before.

"Typical Lucifer. Only capable of doing something right when you're in a good mood. 'Oh, I'm going to change this time; I'll make it all better.' Likely story."

He groaned into the couch, before bonelessly flopping onto his side and curling up into a fetal position. The guilt was almost a physical pain at this point. His guts ached like he'd swallowed a dozen daggers.

The feeling only added more fuel to the fire. Why was he so useless? Why was he making this all about himself? His child was hurting, for fuck's sake. And here he was, wallowing, like that hadn't been his favorite pastime for the last couple of centuries.

He tried to rationalize. Anything to help him pull himself together. Time was, after all, of the essence. He had to plan. Had to snap out of it. Be normal for once. Be like Lilith. Handle stress without folding like a piece of paper.

What could he have done differently? What was the right course of action? Forcing Amiel to bare his heart to him when he didn't want to?

Lucifer knew how terrifying that was. He knew all about how good privacy felt, and the fragile sense of safety it projected.  He'd been through the same song and dance countless times, after all.

A pathetic excuse, really. If anything, that knowledge should have motivated him to try even harder. He could hardly call himself a functioning adult. Was that how he wanted his baby boy to turn out? Another Lucifer?

One more groan. Lucifer closed his eyes to stop the tears from leaking out. His head was beginning to throb. But his train of thought ignored it all, refusing to stop. He would get no break. No reprieve.

What he had ended up doing was barely better than doing nothing. Lucifer let Amiel be. Half out of respect for his boundaries, half terrified of hurting his duckling. A coward's move. He should have encouraged Amiel to let it all out.

But every time Lucifer thought of saying something, of starting a serious conversation, words failed him. Every so often he'd wrestle with the thought of forcing his duckling to open up, but he never actually did so. His legs would go numb, his tongue would feel like rubber in his mouth, and he'd just... drop it.

He was a weakling; he knew that. But... Lucifer couldn't bring himself to have a conversation like the one they'd shared that night. Couldn't handle seeing his child cry again. What if Amiel did not want to talk about it? What if he withdrew even further into himself? What if he hated Lucifer for trying to force him to talk?

So, every time, without fail, he went back to making ducks, or cooking, or drawing, or whatever activity he'd come up with to try and paper over the obvious. Amiel played along, and every so often, Lucifer would catch a glimpse of genuine happiness, just enough to quell the uncertainties.

But then he'd start thinking again, and second-guessing himself, and the entire cycle would repeat itself anew. At night, he'd lie beside his sleeping son and console himself by half-audibly muttering how he'd fix this, once his wife came back.

Lucifer curled up into an even tighter ball. His wings drew closer still. He was a liar.

Lilith came back yesterday. Though calling it "coming back" might have been a bit of a stretch. She dropped their out-cold daughter in her bed, sent a note straight to Lucifer's nightstand, and left for another urgent job down in Sloth. Lucifer had been awake when the piece of paper drifted onto  his nightstand in a flash of purple flames. Snatched it up so fast, it was a wonder Amiel remained asleep.

The message was a grand total of three lines long, and it made no mention of their son.

"Charlie's in bed. She will probably sleep in. Make breakfast for her too. Going down to Sloth to settle a healthcare budget matter. Be back at 5 PM. Love you."

For a couple of moments, he was a proper father again.

The tips of his horns had begun poking out of his forehead as he glared at the willowy, elegant letters. He knew that this was simply how Lilith was when she was in her working royal mode. She had a way of coming off as cold when she was focused on getting things done. And yet, Lucifer's blood boiled. Really? No words at all for her second child, the one she'd just left behind with no instructions on what to do? Not even a measly, "Love you both"?

His first instinct was to get up, open a portal, and settle it all then and there. Both their children were asleep. Belphegor's hospitals could wait another day.

But Lucifer never was too good at staying angry. Back in Heaven, he didn't have much reason to. Down in Hell, he was usually too busy being sad. The horns retreated to where they came from as the cogs in his mind started turning. Doing what his mind did best. Second guessing him.

It was all too sudden. He had no idea what to say, where to begin. Amiel had taken up almost all of his attention, and what little time to think he had, he wasted on wrestling with his emotions. Lucifer couldn't just rush into something so important without a plan. Not when his family was at stake. What if Lilith remained stubborn? What if he said something wrong? What if their talk devolved into a heated argument?

By the time he was done inventing what-ifs, dawn was breaking, and Lilith was long gone.

Once the realization hit, he felt like the worst waste of his Father's power to Create. So much for promises. So much for fighting for his child. He barely managed to make his way to the living room. There he had one more bright idea.

He'd called Ozzie.

Yet another disaster. Calling someone in that state of mind. He was lucky he hadn't burst into tears over the phone, and that he managed to catch himself. But at least he had secured a babysitter.

Lucifer felt his teeth digging into his lips. But he was so lost in thought, the pain was barely perceptible.

He hadn't wanted to send his children away. However stained by his son's tears and his own guilt, the five days spent with Amiel had been... illuminating. A glimpse into what he'd given up so long ago, and what he was fighting for.

Father, how he wanted his children by his side. It was a rare opportunity. Both of them there, at the same time. He could have made a day out of it. They could have bonded, like a family.

But he couldn't be selfish. He needed them out of the palace. For their sakes. Lucifer... he hoped it would all turn out fine, but he was not going to risk having his children walk in on him and Lilith potentially having a shouting match.

Neither of his children had been particularly happy with his idea. Amiel picked at his breakfast silently, and Charlie pouted, unhappy that she was leaving home again, and right after coming back.

Thankfully, that all changed once Asmodeus came around. He'd always been the "fun uncle." In no time, Charlie had a huge grin on her face, and Amiel... well... he looked a little better. That's how he'd sent them away, practically shoving them through a portal of his own making.

His teeth chomped harder. Enough that he could tell the skin was close to breaking.

What was the point of sending them away? What was the point of what he was doing now? He wasn't planning how to approach the conversation with Lilith. He wasn't doing anything productive. He was just... being his usual, useless self.

That finally did the trick. The thought wasn't even that bad. He'd stuck worse labels onto himself on a regular basis. It was simply the last push his composure needed to fully crack.

The waterworks started in earnest. He flipped himself onto his stomach again and just... sobbed into the couch. The tears would ruin it, but the damage was nothing a little pure angelic power couldn't fix. He needed to let go. Just for a few minutes. Just a few minutes to let his emotions out, and then he'd get right to planning. It was probably only around 10 AM. He had plenty of time.

 

*******

 

Her brother was being weird.

Amiel loved going to Uncle Ozzie's place. He was their favorite uncle. Uncle Ozzie was nice, and funny, and gave great cuddles, and he could cook. He was a way better babysitter than some of their other uncles, like Uncle Mammon. He had only babysat them once. Apparently there was a problem with those photos he took of them and wanted them to sign? Mom ended up shouting at him for a while.

Charlie also knew that Amiel liked playing with her. He wasn't as good at smiling as her, but he was always happy when he was with his sister. She felt a warm flutter in her chest at that thought. Charlie always had a way of getting smiles out of him. She was his big sister; she had to take care of her younger brother.

But as soon as Uncle Ozzie asked them what they wanted to do, Amiel grabbed some paper and colored pencils and scurried off to one of the corners. He hadn't even invited her to join! And Amiel knew she liked drawing! She was SUPER good at it, too.

Charlie knew her brother. He only liked being on his own when he was sad. But that was so unfair. Why was he upset? He got to spend five days with Dad, while Charlie was stuck in the Envy Ring going on boring meetings with Mom and Uncle Levi. He got way luckier than her, so why was he being sulky?!

She couldn't help but feel a little worried. Did she make her brother mad somehow? She wasn't even around. She couldn't have. But maybe he was mad because of something she did or didn't do before?

She had tried to tell him how boring Mom's business trip was, but he just stared at his breakfast the entire time and nodded or shook his head every once in a while. She'd thought that he was just sleepy. He wasn't like her, practically bouncing out of bed as soon as she woke up. But now she knew that it wasn't so simple.

Charlie wanted to cheer him up, but she couldn't do that if he didn't talk to her.

Uncle Ozzie was worried about him too, though he tried not to show it. He was currently sprawled out on the floor next to Amiel, boots swinging through the air as he poked and prodded at her brother.

"Come on, little man, tell Uncle Ozzie what you really wanna do."

Amiel's voice was flat as he replied. He didn't even bother looking up from the paper. "This is okay."

Uncle Ozzie rolled his eyes dramatically and flopped onto his side, resting his chin on one arm. His back was turned to Charlie, blocking most of Amiel from view. Only his wings poked above her uncle's body. Charlie couldn't see, but she could imagine what sort of face Uncle Ozzie was making. He made some very funny faces. Especially when all three of his heads made different ones.

"Mmmmhm. You take me for an idiot, squirt? You've been 'drawing' for fifteen minutes, and you only drew—" he paused to lean over and give the paper an exaggerated stare. "Three whole lines."

Charlie caught a short glimpse of Amiel's face behind her uncle's mane. He was blushing. Pale gold, like Dad. They had the prettiest blushes. She wished she had a blush like that.

Her brother's voice sounded just a bit annoyed now. "Go play with Char, Uncle Ozzie. I'm fine."

One of her brother's wings disappeared from view. She knew what Amiel was doing. A sort of "go away" hand wave, only done with a wing. He'd only figured out how to do that recently. It was really cute. Her brother was a bit of a klutz when it came to wings. Charlie would have loved to have wings too, like him and Dad. Flying would be so fun! And because she was older, she could have learned first, and then taught Amiel! And if she had them, they could all go flying together! The four of them. Mom didn't have wings, but Dad would carry her.

Though... Mom probably wouldn't be too onboard with that idea. She'd probably call it a waste of time. And she didn't like Charlie spending too much time with Dad or Amiel either. Charlie never figured out why. Besides, Mom was usually so busy, it wasn't hard to sneak away and spend time with Amiel. Dad was a little harder to get to, but she managed.

Her uncle's hand slowly came to rest on his hip. He looked a bit ridiculous, lying down on the floor holding that pose, but she knew what it meant. A clear warning. Uncle Ozzie was about to show Amiel who was the boss. Not that her brother seemed to take notice of it.

"You think you can command me, little man? You think you can come here and pout in my funtime lounge? Hooo no. Not on my watch."

Amiel yelped as he was grabbed firmly, but not too roughly, and deposited on Uncle Ozzie's chest. One of her uncle's arms wrapped around his back and kept him in place. He thrashed, wings flapping frantically, but it was futile.

"I warned you, kiddo. You had your chance to pick what we're doing. Now you're stuck in Cuddle Time-Out."

Uncle Ozzie turned towards her, now on his back, and gestured to her with his free hand. "Come over here, lil' lady. It's up to you and me to teach your brother some manners."

Charlie didn't need to be told twice. Who didn't love cuddles?! And she could make Amiel feel better! It was the perfect plan. She got a nice running start and pounced, landing on Uncle Ozzie's chest, right beside Amiel, who was still trying to squirm away.

She smushed her nose against his cheek. Amiel always pretended to hate that, saying it felt wet and sticky, but Charlie could tell he actually liked it. He complained, but he never actually pulled back. Amiel always kept his distance, but Charlie knew him better than that. He was a cuddler, just one in denial.

"Stop that, Chaaar."

All according to plan. There was that cute little whiny voice of his. Naturally, she did not stop. What she did do was hug him, draping herself over Amiel like Keekee sometimes did, so he was practically buried in affection. And random limbs. But the affection parts were what counted.

"No, you stop being all pouty, Mimi."

That nickname he actually did hate. Buuut, Charlie was his older sister. She was allowed to have a bit of fun at his expense.

His voice came out a little muffled, what's with being held so tightly, half-hugged and half-buried under his sister. "Don't call me THAT."

"Oh yeah? Or what?"

"Or I'll... I'll—"

Uncle Ozzie laughed, joining in. "Or you'll admit you're stuck and can't move an inch? You ain't in a position to be making demands, lil' prince."

He sat up, easily maneuvering them so each ended up in one of his arms. "And stop acting like this is the worst thing ever. We all know I am THE best cuddler you brats have ever met."

Amiel pouted. "Auntie Bee's better."

One of Uncle Ozzie's heads pouted right back at him. The other looked genuinely offended. Uncle Ozzie glared at her brother with a look of mock hurt. "That was a low blow, kiddo. A real low blow. I'd be VERY upset if I didn't know you're lying."

Amiel opened his mouth to respond, but he was cut off by the phone ringing. Uncle Ozzie tossed his head back and let out a heavy sigh.

"Uuugh... who is it THIS TIME?"

He sat them both down gently on the couch, side by side.

"You two brats play nice while I go and see whose bright idea it is to call me while I'm babysitting. I'll be right back."

He made for his bedroom, multicolored tail feathers swishing through the air. Her uncle walked a lot like mom, swaying his hips all the time. Maybe it was because of the high heels?

Uncle Ozzie turned around, one hand resting on the door handle. He made a show of looking stern. "No arguing until I get back. And you better have a good apology ready by the time I'm back, lil' mister."

As soon as their uncle disappeared behind the door, Amiel shuffled away from her, retreating to the far end of the couch. Charlie followed after him, barely a foot behind. Amiel wasn't all that happy about that. He turned his back to her and spread out his wings, hiding himself from view.

"Go away, Char. Please." There was a begging note in that last word.

She didn't tease him this time. Her voice was much gentler and almost a whisper, in case Uncle Ozzie overheard. She sat behind him and ran a hand gently along his back, between his wings.

"I'm not going away, Mimi. Tell me what's wrong."

Her brother's wings stiffened. She startled him. Charlie was almost offended. He really thought that she hadn't noticed anything off about him. How stupid did Amiel think she was?

He was quiet as he answered. Barely audible. "Nothing's wrong, Char. I'm okay."

Charlie hugged him from behind, doing her best to avoid the wings. She shifted around and laid her head on his shoulder. Mouth close to Amiel's ear. Her hair ghosting across his cheek. "You're a bad liar, Mimi."

She didn't have the best view of his face, but she caught the sight of Amiel biting his lip out of the corner of her eye. Dad did that a lot too. But Dad was really strong. Charlie poked him on the cheek with her nose. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself."

Her brother gave his lip one last nibble before obeying. But he didn't say anything else.

Charlie hesitated. Talking was usually so easy. But now the words caught in her throat. She wanted to help fix things, but she had no idea what the problem even was. So she made a guess, going with what she was most worried about.

"Mimi... are you... mad at me?"

Amiel stayed quiet for a few seconds. Just enough for panic to set in. Did Charlie really do something wrong? Did he hate her? What could she do to apologize, for whatever she did wrong?

Her little brother sighed. He pulled away from her hug and turned to look at her, though his gaze drifted away from her eyes after a moment. "I can't be mad at you, Char. You're my sister."

That was enough for Charlie to perk back up. She gave him another hug, even tighter this time, and snuggled into his hair. Just a shade or two darker than her own. Similar length too. The two of them looked very different, but their hair matched. She liked that. Siblings were supposed to look alike. That just made them even closer!

"And you're my little brother! So you don't have to hide stuff from me, Mimi. You can tell me what's wrong. Did... did Dad and you argue, or something?"

Amiel bit his lip again. Charlie leaned forward and pried it away gently, like Mom sometimes did with Dad.

"It doesn't have anything to do with you, Char. You can let it go."

She glared at him. Her little brother was starting to annoy her. Did he not get that she wanted to help? "Stop saying that! I'm not letting it go. You're sad. I see it. Uncle Ozzie sees it. We don't want you to be sad, Mimi."

Amiel stared at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all the world's mysteries. His chin was digging into her shoulder. Charlie could feel his gloved fingers flexing slowly. She almost had him. He was on the fence of opening up.

"I'm not sad, Char."

Ugh! So much for that sibling bond! He was being stubborn. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was lying. Charlie pouted, but before she could argue further, Uncle Ozzie burst into the room with his usual subtlety. Kicking the door closed and muttering words that the two of them probably wouldn't be allowed to repeat under his breath.

All three heads of his smiled as they took in the two of them. They were still locked in a hug.

"Don't you two make for just the sweetest display?" He crossed his arms and clicked one heeled boot against the floor, tail feathers curled slightly against his hip. "All close and cuddling. And without me. I'm offended."

Amiel shifted. Charlie saw his lips twitch awkwardly for a second before they settled into a small smile. Then, out of the blue, he said, "You give the best cuddles, Uncle Ozzie."

Their uncle laughed, before giving her brother a smirk. "Knew you'd come crawling back to Uncle Ozzie sooner or later, little man. You two are lucky I like you. Now make room for me."

In a matter of moments, both of them were held in their uncle's arms, snuggled up to his chest like a pair of newborns. Amiel didn't try to get away this time. But... he wasn't exactly as enthusiastic as she expected him to be. Amiel was a way bigger cuddlebug than her. Charlie was a hugger, but Amiel was the one who'd usually crawl up into Uncle Ozzie's lap and make himself at home there.

Charlie gripped a fistful of her dress, wrinkling the fabric. Her brother was definitely hiding something from her. That made no sense! They were siblings! Siblings weren't supposed to keep secrets from one another.

She decided she'd try again later. A good cuddle was bound to make Amiel more willing to open up. Charlie only had to wait for her chance.

      

*******

 

He'd actually fallen asleep. Him, of all people! One moment he'd been crying his eyes out, the next he woke up face down on a couch soggy with his own tears.

For a few moments, Lucifer had been blissfully peaceful. The cobwebs of sleep had kept his mind at ease, free from all the worries that had led to his power nap—more of a power coma, really—in the first place.

And then it hit him all at once. Amiel. The kids. Lilith. The talk they were supposed to have. The plans he was supposed to have already whipped up. Lucifer sat up abruptly, wings numb and stiff with sleep, eyes sticky from all the crying.

Sitting up so quickly was not a good idea. Lucifer groaned, head coming down to rest in his hands, elbows on his knees. His stomach lurched, despite the fact it was totally empty. He felt like he was about to hurl.

Lucifer did his best to power through the discomfort. He did not have time for this. He had to pull himself together. Seeing what kind of time limit he was working with was as good of a first step as any. He took a deep, jittery breath and looked at the clock.

On second thought, perhaps he should have given himself more time to mentally prepare after all.

4:55 PM. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. He'd been out cold for FIVE HOURS?! How had he managed THAT?

Oh Father. Oh Father, he was screwed. Lilith said she'd be back around five. But Lucifer knew how she was. Efficiency personified. She could come back at any second now. Perhaps she was already back, looking for him.

His lip found its way between his teeth. Lucifer gnawed on it, hoping the pain would keep the panic at bay, but it was not particularly effective. He was trying to think in about five different directions, all at once, with a brain that felt close to imploding.

He risked another glance at the clock. Almost hoping that perhaps, his eyes had failed him last time. Pfff. As if that could happen. No, Father made him too well for his eyes to ever go bad.

The hands of the clock taunted him, moving so impossibly quickly. A minute had passed already. Oh no, it was officially two minutes now.

He was done for. How was he supposed to have a productive conversation with no plan? Lucifer would never forgive himself if he messed things up now. Too much was at stake to go in blind. He had to think of... something! Sure, it'd be a shoddy plan, but anything would be better than nothing at all.

Click. Click, click, click. Distant, but getting closer.

No. No, no, no, no! It was too early. He wasn't ready! The sound of heels clicking on the floor could mean only one thing. His wife was home. And coming this way.

His heart might have stopped for a second as the realization fully hit. Panic gripped at him. The air in his lungs felt as if it had frozen solid.

There was no time to lose his head. He had to think clearly now. He tried to whip up a checklist of all the things wrong with his appearance. Lucifer needed to look his best now.

He had no mirror, but he just knew his eyes were puffy. Lucifer had cried himself to sleep, after all. He had to think of some excuse. Angelic blood was gold, so his eyes being bloodshot wouldn't make that much of a difference. Thankfully, his post-Fall sclera were yellow. The puffiness he could just blame on the lack of sleep. Yeah, he'd been in his workshop when this all started. That, coupled with babysitting duty made enough sense.

His posture annoyed him. Lucifer didn't know what to do with himself. He felt hopelessly awkward, no matter how he sat there. Lucifer let his hand rest on the couch, leaning on it in an attempt to look casual.

He felt something wet on his palm.

A fresh wave of panic hit him. As if he wasn't under enough stress to pop a blood vessel already. He'd forgotten to fix the damn couch! Fuck! And now that he was looking at it, his outfit was a rumpled mess too. He probably sported a nasty case of bed hair as well. He hadn't even thought about those.

Lucifer was never more grateful for having the power of Creation to fall back on than in that moment. The golden glow of Holy Light had just about dissipated as the door to the living room opened, and the Queen of Hell walked in.

Lilith looked as regal as ever. She'd picked a maroon-colored evening gown that matched her horns perfectly. No sight of the gloves she was usually so fond of, either. Her makeup was all in tones of red. Eyeshadow, lipstick, even the nail polish. She'd decided to forgo the usual golden crown in favor of a simpler one, a mess of black thorns. Quite the fashion statement, that one, but she could make a potato sack look like haute couture. Her hair flowed loose behind her, swaying gently in the nonexistent breeze.

Lucifer hated himself for the feeling of biting cold that blossomed in his stomach as his wife's violet eyes landed on him. This was his wife. The mere sight of her was supposed to inspire love in him. He wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.

"Darling! Finally. It's so good to see you."

Lilith came over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. He returned it on pure autopilot, trying his best not to shiver. Why was he so terrified? Where had the anger from that night gone? The conviction, the determination to correct his mistakes? It was all just... gone, replaced by this irrational terror. Lucifer chewed on the inside of his cheek. He had to force himself to say something.

His voice came out annoyingly shaky. Timid. Like a naughty child, confessing to having broken his mother's favorite vase. 

"Lili? We have to talk."

It was as good of a start as any, he supposed. Straight to the point. Direct. Just like she liked it.

She tilted her head, eyes locking onto his own. The chill in his gut subsided, if only slightly. Even after all the millenia, Lilith had a way of taking Lucifer aback with her beauty. The way she regarded him, stared at him with those slightly narrowed eyes and pursed lips... it was... incredibly captivating. Bewitching even. His already muggy mind almost went blank.

Her own voice was breezy. Unbothered and casual. "Is it something important, love? I'd like to see Charlie first, if you don't mind. I got her a new dress. Hopefully that'll put her in a good mood. She's been fussy for five days straight, all because I took her on that trip."

Just like that, his anger came back.

Really? Really now? Still no words about their secondborn? She'd seen Charlie half a day ago. She'd been with her, alone, for five days. Did she not want to perhaps check on the child she had left to fend for himself six days ago?

"By the way, darling, have you seen her? I've looked in her room already, but she's not there."

Something in him snapped. His reply came out through gritted teeth, harsher than he intended it.

"Both of our children are at Ozzie's place."

Lilith tilted her head, and though she smiled, Lucifer noticed a bit of tightness to her expression. She preferred their children handed off to different babysitters, if circumstances permitted.

"Oh? And why's that, darling? I left her here with you, didn't I? I thought you'd enjoy some Father-daughter time."

Lucifer tried to school his face and voice into a state of neutrality. Despite the fact that his heart was starting to beat faster. And that his blood was close to boiling. He hoped he succeeded. Keeping a cool head was imperative now.

"I thought it'd be best if we talked about this in private. It's urgent."

"If you say so," she answered simply. Lilith parked herself in one of the chairs, elbows on the armrests, hands folded as she rested her chin on her slender fingers. Head poised in such a way, it allowed her hair to spill elegantly over one shoulder.

Lucifer forced himself to lock eyes with his wife. It was... harder than he'd expected it'd be.

"Darling... something happened while you were away. With Amiel."

Her entire demeanor changed instantly. Her posture got stiffer, her expression became colder, and her eyes almost seemed to become a shade darker.

"Well then?"

"Well then?" That was it? The anger he tried so hard to rein in bubbled back up to the surface. He'd told himself so many times over the last five days that he wouldn't play the blame game. That his main focus should be doing what was best for their children. But... Now that he was actually facing the mess that their family became, without taking every opportunity to look away... it was much harder than he anticipated. And for once... the blame wasn't directed at himself.

"You could stand to look a little more concerned, Lili."

Lilith frowned, glaring at him. She rarely looked at him so ferociously. Lucifer felt his stomach drop, but he held firm. He had to.

"I assumed, by how calm you are, it was nothing serious."

Lucifer clenched his fists. He wanted to bite back. Say something... not so diplomatic. But he couldn't. One slip-up, and their chances of having a productive conversation would go down the drain. He couldn't let that happen. Amiel's happiness depended on him. Charlie's too. Now was the moment to be a proper father. Keep his head in the game.

He pursed his lips, thinking of a proper response to that. Lilith's reply wasn't... illogical. Cold, certainly, but not untrue. However, Lucifer knew her. She was a worrywart. At least when Charlie was concerned.

Ah! Yes, that would do.

He put on the most regretful expression he could manage. "By the way, darling, Charlie slipped during breakfast and sprained her ankle."

Lilith jumped from her seat, the whites of her eyes flashing crimson.

"What?! How could you let that happen?!"

Lucifer allowed himself a smirk. It wasn't the nicest thing to do, but it seemed almost appropriate.

He kept his voice calm and silky. "I didn't, Lili. But you just proved my point."

Her jaw dropped. It was only slightly, and she forced her face into a more natural expression half a second later, but he'd caught it. And it felt good.

She dropped back into the chair, a bit more forcefully than necessary. Of course, she still managed to make even that look graceful. "Very clever, darling." She fixed him with a glare that could cut glass. "Do NOT joke with our children's health."

Children? Oh, so now she remembered the fact she'd given birth twice? The anger was starting to slip through his fingers. And his resolve to keep a hold on it was crumbling as well.

"I was under the impression you were very relaxed when it came to that?"

It was just the slightest hint of a jab. Just a little bit of relief for him. It was enough to piss her off.

"Don't put words in my mouth, Luci. Get to the point."

Outwardly, he looked fine. But on the inside, he froze. Oh Father. The point. The point he was supposed to make. That point.  Consequences of his lack of prior planning reared their ugly heads.

What to say, what to say? And how to put it in a way that didn't seem like a personal attack?

Lucifer closed his eyes, trying his best not to think of the weird look Lilith was probably giving him. He took a deep, deep breath. In and out. He could do this. Lucifer opened his eyes and caught his wife's gaze.

"Lili... why did you leave him alone like that? He... didn't take it well."

He could have worded it better, but it was too late now.

Lucifer waited. Waited with bated breath for some reaction. He wasn't asking for a miracle. No melodramatic bursting into tears or heart-clutching. He knew his wife. The Queen of Hell was a stoic one. But surely she could give him something. A frown. A bite of the lip, a clench of the fist. Anything.

Nothing. She remained impassive. Staring at him for a good few seconds before even opening her mouth.

"I was busy, and I had to leave. He was fine with you. I don't see the problem."

Lucifer felt like he'd been split right down the middle. One half of him was sad. So very sad. And confused. How... Why was his wife, his loving, passionate wife, so cold? How could she not care, not even ask what went wrong?

The other half saw red. Their clash was quite short, and the outcome obvious. The angry half won out.

He gripped one of the couch cushions. Very firmly. Claws almost ripping through the material.

Lucifer glared at her. Lilith had the decency to look surprised. He rarely looked at her with anything other than love, after all.

"You don't see the problem? You left him. Alone. No instructions. No goodbye. You just... left."

His anger tapered off with every word, voice getting progressively quieter and more... hurt. Amiel was there again, in the back of his mind, crying until his body gave up and he passed out.

And yet Lucifer clung pathetically to his delusions. He just had to get through to her. Had to make Lilith see beyond her hatred for Heaven and the angels. Even if he was decades late. Even if it had taken root millenia ago.

But... It wasn't too late. Not yet. The damage could still be repaired. His wife... she couldn't be like this. This was not the Lili he fell in love with. Not the one who'd so lovingly sang Charlie to sleep when she'd been an infant. She couldn't be so uncaring. So... cold. Not towards their child. She just needed a long-overdue push in the right direction.

She could be that cold.

"I still fail to see the issue. You were there. He obviously went to you. You took care of him."

Lucifer's stomach felt like lead. Both from her answer and... one other thing.

Something had hit him. Completely out of nowhere. He couldn't tell if it was due to the dismissive tone or something else, but... Lilith... He couldn't recall when he'd heard her say their son's name. He wrangled his brain, but... his search came up empty. He knew that it had happened in the past, but... no particular instance came to the forefront of his mind. For the most part, Amiel was simply "he," or "the boy."

She probably hated the name. Lilith had told him to pick a fitting one. So he had. In a strange daze of half sadness and half joy, after she'd refused to hold their son and practically kicked them both out. Lucifer had known roughly what he wanted, but it had still taken him a couple of hours. Angelic speech was... tacky, for lack of a better word. All ceremony, no practicality. Lucifer had forgotten more than he remembered, by the time of his son's birth.

He'd toyed with Michael, though only for a few minutes. Too many bad memories. Lilith would have his head. And... Lucifer was sure his brother would have hated being his nephew's namesake.

Eventually, Lucifer settled on Amiel. "People of God." It was... fitting, for an angel. A small wonder that no one up there had gotten stuck with it. But then again, perhaps it had made sense. They were all his Father's creations. Nothing special about it. But down there, in Hell? It would mean something, he'd thought back then. Something unique and wonderful.

Lucifer regretted the name now. Had he doomed his child from the start? Set him upon this path in his wish to... what? Reminisce about the "good old days?" Pat himself on the back? "Look how blessed you once were, Lucifer. Before you threw it all away."

No. He couldn't wander now. Focus. He had to focus on the present. No self-loathing. No annoying flashbacks.

"Darling... it's much bigger than that. Amiel feels as if you don't care for him. As if you... hate him."

Lilith rolled her eyes. Lucifer narrowed his own at her, but she ignored it entirely.

"You know how children are, dear. They want all the attention."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Not that Lucifer particularly wanted to stop them.

"When was the last time you'd given our son any attention, Lili?"

Finally. He'd gotten some reaction out of his wife. Barely. Lilith inhaled sharply. Stared at her shoes for just a second before going back to looking at him.

"You know I don't hate him, dear. You know that. It's... it's not easy for me. I did all that I was supposed to. I fed him, dressed him, put him to sleep whenever I was able to."

Old Lucifer would have relented at that. Been understanding. Lilith would never admit it, even to him, determined as she was to appear strong, but... Lucifer noticed more than she gave him credit for. She was unnerved by angels. It wasn't a crippling fear—that much he was certain of. But he hadn't missed the way she looked away when his wings were out, and the light hit him in just the right way to make it seem like he still had a halo. It was one of the reasons why he kept his wings hidden most of the time.

But... This was not Old Lucifer. Old Lucifer had not had the displeasure of his own son crying himself to sleep in his arms, desperate for his mother's love.

In light of that, the current Lucifer was much less understanding. To him, it was a pathetic counter. And it made his blood boil.

The tips of his horns poked out. His tail thumped against the couch. His eyes changed, the sclera taking on a red color.

Lucifer raised his voice. Not quite a shout yet. Not far away either. "We could have hired a maid to do that. You know what I mean. When have you spent time with him, Lili? Just him? When have you talked to him, gotten to know him? Angel or not, he is your child as much as Charlie is."

Lilith's eyes flashed crimson again. Lucifer could have sworn her horns got just a little more prominent, the thorns on her head crackling quietly.

"Don’t give me that. When was the last time you acted like a proper father? Or a proper husband for that matter? A proper king? You lock yourself up in that workshop at the drop of a hat. I'm doing all the work. You can't expect me to be a parent of two on top of handling both of OUR workloads!"

It was a low blow. And, despite it being a blatant attempt at steering the conversation away from Amiel and her own insecurities, a valid point. For once, Lucifer was glad for his anger. Had he not been angry, he'd have stumbled over Lilith's words. Got tangled up in desperately trying to deny what was admittedly the truth. Instead, he kept up the offensive. Let all those half-buried frustrations burst out.

"Don't pretend like that isn't what you wanted me to do! Remember? You wanted me away from Charlie!" He let sarcasm tinge his next words. "We couldn't risk our heir picking up too many angelic traits along the way."

She opened her mouth to say something, but Lucifer didn't let her. The words, the feelings he'd held in for far too long finally had a chance to go out, and by Father, they were getting out.

"And don't pretend you're too busy to be a parent. A parent of one is perfectly manageable, but a parent of two is out of the question?! If you can love me despite being an angel, you can love him too!"

His anger was beginning to sputter out. And yet, he kept going. If anything, the frustration burned even hotter in his chest as his thoughts zeroed in on his son again.      

"He cried, Lili! Amiel asked me to teach him how to tuck his wings in so you'd like him more! He wants a mother! He needs a mother!"

Fuck. Fuck. He sniffled. The words were supposed to get through to Lilith. Instead, Lucifer felt like he was tearing out his own guts with every syllable. He still pushed on through. But his tone was gentler. Almost pleading.

"I know it's hard for you, Lili. I understand. I know what you see when you look at our son."

Lucifer's vision was getting a tiny bit blurry. But he couldn't let that stop him. He got up abruptly. Crossed the space between them in a few hurried steps, and grabbed her hand with both of his. He held it, firmly but not roughly, and locked eyes with his wife. She seemed taken aback.

"Please, Lili... think of them. Think of both our children. I know how you feel about Heaven. About angels. About what they did to us."

Lucifer  took a deep breath. He did his best to pour every ounce of love he'd been tending to for millenia into the way he looked at his wife. "I know what you think you must do. But... it's not worth it. It's not worth expecting so much of our daughter, it's not worth ignoring our son. It's not worth hurting them. Hurting me. Or yourself."

For a few seconds, Lilith hesitated. She lowered her head, staring intently at their interlocked hands. Lucifer saw her lips twitching, as if she had a five thousand word pileup in her mouth.

But then she pressed her lips together into a thin line. The faint trace of softness left her eyes. She pulled her hand away.

Unlike Lucifer, it never took Lilith long to get her composure back.

"No... no. I am thinking about them. About all of us. You do NOT get to pin this all on me. You don't get to leave me to pick up all the pieces, and then try to make me doubt myself. Not after so long. Not when we are so close."

She... sounded as though she was trying to convince herself. Lucifer opened his mouth, but she silenced him with a glare.

"All I've been doing has been for the good of Hell, and our family. And I've been doing it all alone, for so long. If the boy wants extra attention, you provide it. And please, at least try to look your part. Stop crying."

Oh. Lucifer had started crying during his speech. Not a lot. Just a few errant tears, dribbling down his cheeks. He hadn't even noticed. But it was enough for Lilith.

Panic gripped at him again. Lucifer could tell where this was going. She was trying to end the conversation. He'd fucked up. He'd attacked her too much, and now she was getting defensive. He tried desperately to change her mind, barely able to keep his voice from cracking.

"Lili. Lili, please. You can't just... pretend things are fine! I know I messed up. We both did. But we can fix this if we all work together. The four of us. I know it."

Father, that bit about pretending was... at once too aggressive and hypocritical. It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Lilith latched onto it, voice firm.

"There is nothing that needs fixing. I do not hate our son. I'm not expecting too much from Charlie." She paused, just enough to send him a withering look. Her voice was deathly cold. "And I am not pretending. Delusions have always been your forte, darling."

She turned on her heel and just... left. She hadn't even slammed the door on the way out. Just... went out of the room, leaving no trace of even having been there. As if their conversation—no, it was definitely an argument—never even happened.

But it had. And Lucifer had fucked up. Like he always did.

He half-sat, half-collapsed into the chair she'd been occupying. His legs felt like jelly. And his head started to throb again. He was having trouble processing what he'd just lived through.

She was so... stubborn. And cold. Like a completely different person. Had... Had Lilith changed so much, or had he simply been... blind? Lucifer had been certain she'd open up near the end there. But she kept evading, kept shifting the conversation around to avoid baring her vulnerabilities to him.

They were both guarded, in their own ways, but... not with each other. Never with each other. Had he pushed her away too? With his stupid self-isolation? The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea through his empty guts.

Father, he felt so fucking useless. Worse than useless. His old pal, crippling guilt, crept back into the back of his mind.

He was to blame for all of this, wasn't he? He'd hurt them all.

A fresh wave of tears pricked at his eyes. He let them fall, but he didn't sob this time. Just... sat there, silently crying while mentally tearing himself apart.

At some point, Lucifer picked himself up from the chair, having no idea whether it'd been hours or seconds since his wife departed. He could have glanced at the clock, but he didn't. What was the point? She'd definitely left the palace. Found some work to drown herself in work, like always. She had a way of turning negative emotions into motivation. Unlike Lucifer, who only managed to turn negativity into more negativity. The kids were with their uncle. He was alone. The King of Hell was most suited for it.

He opened a portal almost without thinking. Perhaps he hadn't even thought it; perhaps the destination was hard-wired into his body by now, like some twisted parody of muscle memory. He was vaguely aware of picking up his coat and hat, stepping through the portal, and sitting himself down at his workbench, but everything felt like he was viewing it through a lens of thick fog.

One lone thought burned at the surface of his mind. He couldn't risk Lilith coming back. He couldn't face her. Couldn't face anyone. Not now. His heart wouldn't be able to take messing anything else up.

Making ducks was safe. It was the only thing Lucifer was ever good for.

Notes:

So yeah. Lilith's real charming, isn't she?

As always, comments, kudos and reviews are greatly appreciated!

Stay tuned for next chapter, which should hopefully come out during the weekend, but who knows what could happen. We're shaking up the status quo with that one.

Chapter 4: A fAmILy

Notes:

Shocking as it may seem, I'm not dead.

Another chapter, another author's note. Can you guess what it'll say?

1. "Wot be dedlines?" "Haha, I missed my deadline again" (Though I did say the next chapter would come out during the weekend. Just not WHICH weekend.)

2. "Oh noes, chapter bad, author no like." For once I actually do like it. It feels... right, for the most part.

That's it for this week's episode of "Author losing his sanity over a Hazbin Hotel fanfic."

On with the actual show!

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

 

Some things never changed.

A full-grown adult, already working a very time-consuming job, and Amiel was still sneaking along the way to his father's workshop like a naughty child. Trudging through the endless, somewhat unkempt halls. They weren't exactly dirty, but something about them felt... stale. Almost frozen in time.

Perhaps it was the sea of portraits lining the walls, depicting a family that was no longer whole? But then again, they'd never been whole, not really, were they? Or maybe it was all in Amiel's head, and the halls were exactly as they'd always been. He did spend the majority of his time on his own. Perhaps he'd finally gone off his rocker?

Amiel still added tidying up the halls to the already long list of things that needed doing around the palace. Before, his parents took care of that. Power as great as theirs lent itself to many different things, cleaning included.

They never were too keen on having servants. Dad liked to cook. Mother felt most comfortable when she knew exactly where things were, so she took time out of her busy schedule to keep the palace tidy and in order. But now Mother was gone. Amiel did what he could, when he could, but he was no miracle worker. His day lasted the same twenty-four hours everyone else's did.

Perhaps hiring a few maids would be a smart thing to do? Some extra help to tidy the palace up, someone to chat with.

He entertained the thought for a moment, but... No, better not. They were both best suited to being on their own, Dad and him. Away from curious eyes. Completely unlike the women of the family. Maybe it was an angel thing?

Amiel's pace went from a brisk walk to more of a casual stroll, though there was nothing casual in the way he dragged his feet. He was tired. Exhausted. He hadn't done anything remotely physical, but he was still completely drained.

Work had been as dull as always. Paperwork, more paperwork, and yet more paperwork. With his sister away from the palace, and his dad... well... being his dad, it fell to Amiel to try and keep Hell running at least somewhat smoothly. After seven years, he'd gotten the hang of it. It was far from perfect, but he managed.

Though it was harder than usual, with the Extermination still fresh on everyone's mind. It hardly came as a shock at this point. Exterminations always meant an influx of paperwork. But things were even worse this year, with the news that it was to be a biannual thing from now on.

That particular new development was not doing Amiel's concentration any favors. He'd been struggling with work for days because of it. His mind kept wandering. To Charlie.

Amiel usually kept his sister out of mind. It was for the best.

She, despite being the heir, left the palace soon after their mother disappeared. Nowadays, Charlie was more or less living her own life, free of the responsibilities that took up so much of Amiel's time.

He... tried not to fault her for that. He really did. But sometimes... sometimes it got... difficult. Sometimes, when he was particularly tired, or so swamped with work he ended up isolating himself for days on end... he'd get jealous. She already had it all. They both loved her. She fit in. She was the perfect princess. Couldn't she at least do her job then?

But then he'd snap out of it, and it would feel... horrible. The guilt always settled into his stomach like a hunk of lead. That way... no way to think of his sister. He was supposed to be happy. She was out there, doing what she wanted, living like SHE wanted to. He wasn't so self-centered as to deny the fact that Charlie's childhood had its own unique hardships.

So he tried his best not to think about Charlie at all. No reason to taint the good memories. A particular portrait caught his eye as he went past it. One of Mother.

It was a bit of a joke, that one. A birthday present from Dad, from long before either of them were born. The Queen of Hell hardly looked regal on it, hunched over a desk and surrounded by piles of paperwork. Dad's way of reminding her to take breaks.

It had hung in her office, once. She removed it—when was it again? Somewhere around the time they started sleeping in separate bedrooms?

Amiel chuckled out of the blue as he stared at it. Not a good look on him. He was really reinforcing the whole "lunatic" air he was so worried about earlier. But, looking at the Queen, doing her oh-so-important work so diligently... It was just too funny. Mother would have probably thrown a fit, if she were here now. So much effort, only for her heir to ditch her duties altogether the moment she left. Leaving it to her daughter's angelic brother to pick up the slack.

His laughter fizzled out as quickly as it came. There his mind went, going right back to Charlie.

It probably was for the best, the way things ended up. His sister had options. Even if he had freedom, what was Amiel supposed to do with it? Go and spread cheer? Do meet and greets? The best place for an angel like him was behind the scenes. He was fine with that. Sure, it wasn't the... happiest existence, but it wasn't the worst one either. And if it gave his sister a chance to be happier, then... great.

But Dad had let it slip that he'd sent her off to the last meeting with the head of the Exorcists. The one that took place just before the news was broken to everyone. She can’t have taken it well.

He gave his bottom lip an absentminded nip.

Perhaps he could call her? Their last phone call had been some months ago, while Charlie had been in the middle of preparing to open her... rehabilitation hotel.

The Happy—no, it was something else now—Hazbin Hotel. Amiel had seen the commercial. His sister had always been a dreamer, but this probably took the cake. The idea of offering redemption to wayward souls was... optimistic? Admirable?

Stupid. Stupid was what the logical part of Amiel's brain gravitated towards. But... There was something charming about humans. Sure, the ones who ended up down there were not exactly the most... shining examples of what Humanity had to offer, but... They wrote such lovely books up there. Made such wonderful art and sang such pretty songs. Maybe Charlie really could happen upon a sinner who wanted to improve themselves?

Unlikely.

From what little Amiel knew of sinners, it seemed a nigh-impossible task. Dad's opinion on them was... not too high. He talked about them sometimes, even now. The human souls who made it down to Hell were the worst of the worst, the lowest of the low. The ones who squandered free will. Spent their lives indulging in their vices, only to drop down to Hell and just keep on indulging. It was a never-ending circle. Breaking it would be difficult. Even more so with... Charlie's... associates.

The commercial was polished enough to hide it for the most part, but Amiel was nothing if not observant. His sister's choice of staff and guests was far from promising. If anything, it seemed to align quite nicely with what his father had told him.

Her singular guest was some tall, lanky sinner who didn't really give off the air of someone wanting to improve. The Hotel's maid seemed like she had some psychological issues, and the bartender looked just about ready to end it all. And then there was her... patron. The only one Amiel was, however peripherally, familiar with. The Radio Demon.

Amiel occasionally leafed through old newspapers. He didn't get out much, so he had to make do. He couldn't exactly "run" Hell if he didn't have at least some idea of what was going on in it.

The Radio Demon—Alastor—had had a habit of popping up in newspapers quite often, up until seven years ago. Some unsolved murders linked to him, and plenty of solved ones as well. Brutal torture aired live. Causing mass hysteria.

Unfortunately, that alone wouldn't have made him stand out. Hell, it wouldn't have even seen him making the news. But... to do that to overlords? And to start so soon after being condemned to Hell? Not normal. The Radio Demon sounded like a complete monster.

So, how had Charlie gotten involved with someone like that? And was she even aware of what sort of person she was sharing a home with? Had she not heard of background checks?

Amiel sighed, tossing his head back, one hand working his temples.

She was always like that, despite being older. Powered through everything with pure idealism, and expected things to work out. But this wouldn't work. If she surrounded herself with people like that, her Hotel was doomed to fail. And that was without even factoring in this new schedule of Exterminations as well.

Twice the chances to die, permanently, and less time between them. How many sinners would decide to spend their possibly final days chasing someone else's dream? One that was most likely impossible?

Amiel sighed. He felt sorry for his sister. She was obviously completely out of her depth as things were. And it was like Heaven was trying to make Charlie's job even harder. The decision had come completely out of nowhere. What made them go for it after a century of silence, Amiel had no idea.

But what Amiel did know was Charlie. His sister had always been the one who spent the most time among their father's subjects. She was like Mother in that regard, but also not like their Mother at all. The Queen saw subjects. The Princess saw people. Charlie only wanted to make Hell a happier place. Her view of the world was remarkably simple. As long as everyone around her was happy, she was happy. And if she saw that someone wasn't happy... she'd stop at nothing to change that. He knew that better than anyone, after all.

Ah. This was why he hated reminiscing.

An uncomfortable wave of nostalgia hit Amiel with all the subtlety of a sucker punch. His pace slowed to a crawl as half-forgotten moments from their childhood, crammed into the most remote corners of his brain, crawled back out. That time Charlie had gotten so into making flower crowns, she ended up whipping up one for him every day for three months straight. Or all the ice she snuck out of the kitchen to put against his knees and elbows while he was trying to figure out flying.

They didn't have too many opportunities to be close, but Charlie made sure to take advantage of every single one.

Amiel couldn't stop the faint smile that quirked the edges of his lips upward.

She'd always been a caring one. Far too caring, depending on who you asked. Despite all of their mother's lessons, Charlie took after Dad on that front. She was emotional where Mother wanted her to think with her head. A bleeding heart who just wanted to see everyone content and happy. And she was... sensitive. Charlie wasn't quite as fragile as their father, but she was fragile nonetheless.

The shaky smile fell as he let out another long sigh. He really couldn't avoid it anymore.

It was only right to check up on his older sister. That was one of the responsibilities of siblings, was it not? And Amiel, unlike his sister, was nothing if not serious about his responsibilities.

But not now. The hypothetical call would have to wait. He'd spent ten hours straight clawing his way through the pile of tedious work, and now he was going to use that hard-earned free time productively. Namely, by trying to get his father to eat something.

The plate of pancakes he gripped in his hands was nothing special. Amiel could cook, but he wasn't going to be winning any Michelin stars any time soon. The pancakes were a touch burnt, the butter a bit too far off to the left, and the syrup a smidge too plentiful, courtesy of Amiel squeezing the bottle too hard. But they were a Morningstar family favorite, and even his botched rendition couldn't change that.

After another couple of minutes, Amiel finally reached his destination. He stopped in front of the far-too-familiar door, balancing the plate in one hand while he fiddled with the doorknob. Knocking would be a waste of time. His dad was... hard to reach when he was working. Or lost in thought. And these days, he was almost always one or the other.

Amiel poked his head through the door, the haphazard mess of black hair he wrangled into a bun threatening to collapse and smack him in the face. He usually cared for appearance, but today he just felt... not up to it. A sunshine yellow turtleneck and some jeans were perfectly acceptable for what basically amounted to working from home.

He found his father exactly where he'd left him, a few days ago. Seated at his workbench, busying himself with the act of Creation. The only difference from last time were the piles of ducks scattered around him, merging with the untamed sea of rubber ducks that had already been there before. That, and the half-eaten plate of food he'd left last time.

Well, in reality, the plate was empty, but Amiel could tell that his dad had really only made it halfway through the food. One half of the plate still had tiny little grease stains on the surface. The other, where the untouched food had sat, was completely spotless. Removing food from existence was quite the effective way of doing the dishes.

His dad probably though he was being slick, but unluckily for him, Amiel never missed things when his father was concerned.

Not that he ever let his father know that he noticed. Nagging on the King of Hell only made him more moody, more withdrawn. These days, all Amiel wanted was the exact opposite. He felt like some strange sort of ambush predator, waiting for a sign of life from his father that he could pounce on and never let go.

But it was a losing battle. It'd been a losing battle for over a century now. Dad had always been... melancholic, but it was at that point that he slowly started going down the slippery slope from melancholy to... Amiel did not want to call it what it was, but the label seemed to suit him more by the day. Depressed. The King of Hell was depressed. Had been for seven years now.

Sure, he had his bad days even before. But those passed. He'd disappear for a few days before coming back, good as new. Each new year brought more strain to his smile, but he had been there. But, seven years ago... abandoned by his wife, left behind by his daughter and heir, the King of Hell withdrew completely into himself. And just like everything else, it fell on Amiel's shoulders to keep both King and country afloat.

He felt—no, he was responsible. They'd have been a perfect family, the three of them, had he not come along. Or if he had had the decency to not pop out of the womb with wings. Or, at the very least, if he'd kept his mouth shut. They could have carried on, had he stayed quiet. Once his parents started arguing, they never stopped.

The pain in his upper back helped him snap out of it. His wings had pressed themselves tightly against his back, folding in as much as they could. To the point his muscles were starting to hurt. He relaxed them, if only slightly, and took a deep breath.

No. Not the time to think like that. Either father or son had to think positively and be strong. And his dad had been strong for Amiel's sake so many times, even when it cost him so much. He had to be strong for his father now. What was one more item on a plate that had long since cracked under the pressure of things piled onto it?

He remained completely unnoticed as he stepped fully into the room. As per usual. His dad's back was turned to Amiel, hunched over his workbench, fiddling with yet another rubber duck. The plate in Amiel's hands trembled the slightest bit at the sight. The burn of feelings he'd rather avoid naming simmered faintly in the back of his throat. But he forced them down. As per usual. For his father.

"Hey Dad."

It took a few seconds, but Lucifer turned around and took his second child in, face breaking into a wide smile. Perfectly jovial to the casual observer. All Amiel could focus on was the slight strain in its edges.

"Duckie! Hi! How are you?"

Amiel offered him a smile in return. He didn't need a mirror to know that his one was similarly tight. "Tired. But I made you some pancakes." He jerked the plate in his hands upwards. "Just how you like them. It's... a bit late for breakfast foods, but who plays by the rules down here anyway?" He chuckled awkwardly.

Humor did not suit Amiel. He was too soft-spoken for proper delivery, too shy to grab at others' attention like a true comedian. But he'd use whatever came to mind, if it meant breaking the tar-thick silence that seemed to permanently stick to the air of his dad's workshop.

Lucifer's smile wobbled. "Uh-huh. Thank you, sweetie. But... you know, I'm not really hungry."

Amiel frowned. They'd been through the same song and dance hundreds of times before. He still set down the well-trodden path of this particular argument.

"Dad, I know you don't really need the food, but... living's easier on a full stomach. Gotta have some fuel if you want to keep making those ducks, right?"

Again, trying to be witty. Again, failing miserably. And those ducks. Just looking at them made his guts churn.

Amiel had liked them, once. When they were merely a cute hobby. He liked them less as their numbers grew, and now... He wished his father would stop making those stupid things for at least a few days. But lack of food would not do the trick. He was not proud to admit it, but if starvation were the key to getting his dad to venture out of his workshop, Amiel would have never set foot in the kitchen again. But, tough luck. Even he could keep going for a week or two on pure angelic power. His father? Probably months, if he pushed himself.

Lucifer looked away, eyes downcast. They roamed the plethora of rubber ducks for a few moments before finally landing on the previous plate. He sighed. "Ah... if you say so duckling. You can just put them there. I still have a few more designs I want to try out." Lucifer fiddled with the sleeves of his coat, sharp teeth giving his lip a slow, testing nibble. Then he looked up, offering an even shakier smile to his son. "You know your dad, little dove. A workaholic through and through."

Amiel bit his own lip. He had a bad feeling about what he was about to ask, but there was no reason not to try.

"Actually, Dad, I was wondering if you'd like to take a break? I've got some time, and there is a table in the gardens. We could go there? Fresh air would be good for you; this place is way too stuffy. And then maybe you could take a nap? Or we could watch a movie if you'd like? Uncle Ozzie got me a few interesting ones. Hell, we could make it a sleepover. For old times' sake?"

Amiel HATED himself for getting his own hopes up with that speech. It only made rejection hurt worse. He could tell that he'd lost Lucifer midway through his speech.

Pff. No. That was waaaaay too generous. That implied there'd been a chance of him accepting, before Amiel said something wrong. This was a doomed effort from the word go. His dad fought to keep his smile afloat, but it was a trying effort. He was uncomfortable.

Amiel's teeth found his bottom lip again. They nibbled a bit harder. His father wanted him out of the room. Lucifer would never say it out loud. Ever. But it was obvious in the way his eyes looked everywhere but at Amiel, in the nervous clenching and unclenching of his hands.

They finally looked at each other, but they might as well have been staring through one another. Both lost in thought, one wanting desperately to get out of the conversation, the other desperate to keep it afloat.

"I think I'd rather eat here, duckling. I'm sure you've got better things to do in your free time than hang out with your old man, right?"

Of course there wasn't anything else he'd rather do. "I want to spend time with you. I want to be there for you. I want to make you feel better."

Amiel wanted to push harder. To grab his father by the arm, if need be, and forcibly tug him out of the workshop he holed himself in. Get Lucifer to have a proper meal, and then shove him into his barely-used bed for some much-needed rest. But he couldn't do that. Sometimes, Dad agreed to his various offers. Rarely, but he did. If his father didn't want to do this out of his own free will, there was no point to anything.

It took serious effort, but he pumped some false casualness into his voice. "No problem, Dad. Whatever's most convenient for you. I'll just... watch those movies on my own. Scout ahead. If there's a good one, we can watch it together later."

So, Amiel relented. He sighed, breaking eye contact and switching to staring at the empty plate on his father's writing desk. The thing's presence in the workshop was almost comical. It was purely decorative. No work had been done in there for a long time. He wordlessly marched over to it and switched the plates out.

He stayed there, lingering, thinking. Amiel wanted to do... something. Say something more; give his dad a hug. Something, anything, some tiny reminder that he was still there for him. That he would always be there for him.

But he could tell when he was not wanted. He'd had lots of practice with that.

Instead, he turned on his heel and made a beeline for the door, doing his best to avoid the ducks underfoot. It was no easy task, what's with his eyes locked firmly on the plate he held, but he managed.

He gave his father one final look as he stood at the doorway. That was it. One last chance to say something meaningful. One last chance to turn back and give him that hug.

"Enjoy your pancakes, Dad. And try to wrap up quickly. They're still warm."

"Sure thing, sunshine! I'm sure they're as tasty as they look!"

Amiel didn't say anything in response. It'd have made no difference anyway. In fact, he might have been better off just leaving wordlessly. Or maybe not even coming altogether.

He closed the door as gently as a parent done checking up on their sleeping child would. Stayed for a moment with his hand still on the apple-shaped knob and his teeth chewing on his bottom lip. He felt... disgusted. With himself. Was he really just going to leave? Leave his father like that?

He was. As he'd done so many times before. Lucifer had made his feelings quite apparent. The least he could do was not make him uncomfortable.

But Amiel WOULD be back, as soon as his workload permitted. Perhaps next time would be better, and he'd actually get his Dad out of those same four walls he spent his days in for a few hours. There was no harm in being optimistic. It worked for Charlie, didn't it? But Amiel couldn't shake the feeling that the plate would be spotless when he next came.

 

*******

 

Why?

Why?

Why, why, why, why, why, WHY?

Why was Lucifer so useless? Why was he so pathetic that he could barely meet his son's eyes?

And why was he being so CRUEL? Why was he pushing Amiel away?

So many questions. And yet the answer to them all was exactly the same.

Lucifer did not deserve him.

And, if he was being honest with himself for once... he felt ashamed. He did not want Amiel to see his father like... this. He knew his child. Lucifer wasn't blind. He could hear the occasional tremble in his duckling's voice. See the way his wings drooped, the way his gaze drank in every detail of the room whenever he came around, as if desperately searching for something.

The rubber duck trembled in Lucifer's hand. It wasn't anything special. Just a piece of duck- shaped plastic with a tophat. He'd long since run out of actually interesting ideas. Nowadays he was just mindlessly producing. Trying to kill time. As if he'd get anywhere with that, being immortal. But it beat staring at the celling, if only by a slight margin.

Lucifer stared at the duck for a moment. The happy "grin" on its beak stood in such harsh contrast with its maker's own emotions, it felt almost mocking. He narrowed his eyes at it, before chucking it at the wall. It didn't even break, bouncing away with a squeak and joining the thousands of its brethren that littered the floor of his workshop.

Lucifer ran his hands roughly over his eyes. Guilt, shame, and regret had become permanent fixtures of his existence, but... they had a way of bubbling up whenever his baby boy came to visit.

Lucifer wanted to just be... left alone. Forever, longer than that if possible. No speech, no contact with other people, nothing. Just... him and his ducks.

His wish wasn't that far off from reality. He'd managed to drive away his entire family. Well, most of it.

His mind churned, bringing every unpleasant memory from the past century it could think of to the forefront of Lucifer's brain.

Lilith had left first. He... couldn't blame her. Not really. By the time of their separation, their feelings were far from nuptial. They'd fallen in love, long ago, in the Garden of Eden. For that love, they were cast into Hell. And in Hell, they fell out of love.

That day’s argument had been the first. Not the last. Argue, get hurt, withdraw into himself. Spend some time with his children—mostly Amiel—get angry again. Argue. Rinse and repeat.

Their last clash hadn't even been anything special. Yet another shouting match, sparked by one of them—he couldn't even remember who—unintentionally ripping a scab off of one of the numerous wounds they'd dealt to each other. It went downhill from there.

Lucifer couldn't remember what they'd argued about. How he'd ruined her plans, how he was being a bad father? Perhaps she'd screamed in frustration how his idiotic agreement with Heaven had destroyed millenia of her hard work? How he'd done that just to spite her? Pfff. As if he had any say in the matter. Heaven decided on their own. All Lucifer did was make the best of a bad situation. But he never could get her to see that. By the time the Exterminations became a thing, they were already too far apart to really talk.

Or maybe he'd gone on the rare offensive? Accused her of being too controlling, told her that she was a bad mother? Father only knew what insults they slung at each other that day. After a while, their rows blurred together into one big, sludgy mess in Lucifer's brain. They'd run out of ammunition far earlier than they'd stopped taking shots at each other.

Then one day, she was just... gone. Not there. Lilith had just... vanished. No note, no goodbye. Just a gaping emptiness.

Lucifer missed her.

He... he shouldn't have. He KNEW that. He knew that it was pathetic. He knew they'd hurt each other.

But... what were a hundred years of misery, against millenia of happiness? For every bitter memory, there were hundreds of happy ones. Seven years later, and Lucifer couldn't even bring himself to remove his wedding ring. It was still there, pristine as the day he'd made it, thousands of years ago, glittering against his charred, stained skin. And he hoped, as it was not among the things she'd left behind, that Lilith felt the same. Though Lucifer doubted that.

Sometimes, when he was in one of his ever-elusive "good moods," Lucifer toyed with the idea of ripping it off. Tossing it away. Finally, FINALLY moving on. Accepting that this was his life now, and making the best of it. But he never did.

He stared at it now, too. His hand, blackened after his fall, blended in quite nicely with the dark wood. But the ring stood out. Gold, silver, and bronze. He'd been so eager back then, he'd made it out of every precious metal that had existed at that point. It was one of his finer works, really. Completely out of the realm of possibility for humans to create. A true masterpiece, meant to be a symbol of everlasting love.

Except that his everlasting love had reached its expiration date.

What had once been such a perfect fit that he'd almost considered it a part of his own body now felt foreign, pressing uncomfortably against his finger. But there was no desire to remove it and start anew in that moment. Just a flicker of a memory from a bygone era. Not a particular one. A vague, blurry sensation of being loved. Being in love. Even that was quickly drowned out by something else. The sting of betrayal. One committed by Lucifer.

Lilith wasn't there, and she wasn't coming back. Amiel was. And yet, here Lucifer sat. Cooped up in his workshop, sifting through memories better left forgotten, instead of being with him. He might as well have stuck a blade right between those pristine white wings.

But he couldn't face his son. He simply couldn't. He'd already done too much damage.

Fresher memories crawled out from under the floorboards of his mind, like sharks drawn to blood in the water. Those ones were... more vivid. Less blurry. It only made them sting more.

Charlie. His precious little girl. They'd talked a week or two ago. He'd sent her off to that meeting with Adam. Why the FUCK had he DONE that? Why hadn't he asked her to come visit instead? To spend some time with her brother and father?

Hah. As if she'd accept coming back to him. As if Lucifer had given her any reason to.

His daughter had followed soon after her mother. Only a couple of months later. Charlie... she'd tried to stay positive. To be strong for her father. But it soon became clear that he wasn't getting better. So she left.

Lucifer closed his eyes. The memory of his daughter on the day of her departure popped up, the image crystal clear in his mind. It had etched itself into his brain, down to the last ruffle of the dress she'd worn.

His princess had at least said a proper goodbye. Not that it made the fact she was leaving hurt any less. Charlie left, saying she was going to make Mom's dream come true. As if she had any idea what that truly meant.

What she was doing was just... deluding herself. Like father, like daughter. Why did his children always seem to inherit the absolute WORST parts of him?

Charlie's silly dreams were hopeless. Impossible. Absurd. Making Hell a better place. Making sinners better people. Puh-lease. It would never work. It couldn’t work. But he'd let her go, if only to have her out of the palace. Gave her one of the many buildings the Morningstar family owned to live in. She'd picked it out herself. He'd have given her something more secure, but she'd insisted on that ugly, rundown one. It was once supposed to be for holding meetings with Hell's nobility. But, for some reason he couldn't care to remember, the idea was dropped. So it was left to gather dust.

Lucifer had been confused when she asked for that one specifically. Tried to convince her to get something else. She remained stubborn. She said it was close to the Pentagram. She had to be near her people to help them, right? Lucifer had swallowed back what he wanted to say, looked away from those huge, determined eyes, and relented. She had Razzle and Dazzle with her. They'd keep her safe and hopefully out of trouble.

Lucifer sighed, resting his head heavily on his hands. Reminiscing about the past gave way to frustration about the present.

What was Amiel waiting for? What did he possibly have to gain from staying here? Lucifer made for very poor company these days.

He could have taken one of their many homes for himself, like his sister. Lucifer would have given him all of them, if he only asked. He could have gone to one of his uncles or aunts. Ozzie would take him in. At least there his son wouldn't be as alone as he was with his father. Hell, Ozzie would definitely make a better father figure than Lucifer ever could.

And yet, Amiel stayed. And—he took a quick glance over his shoulder—brought him pancakes.

Why? Lucifer had failed. He'd broken his promise. He hadn't made things better. He made them worse, and he just KEPT making things WORSE.

When would his son realize that his father was not worth living like this? Lilith and Charlie had figured that out long ago. Why couldn't Amiel do the same?

"Because he loves you, you idiot."

Lucifer knew that, even without his brain so "kindly" informing him of the fact. All those endless "Whys" of his were rhetorical questions, really. When Amiel was concerned, it always came back to that one simple fact. So obvious, even his pessimistic mind couldn't refute it.

"Amiel loves you."

It stirred... contradictory feelings in Lucifer. On one hand, it warmed his old and tired, scarred heart. His son truly cared about him, if he was willing to subject himself to... this. Someone still found it in his heart to love Lucifer, to not give up on him, no matter how low he sank. But, on the other hand, it made an uncomfortable chill settle over his entire body.

He didn't deserve it. Not one iota of Amiel's love. Anyone's love. His wife knew that. Charlie knew that. The Sins too, had all practically given up on him. Only his dear, loving, stupid and foolish son stayed.

Lucifer was an idiot. After so many fuckups, that was undeniable. Practically a constant of the universe. But he wasn't blind. This... it wasn't healthy. It wasn't what Amiel deserved.

Lucifer knew. He knew what the best course of action was here. Setting his son free. Doing something to finally push his little duckling to leave the nest. For his sake.

But he couldn't.

Lucifer sighed bitterly, almost feeling the urge to chuckle. Some things REALLY never changed. He was still a failure of a father. It was a bit of a trend for him, wasn't it? Seeing the right solution, but not doing anything with it.

It wasn't for his own sake that he hesitated. The loneliness wouldn't bother him. Lucifer knew it'd be easier if he was alone. The moments where everything hurt the most were the ones when Lucifer slipped up. When he was unable to resist the temptation of spending time with his duckling.

He'd agree, and go watch a movie, cook something, or even make ducks in the gardens. The two of them, together. Things would be nice, until the voice in the back of his head started to whisper. And then the guilt would start, and he'd have to bite his cheek to the point of almost drawing blood to stop himself from crying in front of his son. And then he'd have to leave, and he'd turn around to mutter a quick goodbye, and he'd see the heartbreak in his son's eyes, and his own heart would feel like it was getting ripped apart—

He took in a deep, shaky breath. Sniffled pathetically. Rubbed his eyes furiously, refusing to let tears fall. He didn't want to cry. Not now. It was a futile effort. Sooner or later, he was going to cry again. Like always. But he didn't want to do it now.

It took him a minute, but he pulled himself together. Or at least, delayed the inevitable. He tried to focus again.

Yes, being on his own would be better. For both of them. But... Lucifer knew how Amiel would react. He was... very much like his father in that regard.

It would feel like abandonment. If Lucifer even suggested moving out, he'd crush his son's spirit. And... he couldn't do that. He'd already cost him his mother. Then his sister. And for the most part, his father. He couldn't do that to him, even if it was what Amiel needed.

Pathetic.

So, so pathetic.

Lucifer was locked in a stalemate, but no matter what he did, he'd lose. Do what needed to be done, and destroy his son. Don't do anything, and keep hurting him, slowly but surely.

Fuck. His eyes prickled. Lucifer blinked rapidly, rotating himself on his chair, looking for something else to focus on. His gaze locked onto the pancakes. They almost taunted him, resting there on his writing desk.

It was a bad idea. But which idea of his wasn't?

Lucifer got up, legs numb from lack of movement, and dropped himself heavily into the plush armchair that sat behind his writing desk.

He could do this, at least. If his son went through the trouble of cooking for him, then Lucifer was going to eat.

The fork and knife felt almost alien between his fingers. Still, he worked them through the food, cutting up a tiny chunk. Syrup and melted butter dripped down onto the plate. It looked perfectly appetizing. It even smelled nice.

His hand trembled as he forced it to deposit the tiny mouthful onto his forked tongue. Amiel was a decent cook. Not the best, but definitely capable. Lucifer's brain still had a way of making everything taste like ashes.

He chewed it for a minute straight, and waited another ten seconds, before finally forcing himself to swallow. It went down as smoothly as wet cement. Lucifer felt like he was going to throw up.

Pathetic. What a fucking joke. Was this how the King of Hell was supposed to act? A petulant child, refusing to eat?

It wasn't. Lilith would have gladly confirmed as much, had she been there.

Lucifer still waved his hand and removed all the traces of food from existence. What Amiel didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Father knew Lucifer had already hurt him enough.

 

*******

 

Amiel was supposed to be better than this. It was far from the first time his dad had turned him down. He should have been prepared for it.

And yet, here he was. Lying in bed, having opted to skip dinner himself, shooting a glare at the phone resting on his nightstand every once in a while, as if the device had betrayed him. Curled up in his nightgown, fingers running far too roughly through the feathers of one of his wings. Every so often he'd tug too hard and rip one or two out. It wasn't much, but it did hurt. Each one that detached from the whole sent an unpleasant tingle through his wings and all the way down his spine.

He'd gotten into the habit of doing it some decades ago. Back when Mother gave up on trying to be subtle, and switched from not looking at his wings to glaring at them with clear distaste. He was a teenager then. One thing led to another, and... this was the end result. Some people chewed on hair when they were stressed. Amiel plucked feathers. It was practically the same thing.

Besides, he was always careful. Never went too far, and always fixed himself up right after. Holy Light could heal, with the right intent behind it. It was one of the few good things about it.

He groaned as he gave the phone another pointed look. Considering that his work for the day was done, and his dad so obviously wanted to be left alone, it was only right to give Charlie that call. It was still too early for her to go to bed. And Amiel knew that she'd appreciate it.

But... he hesitated. He'd already made a move to grab his phone five times before, only to retract his hand.

Amiel... he dreaded talking to Charlie.

She was genuinely the sweetest person he knew—not that that said much, with his vast social circle taken into consideration—but she wasn't the most tactful. And... he could be harsh too. Not intentionally! He always made sure to mind his tongue. Not to say something he'd end up regretting. But... he couldn't forgive her for leaving, and sometimes, that made his words come out a little too sharp.

He gave his wing another tug. Three feathers drifted from between his fingers down to the floor.

It was childish of him. He knew that. The logical part of him knew that. But the irrational part... No. That part of him couldn't forgive her. She saw how bad Dad was feeling. She'd been there with them, those first few months. Dad had been... less guarded in his grief back then, though he still tried to pretend that everything was fine. That he was fine.

He'd still be there, waiting for them each morning with breakfast at hand as if nothing had happened, all wide grins and forced cheer. But neither of them were idiots. They saw the everpresent puff in his eyes. They took note of the awkward silences where he'd just trail off and remain quiet for a minute or two before starting to talk about something completely unrelated to the previous topic.

And she still left. She went away and left Amiel to take care of her responsibility and their father.

She was Mother's successor. She was the one Mother had poured everything she had into. Her knowledge, her affection, her ambitions.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that she'd left to "make Mom's dream a reality," while Amiel was saddled with all the work.

Amiel wanted to be angry at her. To truly be angry. To tear into her, to tell her that she was a delusional, irresponsible, uncaring idiot.

But even thinking that made him feel sick.

The rational part of him tried to do its job. Like always. This was practically routine for him, whenever Charlie was involved.

It wasn't her fault that Mother hated him. It wasn't her fault that Dad felt the way he felt. It wasn't her fault that he'd been born an angel.

And above all else, Charlie wouldn’t have left if she thought that her presence could help. It was simply how she was. His sister wouldn't leave someone who was hurting. Ever.

Especially not her own family.

But... Apparently she thought that there was nothing she could do. And honestly, she might have been correct. Amiel wasn't sure if there was anything that could help their dad at this point, save for Mother coming back.

Still... Having his sister there would have made his own burden so much lighter.

Charlie was aware that he "helped Dad out", but she didn't know the details. Amiel never did inform her of the fact that he did everything.

Amiel really was a brat. Blaming his sister for not knowing something he actively refrained from telling her.

But his stupid, selfish, childish anger refused to back down so easily.

She could have asked. Could have come for a visit. At least once. She hadn't come back at all since she left home.

She was selfish. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

His stomach groaned, and it wasn't out of hunger. A wave of nausea hit him.

Guilt.

Ugh. Amiel was too tired for this. He flopped face first onto his pillow and sighed.

He'd have to talk to Charlie tomorrow. This wasn't getting him anywhere, except closer to a nervous breakdown. A good night's rest would give him time to get out of this funk.

Amiel closed his eyes and tossed around on the bed, trying to get comfortable. His mind still buzzed, yearning for more overthinking, but he forced himself to ignore it. It took him some time to even approach a level of relaxation needed to drift off to sleep. But, just as his eyelids finally started drooping...

His phone rang.

Amiel sprang into an upright position, balancing on his knees, loose hair spilling down his back like an inky river and wings puffing up, twitching erratically like a hummingbird's.

He cast a hesitant glance at the screen. The name "Charlie" blared on it almost as if making fun of him, complemented by a picture that showed his sister smiling blissfully.

Of course. Why would Amiel get to have anything go his way? This was so much better.

He plucked his phone from the charger, holding it in both hands. For a moment, Amiel considered just not picking up, but Charlie apparently really wanted to talk to him. The ringtone played on and on. So he let out a sigh, took a deep, slow breath, and answered the call.

Charlie's voice sounded just as chipper as ever. She practically squealed into his ear over the phone. How did she manage to be so... genuinely happy all the time?

"Hi, Ami! What's up? Are you doing something? Is this a bad time? It's not too late, is it? I know you like turning in early. You still do that, right?"

Her usual rambling greeted him like an old friend. A distant, half-forgotten one. In some ways, she hadn't changed at all since they were kids. It was... adorable, he supposed. Not exactly royal-like. Even after so many years, Charlie's tendency to ramble remained strong. Amiel's first memories of his sister were of her talking about everything and nothing in particular. She'd always been a chatterbox. Even when her conversation partner had the diverse and well-developed vocabulary of your average piece of furniture.

His own voice was as the same as always. Polite. Quiet. Tinged with a vague sense of distance, but of course his sister would never notice that.

"Hello, Charlie. No, it's... it's an okay time. I wasn't doing anything. Was just thinking about calling you, actually."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "That's so nice of you! I missed you! You know, Hotel stuff and everything. Busy life." She chuckled on the other end. The sound tried so hard to come out as casual, but his sister had made it sound... slightly awkward.

Strange. Charlie wasn't exactly the type to get nervous, at least as far as Amiel knew. He tried to think of something to say, but his mind was very-much-not up to the task at hand.

"I can imagine."

Charlie didn't offer any sort of response to his, admittedly, very clipped comment.

Amiel resisted the urge to sigh into the speaker. They were bad at this. Talking. His sister talked too much. Amiel talked too little. Their conversations were always short, stilted chunks of dialogue drowning in between even more awkward silences.

After a few moments, Amiel decided to just... forgo subtlety and cut to the chase. It was better than just... silently side-eyeing the phone. "Any particular reason you called, Charlie? Did something happen?"

Of course something happened, Amiel, you moron. The Extermination happened. And it would again, in some five-ish months. Charlie was probably feeling even worse than he'd assumed, if she was calling him out of the blue like this. But he had to say something, didn't he?

Amiel heard pacing on the other end.

"Mmmm... nooot exactly. I know you're probably busy and don't have time for it, but I've been thinking. Wouldn't it be nice if you, maybe... came by the Hotel for a visit?

Amiel blinked. He... honestly hadn't expected that. It took him a moment to even think of a proper response. He saw about a million reasons why that was a bad—no, an absolutely horrible idea—but Charlie never did look at things too thoroughly. Amiel grasped for the easiest, most readily available excuse at his disposal.

"Uhm... Thanks for the offer, but... I'm... I don't think I can. I have a lot of work to do and... you know how Dad is."

Another uncomfortable silence, one that went on until Charlie managed to find her voice.

"Yeah. But... I'm sure he can manage without you for a few days. Right? Just for one tiny little visit? I haven't seen you in soooooo long, Ami. I want us to catch up. And it'd be nice if you met everyone here. They're all so amazing!"

Goodness, she was insistent. His wings stiffened at his back, the tip of one of them twitching irritably. Of course her first thought was to just... have Amiel ditch their father. He could manage just fine on his own, sure. He'd probably take a crack at keeping up with the paperwork while Amiel was away, too. He inhaled through his nose, taking care not to raise his voice.

"Yes, I've seen the commercial. They seem like a colorful bunch. But I really don't think I have the time. You know how work gets this time of year. Stuff piles up. I'm sure Mom must have taught you something about that."

Ah. So much for playing nice. He'd slipped. He genuinely didn't mean to say that. It was... too harsh. And... a bit bitter. Better yet, Charlie had most definitely picked up on his undertone. It'd been quiet, but Amiel heard the sharp little half-inhale. She did him the courtesy of ignoring his comment.

"I know, Ami. But... I'd be really happy if you could come here. I..." She trailed off, hesitating. "It's been hard. Harder than I expected. The Hotel's off to a bit of a rough start. And I know it's probably been hard for you too. You're so hardworking. Soooo... It would mean a lot to me if you could come stay at the Hotel for a few days. A little vacation?" Another awkward chuckle. And more pacing. A bit more rapid now, by the sound of it. "Who knows? You being here might do the guests at the Hotel some good, too."

Hah. Funny. Ever the comedian, his sister.

Except for Charlie, everyone there was a sinner. Most of Pentagram City's population were sinners too. And Amiel was an angel. The Extermination happened less than three weeks ago. It was a recipe for disaster. Hell's nobility tolerated his existence, but they weren't exactly trilled at the prospect of the Prince of Hell being an angel. But your average demon? A good chunk of them probably had no idea he existed. That, coupled with the change in Extermination schedule, would probably cause mass panic if he ended up seen. But of course Charlie hadn't taken that into consideration.

Amiel kept his tone even. No more outbursts. Even if his sister was being frustratingly naive. "Charlie. Do I have to remind you... what I am?"

Saying that about himself... still stung a bit. There was a reason why the Goetia didn't like him much. Holy Light had this fun little property of... being lethal to demons, if used offensively. He would never, he didn't even know how, but... the threat remained, a sword swinging above the heads of everyone present, every time Amiel entered the room. That's why he'd made it a point not to enter so many rooms, if he could help it.

Charlie, of course, paid it no mind. Not when her optimism could be used to bulldoze over every scrap of common sense that might pop up along her way.

"Oh, come on, Ami. I promise it'll be fine. I'll warn everyone beforehand, if you're so worried about it. But... Will you at least ask Dad if you could come? Pleeeaaaase?"

She was doing the puppy dog eyes. Amiel did not need to see them to know. And to make matters worse... they were working. For some stupid reason he couldn't even begin to understand, they were working.

Amiel bit his lip.

He had no intention of going. It was too risky. Not to mention that the chances that their meeting would end up unpleasant were extremely high. They could barely make it through a phone call. Lord only knew how awkward an actual, face-to-face conversation would get.

But... what was the harm in asking? Dad would probably have nothing to say on the matter, and then Amiel could spin a harmless little white lie about having too much work. Sure, it... wasn't the nicest thing to do, and it would giving Charlie false hope, but... it was better than outright refusing, right?

God, he was pathetic. Was he... was he actually thinking of throwing his father under the bus like that? Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. He couldn't do that. Not in a million years. It was out of the question.

But... some half-truth really was going to be his way out, when the time came. It was marginally less pathetic, but the best he could do for his sister, given the circumstances. Not his fault she asked for the impossible.

He made a show of sighing dramatically, even rolling his eyes, as if she could see him. "Fiiiiiine. I guess I can try and ask him. But... We really are busy, so... don't get sad if I end up having to stay here, okay?"

Charlie let out a sound that was half-cheer, half-squeak. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ami!"

He sighed, much more genuinely this time. "What did I JUST say about not getting your hopes up?"

She chuckled again, less awkward and more flustered this time. "Sorry. I'm just... sooooo excited I'll finally see you."

His sister really was incapable of listening to him, wasn't she? But he didn't have the strength to chastise anymore.

"Sure, Charlie. I'd like to see you too." He trailed off after that lie—half lie. There was a part of him that did miss his older sister. Despite everything, she was his only friend growing up. And only friend... period.

Not that that meant he didn't want a way out of the conversation. He'd officially had his fill. Amiel had already put his foot in his mouth enough for one evening, thank you very much. He tried his luck with a fake, but hopefully convincing yawn.

"I think I'll be turning in for the night, if you don't mind."

It worked like a charm.

"Oh! Sure! But don't forget to ask Dad tomorrow! And text me the answer, or I WILL call you in the middle of the night to get it! Uhm... and, maybe... Say hi to Dad for me?"

That last part was quiet, unsure. Added on, almost like an afterthought. Hesitation didn't suit someone as energetic as Charlie. But it made sense. The two of them... didn't really talk much, as far as Amiel was able to figure out. As far as he knew, he could probably count on the fingers of both hands the number of times father and daughter talked during these last seven years. And... he'd probably have some fingers left over.

"Sure thing, Charlie. Good night."

"Night, Ami! See you soon!"

As soon as he heard the beep that signaled the end of the call, Amiel flopped onto his back. The matress gave a little bounce, and his wings twitched a little under him, not used to being laid on.

Amiel slapped his hands over his eyes and dragged them slowly down his face. He felt more drained after the call than after ten hours of paperwork. Why was it so hard, just talking to Charlie? And why had he even agreed to her request? Or rather, sort of agreed. He could have just refused point-blank. He should have just refused.

His fingers toyed with one of the larger feathers that made up his wing. He twirled it between them, feeling the texture. Soft, but with a bit of springiness to it. Flexible, but still firmly attached. He gave it a little tug. Then another, slightly more firm one. And another, and another, until the poor thing finally gave up the good fight and popped free.

Fuck. Why was he such a mess?

Notes:

God, I swear I won't be bashing Charlie in this fic. She's still as supportive and sweet as she is in canon. As you might have figured out from the chapter and this fic's title, the Morningstars are not okay. Reliable narrators, they do not make. At least not at this point.

We also get to finally use that fancy "Self-harm" tag. It was a unique challenge, considering angels can only be hurt by angellic steel. I (hopefully) got around the issue by making Amiel bird-coded. That's the inspiration behind his feather plucking. So yeah, angels are humanish-shaped birds now. DON'T question it.

On a (slightly) more serious note, the eternal damnation of my mortal soul (returning to University) is due to start this Monday. Schedule's not looking so bad for now, so updates should hopefully keep coming at around the same rate, so whenever the planets align once in a blue moon, you can expect a new chapter.

Phew. I think I finally ran out of things to say. Once again, thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and comments. Each one makes my day. Signing off until November of 2029!

Chapter 5: (Mis)communication

Notes:

...

...

Gosh, it's been a while, huh?

I'll keep it brief.

First things first, I am so, SO sorry for this impromptu hiatus this fic took. For those who waited patiently, thank you. For those who gave up hope and moved on, I apologize.

Secondly... university still sucks. Or rather, my roomate sucks. Absolutely impossible to live with, much less write in peace, so I was stuck doing serious work only on the weekends. But hey, he's leaving soon. Hopefully better things are coming.

Oh! Oh! One more thing!

MarJunipo, the absolute legend, actually drew fanart for this fic!

https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

They're an amazing artist, and their artstyle is soooooo pretty! Give them a follow on Twitter/X! Especially if you love Radiostatic!

Well, I won't waste anymore time on an author's note. Enjoy the next chapter. You've earned it.

"Hey, Dad."

Lucifer flinched, his back straightening up.

He hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected Amiel would be back so soon. His brain bluescreened momentarily.

This wasn't how it usually went. There were always a few days between visits. Lucifer... didn't do too well with dates and time these days, but he could still tell that less of it had passed since his last visit. He'd only spent one night in a daze of half-hearted duck-making.

Panic, dull but there, gnawed at him. 

Good ol' Lucifer, with his everpresent "bad feelings," always assuming the worst. Still, he spun around to greet his son, trying to ignore the pooling dread in his gut.

"Hiya, sweetie." Lucifer waved with a vigor that he most definitely did not feel. He forced his lips to quirk upwards, trying to hit that sweet spot between too subdued and obviously fake. A small ache in his cheeks told him he'd gone too far, so he dialed it back, looking at Amiel awkwardly all the while. Mercifully, his son did not comment on his mess of an expression.

"What's up, duckie? You're back sooner than usual."

Amiel shifted awkwardly on his feet, black loafers clacking quietly against the floor. "Mhm. Nothing much." He paused, giving his shoes a quick glance, before looking back up and continuing in a small voice. "Charlie... called me yesterday."

Oh.

Lucifer wasn't sure what to feel.

On one hand, that ugly, UGLY part of him that he did his best to keep under lock and key felt almost... not jealous, but... neglected, perhaps? He was there too. He was her father.

But of course Charlie hadn't called him. She had no reason to. He certainly hadn't given her one.

Lucifer made an effort to push that thought aside, to shove it back into the dark corner of his mind from which it had spawned. It was... hard, but he managed.

The least he could do was at least try to stay present while Amiel was in the room with him. He had to focus on the positives, and not make this about himself. Lucifer was glad that the Morningstar siblings talked... at least a little.

The disaster that was the collapse of his and Lilith's marriage had made them grow... distant. Lilith had done what she always did when things weren't perfect. She smothered herself in work. And, of course, Charlie was the most important part of her mother's work. Her daughter had to be kept as far away from her brother and father, as often as possible. Had to be instructed. Had to be cared for, so that one day, she could assume her rightful place.

Charlie had tried to balance her free time whenever she could, but... Lilith was ever-vigilant. The chances Charlie got to spend quality time with either of them were few and far-flung between. And Amiel... hadn't exactly made himself easy to reach. He'd clung to Lucifer, as always. Stayed out of his mother's way. Out of Charlie's way too, by proxy.

Gah!

Lucifer caught himself wandering. There he went AGAIN, being negative and letting his thoughts spiral. Not good. He really was as hopeless as they come.

He made sure to add a heaping dose of happiness to his tone as he finally spoke. For whose sake, he couldn't tell. Both of them knew very well that it was a counterfeit.

"Mmm. That's nice, duckie pie. What'd she say?"

 Amiel made no comment about his father's delayed response. Poor thing was probably more than used to it. Had to be, if he insisted on spending—or rather wasting his time with Lucifer. His only reaction was yet more awkward shuffling. His wings unfurled, if only slightly, their tips twitching fervently as if trying to shake out imaginary dust.

Lucifer almost smiled fondly. Always the same thing with his son. So quiet, but his wings did all the talking.

He was clearly agitated. But why? Did Charlie have something to do with it?

Amiel drew closer as he spoke, making his way towards the workbench where Lucifer sat. "Not much. You know we never chat for too long, Dad."

He'd said that casually, but his wings kept twitching. "She told me about her Hotel a little. They have a commercial now."

Lucifer felt as though he'd bitten into a lemon. Yes, the Hotel. His daughter's latest flight of fancy, her most recent delusion. Charlie had converted the old building into a hotel. Meant to... rehabilitate sinners. Hah. As if that could ever work. As if those monsters would ever want to change.

He took note of how close Amiel had come. Much closer than he usually did during his visits. And still drawing nearer.

Lucifer looked him up and down, feeling a pang of... something? Pride, perhaps, if the Sin of Pride had any more of that left to give. If he'd ever had any of that.

Every time Amiel came along, Lucifer would be surprised anew. His little boy was all grown up. Taller than his father too, even if it was a marginal difference.

Amiel stood some steps away from him, back straight, wings folded neatly, but still restless. One hand fiddled with a button of his dress jacket. His duckling gave off the air of someone who wasn't quite sure whether he was supposed to stand there.

Lucifer bit his lip at that thought. The barely audible whisper of "You made him this way" scraped against his brain. His teeth dug in a bit harder, the pain a poor distraction, but better than none at all.

He watched Amiel's eyes drift towards one of the spare stools Lucifer kept near his workbench.

They were old things. Rarely used and all but forgotten. Obviously. Why would someone with the gift of Creation need spares of anything? And need them, Lucifer did not. No, the chairs were never meant for him in the first place.

They had served an entirely different purpose, once. Mainly, giving his children (almost exclusively Amiel, though Charlie had been there too, a long time ago) somewhere to sit while Lucifer was working.

"Can I sit?"

Lucifer grinned, but he knew it failed to reach his eyes. How long had it been since they'd sat together there?

"Of course, kiddo."

Amiel took a chair awkwardly, before popping it only a couple of feet to Lucifer's left. He looked... frankly adorable. Thighs pressed tightly together, gloved hands resting delicately in his arms. Like a kid who'd gotten sent to the corner.

Nostalgia, sweet and sour in equal measure, washed over him. Father, how many of those visits ago did his duckling last decide to come so close, instead of clinging to the doorway? Instead of keeping a respectful distance, giving Lucifer space?

His son inhaled, leaning back, eyes drifting closed. Perhaps he was reminiscing too?

Amiel's hair swayed, only an inch or two above the floor. Even after almost seven years, Lucifer still had trouble adjusting to that. He'd... never asked his son why he'd dyed it. Lucifer simply accepted it. But that didn't mean he hadn't come up with some ideas.

Amiel probably did not want to look like his mother. Understandably so.

And yet... Despite the size difference, even with no trace of blonde hair anywhere on his head, he still looked like Lilith. He had her features. Her eyes. Her face. There were some tiny bits of Lucifer that prevented Amiel from being a carbon copy of his mother, but it was obvious which parent he'd taken after.

Sometimes, when he was sufficiently tired, and only for a moment, Lucifer would... look at his son's eyes and see her own. But he always caught himself quickly enough. It felt... disgusting. Like he was insulting them both.

And besides, it was all in his head. The two of them couldn't be any more different in temperament. Where the Queen of Hell carried herself as befitting her role, Amiel gave of a sense of fragility. Delicateness. He was almost a glimpse into what Lilith could have been, had she chosen a different path. Had she yielded, and accepted her role as Adam's dutiful bride, she might have looked like that. Frollicking about the Garden of Eden, eternal and unblemished and blissfully happy.

It wouldn't have suited Lilith, Lucifer knew. She was simply too ambitious, too passionate. But... the gentle kind of beauty fit his son. He seemed to almost glow, sitting there in the dim light that spilled from the window, as if posing for a portrait.

The well-known pang of regret digging its teeth into him hit Lucifer almost instantly.

As beautiful as his son looked, it was painfully obvious that he did not belong in Hell. The light had a red tint to it, and it gave him the appearance of being covered in a fine spray of blood. His pretty white wings in particular, looked raw and stained.

Pain and suffering. That's what Hell was, at its core, wasn't it? Lucifer's legacy, meant for the "enjoyment" of all those souls who wasted his gift. Not a place for an angel. At least not for a pure, perfect one like his son. A broken, fallen one like Lucifer? Sure. He could make do. But not his baby boy.

Amiel's voice, always so soft, so quiet, still managed to get Lucifer's attention. He'd opened his eyes again, and he was looking at his father with a sort of... uncharacteristic skittishness. Kept in check, but visible in those violet eyes. As if he wanted nothing more than to rise from that chair and bolt.

"Dad... Charlie wanted me to ask you something."

What little tender, contemplative serenity had descended upon the room cracked so suddenly, Lucifer could almost swear he heard it breaking.

Alarm bells blared in his mind, as if mockingly telling him, "Go ahead and panic now."

Charlie never asked for anything. Not from her brother, and most definitely not her father. Until now, apparently.

Feelings he'd have rather left unnamed pooled in his stomach. Did she really hate him that much? That she couldn't bear the thought of asking him herself?

But of course, Lucifer did not voice his grievances. Amiel did not need to deal with that. His son already dealt with too much because of him. Lucifer had made his bed, and now he had to lie in it.

He did what he always had. Push, shove and cram the thought away for later self-flagelation. His voice was as casual as he could make it.

"Oh? Ask away then, sweetie. Let's hear it!"

Father, if he felt at least a fragment of what he pretended to when dealing with other people, he'd be okay.

Amiel nibbled on his lip. Lucifer squashed down the urge to lean forward and pop a finger into his mouth to stop him from doing that. But Amiel was no kid anymore. He probably wouldn't take too kindly to being babied.

"She... she's having some sort of trouble. With the Hotel. And she thinks I could use a vacation." He held his hands in front of himself, glove-clad palms turned to Lucifer. "I most definitely do not, mind you. And even if I did, there's way too much work to be done. But..." His son trailed off, as if steeling himself.

He fiddled with a lock of hair for what seemed like forever, tucking it behind his ear with the care of someone handling a live grenade. "She insisted that I ask you if I could go visit for a few days. She wants to catch up."

Time seemed to STOP.

Was... was Lucifer hearing this right? He can't have been. It... it seemed too good to be true. But... Amiel wouldn't joke about something like this. And he wasn't quite so broken as to hallucinate. At least Lucifer hoped so. Because if what he'd just heard was real...

Charlie... wanted her brother to go visit her.

It took Lucifer's all not to cry. Perhaps his Father had some mercy in him after all.

He had long since accepted that he was a fucking weakling. He didn't have what it takes to work things out with Lilith. He didn't have it in him to do what needed to be done for the good of his children. Hell, he didn't even have what it takes to talk with his children properly. This... play for nobody Amiel and him starred in was proof of that.

And that was without even mentioning his disasterous attempts to talk to Charlie.

He'd tried. He really had. Almost a year after Lilith left, Lucifer finally took a crack at phoning his absent duckling. It... hadn't gone well. It was the guilt. It was always the guilt. It ruined things. He'd try, but then he'd hear her voice. And the cold, terrifying reality that Charlie wasn’t there anymore would hit him full force. That she'd left.

"Because she couldn't stand to look at you," his mind would whisper, and Lucifer would believe it. That would cause him to spiral, and then he'd miss something that Charlie said, or he'd start rambling, or he'd say something insensitive. Her voice would take on that special tone she'd developed when she was scarcely more than a toddler. The "Won't cry, I'm a big girl" voice. Upset, but trying to hide it.

Father, Lucifer HATED hurting his children.

So he'd jump at the first chance to end the call, and go for months without trying again. Not that that didn’t hurt his girl, but it was minimizing damage at that point.  That was the height of his capabilities when other people were involved, and even that, he did poorly.

No, the true forte of the King of Hell had always been messing things up.

But... now he could almost swear he felt something... wriggle around in his chest. Something small, and week, and extremely foreign. Something he'd given up on so long ago, he could scarcely remember how it was supposed to feel. Hope.

This was his chance, wasn't it? To fix what he had broken.

As far as Lucifer knew, Charlie had no one. After all, she was surrounded by sinners. None of them would ever bother trying to be there for his daughter.

And Amiel... he only had Lucifer.

In all honesty, perhaps Charlie was the lucky one.

But he could help them. For once, he could help them. They were close once, his kids. And, if he gave them this push, Lucifer knew that they'd grow closer again.

"Dad... are you okay? You... you've gone quiet."

Oh fuck. He... he'd gotten too caught up in his thoughts, to the point even Amiel's patience to wait for a response had run out. He had to say something, and he had to say it now.

Lucifer steeled himself for the struggle ahead. He had to do this perfectly. A chance like this wouldn't come again for quite some time. Maybe never.

No pressure, Big Boss.

He nodded, perhaps with a bit too much enthusiasm, his hat fighting to stay on his head. "Yes! Yes, of course I'm fine, duckling!" He gestured wildly with his hands, though there really was no need for that. "You know, just—hah, got caught by surprise for a second there."

Amiel tilted his head, looking at him expectantly with those large, violet eyes. There was... a tension to them.

"And... what do you say?"

Lucifer didn't miss the way his baby boy's fingers gripped the edge of his dress jacket, bunching up the perfectly tidy fabric. "Don't worry, Dad, I've already told Charlie not to hold her breath. I can stay."

Lucifer frowned. Things started to click into place. The hesitation. The jittery behavior. The nervousness.

Amiel was not particularly on board with the idea of this visit.

But why? Why would he rather stay here, than go to his sister? It was just for a few days. Lucifer understood, in a way, not wanting to move away for good. He knew that Amiel loved him too much to just leave him alone. And he knew that he and Charlie weren't as close as they should have been. But, surely he felt at least a little excited at the prospect of a vacation? A break from the same old halls, the same old wreck that was his father, if only for a few days.

Lucifer just couldn’t understand.

But he didn't need to understand. He knew what he had to do. If Lucifer pushed, just slightly, ever so carefully, and in a certain way, it wouldn't feel like he was forcing him, and Amiel would go.

It would do his baby boy good. He was certain of it. Amiel and Charlie would thrive again, if they spent some time together. They weren't broken, not like him.  All their sibling bond needed was a spark to rekindle it.

And who knew? Perhaps Amiel would finally find it in himself to leave the palace. Move away, for good. Wasn't that a thought? Both of his children, for once better off after Lucifer did something.

He felt something.

Father, was it possible? It was. He wasn't imagining it. The shy, barely there but definitely there warmth in his chest. Lucifer... was feeling happy. His lips twitched, barely fighting the urge to quirk upwards into a smile. A real, genuine smile. He couldn't remember the last time that had happened.

He could actually fix one of his mistakes. He could do something good for his children. He could be a proper parent for once.

For the first time in forever, the cheer in his voice was genuine. He gripped the edges of the stool and swung his legs like an overeager schoolboy. "Duckie, what are you talking about? Of course you can go."

Amiel's wings gave another series of twitches, more furious this time. Lucifer actually felt a gentle breeze brush against his cheek. It was only there for a second, before his duckling caught himself and forced his wings to stay still. But they still trembled slightly, straining with the effort of not flapping.

His son tried to keep his voice steady. But Lucifer picked up on the poorly hidden, faint shake in it.

"Dad, are you sure? There's SO much work to be done." Amiel cracked his knuckles, the darkish cerise leather creaking quietly. "I... I don't think I can just drop everything, even if it's only for a couple of days. I'll get snowed under when I get back."

True. That was a problem. A huge, glaring one that couldn't just be ignored. Above all else, it was a problem of Lucifer's own making. But, it was also, for once, an easily solvable one.

His own voice sounded strange to Lucifer. How long had it been since he sounded so... animated? Alive? "You won't get snowed under duckie. Not when you have a dad like this!"

Though he made a show of pointing both thumbs at his chest, his mood dipped, just a little.

"A dad like this." Sure. A dad who let his son pick up his slack for years. When Lilith left, Lucifer just couldn't force himself to see the point in doing any work. He'd given a token effort for a few months, but... it was all so pointless. The other Rings could run well enough on their own. And the Pride Ring, Lucifer's own domain? He couldn't bring himself to even care. The hellborn were self-sufficient enough, and the sinners could keep tormenting themselves all they liked.

But Amiel had stepped up all the same. He'd never asked his son to do that. Amiel had just... looked at the piles of paperwork piled up on Lucifer's desk one day, grabbed a stack, and hefted it to his room. The next day he grabbed two stacks. Soon enough, the work started being sent to Amiel's room.

His shaky, newfound optimism trembled even more.

Father, Lucifer was pathetic beyond belief. Both as a king and as a parent. But... for Amiel's sake... He'd force himself to care. If he managed to pretend that he cared for thousands of years for Lilith, he would manage a week or two for his son.

Amiel tilted his head, pursing his lips. Lucifer felt another pang of nostalgia, about as pleasant as sticking a hand in a fireplace. What should have been sweet had a pronounced, bitter aftertaste to it.

His duckie looked so much like Lilith in that moment. He had her pose down pat.

"What do you mean, Dad?"

Lucifer grinned, mood picking back up with ease he hadn't experienced in decades. It was time for the coup de grace. And goodness, he was actually grining. It was... infectious, in a way. He hadn't felt this useful in so long. There was hope. There was hope. And joy, and a chance to do something good, and it all felt so overwhelming! But for once, it was a positive kind of overwhelming.

"I mean, I'm going to do the work. It was my job originally. Charlie's right, you know. You deserve a break, duckie."

Amiel's reaction was not what he expected. He looked like a rabbit, backed into a corner by a fox. The tremble in his voice got worse.

"Y-you? But... are you sure you are up to it? You haven't done any paperwork in years."

Yeowch, that stung. He knew Amiel had not meant it that way. But unintentional as it was, the jab was still there. It was almost enough to dampen his mood again. Almost.

Still, Lucifer powered through the displeasure with shockingly little effort. He was borderline drunk on joy. He was going to get his children back together. He was going to get his children back together!

"Oh please! I can handle it, duckie. There was paperwork before you'd been born too, you know. I managed just fine."

True. And Lilith had handled the overwhelming majority of it. What he "managed" on his own was laughably small, when compared to his wife's workload. But a small white lie wouldn't hurt either of them. Not even a lie, really. More an omission.

Amiel's eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but at Lucifer's own. Once he finally met his father's gaze, he seemed outright panicked.

"Are you sure, Dad? Really, I can stay if you need me to. It's fine. I wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

 Goodness, his boy was stubborn. And so, so focused on his father's wellbeing. It was... heartwarming and sad in equal measure. But Lucifer could deal with this. He understood the hesitation.

He hadn't been okay. He hadn't been okay for a looooong time. And he did such a bad job of pretending that he was. That was why he was in this situation now, wasn't it?

But he could fix it. Lucifer just had to show Amiel that he was okay.

And shockingly... for once... he did feel okay? The everpresent pessimistic part of his brain croaned that it was only temporary. Any happiness he ever knew had been only temporary. But... somehow, the voice was easy to ignore. Sure, he wasn't truly okay. He probably never would be. But, this was as close as someone like Lucifer could come. And if it gave his children a shot at happiness... he'd take it and call it a bargain.

He got up from his chair. Amiel blinked up at him from his seat, eyes wide. 

Lucifer crossed the distance between them and rested his hands gently on Amiel's shoulders, giving a pair of reassuring squeezes.

"Sweetie, don't be silly. I'll manage without you for a while. Really."

He ran a thumb across Amiel's cheek gently, taking extra care to point the claw away from the skin. He didn't want to nick him by accident.

For once, the words came easily to him. Gentle, and loving and warm. "It's sweet how worried you are, but I don't need you to do every little thing for me, duckie. I'll be fine on my own. Go ahead and call your sister. You've more than earned some time away from home."

Amiel's mouth opened slightly, lips twitching as he tried and failed to formulate a response. His eyes looked impossibly wide, especially from so close.

After a moment, his son finally found his voice. It was... suprisingly flat. "If... if you're absolutely sure. I'll go do it. Right now."

Amiel picked himself up from the chair in one rapid movement, pulling away from Lucifer's touch. He made his way across the room, only stopping to grab the spotless plate from his father's desk.

He stood in the doorway, holding the plate with both hands, pressed against his chest, the ceramic tightly clutched between his fingers.

"Bye," he muttered hurriedly, before he was gone.

Lucifer bit his lip.

Oh Father, his boy was... so sensitive. He'd hoped that the fact that it wasn't his suggestion would soften the blow, but... even this had hurt his duckling. Lucifer could tell. He'd practically stumbled his way out of his workshop, and he'd left the fork and knife behind in his hurry.

But... it was for Amiel's own good, Lucifer reassured himself. He'd get over it, once he reconnected with Charlie. He'd realize how much he was missing out on, cooped up here, keeping an old man company.

All Lucifer had to do now was see him out the door, hold down the fort, and wait. Cross his fingers and hope for the best.

 

*******

 

It was only through sheer force of will that Amiel kept his legs from trembling. And it had nothing to do with the evening chill or the gentle but insistent cold wind that swept across the large, open courtyard of the palace.

The prince stared at the limo parked some steps away from him, like it was supposed to take him to his own execution. There was nothing noteworthy about it, and yet, to Amiel, it stuck out like a sore thumb from the rest of the scenery. His eyes roamed over the courtyard as if it were the first time he was seeing it.

The Morningstars were never much for greenery. There was a garden near the back of the palace; however, Amiel's busy schedule meant it perpetually hovered on the edge of being totally overgrown. His parents before him were similarly too busy to sink hours upon hours into gardening.

So, for appearance's sake, and for easy maintenance, his father had opted for making the courtyard a vast expanse of smooth, basalt rock. Its surface was broken into smaller chunks by winding cobblestone paths, the stones a coruscating mix of unnatural pinks and oranges. Fountains, statues, the occasional tree or flowerbed housing some of the tamer representatives of Hell's flora littered the grounds with no particular rhyme or reason. His dad was never a fan of straight lines and sharp edges.

It wasn't to everyone's taste. Auntie Bee always called it way too boring, and Uncle Ozzie was quick to agree. But to him, it was nostalgic. Amiel grew up in that courtyard. Even now, fond memories of flying lessons with his father flitted about in the back of his mind, vague and half-formed, though still a welcome comfort.

But they were not enough. Though he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to the limousine.

There was no car waiting to take him away in those memories. No, that belonged firmly in the realm of "Now."

His insides started doing backflips. The dinner his dad had insisted on cooking sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach, as though wanting to claw its way back out.

Amiel did his best to focus on ANYTHING else. ANY distraction would do. So he left behind memories of long bygone days, and shifted his attention to more recent ones.

His father, in the kitchen, slaving away at a stove, gesturing to a half set up table with his free hand. That had been a familiar sight, once. Dad, buzzing around the room, busy preparing food for whomever was at home at the moment.

He'd dropped that some time after Mother left. Food simply... hadn't been that high on the priority list for his father anymore. But today, Dad had been insistent. He'd laughed and said he couldn't just "send his duckling out into the wild without a proper meal." The words were lighthearted, but his dad didn't need to call them by name for Amiel to figure out what they were.

A goodbye. Before Amiel left...

His father was here now too, just a few paces behind him. He'd been clingy the entire day, following his son around like a shadow. After so long being almost entirely on his own, it felt borderline unnerving.

So, Amiel kept his back turned to him as he fiddled with the car door. His bottom lip was firmly between his teeth. The prince's brain was hard at work, churning out reasons why what he was about to do was a terrible idea. As if he didn't know that already. Still, Amiel did his best to argue back, even if he was arguing with himself.

It was just for a few days. Just a few days. Charlie had been ecstatic when he called her. And she promised she'd warn everyone beforehand about his arrival. He would be back in a week. She was still his sister. She was the nicest person he knew. He could make it through this. Things were going to be fine.

The door popped open, despite his best efforts to waste time. It would become all too real, once he was on his way.

Amiel started at the inside of the car.

It was nice, all spotless leather and sleekness. None of the Morningstars were competent drivers, and Mother was an outright hazard on the road, but they still had a few high-end cars. For when an entrance required a certain amount of flair.

Naturally, Amiel wouldn't be driving. Lulu would handle the wheel, and Lighty would handle Lulu. The little wolf had a tendency to get... excited, when driving.

Amiel felt hands on his shoulders. His father's hands, of course. Who else could it be?

He stopped biting on his lip and ran his tongue over it quickly before turning around, a shaky but hopefully convincing smile on his face.

Dad looked... shockingly happy. Amiel's guts twisted into knots from guilt.

As his son, he was supposed to be happy for him. Just a few days ago, Amiel would have given anything to see his father smile so genuinely. To have him leave his room. Sit down and eat on his own volition. For the first time in years, Lucifer Morningstar seemed fine. And not pretend fine. Genuine, actually-doing-better fine.

And yet, Amiel felt so tense, as if a firm touch would make his entire body snap in half. He couldn't help but worry. It... it couldn't be that Dad was happy to see his son's back? Right? Surely not?

No, of course not. Not his father. He wasn't like that. He'd never.

But what else could have caused such a shift in Dad's personality? What else had changed? What disturbed seven years of sloggy monotony, if not the fact Amiel was leaving?

His dad hugged him, cutting that train of thought short. The touch came completely out of nowhere. His father just... wrapped those thin arms of his around his son's chest in a crushing embrace. The King's body was warm. More than sufficient to stave away the slight chill in the air.

It felt like childhood. Like curling up on his dad's lap while he read to him, or being carried in his arms. It should have been grounding, and nice, and comforting and fine.

But Amiel couldn't fully appreciate the warmth, or the associated memories. Not with his mind buzzing so incessantly.

He still wrapped his arms around his father and rested his chin on the older man's bony shoulder. Dad deserved it.

"Gosh, you just keep surprising your old man! When'd you get so grown-up, duckling?"

Act casual. Don't let anyone see how you truly feel.

Funny. Mother's advice to Charlie, and Amiel was the one using it. On Dad. "The last 170 years, Dad."

Lucifer snorted. The sound felt ever so slightly off to Amiel's ears. It was just so... weird, for his father's gestures and actions to not be... painfully fake.

"Very funny, sweetie."

They stood like that for a few blissful moments, both of them silent, locked in an embrace. But then Lucifer loosened his grip on his son, though he didn't pull away yet. He whispered in Amiel's ear, voice a mix of gentleness and playfulness.

"Now, listen to me very carefully, young man. Don't you dare worry about me while you're with your sister, okay? Sibling time is for siblings only. Understood?"

Amiel answered with all the vigor and emotion of automated voicemail. "Yes, Dad."

Lucifer snuggled into him again, cheek resting on his son's vest. "I'm going to miss you, duckie."

"I'm going to miss you too, Dad." That had, at least, come out with a bit more emotion. Amiel couldn't have hid it, even if he wanted to. He was already missing him. Already wanted to go back, and he hadn't even gotten into the limo yet.

Fuck, the thought stung. He was leaving. He was really leaving.

Amiel's already flimsy resolve cracked further. He was so pathetic. He'd wanted to avoid this. But in the end, he was too weak.

His embrace around Dad tightened. He did not want to let go. Letting go meant that his time had officially run out. Letting go meant leaving. Even if it was only for a few days, Amiel did not feel ready. Not in the slightest.

But even if he wasn't ready, his father evidently was.

Dad gave his back a couple of quick pats, rubbing his cheek against his son's chest one last time, before finally detaching from him. Lucifer took a few steps back, boots clicking against the ground as he put some distance between the two of them. It was only a few feet. But then, why did it feel so insurmountable?

"Off you go now, sweetie. Wouldn't want to keep Char-Char waiting!"

Amiel nodded faintly, before turning around on his heel and climbing into the car. Wings tucked close to his body. He'd had them bump into the roof or get stuck in the door more times than he could count when he was a child.

Amiel wanted to just... go straight to staring out the window. Looking at Dad was starting to make his stomach hurt. Like he'd swallowed glass. But he turned around. Of course he turned around.

Lucifer was bent awkwardly, one hand resting on the car door. The other hand was waving energetically. "Bye-bye, duckie!"

Amiel's throat tightened. He was supposed to say something. He had to say something. But the words slipped through his fingers like water. His mind, which had been working overtime up until a moment ago, went blank.

Lucifer still waved. So Amiel waved too, while he wrestled with his throat, trying to get some sound to come out. After a few seconds, each of which felt like a century, he finally managed to croak out a quiet, half-hearted "Bye, Dad."

It felt so paltry. So empty. Like dirt on his tongue.

But it was enough for his father. Lucifer gave him one more huge grin, another energetic wave, and closed the door, though he still stood there, smiling, despite the privacy glass obscuring his son from his view.

The car started. And Amiel finally managed to look away.

 

*******

 

She paced. Up and down, up and down the lobby, treading the same path she'd been walking on for the past fifteen minutes. It was a neverending cycle, with the only thing breaking the monotony being the occasional frustrated groan. And it wasn't even helping. At all. If anything, it was making it worse.

"Coooome ooooon. What's taking you SO long?"

Great. Now she was talking to herself as well. Nice going, Charlie.

Honestly, she was being silly. She knew that she was being silly. There was no reason to be so nervous. It was just her brother coming for a visit. Her sweet, shy, wouldn't-hurt-a-fly baby brother. The brother she’d invited herself.

And yet, for all her optimism, she was still worried.

The two of them hadn't been face to face for almost seven years. Sure, they talked over the phone—sometimes, but... it wasn't always the smoothest affair. Sometimes things were so painfully awkward.

Her pacing only grew faster. The time between the clicks of her shoes against the floor shrank to the point it became an almost constant, unbroken noise.

Charlie hated that. The awkwardness. Siblings were not supposed to be distant with each other. Siblings were supposed to always be there for each other, no matter what.

She felt a tiny pang of guilt, a little clench around her heart.

She hadn't done a very good job at that, had she now? She left.

Charlie had wanted to stay after Mom disappeared. She really did. But... after the initial shock wore off, Dad seemed to only crave one thing. To be left alone. And Amiel was so distant too. Puberty hit him just as Charlie herself escaped its clutches, and from then on, her brother became a total loner. Barely talking to her. Staying up in his room for hours on end, every day without fail. If he did leave, it was mostly to go to Dad. She tolerated it back then, but... once it was just the three of them at the palace... It made her feel so utterly, totally alone. Useless too.

So... Charlie left. Mom... Mom had had great plans. For Hell, for sinners, for everyone. Charlie wanted to be like that too. She was like that. She had great plans too. Lofty dreams of making sinners better people. They'd been vague things, back then, lacking any real direction, but her conviction had been no less firm than it was today. 

Still, even after leaving, she did occasionally check to see how her family was doing. Never in person. The bad memories of the palace were far fresher than any of the good ones. But phone calls were good enough.

Charlie would have returned, had her father or brother asked her to. Had they ever needed her, she'd have come running back, but nothing of the sort ever happened.

And yet... here she was now. Trying to reconnect.

It took her a while. Longer than she would have liked, to pluck up the courage and make that call. For quite some time, she'd suspected that Amiel was... not doing so well. Their already short talks started becoming shorter and shorter every time she'd brave the storm and call his number. He'd act evasive whenever the conversation drifted to Dad. And he'd always insist he was doing "fine" and that he was "just busy" or "tired from paperwork" whenever she caught the exhaustion in his voice.

She knew that her brother could take care of himself, but... Charlie was a big sister. She couldn't just... not worry about her baby brother. So she finally suggested a visit, hopeful yet fully expecting to be refused. However... Amiel accepted. The fact he'd agreed to it, however hesitantly, helped curb her anxiety a bit, but...

Charlie was still scared. The fact that Amiel had agreed opened a whole new can of worms, one that she hadn't even considered until it was too late. And now, on the day of Amiel's arrival, she was making up for lost time.

What if they ended up being even worse now, standing in front of each other, after so long? Or what if her brother thought her Hotel was stupid? She knew how Dad felt about Sinners. Charlie just hoped that Amiel would be different. She knew that it was a little selfish, but... she wanted so badly for someone in her family to just... believe in her vision. Was that so hard? Was she asking for too much?

But what if her brother wasn't any different from their father? Or what if he just... didn't care about her anymore? What if that was why the calls had been getting shorter? Sure, she missed him, but what if the feeling wasn't mutual?

Ugh. No. No, no, no, no. No. She was not going down that rabbit hole. Not again. That wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all.

She stopped suddenly, digging her heels into the floor. Took deep, exaggerated breaths. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Panicking would get her nowhere. Her hands came up to slap both of her cheeks gently.

She could do this. There wasn't even much to really do. She was just waiting for Amiel. Nothing to stress over.

She took a few more breaths. Those exercises Vaggie showed her really were amazing! Her trusty optimism started to come back to her.

Once her brother came around, they were going to have an amazing time together! She'd make sure of that! Amiel was going to meet everyone at the Hotel, and everyone was going to get along great!

Who knew? Perhaps Charlie would even be killing two birds with one stone. She'd tossed that out as a throwaway comment while she was trying to get Amiel to agree to her idea, but maybe her baby brother's presence really would have a positive influence on her guests. Maybe a new person was all the two demons needed to get those redemption juices flowing. A new friend, someone to bond with! Amiel was smart. Pentious would love that. And Angel... Angel was still a bit too distant for her liking, but she knew the two of them would click too, eventually! Oh, and Charlie and Amiel would get to talk, and she'd maybe even get him to agree to another visit!

Yeah! She was just worrying for the sake of being worried!

She spent the next few minutes enthusiastically prancing about the lobby, bubbly as could be. Thinking up more activities to fill the following week with, as though she hadn't already come up with dozens.

But eventually, the silence snuck up on her again. She tried to ignore it, but it buzzed in her ears, this incessant noise that wasn't even there. It bugged her so much, and it made her feel restless once more.

The lobby of the Hotel was painfully empty. They weren't exactly drowning in guests (not yet at least, but soon!), but there was almost always someone around, either in there, or further back in the lounge. Pen cuddling KeeKee or wrangling his "minions," Angel lazing around on one of the plush, but somewhat lumpy couches, or Husk manning the bar, or even Alastor, doing... whatever it was that Alastor did.

But of course none of them were there now. Not at... what time was it again, last she checked? 1 AM or something along those lines? It was... very late, that much she knew for certain.

Charlie sighed. Amiel and his requests. He'd insisted on coming over in the middle of the night. "Less chance of someone seeing him outside," he'd said. It was silly. There was no need to be that paranoid. So what if he was an angel? The Hotel was on the outskirts of Pentagram City. Didn't exactly get much in terms of foot traffic. He was even coming by car. How much attention could he really draw on the grand journey from the car to the front door?

She'd tried her best to convince him that it was unnecessary, but her brother remained stubborn. So, after a long session of back-and-forth messaging, Charlie eventually caved in. It was easier that way. And... she did understand where he was coming from.

Amiel never liked drawing attention to himself. Charlie still remembered him as a child, during any instance where all the Morningstars were supposed to attend something. Tiny and desperately trying to hide that adorable golden blush. Wings pressed as tightly as they'd go against his back, as if that would hide them from view. Tiny fingers, clutching at Dad's hand like a lifeline.

He'd hated those moments with a burning passion.

Charlie had no desire to make him relive them. Above all else, Charlie wanted Amiel to be happy at the Hotel. She had to be a good big sister. And if that meant a more modest welcoming party, hosted in the dead of the night, then so be it. Whatever made her brother feel more at ease.

She just wished she could say the same about herself. She was, despite her best efforts, anything but at ease right now. Charlie sorely missed any sort of company, some distraction, someone to talk to.

Vaggie had offered to wait with her, awkward and obviously uncomfortable with the idea herself, but still willing to stay with her girlfriend. Charlie had told her to go to bed without her, and that she'd be fine on her own.

Her foot started tapping rapidly against the floor. She nipped gently at the inside of her cheek.

Charlie wasn't really fine, was she? She was still worried. Her thoughts wandered back to the phone call she'd had with her brother.

What if she'd made it seem like she was begging him to come and solve her problems for her? She had blurted out that the opening weeks were harder than she'd expected. And that was the truth. But it wasn't like that. She'd just been feeling a little frustrated. She wasn't asking for help.

Charlie took to pacing again. What if he'd taken it the wrong way?

She wanted first and foremost to see Amiel again. To make sure he was taking proper care of himself. The Hotel would help with that; she was sure of it. Amiel could meet new people and make some friends, without it being too overwhelming. And if he happened to like her idea? If he chose to support her dream? Well... Charlie would try her best to prevent the waterworks.

Oh, but how was she supposed to be a good host if she was panicking like this? If she panicked, she'd start talking too much, and then things would end up being too awkward between her and Amiel and—

There was a knock on the door. The distinct sound of fingers rapping against glass.

Charlie froze in her tracks.

Oh. Fuck. He was here. Amiel was here. Oh gosh, he was actually here!

She half-walked, half-ran for the door, stumbling over her feet. The long-simmering nervousness finally reached a fever pitch. A feeling of cold dread settled deep into her stomach. But the time for second-guessing was officially over.

Charlie stared at the entrance to the Hotel. The stained glass obscured her brother from view, rendering him no more than a splotchy silhouette, but she knew that it was him on the other side of it.

Her hand hovered over the handle. An inch above it, ane making no move to go any lower.

This was it. No going back.

She took one final, deep breath. It came out just the tiniest bit shaky. Charlie did her best to push all her doubts as far back into her brain as possible. It wasn't as easy as she'd have liked, but she managed.

It was time to bring her A-game. It was showtime.

She tugged at the door, with perhaps a bit too much force, and it swung open to reveal...

Amiel?

They stared at each other for a couple of painfully awkward seconds. Her brother's eyes were slightly narrowed, studying her with that deep, focused look he'd perfected back when he'd been just a kid.

He looked... familiar, but different. For a moment, she couldn't quite place what was off.

Then it hit her. The hair. He'd dyed his hair.

It was still the same long, thick curtain of hair it had been when she'd left, spilling down his back, between his wings, and all the way down to his shins. Just like their mom used to wear. But it was black now, not that shiny, honey blonde she'd grown up with and spent countless hours brushing when they were small.

The change... stung a bit. Just a little.

The silence stretched on for a moment longer, the siblings staring each other down, before the words tumbled out of her mouth on their own.

"Guess we... don't match anymore, huh, Ami?"

Amiel met her eyes... for the most part, at least. He looked up, but seemed intent on staring at her right shoulder instead of her face. He twirled a lock of hair errantly around a finger.

Her brother's reply, when it came, was barely a whisper. As mellow as ever. At least that hadn't changed. "No. I guess we don't."

Charlie shifted her weight from one foot to the other, swaying on her heels lightly. She'd given this moment so much thought, come up with so many different things to say, but all the words seemed to get stuck in her throat now. Her brain went blank.

Still, some things she didn’t need to think hard to say. Some things just came naturally.

"I missed you, Mimi."

Amiel rolled his eyes in response to the nickname, voice casual. "Don't call me that, Charlie."  

But she saw it. The way his bottom lip trembled, the way it yearned to slip between his teeth. Her brother looked... uneasy. He hid it well, but she saw the faint panic in those violet eyes. And when she did... she grew worried. Very worried.

Was he not going to say anything? Oh gosh, what if he was already regretting coming here? Had—

As if he could hear her thoughts, Amiel chose that moment to act. His eyes finally left her shoulder and locked with her own. And he made an effort to smile. It was a tiny one. And quite shaky at the edges. But it was there.

"I missed you too, you know."

It was all Charlie needed. It wasn't a lot. But it was enough.

She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his torso, squealing all the while. She still remembered how to maneuver her arms in just the right way to avoid the wings.

"I can't believe you're actually here!"

Her brother said nothing, but his arms wrapped loosely around her back. One hand thumped her faintly between the shoulder blades in what could only be called an attempt at a pat. His chin nestled on her shoulder.

He spoke up, voice quiet and slightly muffled against her body. But still controlled. No notable emotions leaking through. It almost reminded her of Mom, and when she would slip into her "Queen of Hell" mode.

"Honestly, I can't either."

The siblings stood like that in the doorway for a few moments, wrapped in an awkward embrace. Charlie made no attempt to move away. There was something deeply comforting in feeling the faint heat of Amiel's body against her own after so long. His feathers tickled her knuckles as his wings twitched, probably protesting being held so stiffly against his back.

But then her brother cleared his throat.

"Uhm... could we maybe... go inside? I'd rather not stay out here."

"Ah! Ye-yeah! Right." Charlie detached from him, taking a couple of steps back. The nightly chill hit her all that much harder now that she wasn't pressed against Amiel. But she pushed the small discomfort aside. It was time for a proper tour! She threw her hands out in a wide, sweeping gesture, voice cheerful and energetic.

"Welcome to Hell's first home of healing, the realm of redemption, the one and only Hazbin Hotel!"

Amiel offered her another small, hesitant smile. She didn't miss the faintest trace of relief evident in his eyes as he shuffled inside.

It was... a nostalgic sight, that expression. The same one her brother would make whenever he'd find a quiet corner at some social gathering, a spot away from prying eyes.

Charlie's face broke into a huge, relieved grin. Despite the hair being different, despite the years they'd spent apart, this was still definitely her little brother. Still sweet. Still shy. And above all else, still there.

Although Charlie couldn't deny that some things were different. Like the suit, for example. It wasn't a one to one copy, but she could definitely see their father's influence in it. That cute, frilly bowtie. Or the white, gold, and dark pink color scheme.

She couldn't say that it didn't suit Amiel. It did. Buuut, Charlie was a big sister. There was no way she was going to let her baby brother's style change go under the radar quietly.

Charlie let herself slip into old habits, the teasing coming as easily as it did while they were growing up.

"What's with the outfit, Ami? Did you break into Dad's closet?"

Amiel tugged at one of his white dress jacket's lapels shyly, shifting on his feet. Charlie didn't miss the faintest trace of gold on her brother's cheeks. The sense of nostalgia in her chest swelled further. He was still so adorable. Especially when he tried to defend himself, the pitch of his voice going up just a smiiiiiidge.

"I thought it was fitting. And he has a nice sense of style. I just... needed to tone it down a little bit." He gestured vaguely to himself. "I'm not exactly cut out for the whole circus aesthetic, am I?"

"Nope!"

Amiel gave a tiny, self-conscious chuckle. Charlie beamed, her smile wide enough to make her cheeks ache. He laughed! That was progress, right? She was doing well.

That meant it was safe to double down on the teasing. It was as good of a way to get Amiel to relax as any, right? No point in fixing what wasn't broken. She glanced down at his loafers, and the white pants rolled up to expose a bit of ankle.

"You didn't go for the boots either, huh?"

Amiel rolled his eyes, but the edges of his mouth were twitching upwards. Just barely. "No, Charlie, I did not go for the heels. I like being able to walk."

There it was. That dry snark that he'd picked up somewhere during their teen years. Hearing it again was a comfort Charlie didn't know she needed. And, being the epitome of Hell's royalty and grace, she snorted in response to it. "It's not so hard, Ami. You just balance. You could practice, you know. Might need it someday."

Amiel turned his head towards her, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. "Could it be that you're calling me short?"

Charlie waved her hand, letting out a puff of air through her lips. "Pfff! Me? Nooo, never. You're just... compact."

Her brother tried his best to look offended, but the trembling of his lips ruined it. They were holding on by the skin of their teeth, fighting not to twitch their way into a smile. He settled for turning away from her, nose pointed to the ceiling.

"If you're going to insult me like that, guess I'll just head back home."

Without warning, she snatched his hand up, tugging gently, though her grip was firm. "No, you won't! I'm not letting you go anywhere, Ami. Not before I give you the tour of your life! Come on, come on!"

Charlie gave a stronger tug, spinning Amiel right back around to face her, and forcing him a step further into the lobby. Her brother's wings puffed up, spreading out with a whoosh, as if they'd somehow help him stand his ground.

He let out a cute little squeak, tugging with the same force as his sister. Or at least trying to. An excited Charlie meant an unstoppable Charlie. And in all honesty, he'd always been the more delicate of the two.

"Wait, Charlie! I don't think they've parked the car yet! They're still trying to find your garage!"

 Scratch that. An excited Charlie meant an almost unstoppable Charlie. She froze in her tracks, turning on her heel to stare at her brother, still clinging to his hand. "Don't tell me they’re staying here too?!"

Amiel blushed again, the gold sticking out more noticeably against his pale cheeks. "Well... you know I can't drive, so they were going to come with me either way. And... yeah. You remember how they are. They both wanted to stay here too."

He obviously wasn't prepared for the excited shriek Charlie let out, judging by the way he flinched. She practically bounced on her heels, almost vibrating in front of her brother. "Razzle and Dazzle are going to be so, SO happy! They've missed those two almost as much as I've missed you!"

As if on cue, two small, winged creatures fluttered through the front door, one of them lugging a huge, wheeled suitcase behind him.

Charlie released her grip on her baby brother's fingers, half-walking, half-bouncing over to the duo. "Lulu! Lighty! You're here too!"

She gave the little unicorn, who had his hooves busy with Amiel's luggage, a quick, careful pat on the head, mindful of the horn. Then she descended upon the wolf, scratching under his chin with one hand, while the other rubbed along his back.

One of Lulu's hind paws twitched, batting at the air futilely. He whined, looking at Amiel as if he'd left him to die at the mercy of the elements.

"Awww! You're still so fluffy, Lulu."

"Charlie, please stop. I think you're choking him."

Oops. Oh dear. She miiiiight have gotten a tad carried away. Just a tad.

"Sorry, Lulu."

The wolf gave an indignant huff through his nose, adjusted his dark green suit jacket, and promptly buried himself in Amiel's chest, snout smushed against the dark pink vest her brother wore.

Just like Razzle and Dazzle, the wolf had once been a toy. Amiel's favorite, in fact, back when her baby brother really was a baby. A little black wolf plushie, with a single streak of green in his headfur. Uncle Ozzie's gift. Lighty, the mint green unicorn with that unruly emerald mane, shot through with a single stripe of black, had been one of their uncle's gifts too. But Lulu was special. Dad hadn't expected him to turn out quite so clingy, but Amiel never minded.

One of her brother's gloved hands, clad in the same dark shade of cerise as his vest, gently came to rest between Lulu's ears. Her brother's slender fingers gave a few errant scratches, and the wolf seemed to almost melt.

"There, there, little guy. You know Charlie's a cuddler." He gave one of the wolf's ears a little poke, causing it to twitch. "Now come on. Let go."

Charlie didn't miss the halfhearted glare Lulu gave her brother, but he complied, reluctantly, flapping back into the air and going back to floating beside Lighty.

It was sweet. Very sweet. She almost felt jealous. Razzle and Dazzle were plenty protective of her, but they were much closer with each other than they were with anyone else, her included. But she waved the thought off. She couldn't get sidetracked. Not now. She had a job to do!

Charlie clapped her hands. "All right, you three. More people means more fun! Follow me. I need to show you EVERYTHING!"

The boys lined up obediently behind her, Amiel in the front, Lulu at his heels, and Lighty bringing up the rear, the luggage's wheels gliding almost soundlessly across the floor. She led them deeper in with long, confident strides, her heels clacking loudly against the floor.

"This is the lobby!" She pointed to the currently unmanned bar. "That's where you check in! Husk usually handles it. You'll love Husk!"

"Oh, and this is where we will be holding new exercises next week!" She twirled around, trying to gesture at everything at once. "You'll love that too! Everyone gets together in a circle, and we talk about our feelings and stuff!

She thrust one of her arms upwards, craning her neck as far up as it would go as well. "And look at that skylight! The lighting's great during the day!"

Amiel and his diminutive bodyguards blinked, taking in the various sights. Her brother in particular was staring at the slightly crooked chandelier with critically narrowed eyes. "It's... very pretty. But doesn't that chandelier look a bit... unsafe to you?"

Charlie's enthusiasm took a hit at that, though she kept a smile on her face. She gave a dismissive wave in response. "Don't worry about that, Ami! It's safe. Al's been a huge help too. We've been fixing the Hotel up since he moved in."

She didn't miss the way Amiel tensed at the name. He pursed his lips, tilting his head slightly as he locked eyes with her, gaze almost searching. "And you are absolutely sure that he's... safe to... partner with?"

Charlie rolled her eyes, the slightest bit of frustration slipping through the cracks in her eternal optimism. She appreciated that Amiel was worried about her. She really did. But she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Her family just had trouble realizing that.

Her response came out firmer than she'd intended it to. "Yes. Yes, I am. He's been nothing but a help. You don't have to worry about me, Ami."

She had to strain her ears to hear her brother's next words.

"Of course. Sorry." Amiel bit his lip, turning his eyes towards the bar, looking at it silently.

Immediately, Charlie felt guilt sinking its teeth into her.

Her little brother had always been so easy to upset. And she knew the comment had come out of worry, not malice. Her brother didn't have a malicious bone in his body.

Charlie fidgeted with her fingers, wracking her brain for some way to get the sibling reuinion back on track. She went through ideas at a breakneck pace, barely giving them a moment's consideration apiece, before she moved on to the next. Finally, she settled on one.

"Oh! Oh! Before I forget!" She bounded over to the bar, slipping behind the counter and disappearing from view as she crouched down. "I asked Husk to leave it here somewhere. Just give me a second, Ami!"

The bar was a mess. A veritable sea of bottles, some unopened, some half-empty, and some dry as a bone, probably having been used to help Husk "get through the day," rather than served to any guest. She really needed to establish some sort of "no drinking on the job" policy, but that was beside the point. Her eyes darted from corner to corner, but it was a Herculean task, finding anything.

Soft footsteps told her that her brother was coming closer, before three heads peeked their way above the bar, staring at her. Amiel, unlike his bodyguards, seemed to be straining a bit, gloved hands gripping the edge of the counter. He was probably standing on his tiptoes to reach that high.

"What exactly are you looking for, Charlie?"

She didn't answer, eyes still roaming the cluttered space with an increasingly manic intensity. But then she saw it, the cheap plastic glinting in the low light, tucked securely and almost completely out of view behind some wine bottles. Charlie lunged for it with far too much enthusiasm, almost sending the bottle nearest to it straight to the floor, but she caught it just in time with her free hand.

She hopped back up to her full height, thrusting her hand out in front of her and offering the small object to Amiel, her usual grin back in place.

"This! Your key. For your room. You'll love it. Niffty cleaned it from top to bottom today. Twice. It's right next to mine! Up on the top floor! You don't mind the stairs, right? If you do, we can move you somewhere closer tomorrow."

Oh gosh, she was rambling.

Amiel, however, didn't seem to mind, or if he did, he hid it well. He accepted the offered key, twirling the plastic keychain that held his room's number on it between his gloved fingers. His eyes stayed locked onto it.

"That's fine. I don't mind stairs."

"That's fine?"

That was it? Oh goodness. Charlie really did mess up, didn't she? She'd... hurt him with the way she dismissed his concerns. But she wasn't trying go be mean! She wasn't trying to make it seem like she didn't value his input. Charlie just... she was an adult. She was the Princess of Hell. She wasn't some child that needed to be taken care of.

But even so, she could have been less harsh.

The guilt that had been nagging at her got worse.

What if she already messed up? What if she'd set herself up for a week of Amiel barely venturing out of his room, just like before? What if she couldn't fix this?

No. No, no, no. She wasn't going there. Charlie was going to fix this. No matter what!

Somehow.

Her eyes roamed the lobby subtly, as though she'd find all the answers plastered on the wallpaper. But, when her eyes landed on Amiel's bodyguards, an idea formed in her mind.

Perhaps... a bit of privacy would help? Some earnest, sibling to sibling time. Just the two of them. There was nothing a good heart-to-heart couldn't solve. And she would also be solving the newly created problem of... having absolutely no accomodations ready for Amiel's bodyguards.

Look at her, killing two birds with one stone!

She stepped closer to Lulu and Lighty. Almost immediately, the wolf cautiously flapped his white feathered wings in a way that got him out of her grabbing range.

Charlie held back a frown. Really, the plush had such double standards. Hung on like a tick to Amiel, and yet, when you gave him one slightly too energetic hug, he avoided you like the plague. But Charlie didn't let that deter her. They were guests, and they were Amiel's. That was all that mattered.

She leaned in conspiratorially, one hand coming to cover her mouth, even as she spoke in a tone too loud to classify even as as a pretend whisper.

"You know, you two, Razzle and Dazzle have a room up there as well. Top floor, third door on the left. If you'd like, you could go spend the night with them."

Lulu's tail wagged, ears perking up, and his tongue sticking out from between his fangs in a way that made him look adorably dopey. Lighty, to his credit, fiddled with his pristine black suit and white dress shirt, trying to look unaffected, though she knew that she'd caught his interest as well.

Amiel noticed it too, eyes leaving the key and settling on the three of them.

"Go on, you two. I know you want to."

 Lulu let out a happy little yip, tail twacking through the air with enough force to generate a cool breeze. But Lighty looked as though he'd need a bit more convincing.    

And convince, Amiel did, stepping closer to the little unicorn and ruffling his mane gently. "It's fine, Lighty. Really. I'm not made of glass. I can unpack on my own."

He hugged the handle of Amiel's suitcase closer to his chest. Unlike Lulu, who was primarily motivated by getting cuddles from the prince, Lighty had an unshakable sense of duty. Charlie had always found it adorable, especially the way it contrasted with his cutesy appearance.

She watched as Amiel rubbed the unicorn's back encouragingly. "Come on. I don't mind."

Lighty let out a puff of air through his nose, snorting loudly. He stared off to the side, looking decidedly... undecided.

Her brother bent down slightly, getting down to Lighty's eye level. Amiel's hands found their way to the unicorn's muzzle, grabbing it gently and tilting it upwards until pale blue eyes met violet ones. His voice was soft, as if coaxing a shy child.

"How about this? I know you want to be helpful. So, you take that heavy suitcase up to my room, leave it there, and then go say hi to Razzle and Dazzle?" He paused to give Lighty an encouraging smile. "We're ALL here on vacation, right? That includes you two as well."

The unicorn's eyes darted between Amiel's face, Charlie, and Lulu for a moment or two, before he finally gave a small nod, earning him a pat on the head from her brother.

"Good." He offered the key to Lulu, who snatched it up immediately. "Off you go, then."

Lulu wasted no time, gunning for the elevators, wings flapping with determination. Lighty trailed behind him more hesitantly, ears pinned back. He hovered in front of the elevator, casting a backwards glance at Amiel. Her brother's only response was to give his bodyguard a relaxed wave that seamlessly transitioned into a shooing gesture.

That finally did the trick, as the unicorn turned away and slipped inside the elevator. The suitcase had barely made it over the threshold by the time Lulu pounded at the button with much more force than necessary. A moment later, the doors closed, the elevator dinging softly as it went on its way.

And then there were two.

Charlie had gotten so caught up in the adorable scene, she'd completely forgotten that, once the bodyguard duo left, she'd be left alone. With Amiel.

They stood side by side, silent. And she had no idea what to say.

Suprisingly, after a few tense seconds, Amiel was the one to throw something into the noiseless void that descended between them, voice light and tinged with... humor, maybe?

"Yours were never this problematic."

Charlie blinked. It took her frazzled brain a second to piece together that Amiel meant their bodyguards. But when she did, she pounced. Her brother was leaving a window open for her, a way to get the conversation flowing again, and Charlie wasn't about to let that chance pass her up.

She elbowed him in the side. Perhaps a bit too hard, judging by the way he jerked, and the little "Ow" that slipped out of him.

"Sorry," Charlie mumbled out, a jittery smile decorating her lips. "But don't try to pretend you don't love them, Ami."

She stole a glance at him, just in time to see him rolling his eyes. "Of course I love them. They're practically family. You don't just quit loving your family."

Charlie froze, though she didn't show it. Hopefully. She still turned away for good measure. Her fingers grabbed at the edge of her sleeve, wrinkling the fabric. Was... was that a jab meant for her? Was Amiel upset at her for leaving? But... he'd never said anything! It can't have been that.

She must have imagined it. Yeah! That was it. She busied herself by straightening the sleeve she'd messed with, focusing exclusively on the task.

Charlie just had to.... keep at it. Finish the tour. Let Amiel loosen up a bit. Make him feel welcome. Make him feel at home. Even if her insides felt as though they had frozen solid.

Okay. Okay! Time to get to it.

She turned on her heel and took her brother's hand again. Thankfully, he didn't flinch. Didn't pull away. That... that was a relief. Though she would make sure not to drag him around like before.

Charlie plucked up every ounce of cheer she could manage. "Come on Ami. Let's go finish that tour. I have to show you the lounge. It's soooo comfy."

Gosh, did that sound fake? Was she being too pushy? Or was she just overthinking? Ugh, she just couldn't tell anymore!

Again, Amiel calmed her down without even saying anything. His gloved fingers wriggled around a bit in her grasp, settling into a more comfortable position. He gave her hand a little squeeze.

He'd always been good at that, her little brother. Never saying much, just... being there.

"Lead the way, Charlie," he said, voice quiet and soft, a tiny, barely-there smile on his lips.

Charlie took a deep breath. In through her nose, out through her mouth. It helped... less than it should have, but she was going to take what she could get. Charlie focused on the cold leather between her fingers. Less comfortable than bare skin, but... he was here. With her.

She gave Amiel her best grin as she took off, extra careful to keep her pace slow as she lead him through one of the doors and down a short hallway.

The walls, like most of the Hotel, were lined with portraits. Of their family. This hallway in particular was exclusively Mom and Dad, from before they had the two of them.

She saw Amiel trailing the portraits with his gaze. His pace slowed, as he took them in, and she slowed her own to match. He seemed... deep in thought. He had that look, the one she remembered so well. Bottom lip jutting out, teeth waiting at the edge of it, as if testing the water. Eyes narrowed, but the look in them distant.

Charlie wondered whether to say something or stay quiet. However, Amiel beat her to it. He'd muttered it quietly, half to himself, but she heard.

"It's weird, isn't it?"

Charlie stopped altogether, letting go of his hand and spinning to face him properly instead of looking over her shoulder. She tilted her head, hands on her hips, hair resting heavily on one shoulder. "What's weird, Ami?"

Amiel's wings poofed up in surprise, as if he hadn't expected her to answer. They unfurled partially, spreading wider for the first time since he'd walked through the front door. But it only lasted a moment before he forced them back into their usual folded state against his back.

"Just... the fact it's us." He pointed vaguely towards the wall. "Right there on the walls, for your guests to see. Is that not weird to you?"

She shrugged. "Not really." Charlie chuckled, adjusting her bowtie. "Most of the time, nobody really pays attention to the decoration. And besides, you don't need to worry about privacy. There's not many of them where we're all together."

Fuck. Charlie regretted the words before they were even fully out of her mouth. Amiel bit his bottom lip, hard. Suddenly, his shoes became the most interesting thing in the room. Or at least you'd think that, judging by the way his gaze drifted downwards until he was staring straight at them.

"I figured as much."

Charlie, for what it was worth, tried to backpedal. "Ami, I didn't mean it like that."

Her brother looked up. She did not like the stare Amiel gave her. It wasn't judging. It wasn't casting blame. But.... There was something fragile in it, though he smiled. Or tried to, at least. It looked painted on.

"I know." As he said that, his eyes flickered to the nearest picture. Mom, dressed in a red gown. Floral. Thorns, roses, vines—the very picture of elegance. The porcelain smile he had on cracked.

Shit, shit, shit. She was messing everything up. Amiel was sensitive. Especially when it came to family. She wasn't supposed to just run her mouth like that.

But... She hadn't done this in a bit. Talking with him, really talking with her brother, while he was in front of her. Charlie was rusty. And sometimes, it felt like wading through a swamp, one wrong move away from ending neck-deep in quicksand. It could get frustrating. But she had to bear it. Her brother was more than worth it.

She put one foot forward, one arm reaching out to grab Amiel's hand again. But then she hesitated. Charlie held it in the air for a second, before letting it thump lifelessly against her side.

Maybe keeping her distance for a bit was the smarter thing to do. Better not to crowd him.

Charlie gestured for Amiel to follow, though he still wasn't looking at her. "Come on. The lobby's just up ahead," she said, but the enthusiasm sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

She heard footsteps behind her. Soft, slightly muffled by the carpet. Slow and ambling. But still there. Still following. That had to count for something.

A minute later, Amiel slipped soundlessly into the lounge as she held the door open for him. Neither of them spoke. He looked around with the same subdued curiosity as he did in the lobby.

"It looks comfy," he ventured.

She had a feeling that that was more common courtesy rather than a genuine assessment, but she wrangled her lips into a smile and took it.

"Try the couches! They're cozy!"

Amiel obeyed, and for a second, Charlie's heart felt lighter at the expression he'd made when his butt touched the couch. Eyes wide, wings puffed, and mouth hanging partially open.

Of course he'd picked the EXTRA lumpy one.

She bounded over to him, a bit of genuine laughter bubbling up from her throat, despite everything. "Oops. Sorry about that, Ami! Some of them are a bit... old." Charlie swayed on her feet, feeling slightly embarrassed. Gosh, they really needed to kick the cleaning efforts up a notch. Perhaps spring cleaning would make a good bonding exercise for everyone?

Her brother's response was a crooked little smile. "They're... unique. But it's not so bad."

There he went again. He was just being polite. Why? Why did her brother feel the need to be so... distant? Sure, they'd spent some time apart, but... she was still his big sister. Did he not see that? Was—oh gosh, just the thought made her feel awful—was she not making him feel welcome?

No. No, no, no. No. Not the time to go there.

This was fine. They were alone, they were comfortable. More or less. It was the perfect time for a little sibling bonding. All they needed now was a bit of initiative, and the Princess of Hell had that in spades.

Charlie dropped onto the couch beside him, and—yeah, yeesh, that one really was lumpy. Definitely needed to be thrown out soon. She shifted awkwardly, trying to find a less... unpleasant spot. Amiel watched her out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching again. Were he not so good at holding back, he would have definitely burst out laughing by now.

"You're still incapable of sitting still, huh, Charlie?"

She crossed her arms, huffing with pretend snootiness. "Obviously not." She adopted a posh accent, straight from a Goetia's tea party. "Nobility must be poised, perfect, and pedantic. Wouldn't you agree, Your Royal Highness?

That did the trick. Amiel laughed. He tried to hide it, sticking one gloved hand over his mouth, but it didn't work. And then his laughter at her ridiculous display got her, and for a few blissfully beautiful seconds, they cackled like mad on the couch. Together.

Amiel glared at her playfully once he caught his breath. "If you can talk like THAT, why was I the one who always had to write letters to that one Goetian brat who demanded that one of the King's children be her pen pal?

Charlie rolled her eyes. "Beeeeecause, I'm older, and I had a chance to weasel out of it."

Her brother snorted, and some of her unease in her chest went with the noise. They were moving away from timid politeness once again. That was good!

"Hmpf. Just admit you were embarrassed I had prettier penmanship than you. You kept making half your Ns into Ms by accident."

She elbowed him again. "Shuuut up! You promised we would never speak about THAT."

"Char, you wrote a letter to Leviathan, and you addressed it to 'Umcle Leviatham.'"

Oh gosh! Her heart leapt. He'd used her childhood nickname! She was doing it! She was getting him to relax! Her smile widened to the point her cheeks ached.

"That was one time!"

Amiel lifted a single eyebrow. "Mhmmm. And then 'Umcle Ozzie' just so happened to pull a whole stack of similar letters from his coat? With all the spelling mistakes underlined in that tacky pink ink?"

Okay, that memory actually made her blush. Not her proudest moment. But she wasn't about to back down. Not now. Not when he'd finally defrosted.

"I was just excited! Too excited to spend hours on every letter like you did!"

He crossed his arms, sticking his nose up in the air again. His wings rustled slightly, making that sound. Like a chime, but softer. More... feathery.

"Excuse me for trying to be respectful."

Charlie smirked. "'Respectful.' Suuuuure. You were showing off for Dad. You'd march up to his workshop and ask him to check, even when you knew you got it all perfectly."

Her baby brother blushed furiously. The gold pooled around his cheeks, blending perfectly with his fair skin. "I did not!

Charlie laughed in his face. She... she'd missed this. And she hadn't even realized just how much. The conversation flowed, easy and free for once. It felt... nice.

"Don't lie to me, Ami! I remember it." She tapped the side of her head with one finger for emphasis. "Aaaaaall in here. Every embarrassing memory."

"Do not make me pull out your goth phase stories, Char. I'm armed, and I will not hesitate to use it."

One hand rested against her chest as she let out a mock gasp. "You wouldn't DARE."

Amiel gave her a downright smug smirk. "Try me."

She lifted her arms up in mock surrender, giggling like a kid. "Okay. Okay. You win. But you have to swear not to tell those to anyone, promise?"

He sighed as though she'd asked him to  do the impossible. She'd forgotten how theatrical her brother could be, when he was relaxed. It made sense, she supposed. She hadn't seen much of this side of him.

"Fiiiiiine. A truce it is. You ARE my favorite sister."

"Favorite sister." Her heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught for a second. Sure, the words were teasing, but... there was warmth there. She did it! She did it! Charlie wanted to give Amiel a rib-cracking hug, but she held back.

"You're my favorite little brother too, Mimi."

He glared at her, though there was no heat in it. "Don't call me that, or I WILL tell your guests about that sad excuse of a black highlight you tried to pull off on your own in the bathroom."

Charlie put all her acting skills into a single, dismissive hair flip. "You have no shame. None at all."

"It's called being resourceful."

She had no response to that, save for the gesture that was as dignified as it was mature. She stuck her tongue out at him, and he rolled his eyes in mock exasperation.

Their banter tapered off into comfortable silence from there. Emphasis on comfortable. It wasn't awkward or frosty. It was warm. Soft. It felt nostalgic, and good and right.

However, eventually, Amiel spoke up. His eyes were struggling to meet hers again, favoring her bowtie, but his voice was sincere. "You know... I'm glad I came here. Really. I didn't realize how much I missed... this."

The words tumbled out with zero hesitation. "I missed this too, Ami. I missed you."

Her hand slid across the couch, before it found his fingers. It wrapped around them, lax enough that he could pull away, but firm enough to show that she wasn't about to let go anytime soon.

He didn't pull away. Just slid his own fingers between hers, locking them together.

Charlie smiled. It'd been far too long since the last time she'd held her baby brother's hand.

There was a newfound lightness in her chest. She relished it, basking in the gentle warmth that radiated from her chest like a cat in the sun. The years of awkward phone calls melted away. In that moment, they were siblings again, just two kids who'd snagged an hour of free time and spent it doing something stupid and silly, but in retrospect, so important.

But Charlie wouldn't be Charlie if she had a liking for long silences. They were here, in the same room, after seven years!

There was one thing in particular that she just had to ask.

Charlie let her enthusiasm shine through. She was doing something good here, and she was proud of that. "Soooo, Ami. What do you say? Is the Hotel as cool as you imagined?"

His eyes darted down to his lap for a second, and his teeth gave his lip a lightning fast nibble. A faint golden blush colored his cheeks.

"I didn't really... have any expectations, to be honest. But you seem to care about it. That's good enough for me."

That was... well, a little disappointing, if she was being honest. The equivalent of a pat on the shoulder and a halfhearted "Good job, sport."

The disappointment bubbled over before she could bite her tongue. "You don't think it's a good idea," she asked with a tilt of her head.

Amiel's hand left her own as he held both arms in front of him in a placating gesture. He sat a little straighter, and his wings gave the faintest flutter, though they stayed folded behind his back.

His voice was cautious. "It's not that. I promise. Just... I don't know, Charlie. It's not something that's been done before."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't try. Sinners are our people too. You know that, Ami. They're all worth the effort."

A note of flustered desperation slipped into his tone. "I'm not saying they aren't," Amiel squeaked out, voice climbing in pitch. "I just... I don't know. I haven't met your guests, Charlie. I haven't even met any Sinner."

She should have stopped. But the Hotel was her dream. Her passion. Amiel's hesitation seemed more like rejection in that moment. And that led her to continue, without sparing a thought for the consequences.

Her words carried a hint of accusation she hadn't intended them to. "Why not give them a chance, then?"

Amiel's fingers glided over the gold trim on his dress jacket's lapels. He gripped the tip of one lapel between two fingers, bending it this way and that way.

"I am. But I have nothing to go off of. All I know about Sinners is what Dad told us and what I read. Can you blame me for being hesitant?"

Charlie stiffened at the mention of their father. He was... biased towards sinners. And not in a good way. It seemed that Amiel had followed in his footsteps.

"What if Dad's wrong, Amiel? You know how he is. He barely even knows them. You're just going to take what he says without seeing for yourself?"

Her brother's eyes narrowed. "He knows more than I do. And I trust him."

He hadn't said it, but he might as well have. The unsaid "I don’t trust you" blared behind her eyes in huge, red letters. And it hurt.

"I love Dad, Amiel, but he can be wrong about things. And he IS wrong about this."

Amiel's gloved hands clenched into fists. The leather creaked faintly as it rubbed against itself. Her brother glared at her, but there was no trace of playfulness in his expression this time.

"Do you?"

It took her a moment to figure out what he meant. And then the realization hit. For both of them. Charlie understood just what Amiel was calling into question, just as he seemed to realize what he'd uttered.

He stood up abruptly, wings drooping for half a second before they gave a couple of frantic flaps.

He took two unsteady steps away from the couch and towards the door. His hands fiddled with each other, and his teeth gave a quick chomp to his bottom lip before he managed to force any words out.

"That was—I'm—I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I think I'm going to go sleep. I'm obviously too tired to talk. I'm sorry."

He'd stumbled his way towards the door before Charlie even had a chance to snap out of it. Finally, as his gloved hand reached for the doorknob, she jumped to her feet.

"Wait, Ami!" Gah, she had no idea what to say, and no time to make a decision. Frustration, sadness, it all melted away in the face of her panic.

"I'll walk you to your room," she blurted out, taking a clumsy step towards her brother. Her foot caught the coffee table, and she almost ended up flat on the floor before she stabilized herself.

Amiel waved his hands frantically. "No! No, no need for that. Don't worry. I remember the room number. Good night, Charlie!"

She wanted to respond, but Amiel slipped away, closing the door behind him. Its bang echoed, both in the lounge and in her head.

For a moment, she considered going after him. Sprinting down the hallway, tackling him if need be, and calming him down.

But... what was the point?

Charlie... fucked it all up. Everything. They... they were doing so well and then—

She sniffled.

And then she just had to mention the Hotel. Just had to keep pushing him. Had to get upset too, as if she hadn't seen how he reacted earlier.

Charlie sniffled again, wiping at her eyes with the back of a sleeve.

Her trusty optimism just... crumbled into nothingness. She—her chest felt hollow. Breaths came in short bursts, but she barely felt them. What was she supposed to do now? How was she supposed to fix this mess?

For quite some time, she stayed in the lounge, thoughts swirling. And yet, no answer came to her.

Notes:

The Morningstars just CAN'T seem to talk with each other properly, huh?

Honestly, I'm not all too pleased with the way I'm handling Charlie. I can't tell if I'm making her OOC, or whether it's just all the extra family trauma I've dumped into her lap, but something feels off. If any of you lovely readers manage to pinpoint what I could not, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd comment your findings. I'm open to rewriting her scene and improving it, if it's agreed to be necessary.

And hey, next time we'll finally be meeting the rest of the Hotel gang. That's sure to be an experience. I have a LOOOOOT of ideas. But, I'd also love to hear your ideas too. Any particular interactions you'd like to see, either between them and Amiel, or just between canon characters? I think that the series would have benefited from more character bonding, so why not add more of that here?

Oh, and finally, don't worry. I won't make any promises, just to be on the safe side, but I think the next update probably won't take two months to come out. Hopefully.

Chapter 6: A Trying Morning

Notes:

Merry (late) Sinsmas and Happy (early) New Year, my lovely readers!

ThE NeXT chApTeR ProBaBlY WoNT taKe Me TwO mONths To WriTE.

Pfff. I'm such a liar. T_T

Anywhooooooo... this chapter is special. We get our first canon foreigner musical number.

Today's lucky victim is "It's Over, Isn't It?", from Steven Universe. Thank you, Rebecca Sugar and Cartoon Network, for providing a victim for me to butcher with bad rhymes and my inability to stay on-beat.

For those who've never heard the song, here's the link:
https://youtu.be/Ussqi3nagrQ?feature=shared

It's hardly required, but I do think listening before you read will enhance the experience.

That's about it. Enjoy the next installement of "Please, Get These People Therapy."

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

That one couch in the living room always had a way of swallowing Amiel up in the best way possible. His father's craftsmanship was top-notch, as usual. The plush dipped with the slightest touch, but never enough to feel like you were drowning. It was the perfect spot for lazing on. Amiel was draped across it, lying on his stomach, legs on the armrest and his chin resting on his hands, a book open in front of him.

The barely noticeable scratch of pen against paper made for a nice backdrop. Calm. Methodical. Rhythmic even. A wonderful complement to a relaxing afternoon.

And yet... It drove him insane. Raked against the back of his brain like a shard of glass, poking and slashing at random intervals.

Now, Amiel had nothing against the noise itself. He wasn't one of those people that required absolute silence for reading. In fact, he quite liked the sound of pen on paper.

Amiel had some vague memories of sitting in his father's lap, which had seemed so huge back then, while the King of Hell worked on paperwork. Gosh, he must have been barely a toddler. His father hadn't touched any paperwork in a looooong time, after all. But Amiel could remember, if only barely, that he'd liked the quiet, and his Dad's presence, and the soft, constant noise.

But this time was different. The knowledge that it was his mother making the sound made ALL the difference.

The Queen of Hell rarely lingered in the living room during the afternoons, and almost never brought her work with her. She preferred her office for that. But today, for some reason, she'd simply... showed up, carrying with her a towering stack of papers, which she deposited on the coffee table, and sat down at the other couch.

Of course, the Queen hadn't said anything to her son. Years of halfhearted greetings and stilted conversations were long behind them. Now it was silence, unless appearances demanded it be filled with something.

In all honesty, Amiel wasn't sure why he hadn't left yet. He definitely wasn't reading anymore. His relaxed posture was far too stiff to be truly at ease. His violet eyes were locked onto the page, but they didn't pick up on any of the words. Not with her in the room.

Mother never voiced her feelings, but she never needed to. She made them obvious in other, subtler ways. Over the years, Amiel had grown skilled in picking up on them.

The glare that seemed to be trying to will his wings into wilting away on the spot. The slight narrowing of her eyes when she looked him over. The curl of her small, perfect lips, which he'd inherited, into a barely noticeable sneer of distaste.

Mother LOATHED him.

Were Amiel more like his sister, perhaps he could have convinced himself that that was not the case. That he was making mountains out of molehills. That his mind was playing tricks on him, and that he was simply being overly dramatic.

But no. He was not like Charlie. That was the heart of the issue in the first place, wasn't it?

So why was he still there, not daring to move a muscle?

Amiel had no answer. His mind was eerily blank, focused entirely on the fact that she was there, and nothing else.

It was annoying, how easily she set him on edge. The moment Mother walked into the room, his wings, already drawn closely to his back due to the lack of space, pulled back even more. They draped across his back like a long, feathery cape of pure white. It wasn't comfortable, but it made them stand out as little as possible, and that was what mattered.

Ugh! Just thinking back to that made him mad. He hadn't even done that consciously! They just... folded in on themselves with no input at the first sight of Mother.

It was stupid. He should have been used to it by now. To her. To her feelings towards him. But... What child could get used to that?

The Prince had no name for the emotion that bubbled up when he thought of Lilith Morningstar. Distaste, fear, regret, sadness? All parts of it, but the end result was distinctively none of them.

One thing that he most definitely could pinpoint, though, was bitterness.

What had he EVER done to deserve this? She had no problem with Dad being an angel. What made him any different?

He should have stopped himself. Cut that train of thought short.

It was both pointless and stupid, feeding the flames of those feelings. Amiel should have simply stood up and wordlessly left the living room. He should have gone to his own room, or his Dad's workshop, or found Charlie, or done anything else.

Instead, he stayed, for just a minute or two longer, biting on his bottom lip and twirling a thick strand of blonde hair—the same shade of blonde as hers—around his index finger. Stewing in his frustration, until...

"Why are you here, Mother?"

The words came out of their own volition. In fact, until the tail end of what he'd said rang out in his ears, Amiel scarcely realized that he'd spoken at all.

Shit.

His heart stopped, perfectly in sync with the pen pausing its movements against the paper.

Icy panic gripped him. She heard him; she heard him; sheheardsheheardsheard!

He took a single shallow, shaky breath. Why had he asked that? Why had he spoken at all? What was the point?

Before he could spiral further, Mother answered, the sound of her voice making him jerk slightly, though he managed to stifle it.

"I'm working. Isn't that obvious?"

And there it was. The cold, clinical tone. The "Amiel Tone". A moment later, the near-silent sound of the pen ghosting over the paperwork started again. It rang quite loudly in Amiel's ears.

She wasn't like that with Dad. Or with Charlie. Then, the Queen of Hell would fade away, only to be replaced by... Lilith Morningstar. Mom. Lili. Sometimes harsh, yes. Strict and a bit cold. Especially with Dad, as of late. But... despite it all, warm. Caring. Attentive.

Not for him. Never for him.

Amiel's teeth dug back into his bottom lip with newfound vigor. Unlike the rest of his family, he had no fangs, but he still came quite close to drawing blood on some occasions. This was one of them.

He knew the right thing to do was stay quiet. The Queen had given him the most minimalist response possible. It was a way out of this mess he'd unwittingly started.

For some reason, for once he didn't want a way out.

"Why here?"

He didn't look up at her, eyes firmly on the scribbly mess of ink that decorated the pages of his book. He couldn't look at her. Not yet. But this time, the words came out because he wanted them to. That was something, wasn't it?

Mother's tone remained unchanged. "Am I not allowed to? This is MY home."

Right. Of course. Stupid Amiel. Why would she give him a proper answer, when she could say that cryptic garbage? Why, giving him a straight answer might have led to some sort of conversation between the two of them. What a disaster THAT would have been.

He was just wasting his time. There was nothing of value to be gained by staying.

Amiel shifted awkwardly as he maneuvered himself off the couch. He clutched his book to his chest, wings drooping slightly as they finally had a chance to at least somewhat relax. There was still a stiffness in them that only a good stretch could solve, but that would have to wait until he was alone and out of there.

He stood there, still holding the book against himself like some sort of shield. But he couldn't help himself. Amiel cast the briefest of looks in Mother's direction.

Violet met violet. They had the exact same eyes, after all. The only difference was that one pair of pupils was slitted, and the other rounded.

The Queen looked away before her son could even think of doing so. Not out of awkwardness, or guilt. If there was any of that, Amiel would have known. She'd simply looked away. Judged him to not be worth focusing her attention on.

Amiel made his way to the door, posture straight, wings tucked against his back, footsteps confident. She wasn't looking at him, and his so-called "confidence" was hollow enough that one metaphorical touch would have caved it in, but Mother did not need to know that. He would be dignified for his own sake.

But once he was at the door... Amiel stopped.

He had no idea why. He'd said so himself; he was only wasting time. And yet... He stood there. There was a tiny little flame in his chest, barely an ember, but still there. Defiance, maybe? A thirst for confrontation, perhaps? He wasn't sure. But Amiel made it a point to keep that little flame in check. Always.

Not always.

"Mother?"

The sound of writing did not pause. It went on for a second, and then another, and another, and another.

Of course. He'd maxed out his time. Too much exposure to Amiel for the Queen's tastes.

But then the pen stilled again, probably having finished with whatever document she was working on. Naturally, Amiel thought bitterly, they took precedence.

"Yes?"

Amiel had no idea what he was going to ask. His body felt foreign. As if moving on its own. But, if his mind had no clue where it was leading the conversation, his mouth certainly did.

"Was there ever a chance?"

Mother lifted her gaze, and he felt a chill. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked. Her eyes trailed over him from his feet, all the way up to his pale face. For once, there was no thinly veiled distaste present. She looked as confused as Amiel felt, head tilted so her hair spilled onto her right shoulder.

"Pardon? A chance for what?"

Amiel swallowed. That was a good question. A chance for what? What was he hoping for? If he wanted closure, he'd get none. The idea of comfort seemed even more laughable. So what? What was he going to ask?

To his credit, his voice was steady. As controlled as hers. All business, no emotion.

"Us. Was there ever a chance for us? To..." He trailed off, just for a moment, struggling for the right word. He would not say love. He would not BEG her for it. "To understand each other?"

Mother had the decency to look genuinely surprised. Very surprised, in fact. Her eyes, which had remained locked onto Amiel's face, drifted downwards, back towards the half-finished pile of documents.

Her delicate mouth opened slightly, just enough for a flash of those perfect white fangs to poke through. Then it closed.

One of her gloved hands twitched where it rested on the table, the fingers curling and uncurling stiffly.

Amiel stared at her, unyielding. If he'd come this far, he'd get an answer.

The Queen breathed in through her nose, gaze dropping even lower. "I don't know."

Was that—no. No, it can't have been. There was no way in Hell that Lilith Morningstar sounded regretful. The Queen had no regrets. Her eyes were only ever primed to look at the future, at the horizon, onwards towards the next victory, the next grand plan.

And yet, now they were locked onto her shoes.

Amiel hesitated, heart starting to beat faster. What if he wasn't wrong? What if there really was some sliver of hope remaining?

...

...

...

The cool sensation of a pillow against his chin shattered those hopes.

The Prince's eyes opened to slits for a split second before closing again. His eyelids felt so unimaginably heavy.

Reality was slow to reassert itself. The living room had faded suddenly, but the memory of it still lingered. Amiel's grip on the pillow tightened, fingertips dipping the material slightly.

The dream had been... quite real. Real enough to sting, even through the haze of drowsiness.

He groaned, curling into himself, knees drawn to the chest, while his wings splayed behind him, taking up the other half of the mattress.

The bed was warm. And cozy. It should have been easy to fall back asleep. Not for Amiel. Not as the cogs in his brain inevitably started to turn.

Mother's face clawed its way to the forefront of his mind, every feature captured perfectly, and yet, so uncharacteristically... unsure. Amiel tried his best, but he couldn't force himself to just... forget it and relax. It refused to fade, no matter how hard he tried to push it away.

Amiel bit his lip, the chapped texture unpleasant under his teeth.

This was pointless. He obviously wasn't going back to sleep, and if he wasn't going back to sleep, then Amiel was just wasting precious daylight. And he always was so terribly short on time.

Amiel had a job to do. Many of them, in fact. Paperwork—that was the one constant, and breakfast for himself, and maybe Dad. If he could get him to eat. It was worth a shot. It would always be worth a shot.

Since he'd woken up before his alarm, however unpleasantly, it made sense to get a head start on chores. It was the smart thing to do, and it would get his mind off of... less pleasant things.

His still-crusty eyes struggled to open in earnest, but Amiel forced them to. Getting up early was a necessary habit, with his workload. The Prince had trained the urge to laze in bed out of his system with years of practice.

Once his bleary eyes adjusted, he froze.

The sight that greeted him was... unfamiliar. A brilliant red wallpaper with darker detailings, blending in quite well with the dim light of the early morning. It wasn't peeling yet, but its hold on the walls seemed tenuous at best. It was a tad faded too. And out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a worn but sturdy-looking nightstand, with a cheap alarm clock perched on it. Neither of those were his. The walls weren't the walls of his room either.

He sat up abruptly, only to regret it. His head swam with the movement, and his fingers curled against the covers as he waited out the nauseating sensation. His hands rested heavily on his knees as he sat there, messy black hair flopping into his eyes.

It only took a brief moment for the memories to trickle back to him. And when they did? Oh boy.

He wasn't at home. No, he was at Charlie's pet project. The Hotel.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He barely had time to process the information before the next cluster of remembrance hit him, hard and fast.

Charlie. They talked, and that... that had been a disaster. He knew it'd go badly; he knew it, but... Amiel had really outdone himself, hadn't he?

Their reunion had been painfully awkward all throughout, and he'd managed to crown it all with an argument. The exact details were still a bit sludgy, but he did remember asking her whether she truly loved Dad, before stumbling his way back to his room in a panic. The rest of the night was a blur of discarded clothes and frantic checking to see whether the door was truly, really, absolutely, certainly locked. Charlie's room was right beside his own. He couldn't risk her barging in after all that.

Eventually he'd managed to change into his nightgown, and just... tossed himself onto the bed, pillow clenched tightly with both hands. A necessary precaution. Amiel hadn't trusted himself not to let his arms wander downwards. To his wings. Too many loose feathers on the floor would have been suspicious.

UGH! Frustration bubbled up in his chest, hot and thick as he remembered.

Why was he so pathetic? Why did he have to do that? Could he not act civil for one NIGHT? She hadn't meant anything bad. Amiel knew that she hadn't meant anything bad. His sister was simply passionate. She never hesitated to defend things she cared about. But... He was sensitive about their father. Amiel was similarly protective in his own way, he supposed. One little spark was all he needed to lose his temper.

Damn it all.

The Prince flopped onto his stomach, the very same pillow under his chest, and wings briskly flapping through the air to beat the stiffness out of them. The edges of his loose, alabaster nightgown fluttered in the breeze.

Amiel sighed heavily.

Did Charlie hate him? Was she offended? Amiel would have been offended, if he'd been in her place.

And on the other hand, he'd flown off the handle, yes, but... gah! Her optimism was so annoying sometimes. She was still so... blissfully uncaring about her own safety. Blindly trusting towards her shady patron. Could she not tell that Amiel was simply looking out for her?

Ugh! So many questions. And not a single one that he could find an answer to.

Amiel hated feeling helpless. Hated not knowing what the next step was.

He grabbed another pillow and buried his face in it. He sighed again, longer, more weary.

What a wonderful way to start the day this was. Panicking. Worrying. Falling apart. Really, it was just perfect. He felt drained of all energy already, and he hadn't even left the bed yet.

And—oh yes, just what he needed. The nicest little cherry on top of an already amazing morning. That dream.

It was still there, lodged firmly in the back of his mind, waiting patiently to resurface. And resurface it did. Amiel's mind had that wonderful habit of wandering to darker thoughts when he was stressed.

The message was clear. "You do not belong." As if he didn't know that already, without that oh-so-helpful input of his subconsciousness. As if Amiel didn't know exactly from where each and every crack in their family could be traced back to.

And yet, his thoughts lingered on it.

Honestly, it was barely even a dream, strictly speaking. More of a memory of sorts, slightly twisted as it was. From his early teen years, by the feel of it. Maybe around one hundred and forty, give or take a few? That was when Amiel started feeling that unbearable bitterness. Not that he'd ever expressed it quite as vocally as "Dream Amiel" had.

There were times when the two of them were alone, sure. But Amiel had never asked his mother any questions like that. He'd considered it, more times than he could count, but he'd never asked.

The Prince chuckled, though it wasn't out of any amusement.

It made sense, he supposed. That he'd dream of her, after last night.

Lilith Morningstar was a thick, suffocating blanket that draped across his life, even without being in it directly. The shadow she cast was impossible to ignore. Amiel saw her in the way Dad barely found the will to keep going. In his own behavior too. And of course, in Charlie. Especially in Charlie.

Guilt nipped at him. He wasn't supposed to think like that.

It was so unfair towards his sister. Holding a grudge for leaving Dad and him was Charlie's choice, at least. It made some sense to hold it against her, even if Amiel knew that that too was unfair. But what he'd felt yesterday? Not his sister's fault in the slightest.

But he couldn't help it. He'd tried. He'd really tried. But even now, he couldn't do anything about it. The whole time they were together, he couldn't shake the ugly, ugly sense of jealousy that had tendriled itself deep in his heart. He pushed it away, ignored it, buried it under the love and affection he held for his older sister.

Ignored and buried was not the same as "not there."

One look at his sister had been enough to tell Amiel everything.

Charlie was not the perfect heir. She'd never been one, and by the looks of it, she would never be one. She was sweet, and kind, physically incapable of being mean, and always saw the best in everyone.

Mother had tried her hardest, but those traits stayed. They weren't something that could be removed in the first place. They simply were Charlie.

And yet, the Queen of Hell, the one who always asked for perfection and then some, loved her. Cherished her. Kept her "safe" and away from Dad and him, whenever they were deemed to be detriments to her, which was always in Amiel's case.

Why?

What made Charlie special? What made her better than them?

He was horrible for thinking things like that. Amiel knew that. But knowing didn't mean that he could help it. His thoughts spiraled further.

She never did quite fit the mold that Mother picked out for her.

Not that that ever stopped her from being loved. And Amiel knew, were their mother here at this very moment, she'd still be the favorite. The Queen would have scoffed at her husband's wallowing and isolation. She wouldn't have spared Amiel a glance. And she would not have approved of this Hotel idea.

Charlie would have still gotten away scot-free. She'd have been the one to receive all of Mother's attention. Just like before.

Amiel had resigned himself to that long ago.

But why? Why?! Why did he still want it? Why did a tiny, stupid, desperate part of him still want her to look at him as she looked at Charlie? Hadn't he dyed his hair in an effort not to see her face in the mirror? Could Amiel not make up his mind?

Lilith Morningstar probably wasn't coming back from wherever she'd gone, and even if she did, it wouldn't be for him.

He was supposed to be over this. Over her.

Here he was nonetheless.

Amiel took in a deep, shaky breath. Wetness pricked at his eyes. He rubbed at them harshly with the back of one pale hand. He wouldn't cry. Not now. Not here.

But holding the tears back was so hard. His wings drooped, tips twitching. His heart beat in his chest, as if it was trying to crack all of his ribs. Inhales came in short, ineffective bursts.

The Prince stood up abruptly, bare feet touching the carpeted floor. It was pleasantly warm. And soft. He took to pacing in a small circle around the room.

Pacing usually helped. It was a great way to calm down. Tried, true, simple...

And not working.

He couldn't get them out of his head. Mother. And Charlie. And Mother again. The Queen's perfectly poised expression from all the stupid portraits that hung around the Hotel, the more unguarded one she wore in his dream. And... the ones from the portraits back home. The handful of pictures that had only mother and daughter. He knew them by heart. The happy smiles Charlie always had on, her eyes too radiant for her emotions to be anything but genuine. And Mother, with an arm around her, or embracing her, or just standing proudly beside her firstborn.

Amiel hated the feeling of envy that wriggled, cold and slimy, in his chest. So much of it that he could put Uncle Levi to shame. Above all else, he hated that, despite everything... he'd have been happy if Mother looked at him like that.

It was all the stupid dream's fault. It set this idiotic train of thought in motion; it got him thinking over impossible what-ifs and may-have-beens.

But... Was it so wrong? To want that from his own mother? A bit of affection? Acknowledgment? Even... even just some acceptance.

He couldn't take it anymore. If he tried to hold it in any longer, he'd crack. Sooner or later. And this was not the palace, sprawling and empty. Charlie was here. Other people were here. Amiel could not wander around barely holding back tears at all times.

One wave of his hand took care of privacy. A noise dampening spell. A very useful piece of magic, one he knew by heart. One of the first ones he'd learned on his own, away from Dad's halfhearted guidance.

The Prince needed to fix himself before stepping out of the room. And he was out of options.

The words came to him, quiet but surprisingly steady. Or not surprisingly, he supposed. It was yet another thing he'd inherited from her. It was her gift. Amiel knew she probably hated that he'd gotten it instead of Charlie. He certainly did. But it was necessary now. Just for a few minutes. Just enough to calm down and get ahold of himself.

Amiel paced slowly around the room as he sang, letting the feelings he usually kept bottled up out. Just for a few minutes. Just a little relief, so he could get out and make it through the day.

       

I'm not fine with the pain,

That always came to me with her disdain.

I'm not fine, though I knew,

At least Dad would love me as he did you.

I'm not sure why I'm here,

But one thing, that was always crystal clear.

I always knew, who she'd choose,

But I won't lie, it hurt knowing you'd never lose.

       

Goodness, he was beyond pathetic, wallowing like this. But it was freeing, in an odd way. His body swayed on its own, the stiffness of his usual posture melting away into something airier, more fluid. And, though he had no mirror, Amiel knew that his eyes has gone gold, shimmering in the dimly lit room. He let his wings spread to their full size as they bent and curled in tune with his body.

        

It's over, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Isn't it over?

It's over, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Isn't it over?

You won, and she chose you,

And she loved you and she's gone.

It's over, isn't it?

Why does it hurt on?

       

He hadn't meant to let his Holy Light slip, but it had. His control was always... looser, when he sang. Dad had told him once, long, long ago, that angels were musical by nature. That it was in their blood.

And Holy Light was tied to an angel's emotions. The end result made sense.

She stood there, a bit vague around the edges and faceless, not much more than a golden silhouette, but still eerily like the real thing. An equally unsettling Charlie was beside her. "Mother" had her back turned firmly to him, focused instead on her "daughter."

Amiel turned his back to her too, wings spread wide, though whether to block her from his sight or himself from hers, he wasn't certain. He made it a point not to look at her once, even as he drew closer and did his silly little dance around them, a flurry of standing on his tiptoes and arching his back to let his wings flare out.

         

Dye and suits, reinvention.

And yet still, her attention.

Just one time, no rejection!

Hollow, hurt, I'm fucking mental!

Why do I care now, without her?!

Petty and cruel, yet I still believe her!

What does it matter? The contest is done,

But it still hurts I've never won.

        

That spell was the smartest thing he'd done since he'd agreed to come to Charlie's Hotel. The Prince's voice had risen higher, and grew louder. His emotions spilled out freely, and it showed in the way his voice trembled, ever so slightly. Partway through the verse, he'd shed some of his gracefulness, movements becoming more passion than form as he tossed his head back or wrapped his arms around himself.

          

It's over, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Isn't it over?

It's over, isn't it?

Isn't it?

Why isn't it over?

You won, and she chose you,

And she loved you and she's gone!

It's over, isn't it?

Why does it hurt on?

 

Because he was a mess, that was why. His voice dipped, slow and barely above a whisper.

 

It's over, isn't it?

Why can't I move on?

 

For all his effort, he did end up crying, right there at the end. Not a lot. Just a few errant tears, silently sliding down his cheeks.

But this had helped. Mother... she had a gift for tinging her own voice with magic. It was what she used to inspire others. Amiel... had another usage for it. What his mother did felt... too invasive. Too manipulative. He'd never let himself do something like that to another person. But... It made for a good exhaust valve. A last-ditch attempt to get ahold of his emotions. A way to vent when nothing else worked, and where no one could hear.

Spinning emotions and intent into song... he wasn't fond of that power.

The Prince still couldn't deny its usefulness, at times like these.

Amiel took a deep, halting breath.

Yes. He felt okay. Good enough to face Charlie again. Good enough to get through the day without... any more incidents or outbursts.

Amiel wandered over to his untouched suitcase and popped it open. He dug around it for a moment, until his fingers found a hairbrush. His hair was a tangled mess. Usually he put it in a simple plait during nightime, but... yesterday he’d skipped over that step.

The Prince took a seat at the vanity nestled in the corner of the room, staring at the slightly cracked mirror.

Yeesh. He looked... well... he looked an absolute fright. His pale skin made the drying tears stick out even more, and his messy hair lent a frantic air to his large, wide eyes.

It wouldn’t do at all.

He was going to be calm, collected, and a good brother. Supportive. Approachable. Make a good first impression; make things better with Charlie.

In fact, he was going to start right now. Do something nice for his sister. It was the least Amiel could do.

 

*******

 

Lucifer's head slumped against the writing desk. The wood felt biting cold against his cheek. His eyes wandered aimlessly, tracking a dust bunny as it drifted in and out of the thin ribbons of light that made it through the blinds of his office's window.

A small pile of papers rested to his right on the glossy, polished blackness of the desk. An enormous, unstable-looking mountain of them to his left.

The King of Hell sighed.

If not for his children, Lucifer would have definitely set fire to his office and let the flames consume all this POINTLESS paperwork. It was torture. Grueling, slow, unending torture.

Were the King of Hell more like how the humans up there loved to portray him, a torture-happy sadist, he would have made all the damned souls do white-collar work. There was no more effective way of inflicting suffering. How he had managed this, long ago, he had no idea.

But... he had to soldier on. He had to. For Amiel, and for Charlie.

To his credit, Lucifer had taken to the task at hand with an earnestness that he'd been lacking for more than a century.

The grand, almost unreal idea that he was HELPING HIS CHILDREN, however indirectly, filled him with determination.

But determination could only go so far, faced with the monotony of bureaucracy. Lucifer had barely slept last night, only scraping together an hour and some pocket change before rising at 5 AM sharp, to chip away at the earliest-arriving paperwork before things piled up.

Lucifer had tried so hard, set up an alarm, even chugged some of that nasty coffee to keep him awake and alert, and yet... hours later, he was... well. He was here.

Progress had been made, but... not much of it. He was drowning.

The office felt foreign. Stifling. A bit of good old angelic power took care of cleaning, but... Lucifer hadn't been in there for a loooooong time. He hadn't seriously worked on paperwork for even longer.

Had the decision been less... spur of the moment, perhaps he could have acclimated himself more gradually. Instead it was this... "Baby Duckling Thrown in the Deep End" routine he had going on now, but, oh well. He'd make do. Even if it was shaping up to be absolute torture.

Lucifer's newfound, fragile optimism was mostly buried under frustration and boredom at this point. He knew that he had to do this, so that his baby boy could go and spend time with his sister. But Father, was it dull. And hard.

Leviathan insisted on every single one of his decisions being double-checked by the King. As if there was any point to that. He was the most meticulous of the Sins. Belphegor was in dire need of more funding, unless Lucifer wanted to risk a medicine shortage, so now he was stuck trying to cut corners in the yearly budget, instead of having Belphegor borrow from Mammon. That would certainly come back to bite them all in their asses. Ozzie, Satan, and Bee, bless their hearts, were more self-sufficient, but they still had some stuff that needed the royal seal of approval. Mammon wasted his time by sending "brilliant money-making ideas," which were just endless variations of pyramid schemes. And the Goetia bugged him too, with everything from family disputes that he handed off to Satan, to sycophantic invites to dinner parties.

As if that wasn't enough, he also had another matter weighing on his brain. While he wrangled running Hell with his left, Lucifer wrestled with the guilt with his right hand. Because of course, there was guilt. He was never going to be rid of that feeling.

How could he have done this to Amiel? How could he have dumped all this onto his duckling's plate?

Granted, he'd never forced him to, Amiel had taken it upon himself, but... no, that was just avoiding responsibility and making excuses. Lucifer had done plenty of both during his long existence. Far too much, if he were being honest.

Had he not been so useless, had he actually done his job, Amiel wouldn't have ever needed to step in.

Lucifer really was helpless. Always needing someone to do his job for him. First Lilith, now his baby boy.

Hopeless as can be.

Pathetic.

He bolted upright suddenly, tophat hanging onto his head by a thread.

Shit! He was doing it again. Spacing out. Wallowing.

No! No, no, nonono, no. No. He did not have the time, nor the energy to spare on that. This was his third strike in just one morning.

Lucifer glanced at the antique clock on the other side of the room, a slightly tacky thing that Lilith insisted looked "distinguished." She hadn't been particularly pleased when he'd given it a cuckoo-clock mechanism, with a very cartoony duck as the titular bird. But he'd caught her lips twitching upwards the first time it popped out.

The hands of the clock showed that he'd taken... two and a half hours to work his way through... fifteen papers. Out of... five hundred? Give or take a dozen or two.

Fuck.

Lucifer was not going to greet Amiel at the doorway and present him with thousands of overdue law documents and a dumpster fire of a realm.

He tugged at his coat sleeves with far more confidence than he truly felt, rolling them back and exposing more of his charred forearms.

Lucifer cracked his knuckles with the grim determination of a man wading into a battlefield. Jaw set, nostrils flared, eyes narrowed as he glared at the precarious pile of distilled suffering that awaited his attention.

The King of Hell would be focused. Driven. Efficiency incarnate. He was going to tear through this stack of papers if it was the last thing he'd ever do. He'd come at it with all he had.

The short bursts of enthusiasm lasted all of half a minute, before fizzing out like a dud firework. The sight of yet another one of Leviathan's twenty-pager missives almost sent his head right back down to the desk.

But Lucifer would endure. For his children.

 

*******

 

"Honey, are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Charlie, who was taking the stairs two at a time, spun around on her heel to shake her head emphatically, blonde hair swaying side to side. The sudden stop almost resulted in her descending headfirst, but she managed to catch herself on the rails in a way that could have almost been called graceful.

She didn't let the near fall deter her as she plastered a wide grin on her face.

"Nope! No need for that, Vaggie! I told you, Ami and I were both just a bit tired, and it didn't turn out EXACTLY as I planned. No big deal!"

Gosh, she was lying through her teeth. Charlie had barely slept, and the grayish purple eyebags and slightly bloodshot eyes made it abundantly clear.

Vaggie had noticed immediately. As always. This was the second time she was trying to get the Princess to talk. Charlie had already shrugged off one attempt, back in their bedroom. She hated keeping things, especially from Vaggie. But, open as she was with everything else, family remained the one subject she was notoriously tight-lipped about. Sometimes, little things slipped through the cracks, but this would NOT be one of those times.

Charlie soldiered on in her little white lie, waving a hand dismissively. "We'll be okay now. And I can't wait for you to meet him! You'll love Ami!"

Her girlfriend gave her a tiny smile that wobbled dangerously near the edges, hesitation evident in her one eye. She didn't let her guard down around others easily, and it showed.

"If you say so, babe. But... you can still tell me about it, if you want to."

Vaggie was so sweet. Supportive without being pushy. Really, Charlie was blessed to have such an amazing partner.

She still didn't take her up on the offer.

Instead, Charlie gave a hearty nod. "I know, but it's nothing serious. Don't worry!"

"It's nothing serious." Sure didn't feel like nothing, in that moment.

She still had to say it.

What else was Charlie supposed to do? Badmouth her brother to her girlfriend, just before the two were supposed to meet for the first time? Voice her frustrations, and the endless questions that had bounced around in her brain all night?

"Does Amiel hate me?"

"Will he even stay, or will he give up on the visit entirely?"

"Why is he always so... sensitive?"

And of course, the most important one, the one that had popped up about a hundred times in the past couple of hours.

"How am I going to fix this?"

No, those were simply not viable options. She started this mess; she was going to get herself out of it. On her own. And until she did, Charlie just had to grin and bear it.

They turned into a hallway in silence, making way for the kitchen. Charlie's idea, and a great one, if she could say so herself! A nice, proper breakfast would be the perfect way to get Amiel into a good mood.

She knew her brother. He was like Dad in that regard. Couldn't resist a good plate of pancakes.

Granted, Charlie wasn't sure whether they had everything they needed in the fridge, and her skills in the kitchen were... rough around the edges, but she'd make do! Worst case scenario, she would have to go on an early morning grocery run. No biggie! The Princess had time to spare either way.

Amiel had ALWAYS loved lounging around in bed. Never was too much of a morning person, her baby brother. So yeah, Charlie probably had enough time to mess up the entire first batch of pancakes, if she felt like it.

She looked over her shoulder to see Vaggie trailed behind her, her eye roaming the portraits.

Vaggie respected Charlie's decisions and rarely asked about her family, but the Princess had caught her staring at the various pictures on occasion. Eyeing the King and Queen like a hawk. Charlie didn't mind that. What was she supposed to do, forbid her to be curious? And in all honesty, it was surprisingly hard, NOT getting an eyeful of Hell's royal couple. The building was first intended as a diplomatic gathering place, and Mom had made sure that no matter where you went, you would be reminded of who ran the show.

It was one of her many lessons. "Never forget your place, or others will." Naturally, it flew right over young her's head. She understood it better now, after seven years outside the palace, but... she never did have it in her to assert herself as an authority the way Mom could. No one could do it quite like Mom. She was a showstopping presence, alluring and charming, but terrifying if need be. Perfect and infallible. Always there when needed.

The nostalgia hit her out of nowhere, subtle as a sucker punch. All those lessons, and the trips, and the softer moments too.

Charlie missed her. A lot. She missed Dad too, even if the feeling was probably not mutual.

She barely managed to fight off a sigh. The sense of longing curdled like milk, going from bittersweet to full-on sour, like gnawing on a lemon.

They'd been a happy couple once, her parents. Loving, and silly, and affectionate with each other. Always in sync.

How had things changed so much?     

Those happy days seemed impossibly distant now. Almost like some half-forgotten daydream, with the most tenuous of connections to reality.

The Princess bit the inside of her cheek, blinking rapidly. Her eyes felt misty. Not quite prickling yet, but getting there.

She caught before they could get there.

No. Charlie had no time for that. She had to focus on the present. As much as the fact hurt, neither Mom nor Dad were there now. Amiel was. He took precedence.

The Princess took a slow, measured breath, just like how Vaggie had taught her. It helped, somewhat.

Speaking of her girlfriend, Charlie glanced behind her again, only to see that Vaggie had switched from portraits to staring at her discreetly, out of the corner of her eye.

Not good. Not good at all. Vaggie was at her most subtle when she was worrying about Charlie. That meant that she still seemed stressed. And if she seemed stressed enough for her girlfriend to be concerned, then Vaggie would press her again. 

Charlie really didn't want to vent to her partner about her... complicated family life. She needed a distraction. Some way to shift the conversation in a different direction.

In the end, Charlie panicked a bit. She was too quick, too eager to get attention away from herself. What tumbled out of her mouth was hardly ideal, and a bit silly, but it was better than nothing.

"Those portraits sure are interesting, huh?" She chuckled, tugging at her bowtie, before bulldozing on with pure enthusiasm. "Do you think we should redecorate? I have a few ideas too! We could make the place more welcoming!"

Her energetic rambling worked better than she could have hoped. Vaggie coughed awkwardly into her fist, looking anywhere but at Charlie's face. She shifted on her feet, suddenly immensely focused on straightening her left sleeve. Her girlfriend looked so adorably flustered, Charlie couldn't help but smile, wide enough for her cheeks to feel tight.

Vaggie found it in her to meet the Princess' eyes, though she still seemed uncharacteristically nervous.

"No, it's not about redecorating. Just..." Another gentle tug at her sleeves, the right one this time. "What's your brother like? You don't mention him often. And he's not in any of the portraits around here. Or... anywhere."

There went Charlie's smile. Out like a candle left on the windowsill. Next to an open window. In a bucket full of water.

She forced it to stay on, but it felt painfully fake. Charlie just hoped it looked somewhat convincing.

Vaggie hadn't meant it. Not like that. She couldn't have known. But...

The truth was, there were portraits of Amiel around. She'd said as much to her brother yesterday. There was tiny little baby Amiel, toddler Amiel and a slightly older Charlie, and a few where they were all together, posing for those stiff, prim and proper, royal family commemorative pieces she always hated so much.

All of them were stacked neatly in the attic, joined by a bunch of particularly embarrassing portraits of Charlie herself, which she'd put there when she moved in.

Every single painting she found up there was painstakingly preserved, safe from the wear and tear of time. Mom had been as meticulous with them as she was with everything else. Each one was labeled with the room they were supposed to be hung in, the instructions written in her mother's elegant, curving handwriting.

And yet, they were in the attic. Gathering dust.

She had thought of putting them up, deliberated on the issue for days, but... in the end, Charlie had felt that Amiel wouldn't like that. Yesterday apparently proved her wrong, but it was too late to remedy that mistake now. She had to focus on the present.

"What's your brother like?"

Polite. Timid. Too sensitive. Far too sensitive. Shy to a fault. Helpful. Earnest. Fragile.

How to put all that into words, in the best way possible?

Charlie tried. It came out as a jumbled mess of random, barely-strung-together words. "Well, uh... He's sweet! A little shy! Uhm... Hardworking! Takes a bit to let his guard down. He's cautious, just like you. But I promise he's friendly when you get to know him!"

Vaggie gave her another hesitant smile, although a little less shaky this time. "He sounds... nice."

"Yeah. He's very nice."

The silence that descended was awkward. Thick and oppressive, cloying in the air around them like a thick vapor.

Neither of them tried to break it as they neared the kitchen, Charlie in front, Vaggie a few paces behind, bringing up the rear and steadily falling behind, bit by bit. But then, right in front of the door...

Sizzling. And popping.

Charlie froze, already thinking of ten different explanations all at once. Had someone gotten up before them? Niffty was an early riser, but she didn't start breakfast too early, because most of the others were very much NOT morning people. It could have been Alastor. He cooked, from time to time, when the mood struck. But he only ever made dinners or the occasional fancy lunch.

Oh gosh, what if something went wrong? The Hotel was OLD. It held up surprisingly well, and they'd attempted to fix stuff that seemed unsafe, but what if they'd missed something? What if something had given out? What if there was something on fire in there?!

Charlie pushed the door open and rushed in, no hesitation.

Thankfully, it wasn't flames that greeted her.

Her brother turned around suddenly, wings puffing up in surprise, violet eyes wide. He was decked out in the same suit he wore yesterday, paired with... one of the aprons they had laying about. A pale yellow, frilly thing. Despite how harshly it clashed with the rest of his clothes, it suited him suprisingly well. Made him look... domestic. And a bit like Dad.

But... Why was he here? In the kitchen. In the morning. And... at the stove... making... scrambled eggs?

They must have looked so silly. Both frozen, neither speaking. Neither moving. Just staring at each other.

Vaggie chose that moment to walk in. Charlie had her back to the door, but she heard her girlfriend's soft steps. She heard them stop, and she heard the sharp inhale.

The Princess opened her mouth to start on a proper introduction, and tried to turn around, but she didn't get the chance.

"Charlie, GET DOWN!"

And get down she did, though not voluntarily. One of her girlfriend's slender arms found its way to her chest. Vaggie despite how thin and how much shorter she was than Charlie, managed to send her to the floor with one good push.

She ended up behind the table, losing sight of most of the room. Someone—No, not someone, Amiel—shrieked. Charlie's right shoulder throbbed from where she'd landed, and her ribs ached from the push.

Charlie looked up, only to see Vaggie, stance defensive, spear held with both hands in front of her. Her jaw was tightly set, her one eye dangerously narrowed. Charlie knew that look of hers. Fight or flight. And the choice was always fight.

The Princess had fucked up.

"What are YOU doing here?! Who sent you? And why? Was it Adam?!"

It had seemed like such a good idea when it came to her, a good way to boost her brother's confidence a bit, but... maybe she should have given Vaggie at least a heads up. In consideration of the circumstances in which she had first met the Sinner.

It was too late for regrets now. Charlie got to her feet as fast as she could. Or tried to, at least. One of her hair ties had loosened, leaving the bottom half of her blonde locks in a loose mess. Her legs were trembling, but she held onto the table with one arm for support.

The rest of the room came into view.

Her brother looked... shocked, above all else. Hands in front of him, trembling as much as her own did. His wings were flared, and his eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. The subtler facial features were somewhat hard to discern, viewed behind a golden barrier, glasslike and cracked where a throwing knife had gone halfway through. Its tip was pointed straight at Amiel's pale forehead.

Charlie didn't think. She got between them, her back to Amiel, locking eyes with her partner.

Vaggie was... terrified. She wasn't showing it, but the Princess knew. Her grip on the weapon was tight to the point her hands shook. Her breaths were shallow, and her chest rose and fell heavily.

Charlie held her hands up in front of her, trying not to panic herself. This was NOT how she imagined the two meeting.

"Vaggie!"

No response. No spark of recognition. Nothing at all.

"Vaggie, it's fine! That's Amiel. My brother. We're safe."

For a few seconds, it seemed as though Vaggie hadn't heard her that time either. She stared ahead, locked in her combat stance, body perfectly still, save for the rising and falling of her chest. Eye still trained on Amiel, even with Charlie in front of him. But then, all at once, her posture slackened. She lowered her spear, her white-knuckle grip on it loosening, like a hellhound lowering its hackles.

Behind her, something clattered to the floor. Charlie looked over her shoulder, only to see that Amiel had lowered the shield he'd cast. The noise had come from the throwing knife hitting the floor.

The Princess could see his face more clearly now, but... his expression was unreadable. He'd tucked his wings close to his back, posture stiff and closed off. She tried to lock eyes with him, but her little brother seemed determined to stare off to the side.

Vaggie was doing no better. Her usual coolheadedness was completely absent. She stood there, her weapon still dangling uselessly in her hands, looking like she wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her. Her eye too, seemed to be focused on deciphering the secrets of the universe from among the stains on the floor.

Angelic steel could not have cut through the silence that settled over the Hazbin Hotel kitchen. Charlie wanted to break it, knew she had to break it, but... she was as stumped as the other two, only for a totally different reason.

Guilt.

She'd messed up. Again. Even worse this time. Vaggie had freaked out, and she just knew that Amiel would take this personally. What was she supposed to do now?! All her attempts to make this visit work just made things worse. It was doing wonders for her confidence.

But she still had to try. Things couldn't get much worse at this point, could they?

Hands behind her back, she stepped to the side, so her brother and partner could see each other properly. The Princess cleared her throat, one hand remaining behind her back, the other fiddling with her bowtie absentmindedly.

She forced a smile. "So... now that we're all calmed down... introductions?"

For one long, supremely awkward moment, neither moved.

Vaggie was the first of the two to find her voice. Some deep, controlled breaths were all she needed before she stepped closer, standing near Charlie, while still keeping a respectable distance from Amiel. She couldn't quite meet his eyes, but she made a valiant effort.

"I'm... sorry about all that. I didn't expect Charlie's brother to be... uhh..." she trailed off, but no words were necessary.

Amiel waved one gloved hand in an attempt at dismissiveness, though it was marred by the slight, lingering tremble of his fingers. Charlie didn't miss the briefest pointed look he sent her way either.

"I understand. Really, I do. Please don't feel bad about it."

He paused, adjusting a glove that already fit perfectly. "That was... quite impressive, by the way. That throw. And you covered Charlie simultaneously. Where did you learn that?"

Vaggie's one eye widened slightly at that last question. She locked eyes with Amiel for a split second, before busying herself with fixing her bangs.

Her voice was just a tad too loud when she answered, the words flowing surprisingly quickly compared to the more measured way she usually spoke. "Nowhere in particular. I picked up on it. You know, Hell and all."

She rubbed her hands together. "I'm Vaggie, but... I guess you got that already."

The Prince smiled. Tiny but genuine. "I figured it out."

He dipped into a small, elegant bow, wings spreading slightly with a barely audible whoosh. "Amiel Morningstar. Charlie's brother and Prince of Hell. She mentioned you a few times. It's nice to meet you, Vaggie."

"It's nice to meet you too, your Highness."

Amiel snorted. "Oh please. Don't do that. You're Charlie's friend. Amiel is fine."

Vaggie froze again, though this time it was less tense and more... flustered.

"Charlie... didn't tell you?"

Her brother tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he glanced in Charlie's direction. "Tell me what?"

Vaggie didn't answer. She turned towards the Princess, staring at her with a desperate look that was almost comical on her.

And... Oh goodness. What a way for Charlie to come back into the conversation. She was just beginning to relax, happy that the two were actually talking. But now... The moment was here at last.

She had mentioned Vaggie a few times. But... She never did tell her brother just how close she'd gotten with the Sinner she found on Extermination Day.

Well. It was now or never, and never wasn't on the table.

Charlie decided to be quick and efficient with it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. It hurt less that way. Though she did wish her smile wasn't so... wobbly. Was she showing too much teeth? She felt like she was showing too much teeth.

"Ami... Vaggie's my girlfriend."

The bandaid was off.

"Oh." A pause, no longer than a breath. Then another, quieter "Oh."

Gold crept up her brother's cheeks. He blinked. Rather rapidly. "I—well, this is—um."

Charlie couldn't help herself. She giggled. Amiel glared at her, though she had a feeling he wasn't truly upset. And it was hard, looking mad with a fierce blush dominating your cheeks.

"It's not funny! When did you plan to tell me you have a girlfriend!?"

Charlie fiddled with a lock of her hair, expression sheepish. "It... never came up?"

Amiel stared at her incredulously. His voice rose in pitch in that adorable way it always did when he was flustered. "Squeak mode," as Uncle Asmodeus affectionately nicknamed it.

"It never came up?! What, was I supposed to bring it up? 'Hey Charlie, you pursue any romantic relationship lately?' How should I have brought that up?"

A plume of thick smoke rose behind Amiel's back. His delicate nose wrinkled in response. Violet eyes went impossibly wide.

"Oh no!" He turned in a flurry of feathers, half-diving for the stove. "I forgot about the eggs!" His head snapped towards Charlie once more, fixing her with yet another halfhearted glare. "Don't think I'm letting this go."

He wrestled with the stove for a few seconds before turning around, sporting an expression like a kicked puppy. He stood there, with a pan whose handle looked one good swing away from detaching, tightly gripped in his hands. The eggs in it seemed... barely worthy of the lofty title of "edible."

The blush, which had just started subsiding, returned in full force. "I don't suppose any of the people here like their eggs masquerading as hash browns? But actually brown?" He cast a weary glance at the pan in his hands. "A very dark brown."

Charlie snorted, and she saw Vaggie smile out of the corner of her eye. The Princess was glad to see her girlfriend's awkwardness around her brother melt away, however slowly.

Amiel's wings gave an energetic twitch. "A resounding no on that, I see," he said dryly.

He crossed the room with deliberate steps, turning the pan upside down, unceremoniously tossing the mess into the trash can. "Good thing there's more eggs around."

That... finally got Charlie thinking. She looked around the various counters in the room. The details got lost in the earlier mess, but now that she was calmer... Toast, bacon, oatmeal, a variety of salads, and... oh. Her hunch had been correct. Pancakes. Lots of them, and a generous choice of sides laid around them. It all added up to... much more groceries than they had last night.

"Ami? Where did you get all this?" Charlie asked as she gestured vaguely at the spread of food.

Her brother shrugged, or rather, waggled his wings in an approximation of a shrug. He didn't turn around, focused entirely on digging around in the fridge. "Grocery stores are a thing, Charlie. Lighty was up early, so I sent him along. My treat. Thought I'd do something... nice for you."

Charlie may not have had her mom's political instincts, but she knew her brother well enough to read between the lines. This was about last night. She saw Vaggie out of the corner of her eye, shifting on her feet by the dining table, eye darting between the siblings.

She didn't want to broach that topic. Not yet. Not like this. She went with something more lighthearted.

"Since when do you get up so early, Ami?"

Her brother spared her a short glance over the shoulder, before he busied himself cracking more eggs into the pan.

"There's a lot of paperwork around. You need an early start if you want some free time later."

Again, she felt it. That little sting, same as the one she'd felt when she saw her baby brother's glossy, black hair.

The sound of sizzling started again, startling her.

"Oh, by the way, we're out of plates. I might have gotten a bit overzealous with breakfast. Could one of you get more?"

Vaggie practically jumped at the opportunity. With a quick "I'll get it," she all but disappeared in the direction of one of the Hotel's cluttered storerooms.

The Princess expected something after that. They were, after all, alone. It was a perfect moment to talk about... everything. But her brother seemed content to stay quiet.

Really, for all the changes, he was still the same in that regard. Withdrew into himself when something was bothering him. Charlie had always hated that. She wanted to help, but it was hard, helping someone when they were pushing you away.

She still had to step in. Staying quiet was not an option. Not after everything that had happened, both yesterday and today. It probably wouldn't be a pretty conversation, but it was a necessary one.

Charlie slid herself wordlessly beside Amiel. She thought of touching his arm, but gave up on it mid-grab. His hair fell across his face, hiding most of it from view.

"Are you okay?"

His voice was measured. Neutral. "Yes, I'm okay."

Liar. He was even worse at it than Charlie herself. If only she had any idea what exactly he was upset about. She'd been busy. There was practically a whole list of possibilities. So, the Princess guessed.

"Please don't be mad at Vaggie. I swear, she didn't mean anything bad. She's just very protective, and when I found her, she was badly hurt, and I think she may—"

Amiel turned his head abruptly, silencing her with a single look. He didn't glare outright at her, but there was an intensity in those purple eyes that left Charlie with a tied tongue.

"I'm not mad. Not about that. If anything, I'm happy you have someone like that with you."

The "I'm mad about something else" remained unsaid, but quite obvious.

Guess number two it was, then. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Vaggie being my girlfriend. I wanted to, but I didn't know where to start."

"Charlie. It's not about that either." A touch of ice snuck into his voice. "Though you could have informed me about that too." He paused, shifting his gaze to the eggs, careful not to burn them again. He didn't lift his eyes from his work when he resumed speaking.

"Why did you not tell them? If you didn't tell your girlfriend, I know you didn't tell anyone else, either."

Ah. It was... about that. Wonderful.

She hated how frantic she sounded as she explained herself. "I wanted you to see there's nothing to be paranoid about! You're always so worried about the wings. Being an angel's not the end of the world!"

Amiel turned towards her briefly, seemingly only so he could roll his eyes at her. "And? IS there NOTHING to be paranoid about?" 

He didn't wait for an answer, turning on his heel and making way for the last couple of empty plates. He dumped the eggs on them with a steady, precise hand.

Charlie followed along, her shoes clicking against the floor. "Okay, yes, things could have gone better, but it's not the end of the world!

His wings flapped, tips twitching in what she knew was irritation. Abruptly, they stilled, folding neatly against his back. "Of course it's not the end of the world. I'd have just appreciated avoiding it. The panic, the fear. But it's fine."

Charlie sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping. The conversation was over before it started, and she knew it.

She still had one more thing to say, though. It was only right. The Princess inhaled through her nose.

"I'm sorry, Ami. Really. About everything. About Vaggie, and about staying quiet, and about not telling everyone when you asked me to. I... I messed up. I messed up a lot of things."

Her brother turned around, finally looking at her properly. His lip had found its way between his teeth, and he was mid-bite. They were slightly reddened, though thankfully not torn.

He fiddled with a glove, gaze darting between her face and his hands.

"I messed up some things too."

Her brother swallowed thickly. "I'm sorry as well. For yesterday. And for today. So... Don't blame it all on yourself."

Charlie blinked. Finally. Finally, he gave her something. Some shimmer of emotion, some shadow of vulnerability.

She wanted to hug him, but she didn't get the chance. Amiel turned away, going back to the array of plates on the counter.

"Come on. Help me set the table."

She'd spoken too soon. There they were, back at square one. She hated it. She hated it so much. The customer service politeness Amiel threw over himself whenever it suited him.

But Charlie wouldn't argue. She swallowed her frustration down. She would have a proper talk with Amiel, but it simply wasn't going to happen right now.

It wasn't ideal, but the last seven years of her life had taught her to work with what she had. She took her place beside her younger brother, wordlessly picking up two of the nearest plates.

Notes:

Shockingly, I am again NOT happy with my Charlie. Seriously, that girl is my Kryptonite (Angelic steel?). I CANNOT write her properly. She always feels so horribly off. Vaggie's not faring much better, I fear.

Also, this chapter was supposed to have one more scene, where we properly meet the entire Hazbin crew, but... I couldn't get it to flow properly. It just didn't fit in this chapter, no matter what I did. You have that to look forward to once the next chapter comes around, whenever that is. As a sidenote, my country is currently in the middle of widespread university student protests, because our country is basically cosplaying as a distopia. No classes means more writing time, but it also means exams and exam prerequisites WILL drown me once classes do resume. If I disappear for two or three months, I'm not dead, though I may wish I was.

On a happier note... next time, we're getting a new POV! Place your bets, people! It also contains probably the most diabolically unhinged line of dialogue I've ever written, Hazbin or otherwise. I love it. I love it so much.

As always, thank you all so much for leaving comments, giving kudos, or just giving this silly little fic a shot. We've somehow made it to over 1000 hits, and to 64 kudos. The author is in shambles over this. T_T

Chapter 7: Stranger(s)

Notes:

*Bursts in through the wall*

What's this? A new chapter? And you didn't even have to wait two months for it?

And if that wasn't parallel-universe-worthy enough... I kinda like this one? All of it? Whaaaat???

Go on, read it before it turns out to have all been a dream. It does sound too good to be true.

 

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

His head swam, though whether from cruelly being deprived of his beauty sleep, or from whatever shit had gone up his nose the previous night, he couldn't quite figure out. Angel was MOSTLY doing good, handling it all like a champ, as per usual. But, there was a faint fog clinging to his brain. It made thoughts come just a bit slower, steps just a smidge less steady than they should have been.

In the long run, it didn't matter. Angel Dust was a professional, thank you very much. Hangovers, mornings after, coming down from highs. Been there, done that. He could handle it all. Though... he wouldn't have minded handling it somewhere more quiet.

Long, Dorky and Slimey was yelling right within earshot, just a few paces behind him. That annoying voice of his was practically echoing off the walls.

The snake demon was locked in an animated tale that Husk, his conversation partner, wasn't even pretending to pay attention to. Bleary-eyed and sporting a frown that could have wilted a cactus, the old sourpuss seemed pissed at the fact that he was wide awake, and yet with no booze within grabbing distance.

None of that deterred Pentious in the slightest. He rambled on. And on. And oooooooooonnnnnn. His small army of Eggs padded behind him, their own brainless chatter shattering what little silence survived Pentious's long-winded monologue.

Were circumstances a bit different, Angel would have been tossing snarky comments left and right, making things fun for himself. The scaly bastard had it coming, after the stunt he pulled on his first day.

But honestly? Angel was too damn tired to think of anything good.

The Sinner was a master of many things: BJs, putting those four hands to good use, being irresistible, walking in heels that would have left lesser demons with aching ankles just from glancing his way. The list went on and on. But one thing that most certainly wasn’t on that list was getting up early. Not today, not tomorrow, not EVER.

Shoots had a tendency to run long, and depending on Val's moods, they often required some extensive TLC afterwards if Angel wanted to wake up and not wish that he hadn't.

Yesterday had been pretty mild, all things considered. Standard stuff, borderline vanilla compared to Val's usual fare.

But Angel had still gotten home late. He still wanted to sleep in. Maybe have a relaxing morning/noon, get up late, annoy someone at the Hotel, get drunk, get high. He had options.

Actually, NO, he did NOT have options.

His heels clicked just a bit more sharply against the hallway floor as annoyance bubbled in his stomach. Angel had already been in the front of the group of three, but now he detached altogether, his quickening pace and those gorgeous, long legs of his leaving the other two in the dust.

Princess' little brother was apparently coming for a visit. And Vaggie, the Hotel's resident stick in the mud, made it very clear that she wanted them all out of their rooms by nine, dressed and on their best behavior.

Angel would have skipped.

Who gave a fuck about some prince? Sure, Charlie had said she wanted her brother to meet them all, but he was apparently staying for a few days, far as Angel was able to gather. If it was some urgent thing, maybe Angel would have considered going out of his way for the Princess. But her brother was going to see them all regardless, so there was no point in getting up early, even for royalty.

Enter Niffty. She'd banged on his door like crazy until he answered it, explained herself with a cheerful "Vaggie told me to," and all but skipped off with a feather duster in hand, saying she had to "pretty up the foyer for the new bad boy."

Fuck, everyone at the Hotel was a freaking WEIRDO.

By the time he'd made it to the kitchen door, way ahead of the other two, Angel was just about sick of everything. The noise, because, HOLY FUCK, that snake's voice could carry. It practically echoed off the walls, every elongated S worming its way straight into Angel's brain. The incessant wooziness in his head, which at that point he was pretty sure was not from drugs. Hell, even the creaky floorboards got on his nerves.

Fuck, he needed a smoke. Or a cocktail. Ten maybe. And something stronger to perk him back up and get him through the morning.

He knew full well that none of that would be waiting for him in the dinky little dump they called a kitchen. Nope. Just a princess so optimistic it hurt to watch, and her girlfriend, with a stick shoved so far up her ass it could probably be considered a second spine. And a prince, now. Charlie had been vague with the details, saying she didn't want to spoil the surprise. Angel had no idea what to expect, though in all honesty, it made no difference. He'd put on a show, no matter what. Such was a performer's way of life, and Angel had been performing nonstop for a loooong time now.

The porn star half-pushed, half-kicked the door open, strutting into the room without sparing a glance to see who was there.

"Mornin' bitches! You missed lil' old me?!"

Three pairs of eyes blinked back at him as he struck a pose, one lower arm on his hip, one upper one waving coquettishly. Vaggie was glaring as usual. Charlie looked at him with a mix of subdued happiness and what was probably fucking pity. And finally, a pair of violet eyes stared at Angel like he'd grown a second head.

It took a moment for his brain to fully take in the scene in front of him. He liked taking his time when window shopping; sue him. But when he did take the newcomer in?

Holy shit.

The guy seated at the table was just a damn human. He was pale, sure, but not porcelain doll pale like Charlie. The suit he wore was sharp, if a little too serious for Breakfast at Hazbin's. Long black hair, slight build. Angel's eyes searched, but they couldn't find anything. No horns, no extra eyes or limbs, not even claws, unless those gloves were doing some serious camouflaging.

Then he caught sight of them. Wings. Large. White. Feathery. Folded tightly against the guy's back, but too sizable to fully hide them from view. In hindsight, he felt stupid for not noticing them earlier.

An angel. An honest-to-fuck angel. Just... sitting there, at the dining table.

His mouth had always been quicker than his brain. "Well, fuck me sideways. What's the matta, dollface? Apartment prices jump up in Heaven?"

The angel blinked at him again, mouth opening slightly before it closed again.

An eloquent charmer, that one. Angel just knew he was going to be fun to toy with.

The porn star looked to Charlie for answers, heels clicking as he stepped closer. "What's the deal with Feathers over here, Princess? Which Christmas card didja pluck him out of?"

The Princess stood up, hands patting down the front of her dress jacket, straightening the already perfectly straight garment. Skittish as a freaking rabbit, twice as adorable, and thrice as harebrained. That was Charlie for you.

"Angel! Good morning! This," she gestured theatrically to the angel, who'd she'd tugged out of his seat to stand beside her, "is Amiel! He's—"

She didn't get to finish. The kitty cat and snake duo had finally made it to the kitchen. And Pentious made his presence known. Very loudly.

"An angel! Is the Extermination early!? Are we going to die?!"

Charlie's face was priceless. She waved her hands around in a frantic flurry of movement, eyes so wide they looked about ready to pop out of her skull.

"No, no, no, no! No one's dying! Pen, it's fine!" She took a deep breath, plastering a wide grin on her face. It was obviously fake to Angel's trained eyes, but hey, A for effort. Not the Princess' fault he was a connoisseur of fake smiles.

She left the table and bounded over to the center of the room, one of her brother's wrists dangling limply in her grasp as she dragged him along. The poor sap didn't protest, but he looked very unhappy at the prospect of being unceremoniously shoved into the spotlight.

"Everyone, this is Amiel! My brother."

The angel—Amiel—gave a halfhearted wave and a tiny, barely there smile. "Hello. It's nice to meet you all." His eyes drifted between the three of them, taking them all in.

Angel smirked but didn't say anything. He had a feeling things would end up funnier that way. Husk and Pentious apparently needed a moment, because neither made a sound.

Out of everyone in the room, it was one of Pentious' Eggs that broke the silence. "Hi!" The creature waved one of those stubby, useless little arms. "So you're not gonna kill us all?"

Amiel's face fell, wings ruffling quietly behind him. But he masked it remarkably quickly, leaning down to better look the Egg Boi in the eye.

His tone was reassuring, but airy. "No. I can promise you that."

"Okay! Good to know!"

No one else made a move to speak.

Charlie clapped her hands just as the silence that followed threatened to transition from slightly awkward to "please end me now and spare me the embarrassment."

"Okay everyone! Let's all introduce ourselves!" She punctuated that with another clap, like she was wrangling a class of kindergarteners, not talking to adults.

Husk lifted up two clawed fingers lazily, briefly touching his forehead. "Husk. Nice to meetcha, kid."

Pfff. Delievered with all the enthusiasm of a bag of rocks. Why, Angel was feeling welcomed himself.

On the other hand, the snake was perhaps too enthusiastic.

"Your Royal Highness," he shouted in a tone about three light years away from an indoor voice. He attempted both a bow and a salute simultaneously, his freaky hat rolling its eye as he smacked himself in the forehead. The snake demon paid the incident no mind, barreling forwards with his introduction.

"I am Sir Pentious, inventor extraordinaire, a brilliant pioneer of progress, and a guest here at the Hotel!"

And of course, that left the best for last.

Angel leaned forward, bending to look Amiel straight in those purple peepers. He grinned, two lower arms on his hips, the upper ones crossed over his chest.

"I'm sure you know ME, Princey?"

Amiel tilted his head like a lost little puppy, taking a step back to reclaim some semblance of personal space.

"I... don't. Should I know you, sir?"

Angel couldn't help himself. He laughed. New guy was shaping up to be a fucking riot.

"Pff! You serious?! Sir?! Do I look old to ya?! Ahahaha!"

It actually took him a moment to catch his breath. Damn, it wasn't a fix of hard stuff, but a good laugh really did do wonders for waking you up fully.

"And yeah, you SHOULD know me. Come on, you seriously have no idea who I am? Whatcha think I do for a living?"

Amiel looked nervous and confused in equal measure. Some fearsome prince he turned out to be. "So-sorry. I really have no idea."

Oh, this was too good. He just had to have some fun with this.

"What, you never seen a taxidermist wear thigh-highs and pink? Get on with the times, Feathers."

The Prince stared at him incredulously. He seemed... not particularly convinced. "You are... a taxidermist?"

Angel kept going. "Mhm. A loooot of stuffing involved at my job."

Behind him, Husk let out a long-suffering groan. His deep voice cut through the air. "Oh for fuck's sake, Angel! He's a porn star, kid."

Leave it to Whiskers to ruin his fun. Angel turned, making sure to sway his hips for Amiel's enjoyment as he play-glared at Husk. "Way to kill the mood, kitty cat! What, grouchy 'cuz you didn't get your bottle of milk yet?"

Husk flipped him off without a word, denying him the chance to squabble, so Angel turned back towards Amiel. He was more fun to tease, anyway.

"Secret's out, buddy. You're looking at one of Hell's top actors, and definitely the sexiest one around. One and only Angel Dust." He did a mock curtsy. "Hold your orgasms, people."

Most of the demons in the room groaned in varying degrees of exasperation.  But Angel didn't care about them at the moment.

A flush of molten gold spread across the Prince's cheeks. Angel barely resisted the urge to coo. The guy blushed gold too?! That was just too much cuteness at once.

"O-oh. Uhm... that's... a very interesting job, si—Angel."

"Pff! You're killing me here, Feathers!" One of Angel's arms came between the Prince's wings, patting him heavily on the back. "An interestin' job? You are ADORABLE. Seriously. That blush? Movie-worthy material, baby. And you're so tiny too. Like a little garden gnome with wings."

Amiel's wings puffed up like two glorified feather dusters, practically exploding from his back in a shower of snow-white feathers. Angel had to admit, they were pretty.

The blush, which had shown faint signs of slowly subsiding, flared up again. "A garden gnome? Wha—Why would you say that?!"

There was that flustered stutter again. Good. Angel didn't want Amiel to get too much of his composure back. Stoics got boring quickly. And Amiel definitely wasn't boring. He was fun. Addictively fun. Nobody else reacted to his poking and prodding so... vividly.

Of course, the snake had to rain on his parade.

"Ugh! Spider, do you really have to insult everyone constantly? Show some class for once."

Letting him stay was such a mistake. They should have kicked him to the curb when they had the chance. Annoyance, mild but there, settled over Angel. It WAS his go-to mood, when Pentious was involved. But, of course, he didn't show it. When Angel spoke, he was all cool, suave charm.

"Relax, new guy. I'm just teasin'. Those ain't insults. I save THOSE for you. But if you want attention, all you have to do is ask nicely."

Pentious let out a long, annoyed hiss, tongue flickering. He held one arm up, index finger outstretched in that way he always did when he was about to make a point. Charlie put a stop to it, though. Spoilsport. Angel could have used a good argument. They kept the dullness at bay.

Again, she clapped her hands together, before one arm came to rest on Amiel's shoulders as she subtly tugged him half a step away from Angel and back towards the table.

"Now that we're all friends with each other... breakfast? Amiel made it!"

Unlike most of Charlie's ideas, this one was well received. No complaints from anyone.

Angel winked at the Prince as they all moved to the table, giving him a toothy grin. "You cook too? Damn, Princey, you really are the whole package."

Amiel's violet eyes met his briefly, before darting away. He fiddled with a glove. "It's not that impressive. I'm not very good. But it should be edible."

Pentious slithered closer as well, and his Egg Bois followed in tow. "I'm sure you did fine, your Highness."

"Suckup."

Pentious flicked his tail at him in a dismissive, "you are not worthy of my time" sort of gesture. "Some of us simply make an effort to be nice. You could try it, spider."

Amiel, in a paltry attempt to stop them from arguing, spoke up meekly. "There's no need to call me by title, Sir Pentious. Amiel is fine."

The snake demon smiled at the angel. Or tried to. He was showing far too much teeth. Hopeless idiot.

"If you insist," he said, the Ss needlessly long.

Angel made it a point to grab the spot next to Amiel as they all sat down. The angel said nothing, though the porn star had a feeling he was at least slightly uncomfortable with the seating arrangements. Amiel kept his eyes firmly on his sister, only occasionally letting them drift across the various plates.

Charlie smiled brightly, one of those radiant grins of hers that could blind a poor fucker if she aimed it wrong.

"Al and Niffty are probably not coming, so I think we can start breakfast now. They can join in if they show up!"

And start, they did.

Food, as it turned out, was surprisingly good. Now sure, none of it was particularly impressive. Scrambled eggs and fruit salads weren't exactly gourmet meals, but they were nice and simple, and above all else, edible. That was more than some of the other people at the Hotel could manage. Vaggie was the type of person to burn water, and there was a reason why Husk stuck to mixing drinks.

Angel let the Prince beside him have a breather from the relentless jokes. Not out of the goodness of his heart, of course. Fuck no! But the food was warm, Angel was hungry, and he wasn't the type to talk with his mouth open.

Even without Hell's finest celebrity handling the entertainment, the peace didn't last.

Maybe two minutes after the meal started, the door burst open. Charlie's two weird, plushie-looking butler goats fluttering in, followed by... two more plushie-looking things? A wolf and... was that a fucking unicorn? And they both had white, feathery wings. Who they belonged to was hardly a mystery.

The unicorn stayed behind, but the other three swarmed Amiel like a pack of wild hellhounds. The Prince beside him was half-drowning in fluff in no time.

His voice came out a little muffled, buried under all those small bodies. His gloved hands delivered gentle, haphazard pats wherever he could blindly reach. "Okay, okay! Nice to see you too, Razzle, Dazzle. Lulu, what's your excuse? You saw me yesterday."

Most of the table was polite enough not to laugh at the scene unfolding before them, no matter how amusing it was. Angel, naturally, had no such inhibitions. He snickered, poking what little of Amiel was visible with a long, narrow finger.

"You alive in there, Feathers?"

"I'm fine. But really, you three, come on. Get off. Razzle, Dazzle, there's pancakes for you. I remember you like chocolate chips with them."

Ah, bribery. Worked like a charm every damn time. The two goats detached with remarkable speed, rushing to claim the few free chairs remaining. The wolf—Lulu, however, had to be forcibly removed, courtesy of the unicorn, who Amiel introduced as Lighty. They too, settled at the table.

If there was any doubt before—and to be real, no, there wasn't—it was gone now. Angel's hunch was one hundred percent correct. This guy would bring some much-needed fun to the Hotel.

"You sure have a knack with animals, Princey. Birds talk to you too?"

Amiel busied himself daintily sipping tea from a slightly chipped mug. He turned to look at Angel, but didn't quite meet his eyes. "No. Razzle and Dazzle just haven't seen me for a while. And Lulu's always like that."

From the other end of the table, out of the corner of his eye, Angel could swear he saw the wolf give a proud, fang-laden grin. Promising guy—plush, that one.

Angel was very aware of the fact that no less than three people at the table were glaring at him. Husky's glare, he didn't really take to heart. The old cat always glared, the only thing that ever changed being the intensity. Vaggie's one eye was narrowed in a look that clearly read as "Don't bully my girlfriend's brother, unless you want to get hurt." Pentious' was fixing him with an icy stare, while the hat on his head narrowed its eye to the point it was almost a thin line.

Why, how could he disappoint such a captive audience's expectations?

He leaned down, nudging Amiel's shoulder gently. The angel's wings gave a jerky twitch at the touch, but he forced them to still almost immediately.

"Hey. I know I've been actin' like a dick, but there is something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now. Honest question this time."

The Prince's violet eyes widened slightly. He smiled. A small, honest smile. It was so pure, Angel felt bad for what he was about to do. Well, he almost felt bad, and that was practically the same thing.

"So, Feathers, you more of a 'Be not afraid' or immaculate conception guy down there?"

What a shame that no camera was nearby to capture the Prince's reaction.

For a moment, his expression remained frozen. Another documented its slow shift to confusion. And then? Horror. Sheer horror, undercut by a golden blush so severe it reached almost all the way up to his forehead.

Amiel sputtered, muttering something, but it was lost in the cacophony of shouts, shrieks, groans, and a couple of fists banging against the table.

Angel smiled. Yup. The next few days were going to be SO MUCH FUN.

 

*******

 

Considering how breakfasts at Husk's current, shithole place of "employment" usually went, this one ended up being almost bearable.

Angel had been a button-pushing dick, as always, but for once, Husk wasn't his main target, so it bothered him less than it would have otherwise. That great honor went to the Hotel's newest, temporary guest.

The new kid was alright. Husk couldn't say that he'd expected an angel of all things, but he hadn't exactly had expectations in the first place either.

One thing made itself abundantly clear immediately. Kid was as innocent as his sister. Maybe even more so in some ways, impossible as that sounded.

Husk wasn't one to label people prematurely, but... the Prince of Hell was not a good fit for his own realm. Too soft. Too nervous. But maybe that was just how the royal couple raised their kids, stupid as the idea sounded? Fuck if Husk knew. He'd never met the King or Queen. Some Overlords back in the day liked to curry favor with them. Husk hadn't been one of those. Wasn't his style. It had always been him, himself, and him again.

The fact that they both stuck out like chess pieces in a deck of cards didn't mean that the siblings were carbon copies of each other. Kid was definitely more of a wallflower than his sister. The Prince didn't strike him as the type to go out much. Probably hadn't sniffed a shitty bar's alcohol, much less ever set foot in one.

In all honesty, Husk did not particularly care. The bartender wasn't about to get buddy-buddy with the angel, or anyone else at the Hotel. He was there because he had to be there. The only reason he spared the Prince any thought was because Husk was stuck working, and he had to think of something while doing that.

After everyone was done eating, Charlie had roped them all into tidying up. Called it an "impromptu team-building exercise." Bullshit, and even she knew that. But the Princess had been insistent, and no one had been in the mood for arguing.

So there Husk was. Drying dishes with a rag, when he could have been polishing—and polishing off—glasses back at the bar. Technically, it was a pretty big oversight, not having him at his spot. The bar acted as their front desk, and leaving that unmanned was a surefire way to lose customers in any business. But it wasn't like any desperate idiot was actually going to walk in and request a room at the Hotel, so in the long run, it didn't matter.

Husk had to admit... The Princess had been surprisingly smart in her job division. He couldn't say that he'd expected that of her.

She'd grabbed Angel and dragged him away with her, and it just so happened that they were putting the plates away all the way across the room from her brother. Husk had been the one to end up with the new kid. The two of them worked in total silence. The bartender was not a fan of conversation, and the kid didn't seem too eager to talk either. A true match made in Hell, the two of them.

A little quiet was nice. Better than Angel's yammering at any rate. It was a welcome change of pace, though he'd have been happier if some alcohol were on hand. But, all in all, it was shaping up to be a decent morning.

Then Husk's ears pricked.

He may have been old, but his demonic form did have one hell of a set of ears. And... He knew that particular sound of static by heart.

The door swung open, and in came his "boss," with Niffty in tow. All the eyes in the room turned towards the Radio Demon. Figures. The bastard probably got off on that shit.

That annoying, perpetually chipper voice of his cut through the air. Once a radio host, always a radio host. Begrudgind as it was, Husk had to give credit where it was due. Alastor knew how to command a room's attention.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Quite an industrious sight, you all are! Hard work is hardly work, eh folks?"

He laughed, as if he'd said anything remotely funny. A stock laugh track played subtly over the sound of his voice, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere all at once. He rarely brought that out these days.

Husk bit back a growl. Bastard was showing off, and if he was showing off, that meant he had something in mind. The bartender glanced at the Prince beside him out of the corner of his eye. Wasn't hard to figure out what, or rather who, Alastor was after.

The angel evidently knew that too, judging by how much he'd stiffened. His wings, already pressed tightly against his back—much tighter than Husk kept his own—practically folded into themselves. His stare was purposefully neutral, but Husk could see the gears turning in the Prince's head. He was wary. Guarded. His eyes followed Alastor's every move as if his life depended on it.

Good. Someone at the Hotel who wasn't a fucking idiot.

For all his wariness, the Prince had slipped in one regard. Niffty. If there was one person for whom "expect the unexpected" applied, it would be her. Letting her out of your sight was always a bad idea.

She skittered across the floor like one of the bugs she was perpetually waging war against, coming to a stop right at the angel's feet. The tiny housekeeper seemed to be vibrating slightly with barely contained energy, her fingers twitching every so often.

The words came out of her mouth quick and sharp, as always. Husk had always found her a bit hard to follow, but that was far from her biggest issue.

"Hello! I'm Niftty! I clean! And who are YOU?"

Amiel blinked. It evidently took him a moment to process Niffty's... unique presence. By the time he'd started opening his mouth to answer, the sinner's attention drifted to the kitchen, and all the people tidying it up.

"You're cleaning?! Without me?! And you did it all wrong!"

She seemed to be a hairbreadth away from pouncing at the nearest broom, but then she snapped her head right back towards Amiel, looking up at him with a... eerie glint in her eye and a smile that was anything but pleasant to look at.

"You're a boy, right? You don't look like one!"

Deciding that personal space was an ignorable triviality, she scampered up Amiel's suit, feet on his vest, hands tightly gripping the lapels. Her face was inches away from the Prince's own. "Are you single? Are you a bad boy? Do you like bugs?"

One of the kid's gloved hands twitched, fingers curling and uncurling slowly. He looked very close to swatting her away. But, to his immense credit, he responded in quite a polite, measured tone. His subtle attempt to lean back yielded no results as Niffty adjusted her grip in turn.

"Hello. Nice to meet you too." His hands gently closed around Niffty's waist, detaching her and resting her down on the floor. "Yes, I'm a boy. No, I'm not seeing anyone currently. And... what was that about bugs?"

Niffty frowned. "Not a bad boy! Bye!"

With that, she rushed in the direction of Angel and Charlie, saying something about how they were making a mess. The spider seemed to be biting back laughter, while the Princess looked... mildly concerned.

"Oh, don't mind Niffty, my dear. She's an excitable one, as you can see."

Fuck! Husk almost jumped out of his skin as Alastor's voice rang out behind him. Bastard was as sneaky as ever.

He stepped into view, red suit pristine and the always-there tooth-baring grin firmly in place on his face.

One clawed hand tapped at Husk's bare shoulder, delivering a pat that was as unnerving as it was condescending. "Husker, my good man, good to see you too!"

Then Alastor turned his back to him, as if he wasn't even there. Husk took a step back. The more distance between him and Alastor, the better. He could still hear him clearly, though.

"I do believe we're yet to be acquainted, your Royal Highness."

Charlie was there in the blink of an eye, taking her place beside her brother.

"Alastor! Hi!"

"Hello, my dear! You seem to be in good spirits today."

Charlie smiled, wide, beaming, and entirely too trusting for who she was aiming it at.

"Mhm! Here, let me introduce you two! Amiel, this is Alastor! Our business partner! And Alastor, this is Amiel, my brother!"

Amiel hesitated for a moment, casting a wary glance at the Radio Demon. But, after a moment, and a sidelong look at his sister, the Prince stuck out a gloved hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said in a tone neutral enough to be polite, but which made it obvious it was very much not nice meeting the deer demon.

Alastor paid it absolutely no mind, though Husk knew he'd taken note of it. He always did.

"Likewise, your Royal Highness! Charlie's been quite excited to have you here, and so have we!"

The Prince looked unconvinced. Alastor wasted no time, slipping himself between the siblings and throwing an arm around the angel's shoulders. The movement had been so graceful and slick, no one had time to protest.

Didn't exactly take a genius to see that Amiel was not comfortable with the touch. The small, barely there twitch of his lips made it perfectly clear. But he said nothing, and Alastor stayed where he was.

Charlie stared at the arm Alastor wrapped around her brother. Her tone was gentle, fingers tapping against each other hesitantly. "Oh, um, Al, maybe give Amiel some time to adjust?"

"Why of course, Charlie!" He removed his arm, instead poking the Prince's wing with his cane. "You are simply magnificent, your Royal Highness. Those wings are truly something." The prodding gave way to observing Amiel from all angles, as he took to strolling around the angel. "And I suppose you have the power to match? It's only right, given your lineage. Quite the sweet little calamity you are, I'm sure!"

He laughed again, although this time it wasn't accompanied by any... sound effects. "Oh Heavens! And here I've been treating you like some stranger! Perhaps you prefer more familiar adress?"

The angel's violet eyes narrowed. "Your Royal Highness will suffice, Alastor."

In the background, Angel snickered. "Advances rejected, huh, Al?"

The deer hummed softly, paying no mind to Angel's comment. He stepped back, resting a hand on Charlie's shoulder instead. "Of course, of course. One must remember one's station, isn't that right?"

Husk could see the way Alastor's fingers dug into the Princess' shoulder, claws careful, grip calculated not to hurt, though it could have. "You must be so proud of your sister. Quite the project she's started, bettering the lives of your subjects. Truly remarkable! I'm ever so proud to help out with what little I can."

"So I've been told. You helped my sister out a lot. Right, Charlie?"

The Princess, who'd been watching the exchange with a sort of nervous wariness, nodded empathically. "Yeah! Al's been a huge help!

Alastor gave her blonde locks a gentle pat. "Only the best for our pioneer princess. The bar's my personal favorite addition. Adds some color to the place, doesn't it, your Highness?"

To Husk's surprise, Amiel smiled. It was barely there, but it was there. "Oh yes. I saw it. That was... spatial manipulation? Impressive magic, especially for a Sinner."

The kid fucked up. Stroking the Radio Demon's ego was never a good idea.

Alastor waved a hand dismissively. "Oh nonsense! It was trivial, really."

Amiel's smile widened. "You know, you could have grabbed only the things you needed, instead of going for the whole room, but I suppose that requires more... precise handling." He paused for a second, seemingly immersed entirely in the act of adjusting his gloves. "I think the palace has some books on that, if you'd like to improve."

For a split second, faint static crackled from Alastor's cane. His grin stayed, like always, but his eyes? A newfound sharpness settled there.

Husk barely held back a smile of his own. Perhaps he was wrong about the Prince. He'd hit the bastard right where it hurt him most, and Husk doubted it was on accident.

Smart kid.

"Thank you for the offer, your Highness, but I think I'll manage as is. Plenty of business to keep me busy here at the Hotel!"

Amiel dipped into a small bow that reeked of mockery. "Of course. I wouldn't want my sister to receive subpar help."

Out of the corner of his eye, he'd caught Vaggie smiling, radiating an air of satisfaction. Kid had definitely won some brownie points with his sister's girlfriend with that little maneuver. Hell, he'd won a few with Husk too.

Charlie, probably sensing the mounting tension, interjected. "You've officially met EVERYONE, Ami! And now that that's doneee..."

Husk watched as she shuffled through the pockets of her jacket.

Fuck no. She didn't.

She... she did. She abso-fucking-lutely did. The Princess pulled out a stack of cue cards, or at least things that looked like cue cards. Husk could see a few doodles of a... frankly embarrassing quality in the margins, joined by shaky handwriting and erratic splotches of glitter.

She smiled, half-walking, half bouncing to a spot near the door, where she could see them all clearly. "I thought we could do some extra activites today! Pentious is still relatively new, and it's Amiel's first day, so I thought we could all get to know each other better!"

To call the reception lukewarm would have been... generous. Far more generous than the suggestion deserved. Not even the snake, who was usually inexplicably eager to do Charlie's idiotic exercises, seemed particularly on board with the idea.

Her own brother seemed desperate for escape. Though he looked poised, his eyes roamed every corner of the room, and his wings gave the smallest of twitches that Husk could, from personal experience, interpret as agitated.

"E-exercises? As in Hotel stuff?" He shuffled awkwardly, one foot resting behind the other, hands wringing together.

Charlie nodded.

"I wouldn't want to intrude. I'm just here for a few days, after all." The Prince tried to laugh off the awkwardness, but that halfhearted chuckle only made it worse.

"You're not intruding, Ami! Come on! It'll be fun! And you can see the Hotel at work!"

Alastor cut in, amusement evident in his voice. Fucker was probably—no, definitely enjoying this, after the angel flipped the script on his freaky interrogation sesh.

"It could be quite the eye-opening experience, your Highness."

Of course, Angel couldn't stay quiet either. "If Feathers is doing it, then fuck, I'm in too."

Husk could see the resolve crumbling in Amiel's violet eyes. Or perhaps he was just about to pass out. Either option was on the table.

But, when Charlie hit him with a stare that could only be called "puppy dog eyes," it became clear that he could resist no longer. He turned his head away and sighed, tucking a lock of black hair behind one ear.

"Fine. Lead the way, Charlie."

The ensuing shriek had Husk wishing for a less animalistic demon form, because fucking hell, the Princess was loud.

"Yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you, Ami!"

She half tackled her brother in a hug. His wings puffed up as he struggled to remain standing. They wobbled for a few seconds, before Charlie grabbed one of her brother's gloved hands and tugged him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

"Come on everyone! Follow me!"

Yeah, no. Husk was skipping this one.  With the Princess nice and distracted, he could slip away unnoticed, get blackout drunk, the usual. Have a nice late morning.

A hand on his shoulder dashed those hopes. A very familiar hand, one that just so happened to hold the chain around his neck.

"Come now Husker! We mustn't let our dear Charlie wait for us! Right?" That last word alone left no room for doubt that the choice had been made for Husk.

Fucking wonderful.

 

*******

 

"Okay, Ami! You can pair up wiiiiith... Pen! He's all alone!"

Ah.

Charlie meant well. She always did, but... Pentious couldn't lie. That hurt a bit, said out loud. Even if she hadn't intended it to. Even if by all means, he shouldn't have cared. Even if he couldn't pinpoint why exactly he cared. But not knowing why he felt something didn't mean not feeling it.

However, what was perfectly logical, what made sense, was that Pentious deserved what he got. The loneliness. He knew what he had done.

Betrayal was... not easily forgiven. The Princess was the exception, gentle-hearted as she was. He tried to be civil with everyone. They were all living together, after all. But the others... they were a different story from Charlie altogether. They were very open in their dislike of him, and in turn, he was forced to retaliate in kind.

It was one of the many reasons why Pentious avoided people. Being on your own was safe. Being alone while surrounded by people just made him feel stupid, despite his intellect.

But now, he was about to have company, whether he wanted to or not. The royal siblings came over to his spot on the couch, nestled in the far corner of the lounge. Or rather, Charlie came over, and her brother let himself be dragged by the wrist.

"Pen! Hi! Would you like to pair up with Amiel?!"

The snake demon did his best to look friendly. He'd started making an effort to smile, though he couldn't shake the thought that he was overdoing it. His incompetent henchmen said he was doing good, but their opinions were about as valuable as their intellect, which was... not their most outstanding feature.

Charlie seemed to appreciate his smile, returning it with one of her own. Pentious liked seeing her happy, for some reason. She was a nice lass. She deserved some happiness. Her brother—Amiel—was harder to read, though his lips were quirked upwards.

"Of course," he said with a polite little dip of his upper half, forked tongue flicking, and the S stretching much longer than strictly needed. Even after so long, some quirks of his form were impossible to shake off.

The Princess' grin widened as she slipped behind Amiel and gave him a gentle push, right between the wings.

"Great! Come on, Ami, there you go."

The angel stumbled forward half a step, before settling somewhat awkwardly on the opposite end of the couch. Pentious couldn't help but notice how he kept his distance, practically trying to disappear into the armrest.

Charlie stuck her hand out, offering a stack of... those cue cards to Pentious. He took them with no small amount of hesitation.

"Today's exercise is super simple! Just get to know each other. Make friends! You have some questions and conversation starters there, if you need them. Have fun!"

With that, she skipped off. Pentious watched her go, until she joined the very annoyed-looking bartender on another couch, already pulling out another stack of cards.

Pentious adjusted his sleeve with deliberate sloweness, before maneuvering his tail and turning to look at the angel.

The Prince—no, Amiel. He'd said he preferred Amiel. Amiel looked... slightly uncomfortable. Pentious wasn't an expert at reading social cues, but even he could tell that much. He held himself stiffly. Wings motionless, back straight, turned slightly towards him, but his gaze distant. His focus was half on Pentious, half on the other residents, scattered across the lounge. He couldn't blame him. The sight of the Radio Demon, long legs crossed on the floor, chatting with the tiny maid, was quite surreal to Pentious too. Alastor rarely joined in the activities Charlie planned.

Ah, but he was getting off track. It was up to him to lead the charge, it seemed. The task was daunting, but he was the dauntless Sir Pentious, architect of destruction. And he was going to... make a friend.

"So... hello."

Amiel's tiny, polite smile got just a bit bigger, as he waved half-heartedly. "Hello, Sir Pentious."

And then, silence.

It stretched on across seconds like thick smog, unbroken.

Pentious panicked. What was he supposed to say now?! Five seconds into the activity and his brilliant mind was already struggling.

He shuffled anxiously through the cue cards, eyes darting across the blotchy hearts and horned horses that looked at once both stunted and horribly malnourished. They helped him exactly not at all, and the words weren't much better.

"Be nice," claimed one bit of advice.

Very helpful. Where were the step-by-step instructions?!

"Talk about the weather!"

They were indoors!

"Always start with a cheerful Hello!"

He'd gotten past that bit already! Why did Charlie put that one in the middle of the deck!?

Finally, FINALLY, he found one that looked SOMEWHAT promising.

"Ask about their interests and hobbies."

Why not? It was better than what he had, which was nothing.

"So, Amiel dear, what do you like doing in your spare time?"

The angel's lips twitched. He was still smiling, but... was that a hint of mockery? Did the Prince find his floundering humorous? Was Pentious making a fool of himself?

Ugh! That was why he hated interacting with others. The uncertainty, and the nagging fear that he was always, ALWAYS doing something wrong.

Amiel answered before he could come to a proper conclusion. His tone was measured, and one gloved hand played idly with a lock of hair. "I don't exactly... have a lot of free time."

Pentious puffed up his chest, his hood flaring as he gestured dramatically. "Productivity is good! Rome was not built in a day! I too, rarely waste time on frivolities!"

All at once, the realization hit him that he'd... gotten quite loud. Across from him, Amiel looked... half-bemused and half... probably weirded out, if he had to guess. Oh dear. Pentious dialed it back, coughing awkwardly into his fist. The tip of his tail twitched behind him. "Ahem! However, even I sometimes indulge in SOME frivolity. Surely you have something as well?"

Amiel looked away, a hint of gold crawling up his cheeks. "I don't do much, really. But I like... movies. And theater. And musicals. Books too. A cup of hot cocoa, a thick blanket and a good book help me... relax."

Pentious nodded. "That's a fine way to spend one's rest."

"I'm glad we agree." Amiel tilted his head expectantly. "And you? Any fun hobbies?"

It was Pentious's turn to avert his eyes, fingers fiddling with his jacket. He hadn't thought his words through before, and now they came to bite him in the tail. He'd completely failed to account for the fact that he’d have to share something in return.

"Ah, well... it's... a bit embarrassing."

Amiel's violet eyes softened, and his smile grew, becoming almost... encouraging. Yes, there was a shade of Charlie in the expression her brother now wore. Subtler than his sister, but... it was there.

"You don't HAVE to tell me if you're uncomfortable. Really, I understand. We all have our guilty pleasures."

Pentious took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. It came out almost a hiss. The whole point of this activity was that he had to say it.

His voice was uncharacteristically quiet. "Don't laugh, but... I sometimes knit. For my minions. It's good for keeping your fingers nimble and steady."

To his credit, Amiel did not laugh, though his purple eyes twinkled with obvious amusement. "Oh! That's adorable. I think it's a lovely hobby." The Prince fixed him with a curious look, tilting his head again, so his black hair fell heavily on one shoulder. "Where do they come from, by the way? Your minions, I mean. They're quite unique."

No small degree of enthusiasm crept into the snake demon's voice. It rose again, and his Ss became even longer than usual. "Why, of course they're unique! I made them! There's no creature such as them in all of Hell! My little Egg Boiz are marvels of demonic ingenuity, fit to serve one such as myself."

Amiel smiled at him, eyes crinkling. He hummed softly, lips pursing. "Are they only servants to you? Pardon me, but... they don't exactly look too... suited to the task."

Pentious rolled his eyes, and he knew his hat followed suit. "No. They aren't particularly skilled. At anything. But I can't bring myself to get rid of them, replaceable and unfit as they may be."

That wasn't entirely true, but he couldn't just... uo and admit he cared for the poor, daft creatures. They were his. They kept him company. They were the only ones who kept him company. Their brains—had they had any—would have been as smooth as their shells, but... they were there. And they were loyal. There was some worth in that.

The angel's posture had relaxed somewhat, Pentious noticed. He wasn't quite sprawling out across the couch, but he wasn't sitting like he was afraid of taking up too much space anymore.

"At least they're cute. They seem like good company."

Ah! The Prince was sharp indeed. Had he figured out the Egg Boiz's true purpose so quickly?

Pentious rubbed the back of his head, tongue flicking from side to side. He kept his tone dismissive, for safety's sake. His reputation was at stake! "Well, yes, they have their uses, few and far between as they are."

Amiel laughed. It was a musical sound. Like a bell of some kind. Quite charming, and somewhat softer than his sister's laugh, though not by much. But it wasn't the cadence that caught the snake demon's attention. It was something else entirely.

Pentious had made someone laugh. He hadn't fully intended to, but... it was better than the usual, which was having demons laught at him. HIM, who deserved nothing but respect and adoration for his brilliance!

Hearing Amiel laugh felt... surprisingly good, and it made a little flutter settle into his chest, one that felt almost like cardiac arrest, only... pleasanter. The lack of judgment and glares was refreshing. Charlie's support could only do so much.

He played it cool, as the youngsters would put it. "I'm glad you find me amusing, if nothing else." Subtly, he started rummaging through the stack of cue cards again. Finding a useful one was a Sisyphean task, but Pentious persevered.

"Erm... would you... rather?" He squinted at the writing. It was tinier than the last one, and messier too. His voice was a study in uncertainty as he read along. "Would you rather... fight one hundred puppy-sized horses or... five horse-sized puppies?"

The angel blinked. Once. Twice. Then he snorted, wings twitching with the effort of holding back giggles. One cerise glove hid his mouth as he fought for his composure. "Ah! Pff! Haah... Charlie's as creative as ever, I see."

Pentious' already shoddy smile wobbled, dipped, and fell altogether. That laugh, though it was so similar to the first one, couldn't have rung more differently in the snake demon's head. This one felt mocking.

Reality came crashing down on him. "I'm afraid... I'm not very good at this. Carrying a conversation has never been my strong suit."

He was far worse than simply not good. He was blowing this. He was lucky enough to be paired up with the one person that didn't hold a grudge against him, and he was too inept to take advantage of it. It was... disheartening in a way he couldn't fully understand.

Pentious had spent his entire existence alone. Why did it suddenly start bothering him now that he was bad at talking to people, after just a few days at the Hotel? Was it the proximity to other Sinners? Had he contracted some strange, demonic disease? It couldn't have been loneliness. Not to him. Pentious didn't need other demons. He was a loner by nature. Yes, getting the occasional bit of praise from Charlie when he performed well at activities felt... very nice, but that was different! That was just long overdue acknowledgment, which he'd cruelly been denied for so long! It felt good, but Pentious didn't need it.

Amiel evidently noticed his turmoil, and backtracked immediately. His wings spread and flapped, their errant beats generating a gentle breeze that crested Pentious' skin.

"Oh, no, no, no. Don't get discouraged, please! I wasn't making fun of YOU!"

Pentious lifted one arm and waved breezily. It was forced, just like the airiness in his tone. "I'm not offended. Facts are facts."

For a moment, Amiel looked thoughtful. Lips pursed, head tilted. And then the Prince stared at him. It was... almost unnerving, the intensity of those violet eyes. Pentious felt as though the angel was dissecting his soul with that stare. Was this how frogs felt, moments before dissection?

"You're a bad actor, Pentious."

He sputtered, hood flaring once again. "Who's acting?! I was merely stating facts!"

Amiel rolled his eyes. "Some facts. You were doing just fine."

Pentious hardly felt convinced. Was the Prince pitying him? Feeding him falsehoods so he felt better?

"It didn't feel fine to me. And you were laughing."

Another roll of those violet eyes. "I was laughing at the ridiculous things that Charlie wrote. Not at you. Which, by the way, you don't need."

"I beg to differ."

Without warning, Amiel stuck one gloved hand out, palm up. Pentious stared at it, confused.

"Give them here. Come on."

Pentious hesitated, but a pointed look from Amiel dispersed his hesitation. Reluctantly, he let the stack of cue cards thump silently into Amiel's waiting hand.

"There we go. Now we can talk freely."

Hah. As if Pentious knew how to do that. "I'm afraid you'll find my conversational skills sorely lacking."

Amiel giggled. "I was about to say the same thing about myself. All the social graces of a hunk of lukewarm brimstone."

Pentious caught himself chuckling quietly to that. He wasn't blind. Anyone with eyes could see that the angel was as introverted as they came. But still, it was... strange.

"Oh? I'd have thought a prince would have a vibrant social life."

Amiel snorted once more. He jabbed one gloved thumb into his chest. "This prince skipped every event that he was allowed. And it was most of them."

"Why?"

The amused twinkle that decorated the Prince's violet gaze dimmed and disappeared like someone had flipped a light switch. He smiled at Pentious, but it was... almost sad. The only answer he got was a pointed flap of the angel's wings, and a vague gesture with one delicate hand.

Pentious understood. "Ah. I see how those could... bring unwanted attention."

"Mhm." He paused, eyes drifting downwards as he adjusted his glove, tugging it on despite it having not slipped even slightly. His teeth nipped at his bottom lip briefly, before retreating.

When he spoke up, Amiel plastered a wide smile on his face. "So? Where will you take the conversation now, without Charlie's... unique assistance?"

Pentious' tail flicked in irritation. "I thought I made it perfectly clear that I'm unfit for socializing."

Amiel giggled, a teasing lilt in his voice. "Don't get too mad now. And I thought I'd made the same thing clear, too."

The snake demon crossed his arms, tongue flickering to and fro. If the angel had no intention of treating this seriously, then why should he? "You could always give me the cue cards back, if you're so desperate."

The Prince stuck his tongue out. The audacity! The sheer audacity! "Nope! Not happening. Either you say something non-scripted, or I will."

"How very dignified of you. Knock yourself out, I suppose."

Amiel gave an exaggerated, long-suffering sigh, fingers of one hand resting against his chest in a pose that screamed, "Woe is me."

"Fine then. Since you feel the need to rely on my STELLAR social skills, can I ask YOU something?"

Pentious nodded, leaning in slightly.

"Why are you here? Charlie told me about Angel, but she never mentioned you. How did you end up at this hotel?"

Ah. There. There it was. The question had been innocent. Clueless even. Just idle curiosity. But for Pentious, it may as well have been the toil of the bell signaling Extermination day. What little time in Amiel's good graces he'd had had just run out.

Making up some lie was an option. But what good would that bring? Someone would rat him out, and quite gleefully, at that. Telling the truth was his only choice. And... Charlie had mentioned once or twice the importance of honesty. For better of worse, Pentious was here, under her roof. He had to adhere to the Princess' principles.

He took a deep breath. Once again, the exhale came out hiss-like. "I... was sent here to spy on the Hotel, and your sister, on behalf of the Vees. Took me less than a day to get caught. She... forgave me. I decided to stay."

He's caught the Prince off guard. He blinked, and his wings ruffled, feathers puffing up slightly.

"Oh. That is... oh."

Amiel brought his hands to his face, rubbing at it roughly. From behind them, Pentious could hear a heavy exhale.

When the Prince unburied his face from the embrace of his hands, it was blank. And it was back. That stare. Amiel leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees and his head on his palms. His eyes never left the snake demon's face.

Pentious felt a twinge of fear. Was the angel going to... hurt him? Force Charlie to kick him out? Kill him?

Amiel did none of those things. He just asked another question, tone as measured as ever, betraying nothing of the emotions beneath. "Why stay? Was it because of Charlie?"

Well. Pentious hadn't been smited yet. That was encouraging. But the question was... difficult. Very difficult. Words came in chunks, leaving his mouth as soon as they popped up in his brain.

"Your sister is... kind. Forgiving. She believes that anyone can be a good person, if they try. She... makes others believe in that too."

Amiel's lips twitched upwards, just barely, and his eyes softened. "Yes... she's always been like that." He paused, mouth moving ever so slightly, as if he were deliberating his next words. "So... you believe in it then? Redemption?"

Did he? Did he, Sir Pentious, genuinely believe in making it into Heaven?

He... didn’t. There was no place in Heaven for him. There hadn't been a place for him upstairs, and there was scarcely a place for him in Hell.

But... something about the way Charlie had immediately forgiven him, and even tried to make him feel better, right after he betrayed her trust... made him feel safe. That song she'd sung with him gave him... hope. Not in redemption, not in becoming a better person. He didn't even know what he had been hoping for, but... he had felt safe. Safer than ever before.

Of course, the others made him feel... decidedly less safe. But... whenever Charlie smiled at him, or asked about his day, that sense of safety would return, and keep Pentious from leaving.

But... how was he to put that into words? Pentious scarcely understood it himself. Scratch that; he didn't even understand it himself.

He laced his fingers together, rubbing his palms against one another. He had to try and explain himself, at least.

"I don't know. Not really. But your sister has a way of making everything feel... better than it is. Staying here is better than... leaving. I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense."

The conviction that slipped into his voice surprised even Pentious. Where was it coming from? "But... I swear that I won't do anything that could endanger her or this hotel. Not again."

Amiel smiled again. A real, proper smile. Pentious thought it looked quite nice. "You care about her." It wasn't a question. Pentious still nodded.

The Prince curled up on his part of the couch, hugging his knees until he looked as small as a child. "She's lucky to have you."

The snake demon wrapped his arms around himself, shifting until he was curled up too—or at least as curled up as he could get, with all that tail in the way. "I wouldn't call her particularly lucky."

The Prince rolled his eyes, and that, coupled with the smile still on his face, made the gesture seem... playful. "You're far too hard on yourself, Pentious. Really."

He huffed, tongue poking out from between his fangs. "High standards are hardly a bad thing."

"They are when they're TOO high. You're nice. Caring. And loyal. Definitely loyal."

Now the Prince was just being ridiculous. Really. Pentious couldn't just let him spout nonsense like that freely. "Loyal? Did you not get the part where I confessed to spying on your sister?!"

Amiel lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender. "I have." He gave the snake a mock-pointed look. "It was right before that bit where you obviously cared about her and swore up and down that you wouldn't hurt her."

Pentious felt his cheeks flush. He'd said that in a fit of out-of-nowhere passion, and to have it pointed out so brazenly... it felt... embarrassing.

Amiel was not helping. His eyes widened, the sparkle of amusement returning in full force. But there was something else there too. He looked at the Sinner with... almost fondness, perhaps?

"Oh my! Are you blushing?"

His tail twacked against the couch as he attempted to bluster his way out of feeling ashamed. His hood flared out with the force of an explosion, his hat barely staying on. "I am MOST CERTAINLY not!"

Amiel laughed again. He didn't even bother with trying to cover it up this time. His wings shook with the force of it. "Ahahaha! Oh, you're too much!" The Prince coughed into a fist, getting a hold of himself with considerable effort. "Shouting only makes it more obvious, Pen."

Pen. Charlie was the only one who called him that. It was... surprising. But not unwelcome. The angel had apparently caught himself off-guard with it too, judging by the way he blinked. But his smile stayed on, easy and honest. He made no effort to acknowledge the nickname, and neither did Pentious, though he felt his own lips twitch upwards.

"Alright. Fine, my cheeks may have gotten the slightest dusting of color to them. But this room is stuffy! Don't read into it too much!"

Amiel shook his head, hair swishing side to side. "Of course. Wouldn't dream of that."

For a couple of moments, neither of them spoke, but the silence felt different this time. Pleasant, not suffocating.

Pentious used the time to soak in the fact that... Amiel really waved off what he'd done. That he actually... did not mind talking to Pentious. It was... not the easiest concept to wrap one's head around, after all the years the inventor had spent on his own. But it brought the same feeling of warmth to his chest that Charlie's kindness did. Pentious was a firm believer of understanding. Poking and prodding at things until their inner workings became clear to him. But... perhaps there was no point in untangling the complex intricacies of his feelings on the matter. Perhaps those, he could just... leave be as they were.

Amiel broke the silence, armed with a shy smile, a lock of black hair wrapped around one gloved finger, and the faintest blush of gold across his cheeks.

"Um... I have an... awkward question to ask."

"It can't be worse than the previous one," Pentious deadpanned. He was trying to be funny. That was a new one. And it worked. Amiel giggled, that bell-like laugh poking through the quiet.

"It's nothing like that, I promise." He looked away, posture radiating shyness. "I was just wondering... would you tell me about... Earth?"

The inventor blinked. His hat did the same. "You are interested... in the human world? Why?"

Amiel's eyes sparkled. Some of the shyness melted away, replaced by pure awe. "Because it's fascinating! The history, the art, the culture!" The angel's voice rose in pitch, and his hands flailed as he started gesturing. "It's so vast, and sprawling, and multifaceted. Uncle Ozzie has some of his succubi and incubi bring me things from Earth from time to time. Books, movies, that sort of stuff. But I've never met a Sinner before! You have first-hand experience!"

Then The Prince caught himself. His blush flared up, and he started fiddling with a glove again. "Ah... sorry about that. I may have gotten a bit... overly excited. You don't have to do it, if you don't want to."

Truth be told, Pentious had very little in terms of pleasant memories from his life. He'd spent his days in shadowy workshops, tinkering with machines and barely functioning prototypes, away from people. But... how could he deny those eyes? That hunger for knowledge, which... reminded him, ever so slightly, of his own? He couldn't.

"Nonsense, my dear! A ravenous mind must be fed! I'll tell you all there is to know about my time!" He rubbed the back of his head, voice going quieter. "Although... it has been a while. I died in the year 1888, so the information may be... stale."

The revelation seemed to bother Amiel exactly not at all. In fact, his eyes seemed to sparkle, quite literally this time. Violet shifted to gold for a moment, before going back to their default setting.

"Oh! 1888... that's... the Victorian Era! The British Empire! Did you ever meet the Queen? Or visit India?!"

Pentious laughed. Loud and unrestrained. "Ahaha! I see you're quite well-informed! No, I'm afraid I haven't done either of those things. My life was quite boring, all things considered."

"Doesn't matter! Tell me everything!"

 

*******

 

He was partway through closing the door when she spoke up.

"Ami?"

The door froze, a sliver away from meeting the frame. The gloves kept most of the cold at bay, but his hands still felt slightly cool, holding onto the handle. He pulled it open again, taking a step back.

"Yes, Charlie?"

His sister shifted on her feet, one hand giving her bowtie a half-hearted tug. She opened her mouth partway, lifted one hand up in what was probably going to be a grand gesture, before giving up. The hand went back down, and her black lips sealed shut, pursing thoughtfully.

Amiel gave her time to gather her thoughts. It was quite late, after all. They'd all had a busy day.

She managed to find the words, after a bit.

"Would you like to... do something with me? Tomorrow afternoon? I have something really important that I want to do, and I'd REALLY appreciate your help."

Oh. Amiel had an idea what that might have been about. Charlie was truly relentless sometimes. Especially with those she cared about. And the two of them hadn't talked things through yet. Not even what had happened yesterday night, much less the events of today. She'd tried, before breakfast, but Amiel hadn't managed to bring himself to do it. He hadn't trusted himself to keep his composure, so soon after almost getting a dagger through the brain.

After that, they spent the rest of the day awkwardly dancing around each other. There, always nearby, but on the outskirts, busy with other people.

He... really wasn't looking forward to that conversation. But... he owed her that much, he supposed. Amiel was her brother.

He smiled at her. Wobbly and more politeness than substance, but it got the job done. "Of course. Anything you need, Charlie."

She hugged him. It wasn't a crushing hug—he'd endured much worse, both from her and from the rest of their extended family—but it was firm. Her hands rested on the space between his wings, and her chin on the top of his head. It was... warm. He hugged her back, though with much less constrictive enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Ami," she mumbled quietly, muffled even further by his hair.

When she pulled back, she was practically beaming.

"Oh, and Ami? You did amazing today. Especially with Pentious. He seemed VERY happy after talking to you!"

The Prince smiled bashfully. "I just talked to him, Charlie."

"And it made his day. Don't sell yourself short."

"It made his day." What a thought. Amiel simply nodded.

"I'll let you get some rest now. Remember, if you need ANYTHING at all, I'm right next door!"

"Of course, Charlie. Goodnight."

"Night!"

She disappeared down the hall, and Amiel closed and locked the door behind him.

He was tired. Almost as tired as hours upon hours of paperwork usually left him. Perhaps even more, in some ways.

The Prince went about undressing, slowly and carefully. Each piece of clothing was deposited in its proper place, folded neatly. The nightgown felt pleasantly cool against his skin. He'd grabbed a pale yellow one and slipped into it, before sitting down at the vanity. His hair needed a good brush and a proper plait, unless he wanted to wake up to a tangled mess trying to choke the life out of him.

Amiel let his thoughts wander while his fingers lost themselves in the familiar motions of weaving a braid.

Being at the Hotel was... exhausting. He wasn't used to it. Being around others. Especially not around such... colorful company.

Angel was... a lot. The Radio Demon made his skin prick uncomfortably, and Niffty, the maid... she was creepy.

But there was some good, he supposed. Vaggie had been pleasant, despite their... exciting first meeting. Charlie, as always, brought about complex feelings. He tried not to think about her. Instead, Amiel focused on the snake demon.

Pentious.

He... Amiel had made a friend, it seemed. Against all odds, and with a Sinner of all people.

The Prince hadn't expected that, when Charlie sat him down on that couch. But... he'd found the initial awkwardness thawing out quite quickly. And underneath it... Pentious was lonely. Deeply lonely, to the point he hadn't even realized it himself.

Amiel wasn't sure why he'd made such an effort to get the snake demon to understand that he was not as hopeless as he thought himself. It simply... hadn't felt right, leaving him like that.

Things escalated from there. They'd spent hours talking.

Pentious had taught him so much about the Victorian Era! Even now, he got giddy at the thought of all he'd learned from just that one chat. All those books he'd read laid a good foundation, but actual, first-hand experiences? Amazing. Incomparable.

Amiel was... looking forward to chatting with the inventor some more. He had to get his money's worth, so to speak. He was only here for a few days. Although... perhaps he could ask for Pentious' phone number, before he left? Just... for occasional chats.

He grabbed a ribbon he'd laid out and tied off his braid with one practiced motion. The bed was calling for him. Now that he wasn't panicking like yesterday, he could better appreciate its softness. Or he could have, had there been anything to appreciate. It wasn't exactly ROCK hard, but it definitely didn't come close to the bed he'd left behind.

It wasn't only the bed he'd left behind, though, was it? Was Dad doing okay? Could he manage the paperwork?

Amiel couldn't help but worry. He didn't want Dad to overwork himself, after so long. What if he worked himself too hard, and ended up even deeper in one of his... moods? He'd seemed fine when Amiel left, better than he had in a long time even, but those things could change on a dime! And he wasn't there to help. He had no way of even knowing.

Ah, but he couldn't call! His father had made that perfectly clear.

Perhaps he could get Uncle Ozzie on the case? Call him, be subtle about it, and have him check up on Dad?

Possibly. He'd think about it more tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow promised to be... interesting.

It all came back to Charlie, didn't it? Always Charlie. An icy knot formed in his stomach as he thought about what awaited him. Almost without any input, his hand reached for a wing. Fingers locked against a handful of feathers. They were slightly warm. Soft. Puffy. He toyed with the idea of pulling. Just a bit.

In the end, he thought better of it. Now that he'd actually seen Niffty, he was sure that he needed to be extra careful. And the handful he'd grabbed was... quite generous. It would be too much work to clean them up properly. No, he was better off just sleeping, no matter how challenging tomorrow promised to be.

Angel Dust would probably be a constant headache generator. Amiel was certain that Alastor would pop up at some point as well. And, whatever Charlie wanted to do would probably cause no small amount of stress. But... he'd get to talk with Pentious again. The Sinner had promised he'd show him around his "lab," which was really just his room. The Prince was excited. Not the manic giddiness that Charlie approached all things in life with, but a quiet, expectant tingle in his chest.

For all his worrying, he couldn't deny that he was looking forward to the following day. Just a little.

Notes:

"So, Feathers, you more of a 'Be not afraid' or immaculate conception guy down there?"

I think I peaked as a writer with this line. I'm not beating that. Ever.

Looots of "new" characters being introduced all around. Lots of new POVs. I hope I did everyone justice. You know my usual spiel by heart at this point. "If anyone feels out of character, please tell me." Except Angel. Angel I do not care if he feels out of character. Writing that scene was the literary equivalent of injecting pure happiness into my veins. You'll pry him out of my COLD, DEAD HANDS.

I hope the mood whiplash hasn't given anyone neck pains. This chapter ended up suprisingly light on both Morningstars and angst. Rest assured, both will return to us shortly. Luci may take a back seat for a few chapters, so my fellow Lucifer fans, I feel your pain.

As always, comments, kudos and reviews are greatly appreciated.

Chapter 8: Steps—Backwards, Forwards and in Circles

Notes:

So... almost two months waiting for a new chapter, AGAIN?

Sorry about that. In my defense, the AO3 curse has sunk its claws into me. Country's still on the razor edge of a civil war. Fun!

At the very least this chapter's extremely long. Almost 20k, because I have no sense of self preservation.

Thank you, everyone, for your endless patience.

Fanart:
https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

Useless. Useless. Useless.

The word drilled through his brain, looping back over itself for hours now. Or perhaps only minutes? It was hard to tell.

Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless. Useless.

Sometimes, it seemed as though the voice in his head was screaming it, subtle as a hammer shaping glasswork. Other times it was a whisper, gentle as the morning breeze. Often it was both, and everything in between, until it became no more than a connection of sounds, devoid of all meaning.

Useless.

One day. He hadn't managed one day.

Why was Lucifer SO FUCKING USELESS?!

The King of Hell tugged the blankets he'd tangled himself up in tighter around his body. He was warm. Far too warm, in fact, and his suit was not really meant for lying in bed, but he hadn't had the will or the energy to change. Even when it was as simple as snapping his fingers. Not even that! Just thinking it would have been enough, provided there was intent.

And yet, Lucifer was in his full suit. Practically cooking alive in it as well, buried under the heavy blankets. But they were soft. They hugged him on all sides. Made it easier to pretend there was someone for him to hug.

He sniffled like the pathetic wreck he was.

He'd done his best! And he'd actually gotten some work done. But his mind decided to betray him, three quarters of the way in. His thoughts wandered to Lilith, and then to Amiel. That was all it took. A tiny little bit of guilt sneaking up on him. Just a prick. Then the avalanche of memories started. How Lilith had done all the work, how he'd barely helped. And Father, how Amiel had done everything for him, while he sat in his workshop, doing nothing.

Why had he thought he had anywhere near the mental capacity for paperwork? He had barely handled his meager workload while Lilith was taking care of most of the work. How could he have ever deluded himself into thinking he could do what she had done? She was capable, and strong, and determined. Lucifer was... not.

Lucifer was a bad husband and a worse parent. To call him a ruler at all would have been an insult to even the worst of kings who'd made it down to his realm. At least all of those did something.

He tugged the blanket over his head and buried his face in the pillows. It was hard to breathe, but why care? He didn't need it. His body did it as a courtesy to the natural laws.

Oh. FUCK.

His breath caught altogether as he thought of the natural laws. Those made him think of... before. The waaaaay before.

What would Father think, if he saw him now?

Damn it, that made no sense. It was an idiotic question, but then again, Lucifer was an idiot. The oldest idiot in all of Creation.

Father saw everything. It was only a matter of what he chose to grace with his attention. And if by some miracle, he hadn't discarded Lucifer like the vaguely angel-shaped pile of trash he was, then... What did Father think, seeing his favorite like this? Did he feel sadness? Lucifer doubted it. Not joy either. His Father was a lot of things, but not a sadist. Perhaps regret? Not at what he'd had done to Lucifer, but at ever wasting his time creating him. Lucifer himself sure felt regret in regards to that particular bit of cosmic history.

He was the one fluke in his Father's perfect system. The only one of his siblings who was so grossly, overwhelmingly wrong. Not like his siblings. Not like his twin.

Ah. He shouldn't have gone there.

The waterworks finally started. And they really started, making up for lost time and then some. Thick, heavy tears, coupled with quiet, desperate sobs. Some Angel of Joy he was. But how could he not cry, when he thought of his twin?

Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. The last time he'd seen his brother, he had... well... he'd cut a fearsome figure. Flaming sword blazing, casting him out of Heaven. Blue eyes full of hatred and rage. Hair—the same color as Lucifer's, not a shade different, but always kept just a bit longer, just a bit fancier, with those pretty curls—hair messed up beyond belief from the countless times he'd raked his fingers through it during the trial.

Lucifer had never figured out why he'd done that. He hadn't managed to catch his brother's eyes in the courtroom, not even once, until the moment of his Fall. By then it was... far too late.

Was it regret that drove those repetitive, subconscious movements? Pain, sadness? Desperation? Was it rage? Could he barely contain himself, waiting to strike him down? Lucifer had always been the dreamer, Michael the stickler for rules. Had his brother perhaps been hoping for a harsher punishment, for daring to disobey?

There were ways to... remove an angel from existence, even such a high-ranking one as Lucifer had been. Hell, naturally, had nothing in terms of such means. Had Lucifer's realm had something like that, well... who knew who'd be ruling the place today?

Gah! Why was he thinking of it? Why was he wasting his time?! He'd gone through the trouble of making it to bed instead of just going to his stupid workshop to work on his stupid ducks, hadn't he?! So why couldn't he just sleep?! He had work he hadn't managed to get through waiting for him, and more would be coming! He had to be focused if he wanted to have any chance of clawing his way out of this mess. He couldn’t afford this pathetic display of self-loathing!

His clawed fingers gripped at the pillows and blankets around him, groping blindly for purchase. He'd hoped that holding onto something would bring some measure of comfort, but no, it only made it worse.

Lilith used to be so good at grounding him. Her hands were always so soft. Like silk. Always so warm, but mysteriously never sweaty. He knew them by heart, after so many millennia. Every line of her palms, ever inch of her long, bony fingers, perfectly preserved in his memories. He could feel them even now, if he really, really focused.

The blankets and pillows made for poor replacements, inadequate in every way. They were soft and nice to the touch, yes, but... he couldn't focus on the softness. All he felt was the contrast between that and his blackened, charred hands.

His skin was... stained by the Fall. All of him was stained, irreparably tainted, but... the hands stuck out the most. He could have worn gloves like Lilith, but he hated the feel of them against his skin. So constrictive. So stifling. He couldn't imagine wearing them all the time. Even if the alternative was being faced with his new reality, he simply couldn’t do it.

It had been a dramatic change. The new wings, the tail, the horns that came and went in those early days, depending on his moods.

But the hands were the ones that stuck out the most. They were always there, hovering in his field of vision, taunting, searing themselves into his eyelids until he couldn't escape them, even when he closed his eyes.

The claws, wickedly sharp, the blackness, like wood that had been consumed by a forest fire and left behind. The skin of his arms was still soft, softer than most demons could dream of, but... there was a coarseness to it now. A harshness that wasn't present on the rest of his porcelain skin.

Gross. Gross, gross, gross. All of him was gross. The forked tongue. The hooves he'd passed onto his daughter. The claws, and the sharp teeth and...

"Why are you still here?"

Another cry. Fainter now. More of a wail, really.

How long had he been crying for? He had no way of knowing, with his head still shoved against the pillow.

But truly, he couldn't help his mind from going there... why was he condemned to this? Was giving humanity the ability to choose really a crime so grave that he deserved... this? He'd... the only three meaningful things in his life had left him. Lilith and Charlie, permanently. And Amiel...

Well, he'd follow along soon enough, hopefully.

Lucifer would continue to try his best, but it was obvious. His best would never be enough. He wasn't going to get through all the paperwork. He was too useless. Too unstable.

Amiel wouldn't be happy. He'd get behind on work, and become frustrated, and all that freshly off the boat from a sibling-relations-improving visit. And Lucifer? He'd hide away, like the pathetic excuse of a father he was. His duckling's frustration would fester, and grow, and burn.

Lucifer could only hope that his boy would finally get fed up. Snap, get mad, leave. However...

Amiel was the stupidest of the three, by far. He'd grin and bear it, like he'd done up to this point.

But, he argued with himself, surely the visit would be what finally helped him get ahold of himself. What made him realize how much better off he'd be if he left. What finally made him give up on his father.

Ugh! Loathing, pure and red-hot, bubbled up in his chest, rising like bile, spreading through his entire body.

How dare he? How could he call his own sweet boy stupid? Even if staying and caring for Lucifer could be called nothing else... how DARE he?

What a damn wretch he was.

And the worst part? The final nail in the coffin?

All this time, he thought that this was what he wanted. What he needed. To be alone, to be completely detached from the rest of his family. But now that he finally had what he'd wanted for so long? Now that the palace was all his?

Lucifer hated it. The loneliness. It would have been easier, if he liked it. Hell, it would have made sense, with the way he isolated himself at every opportunity! But he truly, truly, hated it.

He wasn't good at it; he'd never been, and Lucifer usually avoided it like the plague, but... he hated not having anyone to talk to. Hated not having anyone to lean on. Despised the fact his children were away from him. Loathed those endless, empty halls, filled with the portraits of times that were long gone.

But what could he do? What other option was there? Being close to him hurt any person unlucky enough to suffer such a predicament. Lilith and Charlie had realized that. Amiel clung on, stubborn as he was.

If his son stayed, they'd both end up hurting. Lucifer had done enough harm to his family. To Amiel especially.

He could only hope, pray that this visit would end with Amiel leaving home and never looking back. For his son's sake.

Lucifer... he would be all alone. He'd hurt. He'd sink even deeper into this... painful, meaningless EXISTING. But his children could be happy. They could be happy, as long as he wasn't in the picture.

A high-pitched, digital wail rang out through the air.

The King of Hell jumped. Or rather, jerked ineffectively, tangled up in the sheets as he was. His eyes burned and struggled to take the room in, crusted with dried tears.

What greeted him was... light.

It made sense, he realized, after a moment of utter confusion. The sound was last night's alarm. He'd cockily set it up for every day.

Lucifer had cried the entire night away.

And now he was supposed to get to work.

To his credit, he tried, despite the freshest wave of hatred and disgust that swept over him. He tried to get up, to disentangle himself from the cocoon of bedding he'd imprisoned himself in.

His limbs barely cooperated. They twitched and trembled somewhere in there, struggling for a few seconds, before just... giving up. Fitting. He felt like giving up too.

He knew, in some mutable, distant corner of his brain, that if he stopped now, he wouldn’t stand a chance of staying on schedule. That he'd be failing Amiel. His sweet, dependable, hardworking baby boy.

Lucifer's limbs gave one final series of twitches. Had he not been so thoroughly wrapped up, it would have probably been quite a gruesome display. Like an animal that had its neck broken, muscles spasming and twitching with no real purpose. Dying limbs clinging to life as it slipped away.

Finally, they stilled.

But there was no release of death at the end of their movements. But, unlike those dying animals, there wasn't an end waiting for Lucifer, period. Just more of existence. More BEING.

He tugged at the nearest blanket weakly, trying to pull it over his head. It got most of the way there, with only the rat's nest that was his hair poking through.

Close enough.

Lucifer was already falling behind. Already failing. But he couldn't bring himself to get up. It was so much easier to stay in bed and hate himself for what he wouldn't do tomorrow, than to try and chip away at today.

*******

"Pen, could you get the last batch of toast? I'm busy with the bacon."

The snake demon's tongue flicked in that way Amiel was beginning to find immensely endearing, and it only added to the already elongated Ss that littered his speech. "Of course, my dear!"

Watching him slither away was... half-fascinating—sinner anatomy was so diverse—and half-amusing, as he fumbled with the toaster. Self-proclaimed genius and brilliant engineer that he was, Pentious wasn't overly confident with modern technology. He wasn't inept, just... slightly distrustful, it seemed.

The Prince could have spent hours watching him. Or rather, he could have, if not for the bacon demanding that his eyes be upon it alone. He wasn't the worst cook, but he couldn't for the life of him avoid making it at least a little charred every single time.

Amiel's thoughts still wandered, even as he flipped the thin strips of meat.

Cooking with someone else felt... surreal. Sure, sometimes Lulu and Lighty helped out—they were in the kitchen right now, making a salad with varying degrees of enthusiasm—but doing it with Pentious was different. When he cooked by himself, or with his bodyguards, it was just another item off a checklist. Methodical, focused. Now, every so often he'd stop to toss out a snarky little comment at the snake, or to respond to something he'd said.

A smile tugged at the Prince' lips, and a faint, pleasant warmth pooled in his stomach.

It was a very good kind of different. A different that Amiel wouldn't have minded repeating until the novelty wore off, if he had the chance. Amiel... he knew that he wouldn’t get that chance. The visit could only go on for so long. But... the thought alone counted for something, did it not?

Enjoyable as it was, their impromptu, two-man cooking show hadn't been planned, though. Not in the slightest.  

The sinner had slithered into the kitchen, muttering something about "making a quick spot of morning tea." He'd obviously expected the spacious, somewhat chilly room with peeling paint to be empty so early in the morning. It very much hadn't been.

Instead of solitude, he'd found Amiel, and his two bodyguards.

After seven years, doing nothing left Amiel with an annoying, unsoothable itch buzzing underneath his skin. Cooking came to mind as an easy solution. As for Lulu and Lighty, he'd roped them into preparing breakfast after one poke of his head into their newly appointed room, right across from his own, confirmed they were both wide awake.

The same fate befell Pentious as well, though to the inventor's credit, he had volunteered, however hesitantly.

Pen's voice, loud and boisterous despite the early hours, jerked Amiel out of his thoughts. "Breakfast is officially served! The toast's a perfect golden brown!"     

Amiel's lips twitched upwards, an amused grin forming all on its own. He glanced over his shoulder to give Pen a thumbs up. "Great job!"

The snake said nothing, but he needn't have. The sight of his hood flaring to life as he stood a little straighter was telling enough. Watching the snake puff up to the slightest of compliments was... well, adorable. And... just the slightest little bit bittersweet.

The sinner hadn't gotten much in the way of acknowledgment, despite his obvious intelligence, had he? Yesterday he'd talked circles around Amiel when it came to science, engineering, and biology. And yet, here he was, getting excited over a compliment.

The Prince could relate.

His own smile threatened to dip and wobble, but he forced it to stay on until he turned back to the task at hand. There was no need to get moody. Amiel was doing okay. Better than okay, even. He was enjoying himself. No point in ruining that.

The kitchen was plenty distracting enough to stop his mind from drawing unsavory parallels.

On his other side, Lulu dumped the last of his very enthusiastically cut tomatoes into the bowl and flitted over to Pentious, who'd moved on to arranging the toast on a plate. Amiel watched them out of the corner of his eye as he finished up with the bacon. Lulu all but shoved the bowl in Pentious' face. The snake flinched slightly, but managed to give the wolf a hesitant, featherlight pat between the ears.

"Yes, yes, good job on the salad, erm... little one."

Surprisingly, that managed to pacify the diminutive bodyguard. He dumped the bowl on the slightly chipped, cluttered counter next to the toast, and went back to Lighty, the unicorn having moved to hover a few paces behind Amiel. Despite having his back to them, the Prince could just feel the expectant stares from the both of them.

Lighty was simply eager to be of service, as always, but Lulu? The little glutton loved helping out with meals because he loved meals.

Unscrupulous little opportunist. He was lucky he was so cuddly. Far too cuddly to ever try and discipline.

Still, cute as they were, they both went ignored as Amiel dumped the last of the bacon—hovering precariously between "crispy" and "burnt"—on yet another plate, only for the realization to hit. They were out of plates. Again.

Niffty had this curious habit of putting the extra dishes away in the exact storeroom where they usually sat, despite the fact they were constantly in use. And he'd gotten so swept up in cooking and talking to Pen that he'd forgotten all about that quirk of hers, despite seeing it happen after every meal yesterday. Smart. The snake's presence really WAS distracting.

Amiel couldn't help but wonder if it was some sort of OCD that drove Niffty's actions, perhaps? She did seem to exibit traits of... well... quite a few disorders.

Not exactly eager to start psychoanalyzing the tiny, definitely disturbed maid, the Prince turned to his two bodyguards. He gave each a gentle pat on the head, though he was mindful of Lighty's horn. Lulu, predictably, nuzzled into his gloved hand as if he hadn't been touched in millennia. Amiel indulged him, scratching between his ears until he stuck his little tongue out.

The pout the wolf gave when his arm retracted could have melted ice, but the Prince had long since learned to resist it.

Amiel clapped his hands together. "Thank you very much for helping out, boys. But could you go and grab some more plates, too? We're short on them again."

Lighty merely nodded, while Lulu let out a high-pitched, happy yip. They buzzed out of the kitchen, the unicorn silently, and the wolf with a cacophony of excited noises that Amiel thought might have been an invitation to race.

Pentious drew closer to Amiel as soon as the door slammed shut behind Lulu.

Amiel bit back a giggle. It was... not easy.

The suit, top hat and apron combo was admittedly fairly tacky, though the sinner pulled it off surprisingly well. The ensemble could have genuinely worked, had the circumstances been kinder. But that apron. Pale pink was decidedly NOT Pentious' color. The ruffles were most certainly NOT helping, either.

"Your... minions are quite spirited."

The inventor rolled his eyes, and his hat followed suit. Amiel had no idea what that accessory's deal was, and he was frankly hesitant to ask. "And useful, unlike some other creatures."

The Prince grinned at him as he made way for the counter, a plate of bacon in hand. He grabbed the salad his bodyguards had thrown together as well, and carried both to the table.

It was adorable how hard Pen tried to hide his care for his "Egg Boiz," as he'd called them. Yesterday he'd alternated between extolling the brilliance of their creation, and taking every opportunity to insult their intellect and capabilities. And yet, Amiel had seen him nudge one of the creatures upright with the tip of his tail when it fell down.

The angel's voice was tinged with easy, honest cheer as he spoke. Talking to Pen made him feel... looser. It was strange, for someone like Amiel. Careful was all he'd ever been.

"Lulu's got a lot of spunk, for sure. But they're not my minions, Pen."

The sinner nodded vigorously. "Of course, of course! Apologies! Force of habit." He adjusted the rim of his hat, the eye narrowing in protest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Amiel wondered whether it hated being jostled.

"Those two... they're more bodyguards, is that right? Charlie told me once that those little goats were her bodyguards."

The Prince hummed, pursing his lips. Pentious slipped behind him, grabbing some of the generous breakfast spread they'd prepared and carrying it to the table.

"Mmm, technically, but... really, they're my friends. They have been since I've been a toddler."

The snake didn't respond immediately. He busied himself with setting the food down, taking his time with the task. When he did speak up, his voice was quieter than usual.

"That must have been quite nice. To grow up in such lively company."   

The Prince didn't miss the slight tone of... something in Pentious' voice. Being royalty made you a keen observer, whether you wanted to or not. Still, he couldn't quite place the emotion. Jealousy? Wistfulness? A bit of column A, a bit of column B, perhaps? Whatever it was, it made for quite the shift in mood.

Amiel snorted, though it was more for show than out of genuine amusement. He kept his tone light, gently skirting the conversation back towards safer grounds.

"You say that now, but you have no idea of the horrors I've lived through."

The demon's mouth quirked upwards, those enormous fangs poking out even more than they usually did. Amiel held back a sigh of relief at seeing the expression. Disaster averted.

"Oh? Do tell, dear."

The Prince smiled wryly as they hauled more of breakfast to the table. It was half for Pentious' sake, and half... surprisingly genuine. Sharing silly bits of his childhood was... oddly pleasant.

"Lighty and I were always outnumbered. Do you have any idea how difficult it was, living with four hyperactive people? Lighty had to scrape spaghetti off of the ceiling. At multiple different occasions."

Pentious snorted. Then gave a quiet, polite laugh, hidden behind one clawed hand. Finally, he gave up on propriety altogether, cackling like a villain from those old westerns where people ended up tied to train tracks.

He struggled to form words, getting them out in between loud, hiss-like breaths. "H-how did that happen?"

Amiel rolled his eyes, though any annoyance the gesture carried was undercut by the wide grin on his face. "Charlie mixed up pasta and pancakes."

Pentious blinked. So did his hat. He opened his mouth as if to say something, before closing it. Opened it once more, hand raised, forefinger extended, though no words came out. Then finally...

"That seems... like a difficult mistake to make."

"Yeah," came the reply, in the flattest, most deadpan tone that Amiel could muster.

It broke Pen anew, though his laugh was slightly more subdued this time. More... indoor voice, for lack of a better term. Amiel joined in too. Their laughs mingled together in the cool kitchen air, Amiel's high-pitched and delicate, Pen's somewhat screechy. Not that Amiel minded. It suited him. The Prince liked his laugh. But then the stove decided to interrupt. Or rather, what was on the stove. The last bit of breakfast that remained. One that Pentious had insisted on making.

The pot gave an ominous burble, and they both made their way to it to peer inside.

Pentious was many, many things. But a good cook? By the looks of it, most definitely not.

Amiel's eyes alternated between staring at the sinner and at the food—possibly, maybe, if you squinted—in the pot. "Pen... what exactly am I looking at?"

The snake demon glared at him half-heartedly. "Porridge! Practically a national dish of my country!"

Ah. Yes, Amiel knew of porridge. Simple dish. Quite popular in Britain. Originated from... Scotland, if he wasn't mistaken. And yet...

"Is it supposed to be so... goopy?"

Pentious locked eyes with him for the briefest of moments, before his gaze flicked away. He stared intently at the mess he'd created.

"No, I suppose not."

The snake's cheeks, the same dark charcoal color as the rest of him, flushed slightly, muted crimson spilling over them. "I... never was much for cooking, I'm afraid."

Amiel gave him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. We can just add a bit more water to it. I think that'll help."

The inventor nodded. "Yes, yes, water should help!" And yet, instead of going to fetch it, he stood there, tugging awkwardly at the ruffles of his pale pink apron, twisting one between clawed thumb and forefinger. "But, err... how much would a bit be, exactly?"

Amiel laughed again, though he tried not to, for Pen's sake. But who could blame him?! Pen had a knack for making the Prince laugh. Despite the others at the Hotel more or less aligning with what Dad had told him about sinners, Pentious was different.

He had his moments of harshness, but... they seemed so hopelessly fake, if you gave them a closer look. Pen was softer than his father had given sinners credit for. Gentler. Sweeter even, though he hid it as best as he could. Amiel... liked that.

He smirked at Pen, eyes crinkling with amusement. "I'd say... until we leave the 'industrial-grade adhesive' zone and move towards 'edible.'"

Pentious frowned, arms crossed, glaring at him with what seemed to be every available eye on his body, but there was absolutely no heat to it. "Prince or not, I shouldn't tolerate you badmouthing me so. And yet... I can't exactly deny it. The description is... accurate."

Amiel waved a hand around dismissively, already making way for the cupboard above the sink. "Don't sweat it. Cooking's all about mistakes anyway."

Amiel tugged the cupboard where they kept the glasses open and... yeesh. The screech was, no pun intended, straight out of Hell. Downright unholy. His wings spread with a whoosh, twitching and flapping erratically as the sound dragged across his brain.

He looked back at Pentious. The sight was probably the most demonic he'd ever seen the snake look. Pure loathing in his narrowed eyes, and his teeth gritted tightly. He stared at the cupboard as if it had personally murdered everyone he'd ever loved.

Amiel found it endearing.

"Remind me never to drink anything out of a glass here. Ever."

"Duly noted, dear."

The porridge ended up needing eight glasses filled to the brim with water before it released its vice-like grip on the wooden spoon they used to stir it.

Lulu and Lighty were still nowhere to be found. Knowing them, Lulu had gotten distracted by something, and the unicorn was currently trying to wrangle him back towards the task at hand.

Small talk flowed naturally as they stood by the stove, Amiel busy stirring the mercifully less goopy porridge.

"So, Amiel, dear, where did you learn how to cook? You seem quite adept."

Ah. That was... not the best topic. But Pentious couldn't have known that. That cooking had been... special once. Not anymore.

Still, the snake deserved an answer. Amiel could do this. "My dad taught me."

Pentious's tongue flicked, eyes alight with curiosity. "Oh? Your father? His Majesty? I'd have thought a king would have servants for that."

Amiel smiled. Customer service. "May I take your order." But it was a smile. "We didn't have servants. Not for that. Dad wanted to cook for us. At one point I started helping out."

"Is he a good cook, your father?"

"The best. Much better than I am."

The inventor hummed thoughtfully. "I hope you don't mind my curiosity. We had royals too, as you know, and I was always curious how the ones down here compared."

Amiel's voice was controlled. No trace of anything poking through. And yet, his eyes were focused on the porridge alone. "I don't mind. Ask whatever you're curious about."

Another hum came from the sinner. Amiel could feel Pentious' eyes roving over his face. Searching. Dissecting.

"It can wait, I think. I've already met two of you."

This time, the angel's smile was more genuine. Tiny, but there. Really there. Amiel wasn't blind. Pentious was giving him an out. Backing off for his sake. Something warm and golden settled in Amiel's chest and pulsed, slow and calm.

He let some amusement bleed into his voice, and he made it a point to meet Pentious's eyes. "And how do we compare?"

Pen replied with zero hesitation. "Quite favourably, I'd say. You and your sister aren't idiots."

Amiel laughed, quick and breezy. "Pff! High praise, high praise."

Pentious slithered closer, grabbing at the wooden spoon clutched in Amiel's gloved hand. "Only the best for the Prince of Hell. Now, let me. You've averted that culinary disaster; you don't need to stir it too."

Amiel took half a step back, letting Pentious go at it. The warmth in his chest pooled and spread. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the Prince deliberated on asking the snake demon to cook breakfast together tomorrow too. It had been... very enjoyable.

This was enjoyable too. Trading banter, being playful. It came to Amiel with surprising ease, for something so new.

"It wasn't that bad, Pen. Don't blow it out of all proportion."

The snake turned to glare at him, hood flaring for extra dramatic effect. His tongue flickered, lengthening the Ss. "Please. Do NOT insult my intelligence. It's demeaning."

The Prince rolled his eyes, grinning. "A little white lie never hurt anyone."

Pentious huffed, though he obviously wasn't upset. "What's the point of softening the blow if it's not true?"

In that moment, Amiel slipped.

"That's what friends do, Pen."

The snake froze outright. His hood puffed up for half a second, before deflating completely. He stood ramrod straight, from the tip of his tail to his shoulders. His grip on the spoon was so tight, the Prince could swear that he heard the wood groaning. Or perhaps that was just his mind playing tricks on him.

Amiel's guts tied themselves into knots. Pentious' reaction was quite telling. And it screamed "not good."

Amiel hadn't planned on saying that. He'd just been feeling so nice, and then it slipped out, and now... oh goodness. Oh goodness. He'd messed up, hadn't he? He'd completely misjudged the situation.

He backtracked, voice raising in pitch. His cheeks burned. "Ah! I... that was a bit too forward, wasn't it? We've only known each other for a day, haven't we? I—"

Pentious cut him off, lifting both hands up, palms to Amiel. He looked... nervous. Jumpy, even.

"I don't mind. Really."

His eyes met Amiel's for a moment, before flicking to the side. He turned away, seemingly dedicating his entire being to giving the pot another stir. But... the redness of his cheeks, that dark crimson, was back again. In full force. When he turned back around, one of Pen's hands was fiddling with the corner of his apron, fingers tugging at the ruffles haphazardly once more. The other was busy adjusting his hat, tugging it softly downwards so it fell over his eyes.

"I... it's quite flattering, actually. Thank you, dear." More tugging at the ruffles. Another push of the hat, upwards this time. Another attempt to look Amiel in the eyes, before his eyes darted away anew. "For what it's worth... I'd—It's—" The demon half-groaned, half-hissed, fangs bared. "Ah, damn it! The feeling is mutual!"

It was Amiel's turn to freeze up momentarily. His brain just... stopped for a moment. And then...

Pentious had said it. Clumsily, in a roundabout way, and with a lot more... volume than needed, yes, but... he'd said it. He'd called Amiel a friend.

That made it sort of... official, now, didn't it? He'd thought of Pentious as a friend yesterday too, after their long, long talk, but... to hear it said out loud, to know that it was really, truly, completely mutual...

Goodness, his cheeks were burning. Quite fiercely.

Pen noticed. Of course he did. He'd have had to be blind not to.

The snake's voice was softer than usual. More uncertain, more hesitant. "Amiel dear, you're very... well, not red. Golden? Have I... is there... is something wrong?"

Amiel's own voice climbed in pitch again, and his wings puffed up, giving quick, erratic twitches as they spread to their full width. He willed them to fold neatly against his back. It took a surprising amount of effort.

"N-no, no, no! It's fine, I just..."

Just what? Just... "I'm happy that I've made a friend?" That would sound... beyond pathetic. But then again, perhaps it was fine. Pentious wasn't exactly the snake embodiment of social skills either. Why worry about awkwardness when they were both awkward?

He took a tiny, preparatory breath. Nipped at his lip for the briefest of moments.

"It's nice, hearing you say that."

Pentious' blush got darker. His fingers interlocked, hands clasped awkwardly together at waist height. He looked... frankly adorable, in the Prince's humble opinion. Like an embarrassed schoolboy.

He didn't meet the angel's eyes. He trailed his form, starting from his loafers, but his gaze made it no further than chest high.

"It was nice hearing you say it as well, dear."

The Prince nodded meekly.

Sweet Hell, they were hopeless. The silence that settled over them was thick. Suffocatingly so.

Amiel wanted to break it. Had a feeling that Pentious wanted to do just that, too. And yet... nothing. From either of them. They stood there, by the stove, Amiel playing with his gloves, Pentious adjusting his sleeves. Both still... quite colored in their cheeks. Amiel's throat felt useless, as though he'd swallowed glue. Or perhaps a mouthful of Pen's pre-intervention porridge.

The universe showed them no mercy whatsoever. The kitchen door opened with a dramatic swing, and in spilled Lulu and Lighty, matching piles of plates cradled carefully in their paws/hooves.

For a moment, the bodyguard duo merely stared. Amiel couldn't blame them. Pen and he were both still just standing there, eyes not quite meeting, cheeks flushed. They must have made for quite a sight.

Lighty was the first to react, though it wasn't dramatic. He lifted one brow and simply stared. The sheer intensity of it was... a bit unnerving, if Amiel were being honest. Lulu, meanwhile, snorted. He took one look at them and snorted, followed by a yip that Amiel could have sworn was meant to be a joke. At their expense. He had no idea what the little wolf was saying, but he could feel the tease in the sound.

To say that he felt self-conscious would have been the understatement of the century. The two were making him feel as though he was at one of those stuffy galas, surrounded by gawking Goetia.

The snake demon evidently felt something similar. Pen turned around and all but threw himself towards the pot, burying his nose in it and stirring with an air of desperation. The wooden spoon thunked against the metal edges, but the snake demon paid it no mind. The angel glanced back at him briefly, but his face was obscured by his flared-out hood.

Amiel, meanwhile, was left to face his bodyguards' judgment. Which he did with all the grace and nobility his station entailed—no. No, he didn't. He barely resisted the urge to wrap himself up in his wings. But no, he couldn't do that either. He had to handle this in a calm, collected way.

Business as usual it was. Fingers laced together, leaning forward slightly to meet their eyes better. A small smile firmly in place, and a blush he was forcing to fade with pure force of will.

"Thank you, boys! Could you set the table, please? Pen and I are just finishing up the last of breakfast."

To their credit, they got onto it right away. No complaints, no piercing stares. But both pairs of eyes flicked between Amiel and Pentious, stealing glances in between arranging plates and cutlery.

Unwilling to just stand there and let himself be scrutinized, Amiel shuffled back towards Pentious, coming to a stop beside him. His back was deliberately turned to his two bodyguards.

"Hi," he mumbled, voice quiet to the point of being barely audible.

"Hello, dear," came the equally quiet reply, hiss-like and muttered under Pentious' breath. The snake shot him a quick glance out of the corner of an eye, before looking away.

More stirring, though less spirited now. Amiel nibbled on his bottom lip, hesitating. This was... not ideal. Fresh awkwardness, piled on top of the unresolved awkwardness from earlier. Wonderful. Just peachy, really.

He tried to ignore the stares he could feel burning into the back of his head.

"Penny for your thoughts, Penny?"

The inventor snorted at the wordplay. "Not feeling particularly thoughtful at the moment."

Amiel smiled, wings fluttering lightly. "That's alrighty. But you miiiiight want to ease up on the stirring. We did fight tooth and nail to get the consistency right."

Pentious dropped the spoon as if it were red hot, but he stayed quiet.

This was... hard. Awkward. So, so awkward. It was like quicksand, or very thick mud. It stuck to Amiel, the awkwardness, dragging him down and trying to pull him under.

He still talked.

His voice was low. Conspiratorial, almost. For Pentious' ears only. "I'll explain it to them later, you know. No need to worry. There won't be any... misunderstandings."

The inventor let out a tiny little sigh. Amiel hoped it was one of relief. "That's good to know," he said, voice as small as the angel's.

He continued. "I just... wish I hadn't made things... quite so awkward, dear."

Amiel snorted. "Pen, you are covered in eyes. Surely you're not blind. At least half of it's my fault. And really, even that's being generous."

Pentious gave him a pointed look. "Oh, spare me. I told you I am terrible at this." He gestured vaguely, hands in front of him, long fingers curling, forked tongue flicking. "Talking. Socializing."

Well. There was no gently twisting the truth there. Pentious was not the best at talking. And Amiel, Hell's Prince, master of bureaucratic lingo, who'd been to countless schmoozy gatherings, was equally useless when it came to talking of this particular kind.

He wanted to say something to ease Pen's mind. But what? What would help here? His own tongue was as tied as the sinner's own.

And then, a thought. A sudden, spur-of-the-moment kind of thought. It was forward. A bit bold. Completely unlike his usual approach. A bit... uncomfortable, if he were being completely truthful.

But... he thought that it might make the snake demon happy. Ease his mind; help him relax. And apparently, that was all it took for his wings to move.

One of the snow-white appendages unfurled, before... curlingl slightly across Pentious' back. The touch was light. Barely there. Just a whisper of contact on his alabaster feathers as they ghosted across Pen's clothes. And yet, unmistakably deliberate.

The Prince felt him stiffen. Felt him stand up straighter. Saw the tip of his tail still, could almost see the way the musculature tensed.

The inventor turned slightly, angling his head so he could meet Amiel's eyes. He wasn't blushing anymore. He simply looked... unsure. Questioning.

Amiel stayed quiet. Offered a smile as his only response. Tried his best to say what he couldn't put into words.

"It's okay."

"You're fine."

"We're fine."

"You don't need to say anything."

And Pentious... relaxed. Not fully. But his shoulders felt less stiff, if nothing else. He wasn't holding himself like he was being scrutinized by a particularly stern general anymore.

Amiel exhaled slowly.

This was... nice. Nicer than he'd imagined. He wasn't big on physical touch. That habit had been... ingrained. And yet, the closeness felt good. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. That warmth in his chest grew more intense. He was getting quite used to it being there.

"My, what a WONDERFUL display of camaraderie you two make! Hahaha!"

The warmth fizzled out. Immediately.

They both turned around, though the voice was unmistakable.

Alastor stood some paces behind them, wisps of smoky shadows fading out of existence near the edges of his tattered coat. Amiel's eyes immediately darted to Lulu and Lighty. They hovered in the air beside each other by the now fully set table. Lulu's ears were drawn close to his skull, teeth bared. Lighty's eyes were dangerously narrowed. But, they stayed, waiting, assessing. His bodyguards never attacked first.

Alastor's voice was as cheerful as could be, a perfect match for that face-splitting, perpetual grin. "Morning, chums! I see you're getting along splendidly!"

Beside him, Pentious stuttered a meek "Good morning." Amiel mimicked him, entirely out of courtesy. Not like Alastor wasn't perfectly aware of how the angel felt about him.

He drew closer, twirling his cane with a flourish. "I see our resident Prince is once again hard at work! Truly, you spoil us, Your Royal Highness!"

Charlie might have given him a grin and an enthusiastic response. Amiel was not Charlie.

His voice betrayed no emotion. The Prince was royalty. He could sniff out when someone wanted something from him. And Alastor? The deer demon's intentions had been perfectly clear right from the very beginning. He wanted information. Most likely weak spots. Chinks in the Prince's armor.

Amiel would give him nothing. "It's no trouble. I was awake anyway." He paused, tilting his head, letting his hair cascade onto one shoulder and below, between his now firmly folded wings. "But I do remember Charlie mentioning you're not one for breakfast. Is there something you need?"

The Radio Demon laughed, waving his free hand around, clawed, bony fingers cutting through the air. "Need? Heavens no! Why I'd never bother you, Your Royal Highness. I was merely passing through and couldn't help but notice our kitchen was occupied. One MUST be vigilant. We wouldn't want any robbers breaking in, now would we?"

The Prince smiled, though the expression might as well have been painted on. You could cut glass, with a smile like that. "I doubt any demon would rob the royal family. Besides, this Hotel is under your protection, isn't it? I can't imagine anyone would risk angering the fearsome Radio Demon."

He paused for just a moment to adjust a perfectly fitting glove. "Even if your reputation might have worn a bit thin, after all those years off the grid."

A short, sharp pop of static rang out through the kitchen. It was music to Amiel's ears. The Radio Demon did so love his fame, as the Prince had noticed yesterday. And well... two could play the button-pushing game.

Alastor, to his credit, showed no outward reaction. He recovered quite quickly, stepping even closer, subtly positioning himself at an equal distance from Pen and him.

"Not to worry, your Highness. My reputation remains as pristine as ever. Though, I must say, it has not deterred everyone." He turned to Pentious, tilting his head in a way that hovered oh-so-close to unnatural. "Isn't that right, dear?"

The way the sinner said "dear" burned against Amiel's brain, like a lit cigarette on skin. It was an obvious jab at the inventor. And it landed. Pen looked down. He held his hands loosely in front of him, the fingers of his right curling against the wrist of his left. He nodded, hood limp and lifeless.

"That is... correct."

Alastor chuckled, his attention going back to the Prince. For a split second, he faded into shadows for no reason at all, before reappearing on Amiel's other side, elbow resting lightly on the angel's shoulder.

"I assume your new friend HAS told you about how exactly he'd started his stay at your sister's lovely project?"

Despicable son of a bitch. Amiel's composed, neutral demeanor cracked for a second, eyes narrowing, before he schooled his expression back into its "royal business" setting.

The Prince stepped to the side, drawing closer to Pentious and removing himself from Alastor's grasp. The deer barely reacted, much less stumbled from the loss of support. He merely adjusted his posture, leaning forward slightly, both hands gripping the top of his cane. Those piercing, blood-red eyes remained firmly locked on the royal in front of him.

Amiel's violet ones met them. "Yes. He has."

Alastor tilted his head, leaning forward even more, resting his full weight on the cane. He spared Pen a brief glance, but it was obvious whom he was favoring.

The deer let out a hum, his posture the picture of leisurely calm. "And that doesn't bother you at all, Your Highness?"

He wouldn't show it, not when the sinner wanted just that, but Amiel saw red. If he weren't as good as he was at holding onto his composure, the angel would have been a bundle of murderous glares, clenched fists, and gritted teeth. But unluckily for Alastor, Amiel was good at playing this game.

He made sure to keep his voice perfectly level. But, his wings did extend slightly, somewhat covering Pen from view.

Amiel gave him a quick glance.

The snake was silent. Obviously, visibly uncomfortable. His posture was drawn inward, his tail curled in on itself. Amiel HATED Alastor just a bit more, in that moment. They'd been having such a nice time, before he decided to interrupt. To try and drive a wedge between them, no less. Amiel would NOT let it slide.

The angel turned his attention back onto the demon again. "Why would it bother me? Pentious told me he regrets it. That's more than enough for me."

Alastor laughed. Like everything else about him, it was forced. Fake.

Amiel found it eerie and disgusting in equal measure. The demon's entire personality carried the air of a talk show host. Overexaggerated and absolutely uncaring of the insincerity he projected.

The sinner took a single purposeful step forward, pressing the top of his cane lightly but uncomfortably against Amiel's chest, over his heart. The tip wasn't exactly sharp, and Alastor was being careful, but... Amiel could feel it dig in.

"Ah! Taking a sinner's word at face value! Truly, your heart is as soft as your sister's, Your Highness."

The cane tapped against his chest lightly for emphasis. Once, twice—

No third tap came. It would have, but Amiel's gloved fingers moved on their own accord, wrapping tightly around it. It hovered, half an inch away from connecting again.

The thing was disgusting, he realized as he held it. It vibrated, ever so slightly, almost squirming in the angel's grasp. Like it was alive. And perhaps it was. It did have an eye, after all, though that was hardly a guarantee in Hell.

Amiel didn't even spare it a glance, eyes firmly on the sinner in front of him. "It has nothing to do with my heart, Alastor."

The Radio Demon made no move to remove his cane from Amiel's grasp, though his eyes had flicked downwards, just for a second.

"No? Do illuminate me, my dear! I'm sure that's what angels such as yourself do best, after all! Your kind are creatures of light, aren't they?"

Truly, Alastor was relentless in his prodding. Had it been someone else, Amiel might have found the sheer tenacity admirable. Instead, the Prince just found it frustrating. Not that he would let Alastor in on that.

"It's simply a matter of upbringing. I'm royalty, you see."

A single brow went up. "Yes, I'm aware. I HAVE been calling you by title, as you have requested. I fail to see the point."

Amiel shoved the cane he still held onto away, lightly but deliberately.

Alastor ran his fingers over the top of it, as if brushing away dust, before giving it an experimental twirl. The angel could swear the eye on the damn thing glared at him as the cane spun through the air.

The Prince continued. "The point is, I had to get good at reading people." Amiel narrowed his eyes, tilting his head up to meet Alastor's gaze. "And I've gotten very good at it."

The message was as clear as he could make it, the "I don't trust you" glaringly obvious.

Alastor understood.

He leaned in once more, giving Amiel a pat on the head, as if he were some lost little child. "I suppose I'll have to trust your impeccable judgment then, Your Highness."

The sinner stepped back, free hand adjusting his bowtie with an air of finality. "Well then! Everything here seems to be in perfect order, so I'll leave our two chefs to their business! See you later!"

He gave them no time to offer a response, though Amiel doubted Pentious would offer one. He certainly wouldn’t. With one final, cheeky wave, Alastor faded into the shadows.

The silence he left behind lingered, like the smell of smoke after a fire.

Amiel's eyes flicked to his bodyguards for a moment, still hovering by the table, before he turned to Pentious.

The snake was as tense as he'd been while Alastor was in the room with them. He met the Prince's gaze for a moment, before letting his eyes drop to the floor again. A quick glance at his hat confirmed Amiel's suspicions. The garment almost seemed to droop, its singular eye giving off the air of a kicked puppy.

The angel wracked his brain for something to say. One portion of it, in particular, seemed intent on screaming "Fuck Alastor" on loop. Amiel couldn't blame it. They'd made so much progress, and now they were right back at square one.

Lulu moved. Amiel hadn't noticed it until he was right beside them, Lighty hot on his paws. The wolf shifted himself ever so slightly closer to Pentious, while the snake demon watched, confused.

The bodyguard let out a sound. It was half-yip, half-growl, accompanied by a baring of the teeth.

Pentious blinked. Tilted his head, hood twitching, as if it couldn't decide whether it wanted to flare or stay down.

The inventor turned to the Prince. "Amiel, dear... what is he saying to me?"

Amiel could only guess. But he had a feeling his guess was quite right. "I think he's insulting Alastor."

Lulu nodded so vigorously his ears flapped through the air.

Pentious laughed. It was a tiny, quiet thing, but it was a laugh. Amiel joined in a moment later, and then the four of them were all laughing like idiots, right there in the kitchen.

When the laughter died down, Pen was the first to speak. He leaned down carefully, and awkwardly laid his hand on Lulu's head. His claws scratched behind his ears with all the precision of a man handling explosives. The wolf stuck his tongue out shamelessly.

"Thank you, little one."

The bodyguard's only response was to nuzzle further into the touch, eyes closing. Pen looked at Amiel again, this time meeting his eyes properly.

"And thank you, dear. For... for standing up for me."

The warmth from before came rushing back, pooling, spilling, spreading through Amiel's chest. He gave the inventor the most radiant smile he could muster. His voice held a touch of conviction, of quiet determination, as he spoke.

"Always."

Pen smiled back shyly, those oversized fangs catching the light. It was a much smaller smile. Much more subdued. But it seemed to say "I believe you," and that made the warmth in Amiel's chest pulse.

*******

Another day, another one of Charlie's fucking "redemption exercises" straight out of summer camp. Yippee.

There were exactly zero things Angel would have rather done less after lunch, than sitting on the lounge floor, spilling his guts to someone else. Luckily it wasn't his choice to make. Charlie was a total pushover, but "redemption exercises" were strictly mandatory attendance. For Hotel Residents, at least. The staff had a bit of elbow room, which some—Husk, the old, washed-out booze cat that he was—used liberally, but Angel had nothing to fall back on.

Lovely policy, all around. Lack of agency did wonders for the porn star's mood. Angel simply loooved being told what to do. But, eh, whatever. It gave him something to complain about. Being bitchy was more fun anyway. Bitchiness was the spice of life.

At least things weren't all bleak. Sure, he was stuck at the crummy, tacky, rundown Hotel, but there was one bright spot to the fact he was forced to be there. That bright spot being his partner for today. Feathers. Charlie's lil' brother. The Hotel's resident adorkable angel.

He was less fun today than he'd been yesterday—he'd already stopped reacting to every word that came out of Angel's mouth with blushes—but he couldn't be worse than the sinner's previous partner if he tried.

Yesterday Angel had gotten stuck with Vaggie.

Seriously, that broad must have never come within sniffing distance of anything fun. Did it not hurt to be that uptight all the time? It had to hurt. No one could be that boring without facing any consequences. She'd made yesterday's activity such a slog to get through, it only took Angel five minutes to start contemplating simply throwing himself to the Exorcists when they next came around.

Though, in all honesty, the angel in front of him now made for a sorry, not-much-better sight. Promising, he was not.

Amiel looked awkward above all else, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Angel. The Prince poked halfheartedly at one of those damn cue card stacks his sister kept producing out of nowhere. Seriously, was the inside of her jacket just... lined with endless pockets? Did she have that fucking thing custom made for the sole purpose of carrying cue cards around?

Charlie was royalty, so who knew? Maybe all her clothes really were custom-made with cue cards in mind. If she was crazy enough to try and redeem sinners, she was definitely crazy enough to pay for something like that.

The porn star could have had a bit of fun teasing the answer out of her, but Angel was unfortunately stuck doing something much more important.

The exercise, if the sliver of attention Angel had afforded Charlie's explanation wasn't failing him, was the same one as yesterday. Just get to know the person you were paired up with.

Fun! Not. But it'd probably net him some prime angel-teasing time, so he'd bear with it. For a while, at least.

His voice was as carefree as his posture. Back against one of the couches, legs crossed just-so, in a way that hovered precariously close to "indecent exposure." Just how Angel liked it.

"How're those cue cards treatin' you, Feathers? Anything good in 'dere?"

The angel shrugged half-heartedly, though the porn star didn't miss how his eyes narrowed slightly. Angel hadn't even started with his antics, and the Prince already looked so defensive.

Bleh. But Angel had charmed the frowns—and pants—off of tougher crowds than one measly prince.

"Not very good." He glanced at the card that was on top of the pile. "Unless you'd like to tell me 'your most silly, embarrassing secret?'"

Angel snorted. Charlie... that girl was special.

"Pfff! No dice, sugar. 'Sides, you couldn't handle it, 'lil delicate angel you are."

Amiel frowned, wings flicking behind him. "I am not delicate."

"Say that to your reflection, Sunshine. If you can reach the vanity, that is."

The Prince glared at him, unimpressed. "Really? Going for my height? That's a low blow, Angel."

Pfff! The brat was making it too fucking easy. "Yea'? Don't blame me, sugar. Low blows are the only ones that can getcha, short stack."

Amiel exhaled through his nose. Slow. Measured. Eyes drifting upwards to the grimy ceiling, as though he'd find salvation up there, instead of cobwebs and unidentifiable stains.

Angel waited. Patience wasn't his strong suit, but he had time to kill and nothing to kill it with. Eventually, Amiel lowered his eyes, giving him the mother of all stares. Seriously, Angel was NOT one to be easily intimidated, but... holy fuck. It wasn't even a pissed stare, though the Prince himself must have been. Just... intense.

He could work with intense.

"You tryin' to undress me with sheer willpower, Sunshine? Ain't gonna work. Gotta work on your bedroom eyes for that." Angel tossed him a wink, sticking his tongue out, just a bit. Just a sliver of pink flesh, poking out from between those pristine, sharp teeth. "I can coach ya, if you'd like."

No reaction whatsoever. Just one singular, "done with your bullshit" blink. Boring!

"It won't work, Angel. All you're doing is making yourself look bad."

Hmpf. Who did this angelic brat think he was? Prince or not, he had no right to just... blow Angel off. Ignore him like he amounted to nothing. He hated to admit it, and he would never show it, but... it stung. Just a bit. And that pissed Angel off.

So, the sinner huffed theatrically, nose sticking high in the air. "Puh-lease, Feathers! I never look bad, baby. Ain't in my nature."

The Prince groaned softly. One gloved hand flopped over his eyes, long, delicate fingers rubbing at his temples. He dragged it down his face, slowly.

"Angel. Please. Please. For my sister's sake, can you at least try to take this seriously? If we both have to be here and do this, can we just... do it and be done with it?"

For all the frustration that had made itself at home in the angel's demeanor since he sat down with him, Amiel's voice was surprisingly calm. Steady.

Angel gave exactly zero fucks. Buuuut, if he egged him on non-stop, the thin-skinned Prince could flat-out stand up and walk away, and they simply couldn’t have that, now could they?

So, the porn star played along. Somewhat. He couldn't be too nice.

He groaned with all the subtlety of a car crash, though to his credit, he did resist the urge to transition into a perfectly practiced moan halfway through. So there! Angel was being considerate. Now no one could say Charlie never taught him anything.

"Ugh, fiiiiine! I guess we can do that, if that's what does it for ya, Feathers."

Amiel eyed him suspiciously.

"What? You wanted me to do this shit, so we're doing this." He leaned forward, upper pair of arms eagerly grabbing for the cue cards Amiel held. "Now gimme that! I'll find us somethin' fun to talk about."

The Prince gave him one final, uncertain stare, before relinquishing his grasp on his sister's handiwork.

It took Angel all of five seconds of browsing through the wares before he had to start actively wrestling his facial muscles to stop them from sneering.

Charlie had obviously put in some effort. But... holy shit! The end result was pathetic. The Princess had not improved since she authored the literary masterpiece that Angel christened "Crackhead Tries to Sell Drugs to Schoolgirl." Smudgy doodles on the edges, way too much handwriting on way too little paper, which made it barely legible, random patches of glitter—you name it, it was there.

And the things she fucking wrote!

"Sharing is caring! Share something vulnerable about yourself with your partner!"

"Don't be ashamed to be ashamed! Swap embarrassing stories with each other!"

"Understanding comes from communication! Discuss an issue you're passionate about with your partner!"

Angel had seen bad writing. Hell, his boss had all the creativity and spelling prowess of a cocaine-addled elementary schooler on a good day, and laughing about it in his face was never a good idea. But this? Here? Angel was free to be as mouthy as he wanted, and damn it, he was going to exercise that right.

The sinner cackled, loud and uninhibited. Had Charlie been nearby, he might have shown a bit more restraint. Maybe. Angel didn't really care about her feelings, but the Princess was so fucking easy to upset sometimes, it sucked out all the joy from the act of poking fun at her in the first place. She was weirdly defensive of her shitty doodles.

Luckily for him, Prince Wallflower had claimed for them the spot that was as far away from everyone else as humanly possible. Even if they heard him, there was no way anyone could tell exactly what Angel was laughing about.

So for a good thirty seconds, Angel Dust let himself laugh, leaning heavily against the couch, head thrown back against the seat. The cue cards spilled like a papery, shiny waterfall between his gloved fingers, raining onto his lap and between his long legs.

When he finally got ahold of himself and looked back at his partner, he was greeted by Amiel's ever-present, leveled stare. But...

No. No. Angel must have been fucking seeing things. Was that... were the edges of the Prince's lips crooked? Upwards?

Angel capitalized. He had to check. Had to be sure. "Fuck me, Feathers! Your sister is a certified ARTIST!"

Surprisingly, Amiel... didn't disagree. He didn't exactly agree, but he didn't disagree either. Angel had half-expected him to come at him, all righteous fury and blazing eyes, ready to defend his beloved sister.

Instead, the angel... looked at his own lap, carefully adjusted one always-pristine glove, and let his lips fully form a tiny but unmistakable smile.

The Prince lifted his gaze slowly, meeting Angel's mismatched eyes. "Yes. There were some... interesting ones yesterday, too."

Fuck, he had a cute smile. Angel had seen a few over the last two days—most of them directed at the slithery shit—but they never failed to make an impression. The angel's cheeks would dimple, his perfect, blunt little teeth would catch the light, and his entire face would light up.

He'd stolen a few glances, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it. The spider demon had an eye for aesthetics. Angel liked beautiful things. He was a beautiful thing himself, after all. He had to be. Always alluring, always inviting, ready to go at any moment.

The Prince was a softer kind of pretty than Angel Dust had ever been. He more than earned his own title. When he wasn't being all broody, radiating "the weight of the world is resting on my shoulders alone" energy, Amiel really did look like he'd walked straight out of a fairytale.

Angel wouldn't tell him any of that, of course. Too honest. Too soft. Took all the fun out of window shopping.

Instead, the sinner snorted, rolling his eyes. "Interestin' may be a bit of an understatement, Princey."

Amiel rolled his own right back at Angel, catching the sinner off guard. The Prince could be cheeky with people not named Alastor, after all. Amiel's voice was still measured, but tinged with amusement. "Oh, do forgive me for trying to be polite when speaking about my sister," he said, bending down slightly in a mockery of a bow.

Sarcasm. That was new. And it promised more fun.

Angel flashed him a toothy, shit-eating grin. It was practically a habit, at this point. Pushing boundaries, waiting to see how far he could take things before the other party drew back.

"Ain't no use in bein' polite, Sunshine. Your sister's hopeless at 'dis shit."

Amiel's face twitched. Lips fighting an emerging smile, mouth opening slightly as if to agree, before clamping shut again. The struggle went on for a couple of moments, before the angel finally wrangled his expression back under control. But the hint of a smile remained, as did the spark of held-back laughter lighting up those purple peepers of his.

His voice was ever-so-slightly more alive than the usual, prim and proper fare. "Maybe we should just move on? And not comment on the cards anymore? At all. Ever."

Pfff. If someone had told him he'd live to see His Royal Stiffness making jokes, Angel would have told them to consider switching drugs. Still, it was... refreshing. Something other than that annoying, demure neutrality. So Angel decided, screw it. He'd give the Prince that small mercy. No more harping on his sister. He was feeling charitable.

"Whatever you say, Feathers!"

But.

The spider demon's smile turned mischievous, and a certain glint settled in his mismatched pink eyes.

He made sure to use his most innocent voice. "Wanna help me pack 'em up?"

The only problem with his "innocent" act? Angel cast a meaningful look down. At the cue cards. A fair number of which were still resting on his lap.

The sinner had to make his own fun somehow, didn't he?

Amiel blinked. Inhaled slowly through his nose. Exhaled even slower, in a sigh that spoke of broken hearts, lost loved ones, and a lifetime of unhappiness.

His violet eyes narrowed at Angel. His voice went flat again, betraying nothing. "I'm not dignifying that with a response."

Angel cackled again, paying the shift no mind. "You are a RIOT, Sunshine. Though, imagine how much more fun you'd be if you took that stick out of your ass."

Amiel glared, wings giving one of those cute, little, birdlike flicks of agitation. "Imagine how much easier to talk to you'd be if you didn't turn everything into one of those jokes."

The sinner lifted one of his upper arms and nibbled gently at the very tip of a finger. His voice was silk-smooth, teasing words dripping languidly from his tongue.

"I have noooo idea what you mean, Sunshine. Could you please be more specific? What kind of jokes?"

Aaaaand success. A faint dusting of yellow blossomed on the Prince's cheeks, as if someone had taken golden eyeshadow and dragged a brush across his face.

Amiel huffed, fiddling with his sleeve, fixing it with far more concentration than the action required. Especially considering it didn't even need fixing in the first place.

He gave it one final tug, before lifting his head and giving Angel another one of those stares. The soul-searing, bone-chilling kind. Part judgmental divinity, part disappointed teacher, and part incensed parent. Too bad the remnants of his blush were still clinging on. Really tanked the intimidation factor.

Nonetheless, no small amount of exasperation found its way into the Prince's voice. "Don't you ever get tired of it, Angel?"

"Nope," he exclaimed with exaggerated cheer of a man who did not have a single care in the world.

Another sigh. Amiel did that a lot. Especially when Angel was involved. He took each one as a small victory.

"You have zero intention of actually doing this exercise, do you?"

Ah! The Prince's voice was icy, but that was an alarm bell if Angel had ever heard one. It was time to back up, lest he chase away his newest amusement provider. There was a balance to these things, and Angel was a master of the craft.

He lifted all four arms up in the air, an unconditional surrender. "Feathers, you think too little of lil' ol' me. I'm hurt." Angel made sure his voice was as saccharine sweet as he could make it, and he even threw in a poster-worthy pout in there for good measure.

"Of course we're still doing this, baby. I was just trying to... set the mood."

Amiel held firm. Touchy royals and their short fuses. "If that’s the kind of mood you want to set, maybe we should switch partners."

Angel huffed. Pulling out the big guns, huh? Fine. The porn star could more than match.

"Aww, you don't like being partnered up with me, Feathers? Your sister reaaaaally insisted on this."

It was the truth. Charlie had practically dropped a very unwilling Amiel into Angel's lap, saying that she thought they'd get along great. What shit she'd been smoking to get that idea, the sinner didn't know, though he was grateful to the Princess for providing him with entertainment.

And lo and behold, his tactic worked like a charm.

Amiel's resolve crumpled so visibly, it was hard to believe the Prince usually had one hell of a poker face. His bottom lip found its way between his teeth, and his gloved hands curled into loose fists. Those violet eyes wandered to a far-off corner of the lounge, where a mildly concerned-looking Charlie was sitting beside a maniacally laughing Niffty.

The Prince gave his lips one final nibble, before letting out a puff of air through his nose. He leveled Angel with the grim, determined stare of a man going into a hopeless battle.

"Fine." He pinched the bridge of his nose, briefly breaking eye contact. "Fine. But take it seriously."

Gah, the urge to make a joke again was so strong. Something about not doing what he's told, and Amiel "having to punish him for being naughty." But the sinner reined himself in, for the time being. He'd ease Amiel into the sex jokes again, but for now, he'd play it safe.

He placed one upper hand against his chest fluff, holding the other three up. "Serious as a grave, Feathers. Scout's honor!"

The angel crossed his arms, shifting around as he tried to make himself comfortable on the floor.

"Do you want to start, or should I ask something?" For all the calm the Prince was trying to project, Angel didn't miss the hint of hesitation in his voice.

The sinner would give him something to justify that hesitation, sooner or later.

"Oh, no, no, no, Sunshine! You let me handle this. I've given plenty o' interviews before. I'm a pro at this sorta stuff!"

Amiel eyed him like a stray dog eyed an unfamiliar human. "Don't ask anything indecent, Angel."

The porn star waved the Prince's—even he had to admit, very valid—concerns off breezily. "Relaaaax! I'll keep it classy for you pure, royal sensibilities."

He already had a few questions in mind. But what to pick, what to pick? Angel made a show of putting on his thinking face, fingers tapping away at his chin, as he considered his options. He had plenty of material, but Angel had a feeling Feathers wouldn't appreciate being asked what his favorite sex position was.

In the end, the spider demon went with idle curiosity. Something weird he'd noticed about the Prince. It was nothing substantial, but it had caught his attention, and... Angel loved drama. He had a taste for gossip, as any celebrity should.

"You ever take those gloves off, Princey? What's the deal with 'em? Afraid of touching the poor?"

As if on cue, Amiel looked down at his hands, fingers starting to lace and unlace together idly. He bit at his lip again, before meeting Angel's eyes.

And again, the sinner was met with that bland-ass voice of his. If the Prince were a pastry, Angel would have pegged him as white bread.

"The Goetia are Hell's notorious classists, Angel. I'm not."

Angel pressed on. "Oookay, not a spoiled little royal, then." He leaned in closer, play-whispering with a hand to his mouth. "Something more sinister, hmm? Maybe some nasty scars?"

Amiel blinked in a way that was admittedly, pretty cute. Was... was this the first time anyone had suggested that to him? Pfff. The guy was waaaay too sheltered.

The sinner smirked slightly as he saw the faint blush of gold on Amiel's cheeks again.

"I-I don't have scars either, Angel. And besides, you wear gloves all the time, too."

Ooh! Getting defensive, and he hadn't even asked anything indecent. Angel was on a roll today. "Yea', cuz they're a fashion statement! 'Dis is my signature outfit, Sunshine."

Amiel bit back, subdued, but definitely not as much as before. "What makes yours a fashion statement, and not mine?"

The porn star snorted, rolling his eyes. "Fashion."

The Prince, in his endless dignity, pouted. Just for a second, before he caught himself and put that bottom lip away. But it was too late. Angel grinned like he'd just won at life.

"I like my outfit," Amiel mumbled in a small, adorable voice that would have been at home if it had come out of a four-year-old.

"That makes ONE person who does."

Oh, how the Prince glared at him. Angel soaked it up like a good review on a new performance. Then, he turned up the heat.

"Now quit dodging, Feathers. Either you answer, or I wrestle those gloves off of you and find out myself."

Angel didn't miss how Amiel scooted back. Just an inch or so. Or how his wings gave a short, sharp flap.

"There's no need for that."

"There will be, if you don't spit it out. What's the big royal scandal tucked under those gloves of yours?"

The Prince sighed, but he wasn't annoyed this time. More... weary. Bone-weary.

"No scandal, Angel. Just... a habit. I've always worn gloves."

"A habit?" A fucking habit? That was it? Boring. Angel could tell that there was more to it, but... no way in hell was he listening to the Prince spill some sob story. He didn’t care. Instead, Angel leaned back and groaned dramatically.

"Bleh! No spice to you at all, Princey. Not yet, at least."

Angel drew closer again, giving the Prince an all-teeth smile, golden fang glinting in the light. "Now this one's a certified classic! Who was your first crush?"

Amiel's wings exploded outward. And his blush? Practically overtook his entire face. His cheeks glowed like a pair of night lights.

"Wha-What? Why would you ask that?!"

Angel shrugged. "'Cuz it's fun." He pointed one delicate, spindly finger at Amiel. "And a word of advice. That reaction? Tells me everything I need to know already."

The sinner rubbed his upper hands together. "Dontcha keep me in suspense now. Out with it, Feathers. Who got the honor of stealing 'dat delicate heart first?"

Amiel, bless him, tried to be firm. "I am NOT answering that," he said, arms crossed.

"Ain't how it works, Princey. Ya' gotta."

The angel huffed. "Why are you the one deciding on the rules?"

"Becaaaaause," the spider demon drawled, "if it were up to you, we'd probably be drinking tea and commenting on the weather. So go on."

Amiel shifted around on the floor again. Wings flicking, eyes darting around. He hugged his knees to his chest. For a moment, Angel thought he was going to put his foot down, or chicken out. But then...

A whisper so quiet, he barely caught it. "It was a Goetia."

Angel couldn't say he'd expected that, though he kept his poker face on. He chuckled. "Going for the classists. Classy."

Amiel lifted both hands up, wings spreading and giving a sudden flap. "This one wasn't like that!"

"And what were they like?"

Amiel looked at his knees, gaze going distant. "Kind. Sweet. Funny. We met at a party King Paimon was hosting. I was... barely a hundred."

The sinner snorted. "Barely a hundred, he says. Ya know what I was doing at that age? Nothing, cuz I was dead!"

Amiel looked at him, rolling his eyes. "Yes. A hundred of your years. That's about ten, in Hell years."

Angel cooed teasingly. "Awwww! Baby Feathers had a crush! Did it go anywhere?"

The Prince avoided his eyes. "There was... a bit of an age gap."

The spider demon lost it. He laughed. Loudly. "Oh, fuck me!" He slapped at his knee. "You were crushing on an adult?! Bwahaha!"

"I was a child! It's normal for children to do that!"

Angel wiped a pretend tear out of his eye. "Keep telling yourself that. Now—"

Amiel cut him off, lifting one slender finger up. "Don't I get a chance to ask anything?"

Ugh. He'd wisened up to Angel's plot. His genius plan to embarrass Amiel nonstop, until Charlie deemed them "bonded enough" or whatever, was ruined. And they'd only made it two questions in. Pity.

He tried to weasel out. "What's the matta, Sunshine? You don't like my questions?"

Amiel smiled again. Still tiny. Still faint. But Angel was pretty sure it was genuine. "It's only fair, isn't it?"

The sinner relented. Reluctantly. He wasn't happy about it, and he was about to make it crystal clear to his partner. 

"Fiiiiine. But if you ask me what my favorite fuckin' color is, you won’t like my next question, I can guarantee that."

Amiel ignored him. Pursed his lips together, twirling a strand of inky black hair around his finger as he deliberated on his question. And he stared. Kinda. He was looking at Angel, but his thoughts were obviously elsewhere.

The porn star found it adorable. Stupid, but adorable. He was actually putting effort into this.

Finally, tentatively, Amiel broke the silence. "What do you like... about your job?"

Angel's easygoing smirk started to fall. He caught it midway through, he was too good of an actor not to, but... why that?

Blood thrummed in his ears. He has the distinct feeling that the Prince was looking down on him. Of course. Hell, maybe he'd thought so hard because he was trying to be as condescending as possible. Finally had enough of Angel's jokes, decided to fight fire with fire?

He wasn't the first one to give him shit for his job. Wouldn't be the last one either. The old cat did too. That was to say nothing of... other people. Old... lifetime-ago business partners, at this point. Nothing more. Angel didn't want to remember them as anything else.

The sinner wanted to wave the question off with his usual carelessness. But... his voice had a lot more bite to it than he'd intended. "I fuck all day, every day, and I'm famous for it. What's there not to like?"

And really, there wasn't anything at his JOB he minded. He liked filming. He liked being a star. He liked sex. His boss... that was a whole 'nother can of worms. But he wasn't about to open it. Not in a million years. Not here. Not to the Prince. He obviously wouldn't get it.

That very same Prince evidently noticed the edge in Angel's voice. "I was just curious," he ventured softly. "It's very... different from what I do."

Angel snapped at him. "Yeah, I can imagine. Probably doesn't seem like a real job, to someone like you, yea?"

Amiel backpedaled, tone annoyingly sincere and apologetic. "I didn't mean it like that, Angel. I... I wanted to see your perspective."

He was not having this discussion. Not hearing the cheap excuses. His voice dipped lower, ditching the usual, playful falsetto. "Whateva'. You? How is it, bein' a Prince? Must be way better than being a whore."

The words were harsh. Colored by anger, leaking through quite obviously. Angel wasn't even sure why he was so pissed. What the sinner did know, however, was that he just wanted to get out of this conversation. Except he couldn't because attendance was mandatory.

Fucking wonderful.

Amiel didn't meet his eyes. He kept them firmly on his knees, hugged close to his chest.

"It's not all it's cracked up to be."

A long pause. The silence buzzed between them, heavy and charged. Angel was in no mood to break it. Neither was the Prince. But eventually...

"Your turn to ask something," Amiel whispered, in a faint voice, devoid of any emotion.

He rolled his eyes, trying and failing to sound less grouchy. "Yeah, yeah. Gimme a minute to think."

The Prince nodded, silent, as Angel thought of more pointless bullshit to toss between them until the godforsaken exercise ended. Or tried to, at least. His mind was not cooperating.

He hated this. Hated the stupid Hotel, and the fact he was forced to be there, because the alternative was an apartment on Val's floor of the V-Tower. Most of all, he hated the Prince, still intent on keeping the stupid fucking exercise going.

As soon as he was done here, Angel was going out. Getting some drinks in him, and probably some harder stuff as well. Anything to clear his head, leave it nice and empty.

Time dragged on. His brain kept being useless, and any desire for teasing the angel was gone. No questions came to mind.

Amiel made no effort to speed him up.

*******

Things hadn't gone exaaaactly how she'd planned.

Her original idea was to do this much earlier. Somewhere after noon, giving her plenty of time to handle the... situation that arose in the past two days.

It was almost nighttime, now. They'd even had an early dinner, courtesy of Al. He'd gone all out, with an elaborate meal the name of which the Princess wasn't feeling confident enough to pronounce. And yet... waiting had been worth it, Charlie was sure. The sight in front of her said—no, screamed—as much.

"Pen's brilliant, Char. I'm not just saying that because we're friends. His inventions are AMAZING."

Amiel was smiling. His wings gave excited little flaps every so often. And... he called her Char. Not Charlie. The old childhood nickname had only surfaced once since he came to the Hotel, while they were catching up.

After they'd all finished up their redemption exercises, Charlie had wanted to grab Amiel right away, but... things had gotten a bit hectic. Angel loudly exclaimed that he was going out. He was halfway out the door before his words even registered. Pen, meanwhile, made a beeline for Amiel, and offered to show the Prince his room/lab. She hadn't been close enough to hear them, but judging by how he was acting now, Amiel had probably jumped at the opportunity.

Charlie hadn't been timing them exactly, buuuuut... they'd spent four hours in there, emerging only when she'd sent Vaggie to call them down for dinner. That made her much giddier than she wanted to admit.

Admit it or not, her giddiness showed regardless. The Princess more than matched her brother's excitement, a pep in her step and a pleasant warmth blooming in her chest. She was so, so glad to see those two getting along nicely. Charlie turned on her heel to look at her younger brother, walking backward as she led them both slowly down the hall.

"I know, Ami! He's so smart. I knew you'd get along well!" She let her voice drop a bit, her huge, beaming grin turning slightly teasing. "Although I didn't expect you to get so close so quickly. Where were you hiding all that charm, huh?"

Amiel looked away, suddenly very interested in the peeling wallpaper decorating the walls. She didn't miss the pale gold creeping up his cheeks either. Or the way his wings gave a single, sharp flap.

"Don't get any ideas, Char. He's just easy to get along with."

Not everyone would agree. Charlie had done her best, but... Pen was... not the favorite face around the Hotel.

"Still, you're really friendly with him. I'm happy for you both!"

Her brother's blush deepened. Their eyes met, just barely. "I'm glad it happened too. He's... he's wonderful."

Charlie fought the urge to squee and tackle Amiel into a hug. She just felt... sooo proud of him! He'd always been a loner. And Pentious needed a friend too! They were good for each other! Still, she controlled herself. No tackle hugs. For now, at least. She had one more very important thing she wanted to check.

"And Angel?"

It happened in an instant.

Amiel's smile fell. He looked away, and his lip slipped between his teeth. All crystal clear signs that her brilliant plan had failed. After the miracle work Amiel had done with Pentious yesterday, she'd thought that pairing him up with Angel next would produce the same amazing results.

Evidently, she'd thought wrong.

"I... I'd like not to be paired with Angel anymore."

In place of that pleasant warmth in her chest, the prickle of panic set in. Not a stab—yet—but... she didn't like that tone. Angel was... a lot. And her brother delicate. Did... did Angel hurt his feelings? Was that why he practically ran away?

"Did you two... have an argument?

Her baby brother met her eyes for a second, before his gaze dropped lower, zeroing in on her bowtie. Another alarm bell in her head.

"No. At least... I don't think so."

He didn't think so? What was that supposed to mean?

Charlie stopped walking. Amiel stopped too. She hesitated, unsure whether to come closer or give him space. In the end, the Princess did draw closer, but didn't touch. Amiel, in turn, made an effort to look up at her properly.

"Did he offend you somehow?" Charlie liked Angel. He was... vulgar, overall uninterested in her redemption efforts, far too forward, and yet she still liked him. But, if he'd said something really upsetting to Amiel, she would need to have a talk with him.

Amiel's wings curled inward. "N-no! I mean, he did, constantly, but... I think I offended him."

That, Charlie would have never expected.

"You? You offended him?"

It made no sense. Angel was a constant tease. Angel darted from one target of his sharp tongue to the other breezily, shrugging off any insults other people—mostly Vaggie and Husk—threw back at him. And Amiel was not the type of person to sling insults around in the first place.

Amiel's voice was barely more than a whisper. "I think I did. We were talking, and I asked him a question, and he just... got so defensive. After that, he was... not fully there anymore."

The Princess frowned. That... wasn't what she'd been hoping for, when she paired the two.

"What did you ask him?"

Her brother toyed with a glove, the leather's quiet squeaks audible in the silent hall. "I asked him what he liked about his job. I think he took it the wrong way."

Charlie sighed. Angel always seemed so brazenly proud of his work. She... couldn't exactly call it her career of choice, but it was Angel's job, and that was that. She had no idea why he'd get so upset at a simple question.

Still, the Princess forced a smile for her brother's sake. "Don't worry, Ami! I'm sure we can fix this! Tomorrow, you two can sit down and have a nice, calm chat about it! I could even write up an exercise plan about forgiveness, if you'd like!"

The Prince shook his head, arms coming up, gloved palms forward. "No, no, there's no need for that."

Charlie tilted her head. "Don't you want to make things better?"

Her brother bit his lip, avoiding her eyes again. It was a clearer no than any words he could have used.

"Why not?"

Amiel sighed. "I don't think there's any point to it Charlie. All he does is mock me, and when I tried to talk to him, this happened. We're just a bad match."

That... didn't sound good to Charlie. It didn't feel right, to just ignore the issue. Fixing issues was why she'd started the Hotel in the first place. How could she just let this one be?

"Are you sure, Ami?"

Her brother frowned slightly. "Yes, I'm sure, Charlie." His words had a finality to them, as if carved into stone.

Then, ever so slightly gentler. "Besides, I'm only here for a few more days. If he wants space, I'll give him space. I think that's the best way to handle this."

The Princess cursed mentally. There she went again, pushing too hard. Her brother wasn't mad, but she could hear a note of firmness in his voice. That was not good. Not now, when she was supposed to fix her earlier messes. She hated ignoring issues—at least those that didn't concern her directly—but... her brother took precedence. His strained relationship with her first guest would have to wait.

So, she nodded, and offered him an encouraging smile. "Okay. I won't force either of you to talk to each other! I'll let you handle it."

Amiel smiled back, small and hesitant, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you."

For a moment, they simply stood there, in the hallway, silence stretching between them. Not exactly a charged or tense one, but definitely not a soft, companionable silence, either. It chafed, without being outright stifling. Charlie was all too eager to break it. She had an important job ahead of her, after all!

The Princess leaned in slowly and gently grasped her brother's gloved hand, giving it a soft tug. "Come on! Let's keep moving!"

Amiel obeyed, matching her pace despite his shorter legs. Down the rest of the hall, and up the stairs. Charlie led them steadily to the top floor of the building.

When they passed both of their rooms, however, and made for yet another pair of stairs leading up, Amiel finally said something. They were, after all, rapidly running out of building to ascend. "Uhm... Charlie? Where exactly are we going?"

"The attic," she exclaimed without even looking at him.

"The attic," her brother echoed back, incredulously. "And what are we supposed to do up there?"

The Princess turned her head, pale blonde hair swishing from the movement, a reassuring grin dimpling her cheeks. "It's a surprise! Don't worry, you'll like it!"

She'd made her fair share of mistakes with Amiel. But what she had in mind now would hopefully make it all better! It was genius! A bonding activity, a little project for just the two of them, and a perfect way for her to show and tell Amiel how happy she was to see him again! It was a foolproof plan.

So up the final pair of stairs they went. The very top of the Hotel was... more rundown than what was below, shocking as the comparison sounded. There was simply nothing useful up there, so even Niffty let the place be. One door, which could be opened or closed but had an inexplicably broken lock, led to the roof. The other, with a mercifully functioning—for the most part—lock, led to the attic.

Charlie fiddled with the key for a moment. It went in easy enough; however, turning it required... a bit of wrist strength. But, she managed, and that was the important thing! Behind her, she could feel Amiel's violet eyes watching her. The Princess loved him, but... that stare had a way of making anyone feel self-conscious.

Finally, with one swift, dramatic push, the door opened. And waiting behind it... was darkness. Thick, impenetrable darkness. Broken in a few lonely spots by faint light streaming in through the stained-glass windows, where the gathered grime was least thick.

Oh dear. She might have miscalculated, just slightly. The attic... didn't have working lights. And the last time she'd been inside, it had been a bright, "sunny" day.

Behind her, Amiel coughed softly. Charlie hoped for the ground to open up and swallow her. This was so embarrassing!

"Charlie... there is a light switch in there? Right?"

The Princess wrung her hands together, cracking her knuckles. She didn't turn around. "Yeaaah. There definitely is one."

She hadn't lied. Technically. There really was one in there. It just wasn't in working condition. Or even easily flippable. The mechanism had been jammed, the last time she'd ventured in there. Unless it had magically fixed itself in the meantime, it was still very much out of order.

Amiel saw right through her. His voice was calm. Collected. The phrase "not a hair out of place" in audio form.

"Let me guess. It doesn't work?"

"Maaaaybe?"

The Prince sighed softly. Then, to her surprise, he chuckled. "Of course it doesn't," he said, sarcasm oozing out of his tone.

His loafers were near-soundless against the floor as he moved to stand by her side. He made a show of leaning forward, peering into the darkness ahead, as if that would do him any good. She knew that it WAS just for show. Charlie was a demon. Amiel an angel. He had worse eyesight in the dark than her, and even she couldn't make anything out.

Amiel tilted his head, looking up at her. "Is it important or urgent, this surprise of yours?"

Instantly, she recognized that determined glint in his eyes. That cheeky upward turn of his mouth. Her own lips curled into a smile on their own accord. She nodded energetically. "Yes! Very!"

Another quiet sigh, coupled with an almost lazy, casual toss of his long, black hair. She still hadn't gotten fully used to that, but the Princess was getting there.

"If it's urgent, I guess it can't be helped."

With that, Amiel stepped into the darkness. The floorboards creaked with every step, no matter how lightly her brother tread. The noise was loud, and just a bit ominous. Charlie really hoped they wouldn't collapse altogether.

One step. Two. Three. By the fourth, she could barely make Amiel out, and only because of his wings. They had a way of making themselves known, even in the deepest dark. Still, a couple more steps, and she'd lose track of him entirely.

That moment never came. Instead, a sphere of soft, golden light blossomed from his outstretched, gloved hand. He held his arm in front of himself, chest-high, palm-up, and a few inches above it, the light hovered. Almost like an oversized, non-translucent soap bubble. It looked remarkably solid, despite being made of light.

Her baby brother turned on his heel to look at her. The light cast strange shadows on his face, and his violet eyes had a special way of catching it that made them sparkle. The sight was... nostalgic. Very nostalgic. A reminder of their childhood. Clumsy fingers, barely able to generate a few sparks, danced in the back of her mind. It made something in her chest twist, though she couldn't quite place the feeling as either comfortable or uncomfortable.

Amiel tilted his head, eyeing her expectantly. "Are you coming, Char?"

That did the trick of snapping her back to reality. She nodded, bangs bobbing slightly. "Yeah! I'm coming."

The attic looked much the same as she'd left it. Broken things, forgotten things, and things she had no inkling of what they were even supposed to be. The lighting was doing them no favors. Her brother's magic was bright, but it was too little in a too large space.

Beside her, Amiel glanced curiously at the mess, eyes roving over the various piles of nondescript stuff.

"If the surprise is spring cleaning, you might have at least told me to bring a broom. Or light a bonfire."

The Princess laughed softly. The sound rang out in the dusty air, igniting something warm and fuzzy behind her ribs.

This was... nice. She'd spent less time with her brother than she'd have hoped for. All the exercises, and Pen, and all the other people in the Hotel... they occupied a lot of their time. The siblings had danced around each other, these last two days. Brushing against one another occasionally, but rarely getting the chance to just talk. And when they did... the niceness usually had a way of curdling.

No! She wouldn't think of that. Not when she had a job to do.

Her voice was soft in the dim light. Amused. Teasing. "It's not cleaning, Ami! I'd have asked Niffty for that. Don't think I don't remember you breaking Uncle Levi's vase that one time."

Amiel bit right back, with a surprisingly accurate impression of Niffty's snappy, manic voice. "Bug guts, bug guts, bug guts! Ehehe!" The angel rolled his eyes. "At least with me, you don't have to worry about getting rid of bugs with a kitchen knife."

The Princess snorted. "Fair point. But I really didn't call you here for cleaning."

Amiel gave her a questioning look, lips pursed, eyes slightly narrowed. "Don't keep me in suspense, then. To what do I owe the pleasure of being in this—" he made a sweeping gesture with his hands, wings flaring out, "—wonderful treasure trove of most wondrous wonders?"

Another laugh bubbled up out of her. The warmth in her chest thrummed. It had been far too long since Amiel and she had just... been silly with each other. She missed it. She missed him.

"Are you always this eloquent? Is that how you won Pentious over?"

Even in the dark, even with the gold-tinted light distorting his skin tone, Charlie still caught the hints of a blush.

Amiel did nothing to acknowledge it. Instead, he bowed deeply, wings folding in, one arm across his chest, the other behind his lower back.

"Only with you, Char. My sister alone deserves the best I have to offer."

Another memory. Etiquette lessons. Endless ones. The proper way to greet. The proper way to acknowledge a lesser noble. A Sin—though they'd always disregarded decorum with them as children—or a particularly prominent Goetia. Never-ending variations of waving, smiling, posing.

They always ended up making fun of the lessons, in the privacy of Charlie's room, or Amiel's.

She followed her brother's performance up with a perfectly practiced curtsy, long fingers delicately pinching the ends of pretend skirts. "Most kind you are, dearest brother."

That got a laugh out of him. High-pitched and breezy, but genuine in a way that made her heartbeat pick up the pace. He let the bubble of light drift away from his hand in a gentle, spiraling trail. Both of them watched it as it floated upwards, settling in the air above their heads.

Again, nostalgia nipped at her. This was familiar too. Though... something was missing.

"You can do better than that, Ami."

Her brother blinked at her. "Hmm? What do you mean?"

The Princess gave him a pointed look. She knew the things he could do, with his light.

"You're really going to leave it at one little bubble? Have fun with it!"

He sighed. Not out of genuine frustration, but a long, drawn-out exhale that practically dripped theatricality. "Fine. I guess I can do that for you." He thrust one gloved finger at her, like Dad used to do when he was trying—and failing miserably—to be strict. "But! I may have gone rusty, so don't laugh."

Her brother was a terrible liar. As if he could ever get rusty. Charlie knew how diligent he was.

Amiel waved a hand around languidly through the air, and two dozen similar bubbles of varying size came into existence, all at once.

The attic lit up. Misshapen shadows still danced around the room, and a few stubborn corners remained dim, but... the change was incredible. Charlie let out a small gasp. It was... impressive. And beautiful. Though... still not Amiel's best.

The Princess hopped towards him. Or rather, she hopped once, and then practically tiptoed the rest of the way there. As it turned out, jumping in a dusty room with creaky floorboards was... not the brightest idea. If looks could kill, Amiel's stare would have ended her.

Still, she made it to him. Latched onto his free hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Leaned in conspiratorially, and whispered in his ear.

"Do the animal thing."

The Prince rolled his eyes. "Charlie, neither of us are seven. We have light. Is that not enough?"

She answered in the most mature, well-reasoned way she could. A pair of puppy dog eyes, aimed at him with lethal precision, and a quiet, mumbled "Pleaseeeee?"

He caved instantly, though he made a show of pretending he hadn't. Amiel tossed his head back, groaning. His wings flicked. "The things I do for you, Char."

Another wave of his hand, and one of the balls of light drew closer. He "cradled" it softly, holding it to his chest without ever touching it. His gloved fingers twitched as he frowned, thinking.

Then he started. Bending the light, twisting it, elongating, shaping. Charlie remembered the early days. Creatures half-children's drawings, half-nightmares. Amiel had always had the will, but the artistic talents had taken a bit to develop.

He was a master now, however. That much was clear. The first animal was already done. He sent it Charlie's way, letting the baby goat prance around in the air. She giggled, fingers twitching with the urge to pet it. It wasn't alive; it wasn't even there, but... he'd made it so adorable!

The next creature was a bird. A little sparrow he whipped up in half a minute, before sending it to flit around in the rafters. The one after that, an owl. Then a snake.

For a couple of minutes, they stood there, side by side, in companionable silence. Amiel creating, Charlie admiring.

He reminded her of Dad.

The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Dad had been happy to give them both these "light shows" when they were small. As they grew older, the shows faded away, bit by bit. That in itself wasn't the problem. The fact that the rest of Dad faded along with them, however, was... painful.

Charlie blinked rapidly, focusing on the present. Dad was... complicated. Everyone in their family was complicated, and Charlie simply couldn't handle it all at once. Now, her focus had to be on her brother.

Amiel squinted as he added the finishing touches to the last creature. A lion cub, with the tiny, tufty beginning of a mane forming on its head. Once he was satisfied, he'd sent it off into the air to join the other animals, gliding and swimming and prancing through the dusty air.

Then, her brother turned to her, a small, content smile decorating his face. "There we are. Any more requests, Char?" he asked, tone playful.

She responded in kind, voice equally light. "And you said you'd gotten rusty. Liar."

He crossed his arms, looking away, eyes tracking the snake as it slid through the air. "I might have overexaggerated just a smidge."

Charlie chuckled. "Just a smidge, suuuuure, Ami. I was there to see your early attempts. Remember the first wolf you ever did?"

Amiel flushed. Not lightly. Not a little bit. His entire face lit up with gold. He pouted, the same way he'd pouted when the unfortunate... creative mishap first happened, all those years ago.

"Don't mention that! I want to forget it ever happened!"

The Princess leaned in close, face barely two inches apart from his own. "Never gonna happen! You keep my embarrassing secrets; I keep yours!"

He huffed through his nose, taking a demonstrative step back. "Fine! Be that way!" He paused, casting one final look around the dusty knick-knack graveyard that was the attic. "Will you keep me in suspense any longer, or do I finally get to see this surprise?"

Oh. It was an obvious topic change, but... Charlie's guts twisted into what felt like one big, tangled knot.

This was necessary. This talk. And she'd given it a lot of thought. In the room she and Vaggie shared, there was a nightstand. The third drawer was currently full of carefully hidden, crumpled-up papers, on which she'd scrawled various plans on how to approach her brother. Charlie had gone through dozens of ideas, after that disastrous first night. She'd added some things too, after the... action-heavy first meeting between her brother and her girlfriend.

She'd settled on one, in the end. It seemed like a nice gesture. A meaningful one, too. And now it was time to finally do it.

"Yes! Of course! Right this way!"

The Princess tugged at her bowtie, before motioning for Amiel to follow her as she took confident, determined steps into the depths of the cluttered attic. Nevermind the fact she felt neither determined nor confident. She HAD to be both now.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she waded through the junk, eyes on the ground so she wouldn't trip. The floorboards creaked. Behind her, Amiel tiptoed, trying his hardest not to brush against anything. He'd always hated dirt on his feathers. Charlie had been a much more outdoorsy child.

Eventually, she found them. Laid against a wall, covered in white—well, once white—fabric. Portraits. Some fifteen of them.

Amiel joined her a few seconds later, gaze darting between the covered portraits and her. He tilted his head, fixing her with a questioning look. "Is that it?"

Charlie nodded. The already iron grip of anxiety tightened. But she pushed through. "Yes!"

Her brother blinked. "Okay. Pictures. You want me to help you redecorate?"

The Princess' tongue felt limp and dead in her mouth. Why was talking always so hard when it mattered most?! She nipped at the inside of her cheek. Charlie had so many speeches prepared for this exact moment, but her brain just... couldn't remember a single one.

Gut feeling it was! Sincerity was the best way to handle situations like this anyway!

"Yeah! I mean, sorta. We had that whole talk about portraits, when you just got here? You remember?"

For a second, Amiel's eyes gained a distant quality to them, as he tried to place the memory. The moment he did was... very obvious. His eyes narrowed. Lips pressed into a thin, rosy line.

"Yes. I remember."

The Princess couldn't blame him for reacting that way. She really demonstrated her talent to put her hoof in her mouth that night. But now she had a chance to make it all right!

She stepped closer to the nearest cover, grabbing a fistful of it. The texture was... fuck. Old fabric, gross in that way only old fabric could be, coupled with a layer of dust so thick it felt like an entirely different material. The urge to let go of it, leave the attic and never come back was so strong. But Charlie braved it. For Amiel's sake.

"I've been thinking! I remembered that there were some more portraits up here! So I was wondering if you'd help me pick which ones to hang up?"

Before Amiel could give any sort of answer, Charlie tugged. Firmly. With determination, and all her might.

Big mistake.

A cloud of dust erupted from the cover as it was yanked away. Charlie got a brief glimpse of Amiel, pupils blown wide, arms coming up, before she was swallowed up by the wave of dust.

The Princess coughed, all but blind to the world. It was in her hair, her eyes, and her lungs. The air tasted like a mix of a museum and a graveyard on her tongue.

But, the dust settled eventually, even if it felt like an eternity to her. She squinted through teary eyes, blinking rapidly at the frowning, gold-coated figure of her baby brother. He'd cast another barrier. He really did have great reflexes.

One of his loafers tapped against the ground, it too causing a cloud of dust to erupt, though it came nowhere near Charlie's own handiwork.

"Well. That was stupid."

She tried to answer, but all that left her mouth was a hacking cough.

Amiel was beside her in an instant, arms gripping her shoulders with surprising firmness. "Hey, hey! Easy. No need to talk just yet. Breathe. Slowly."

The Princess obeyed. In and out. Slow. Steady. Shallow at first, gradually getting deeper as her airways cleared up.

Eventually, she got her breathing under control, and Amiel reluctantly took a step back, though he still fixed her with one of his intense stares.

Charlie lowered her eyes, her now-grimy shoes suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

"Sorry."

Amiel sighed. Long and drawn-out. "It's fine. It's just dust, and I didn't get hit."

The floorboards creaked again as he moved, coming closer to the first batch of artwork she'd uncovered. Charlie looked up.

A trio of portraits was laid against the wall, one on top of the other. Right to the wall, at the bottom, was a wide one, which she was certain was a stuffy family portrait. A smaller format one was on top of it, with bits of navy blue shorts and her own matching skirt poking into view. And... on top of the pile, visible in all its glory...

Uncle Ozzie. It wasn't a traditional portrait painted by an artist. Not really. It had originally been a photo, taken by Uncle Levi's heavily modified version of a then-new invention—the camera. Dad had later comissioned someone to paint a genuine portrait based on it, because he loved the picture so much.

It was easy to see why Dad adored it.

Their uncle was grinning like an idiot, all three heads sporting matching, dopey smiles. Auntie Bee was there too, one of Uncle Ozzie's huge, gloved hands smooshed against her face, pushing her gently out of the frame. All four of her arms were making grabby hands, caught in various stages of incensed flailing. And, nestled in the crook of Uncle Ozzie's other arm, the thing their aunt was trying desperately to grab, so tiny he was barely visible... was Amiel.

Tiny, baby Amiel. Dressed in some white, floaty nightmare that looked more dress than anything else. Pudgy hands gripping impossibly small fistfuls of their uncle's bright yellow coat. The Sin of Lust had always had a taste for dramatic colors. Baby Amiel's hair was a mussed-up mess, fine and short. One foot was hidden behind Ozzie's sleeve. The other was in plain sight, caught mid-halfhearted kick. But the most adorable part of an already adorable scene?

His eyes. Amiel was staring straight into the camera, huge, violet eyes deathly serious. Like an itty-bitty, demanding monarch. It wasn't even a stare. It was a full-on glare, as if the camera had committed some grave, unforgivable transgression.

Charlie drew closer, resting a hand softly on Amiel's shoulder. He didn't turn to look at her.

"You were so tiny back then, Ami! I barely remember baby you, but I do remember you being absolutely adorable."

She heard him breathe in. He angled his head to look up at her, eyes trailing her face slowly. "Why would you want to hang this up?"

Her heart dropped. The tone was flat. Controlled. His eyes, similarly, betrayed nothing. That was exactly what scared her.

The Princess forced herself to sound cheerful. Carefree. She didn't want this to go wrong. She needed it to go right. She couldn't mess up again.

"What kind of question is that, Ami? These are family portraits! I want them to be on display!"

"Mother didn't."

It was a simple statement. Almost conversational. But Amiel's bottom lip was firmly clasped between his teeth, as soon as the words left his mouth.

Her voice was higher than she wanted it to be, when she answered. Panic seeping in, despite her best efforts. "I'm sure she did! And even if she didn't, I want them to be out there! You're my brother! You deserve it!"

Said brother's mouth trembled. Opened, then closed. Opened again. Closed again.

"That's... very nice of you. Thank you, Charlie."

She wanted to scream. Or punch a wall. Punch Amiel, perhaps. Her forehead itched with that familiar, faint pain of horns begging to poke out.

He was doing it again. Avoiding. Putting a wall up.

Still, she had to try harder. Get through. If he put a wall up, she'd grab a pickaxe.

"Sooo... want to uncover the rest of these? I'm sure we'll find at least one you'll like."

The hopefulness sounded as hollow as it felt.

Amiel took half a step back, just enough to get out of her grasp. Her hand slipped from his shoulder. "There's no need for that."

The words were out before she could think them over, panic and anxiety and frustration all melding together and boiling over. And yet, for all those different emotions, what came out was quiet and almost pleading.

"Don't do that, Ami. Please." She wasn't even sure what "that" was. Don't withdraw? Don't mask? Something else, all of the above, and a thousand other things?

The Prince didn't react at first. He stared, frowning, lips pursed in thought. Then, all of a sudden, he moved. Amiel grabbed her wrists. Loose enough not to feel threatening, firm enough to hold them in place, unless she struggled.

He met her eyes for the briefest of moments before looking down, focusing on their hands. His voice was soft. Gentle. "Charlie. I'm not blind. Don't make this into what it doesn't need to be. I get it. Really. I see what you're trying to do here. It's nice, but..."

Amiel trailed off. Against her better judgment, Charlie urged him to continue. "But what?"

"But this is... just a visit. I think... we should enjoy it for what it is. A chance to catch up. No tension. No... family drama. A short break, and then you go on living your life, and I mine. Don't stress over it for my sake."

It hit close to home. All of it. "I'm not stressing!"

She wanted to say more, but one look from Amiel took the words out of her mouth.

"I'm your brother, Charlie. You can't lie to me. Your hands are shaking, and it's not because I'm holding them."

He was right, she realized. They were trembling. Barely, but undeniably. Had she really gotten that panicked?

"I know that you want to make everything better, but... you don't need to. There's nothing to make better. We've had a few rough patches in the last few days, yeah. But I'm fine. You're fine. Please, don't hurt yourself stressing over me. It's pointless."

He let go of her wrists. Her arms stood frozen in the air for a moment, before drifting slowly, gradually down to her hips.

Amiel smiled at her. Charlie couldn't help but find it hollow. "Promise you'll take it easy and just enjoy our time together?"

She couldn't. Not when her brother was being so dismissive. How could he just... pretend that nothing had happened? Or was she pushing too hard? Was Amiel right? Was she reading too much into minor frustrations?

But even if he was right, it didn't feel right. Not to her. This couldn't be normal. Amiel was her brother! Awkwardly dancing around each other was not what siblings did.

Gah! Her thoughts were muddled. Charlie wasn't sure of anything anymore. And she was supposed to say something, damn it!

What slipped from her tongue was paltry. "I'll... do my best." Where there was supposed to be conviction, there was instead hesitation. It barely sounded like Charlie Morningstar.

It was still enough for Amiel, apparently. "Good."

With that, he turned around, already glancing towards the door. "I think I'll go to bed now. It's been a long day."

That was more than enough to snap her mind out of the momentary haze.

"Wait, you're going to sleep already?"

He didn't even turn, too busy watching the floor for any stray tripping hazards. "Mhm. I woke up early. And I'll probably be handling breakfast tomorrow too, so I'd like to get enough sleep, unless you'd like to try an eggshell omelette."

Her brother was almost out the door already. To his credit, he did turn around. One gloved finger pointed delicately at the ceiling. "Don't worry about the light. They'll stay here as long as you do. Good night, Charlie."

He tossed her a brisk wave, before turning and leaving. He didn't even bother waiting for her to bid him goodnight in turn.

For a couple of seconds, she was silent. And then, when she was sure he'd went down the stairs...

"Fuck!"

The swear all but burst out of her.

Charlie was... what was she even feeling? She couldn't begin to make sense of the tangled mess of emotion that had nestled itself behind her ribs. Anger, fear, hesitation, sadness, disappointment? It was all there, she was sure of it, but none of it seemed the right label.

Amiel... she had no idea what to think. They'd grown up together! They loved each other! So... why was she finding it so hard to figure him out?

She was lost. Doing what Amiel asked her to do left a sour taste in her mouth. But what she was doing was obviously not working, either.

Her "great idea" has been to use those portraits to rekindle their sibling bond. Give it a bit of a much-needed boost. Show her baby brother how much he still meant to her, how much she wanted to show everyone that he, Amiel, was her family. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd hurt him with them, instead. Reminded him of... things he'd rather forget.

With absolutely no warning, Amiel's little light-spun sparrow perched on her shoulder. She jerked when it happened, but the tiny creature paid her no mind. Its tiny talons "dug" into her shoulder, keeping it steady. Though, calling it "digging in" might have been a bit of an overstatement. It wasn't really there. Were she to try and pet it, her fingers would go through if she pressed too hard.

Why did that remind her of Amiel?

Notes:

This chapter sure got angsty. And dark. And angstily dark. Solid "my bad," everyone.

But I do have some good news!

First, next chapter we will FINALLY tackle our first canon episode, that being episode 3! I'm not big on just rehashing episodes word for word, so expect some plot expansions, especially since that episode was probably the most devoid of content in the entire season (I'm sorry Carmilla and Velvette, you slayed queens!)

Second, I'm taking a tiny break from this fic! No, no, don't panic, and put away those torches and pitchforks! I'm writing our first two of hopefully many canon compliant oneshots! Side stories, mostly pre-canon, featuring best angel boi and the rest of the Morningstars! Feel free to guess what they'll be about in the comments. The clues for both are in this chapter, and if you guess correctly, you get... I dunno, a cookie?

The first of these two will ideally come out next Wednesday, on my birthday! Buuut, considering my stellar track record with deadlines, expect it anywhere in the range of next Friday/Saturday, all the way up to 2027. Don't worry, once I finish that one, I'll write the second one and the next chapter at the same time.

Oh, also, I have a Twitter/X account. @OptimismPe23858 If anyone wants to chat, ask questions about this fic, or see me randomly yap about the Hellaverse, that's the place to be! That way at least you'll be sure I'm not dead, and the next chapter WILL come out.

That got a bit lenghty. Oopsie. As always, thank you for the hits, the kudos, the bookmarks, and the lovely comments. We're almost at 100 kudos! You people are insane, in the best way possible. Thank you for that.

Chapter 9: A Pair

Notes:

Surpriseeee! I'm not dead!

I owe all of you an apology. If you'd rather skip the excuses, feel free to not read the next paragraph, though I promise I have good ones.

Sooo... I live in a dictatorship. Technically not, but basically yes. Country-wide protests since November. It's getting bad. I'm in no direct danger, but the stress is so bad there are days I simply cannot force myself to write due to the worries. I'll never abandon this fic, but if updates don't come for months on end, that is why. I also have all of my university classes/exams crammed into what was supposed to be my summer vacation due to the situation, so that's fun. Very fun.

But hey, not all things are so bleak! I've also been kidnapped! By birds! Of the Goetic variety, at that. It's not everyone's cup of tea, but if there are some of you who enjoy Stolas angst, or Andrealphus angst, or even Icyago, I may have something to offer you in these upcoming months between updates.

You'll have also noticed that this work is now part of a series. And that means... SIDE STORIES! YAAAY! Only two up currently, and one is unfinished, but there WILL be more. If you're craving more Amiel, make sure to subscribe/bookmark the series.

Oh, also, another thing. @NaroJunipo, the absolute lunatic, fell in love with Amiel. They've been drawing him in a variety of wacky and angsty fanarts for months now. It feels unfair for me to be the only person to enjoy that, so...
https://x.com/Optimism_Timi/status/1941414542292156912
We've agreed I'd make a thread on Twitter, with all available arts there. (If any of you don't have/don't want to make a Twitter account, and are unable to view this thread, please notify me in the comments. We'll figure something out that makes them available to everyone.

One final thing. This is yet another S O N G Chapter! This one is EXTREMELY obscure, so I'll provide you with the link, just so you have an idea how my horrible rewrite is supposed to sound.
https://youtu.be/P3r-HWnoDXg?si=YOLoOTuaN3YqbUKQ (told you it was obscure and weird)

I hope you enjoy the next chapter. You've truly earned it, waiting for so long.

Charlie wasn't sure how much more of THIS she could take.

She'd hoped that the view would manage to quiet the storm that had been raging in her head the entire night. That the fresh air—as fresh as air could be in the Pride Ring—would soothe her brain.

And, to its credit, the air really was pleasant. It didn't carry any strange smells, nor was it choked with smoke. There was a little bit of wind, and the temperature was cool without dipping into outright chilly.

The city below was, similarly, peaceful in a way Hell almost never was. No shouts. No blood. No screams, or explosions, or turf wars. Charlie knew it'd all start up soon enough, like it did every day, but for the moment, Pentagram City was silent.

A nearly idyllic view, considering the circumstances.

And yet...

Like almost every choice she'd made these last few days, Charlie had picked wrong. Silence was not what she needed right now. Her thoughts, the very same ones she'd tried to run away from in the first place, were so much louder up there on the Hotel's roof, with her legs dangling over the edge.

"I should do what he asked me to. He's my brother! It's the right thing to do."

"But it doesn't feel right."

"It's what feels right to him, and that's what matters most."

"What if he's not thinking straight?"

"What if I'M overthinking things?"

The others came up too. Of course they did. The avalanche started with Amiel, but it didn't stop at just him.

"I'm failing everyone."

"The Hotel's doomed."

"I have NO IDEA what I'm doing."

"They could DIE, and I'll be responsible."

More Amiel again. And again, and again, and again.

"I should say something. I HAVE to do something."

"Nothing I've said worked out. It made things worse!"

"I should stop. Let him have what he wants."

"I can't just stop."

"I SHOULD be able to solve this."

And one final thing, popping up every so often, a perfectly sour cherry on top of the mess that was her brain.

"Mom would be so ashamed of me, if she saw me like this."

The Princess of Hell groaned, one hand rubbing at her forehead in an attempt to stop the blooming headache. Surprise, surprise, it wasn’t working. The ache behind her pale, sweat-clammy forehead throbbed. An on-off kind of pain, coming and going as it pleased, pulsing as though her skull was suddenly three sizes too small for her brain.

Charlie had half-expected it. She'd barely slept, after all. Headaches were what you got, when you didn't sleep. It was a small wonder it had taken it this long to develop in the first place.

Last night had been... ROUGH. Charlie caught a few winks here and there, but they were more losses of consciousness than true rest. Each time she jolted awake, she felt more tired than before.

About half an hour ago, she finally... gave up altogether. Clambered out of bed, dressed hastily in her usual suit, and left. Her partner didn't notice. The entire night, Vaggie had slept, undisturbed by the way the Princess tossed and turned the hours away. It was one of the things Charlie found most adorable about her girlfriend. She was so observant when she was awake, but once she fell asleep? Gone.

The Princess had considered waking her up. For a looong moment, she stood in the doorway, staring over her shoulder at the sinner tangled up in their sheets. Thinking her options over. Weighing her own comfort against her girlfriend's.

Charlie hated admitting it, but... she needed company, and reassurance, if only sometimes, when she felt overwhelmed. Someone to lean on, collapse against, when going got hard. Someone to pat her on the head and tell her, "You're doing good, sweetie."

Still, in the end she'd thought better of it. Charlie had let her sleep. Vaggie needed the rest more than she needed someone to talk to. Her girlfriend was such a hard worker. The Hotel would have never come so far without her contributions.

Another jolt of pain cracked through her skull, strong enough to derail her thoughts. Stupid headache.

Charlie sighed, blinking sluggishly. Her head was swimming, and her stomach churned with nausea. She'd only drunk some water before making her way to the roof, but now even that felt like too much.

She did her best to ignore the discomfort.

The Princess hoisted her legs back up onto the edge, drawing her limbs in as she curled up into a loose ball. Her head thunked against her knees, hair already a mess.

It had started out presentable-looking. She'd brushed it hastily and tied it into a low ponytail style she had loved wearing a few years back. A little unkempt, but almost intentionally so. Casual without being sloppy.

Now, however, there was simply no salvaging it from the who-knew-how-many times she'd played with it, or tucked the same strands back, or twirled a particular lock over and over.

Messy, frazzled, and sticking out in all directions. Her hair was a perfect match for her state of mind.

Another dull throb of pain came from behind her forehead. She hissed through her teeth, waiting for it to subside. It took an annoyingly long couple of seconds for the ache to go back to being negligible.

The Princess had a hard time tolerating it, even afterwards.

She couldn't deny it, no matter how much she might have wanted to. Vaggie wasn't the only tired one. Charlie needed the rest too, she could tell. Her body was practically begging for it.

The world around her seemed hollow, like a picture done with smudgy paint, and with the perspective horribly off. It danced and curled at the edges, wriggling lazily unless she focused on it. Lack of sleep did that to her. The sensations were more familiar than she'd have liked to admit. Becoming even more so, these last few weeks. Sleep had an increasingly hard time coming to her.

Charlie exhaled slowly, and even the sound managed to sound exhausted.

...

There was no point to pretending anymore.

The Princess was lost. Completely lost. Everything was falling apart. The Extermination loomed above her head like a storm cloud about to burst open. Nobody was interested in joining the Hotel. And the sinners who were in her care were not getting better. She had no idea how to make them be better.

And of course... the previous night. It lingered heavily in the back of her mind. She'd been more or less holding it all together, despite the endless doubts that kept cropping up. Until yesterday. After the attic, she started overthinking, and second-guessing, and one thing led to another, and—it was just... a lot.

A crushing, suffocating pressure, resting on her shoulders, and her shoulders alone. She knew that she was supposed to deal with it, to handle it, but it felt like far too much for one person.

The Hotel—her brother—the whole situation—EVERYTHING WAS SO CONFUSING!

And yet, even with all the uncertainties in her life, her brother remained by far the most confusing thing on her mind.

Amiel was family. She wasn't supposed to be lost. Not there. Not with him. The Hotel was a mess. Mom was gone. Dad had been a mess for a long time. She'd accepted all that, more or less. To some extent.

But... was Amiel a mess now, too? Or was she overreacting like her brother claimed? And... if Amiel was a mess, then was Charlie to blame?

Ugh. Ugh, ugh, ugh. If anything, her thoughts were the true mess. A scrambled disaster. Like a salad that had been tossed to the point all the vegetables were reduced to paste. Nothing made sense anymore. Even that metaphor didn't make sense, but that didn't stop Charlie's brain from using it.

It wasn't fair.

Things were supposed to be easier. Sinners were supposed to want to be better. Amiel was supposed to like her.

And... Charlie was supposed to be better, too. This was her dream. Her Hotel. Her chance to prove that she was worthy of all those fancy titles. Princess of Hell. Heir to the throne.

"Mom would be so ashamed of me, if she saw me like this. Mom would have been able to handle it."

Ughhhhh! There it was, again. Backstabbed by her own brain.

It was stupid to even try and compare! Mom was perfect. She'd juggled it all in a way that seemeed effortless, for thousands of years. Hell's politics. Royal duties. Concerts. Family time.

That last thought sank like a rock to the bottom of her stomach.

"Mother didn't."

Fuck, her brother's expression when he'd said that. She could tell that he'd been pretending to be fine, but... the way he'd gnawed on his lip said otherwise. She could still see it, if she focused.

Charlie had to face the facts. Things had never been exactly perfect. There had been... cracks. Not huge, gaping cracks, not in the beginning, but... cracks nonetheless. The Princess was, despite what most people apparently thought about her, neither blind nor stupid.

Morningstars went in pairs. Her and Mom. Amiel and Dad. The four of them had never fit exactly right. The shared dinners had been awkward, filled with silences more often than with conversation. Family time was... uneven. Amiel spent the majority of his free time with Dad. Charlie with Mom. By the time her teenage years rolled around, the entire family's paths only crossed from time to time. Mostly for galas, parties, and other "social duties of royalty," as Mom called them. While performing those, they usually moved as a group. Less so at home.

Clear-cut pairs, never a quartet.

But...

Charlie and her brother had been a pair, once. Playtime. Hours spent in each other's rooms, or in the gardens, or at their uncles and aunts' places. Whispered secrets. Exchanged flower crowns. Small, insignificant promises that had meant the world back then. The two of them had been inseparable, when they were children. Then they were close. And now...

Now... she wasn't sure what to think.

The Princess wasn't sure of anything, anymore. She couldn't help but second-guess even that which she'd been certain of, just days ago. Case in point...

Why had she invited Amiel to the Hotel?

The question had been haunting her for hours, and she still seemed no closer to the answer. In fact, the answer felt so much farther than it had yesterday.

It had seemed so obvious, back when she made that first phone call. So simple. Her thought process basically boiled down to "I have a brother. I love my brother. I'm doing something important. I want him to see that, and I want to see him again."

She couldn't help but reconsider her motivation now. Was it really just reconnecting that she was after?

It made sense at first glance. The Princess loved as deeply as she did easily. Of course she missed her family. Mom was... nobody knew where Mom was, and she... really doubted that Dad wanted much to do with her. Amiel was different. Her quiet, sweet little brother. Mimi.

But Mimi had changed. He was quieter now than when she'd left home. Less sweet, at least with her. Harsher, in a subtle, barely noticeable way.

She still noticed.

What hurt her most of all, though, was how... hollow her brother felt. There, but... NOT there. As if he was hiding 80% of himself at all times, and only allowing her glimpses through a window that hadn't been washed in years.

She had noticed the signs early enough, too. Charlie was sure she had.

And yet... she ignored them. Brushed it all off with excuses, some of them provided by her brother. "He's just tired. We're just getting used to each other. Things are still fine."

The Princess had truly believed that was the issue. That all they needed was a bit of time, and some chances to hang out.

So, Charlie dropped him headfirst into redemption exercises, and Hotel stuff, and shared meals, and, now that she was looking at the matter properly, waaaaaay out of his comfort zone.

Why? What had she been thinking?! Had she simply been excited to show her dream off? Had she thought that it'd help them bond again?

Or maybe... what if she'd simply been desperate? Gosh, what if that was what had happened? What if she'd been so starved for reassurance that she'd called her brother to give it to her, without even realizing? If that was the case, then... Charlie was so, so pathetic. There was no other way to put it.

Shame was already starting to bubble in her stomach, like she'd downed a whole pot of scalding coffee. Her breathing picked up, inhales coming sharper and more shallow with every second.

Did it really boil down to that? Her wanting someone other than Vaggie to clap for her and call her dream a good idea?

It couldn't be true. Charlie wasn't selfish. Not like that.

But what if she was?

Ugh! She almost screamed, panic and frustration and fear all boiling over. Her hands tangled in her own hair, fingertips dancing over her temples as if she could massage the bad thoughts away. Her lungs stung. Breathing felt impossible, even as some tiny, logical part of her brain screamed at her to calm down before she made herself sick. Charlie heard it, but she couldn't stop her thoughts from racing. They swarmed her, wave after wave of questions she couldn't answer, and accusations she couldn't defend against.

Why did her own emotions make NO SENSE?! This wasn't how emotions were supposed to work! She was supposed to know how she was feeling! How could she NOT KNOW why she'd called her own brother over?! Why was she so clueless about EVERYTHING?!

The Princess threw herself backwards with a groan. She expected the soft mattress to be there and catch her.

It wasn't.

Charlie went down with a panicked shriek, arms and legs flailing as she hit the somewhat grimy floor of the roof. Her head throbbed freshly from the sudden movement. Everything else hurt from the fall.

Wonderful. Really. Just wonderful. As if she needed more reminders of just how lost and in over her head she was. Forgetting she wasn't in her bed!

The Princess groaned again, rolling over onto her back. Mercifully, at least her breathing was starting to even out somewhat. She focused on getting it under control, as she blinked up at nothing in particular.

Charlie stared at the dark red sky above her, slowly getting lighter as morning approached. Then her eyes drifted slightly to the left. Big mistake.

Heaven glimmered in the corner of her vision, no more than a golden smudge. It still managed to feel... taunting. Like it was mocking her. She slapped her hands over her face to block out the view. It barely helped. The pressure behind her eyes still throbbed, faint but constant. Her back ached, the cold, hard roof floor pressing into it uncomfortably.

And yet, Charlie was slow to pick herself up. Her limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. Her heart, that much heavier. The responsibility weighed heavier still.

Charlie was responsible for everyone. Every person in the Hotel. Vaggie. Angel. Pentious. Her brother too, now that she'd called him here. Her people in general, even! They were all her responsibility!

And she was failing every last one of them.

That knowledge ached harder than any sore muscle or headache ever could.

Gosh, she was so close to crying. She could feel it, the pricking in her eyes that had nothing to do with lack of sleep.

She didn't want to cry. Not here. Not at the very start of the day, not while lying down on the Hotel's roof, and not over things that were her fault.

She was the Princess of Hell. Meant to be the future ruler. Instructed by the infallible Queen of Hell. Charlie wasn't supposed to cry over problems. She was supposed to fix problems. Like Mom.

But HOW? Whenever she tried, things either didn't work, or just... ended up even worse.

She finally sat up, but she didn't stand. The Princess hugged her knees to her chest, curling up into herself. She didn't care that she looked like a lost little child. Charlie felt like one anyway.

"Fix problems. Like Mom." What a joke.

Charlie was not Lilith Morningstar. Lilith Morningstar wouldn't have let half of these things become problems in the first place, and she would have long solved the other. The Queen of Hell wouldn't have sat at the roof at five in the morning, choking back tears and feeling like her chest was about to cave in.

Charlie couldn't even remember if she'd ever seen Mom shaken up by something. Annoyed, sure. Angry? Definitely, in those... final few decades of her parents' marriage.

Never like this. Never broken, struggling to hold the pieces together. Mom was always so... perfect. A bit cold, from time to time, but... awe-inspiring all the same. She always had their people’s best interests at heart. She took the time to inspire them, to truly motivate them, like a proper queen.

The Princess couldn't even get the handful of sinners in her Hotel to get along with each other.

Charlie couldn't help but wonder if Mom had ever felt like this? Did the queen fall apart in private, or was she just that composed?

No. She doubted that. The Princess tried to imagine the Queen of Hell, Lilith Morningstar, hunched over a desk, face hidden in her hands, struggling to pull herself together.

Her brain failed to produce a clear picture. What it came up with was fuzzy and blurry, more of an idea than a fully-formed image.

It was just one more way in which Charlie would never measure up to her.

And that was the final nail in the coffin. Whatever miracle had kept her from crying up until that point finally gave out.

It wasn't her usual. Loud, messy, and noticeable. The tears that came now slipped down her cheeks silently, without even a single sniffle.

She hated this kind of crying. Happy tears were fine. Happy tears were great, even. Positive emotions in liquid form, she'd called them once.

These just made her feel like even more of a failure. The pressure in her chest felt like it was about to burst. The Princess wanted to sob. Or maybe scream. Whichever forced its way out of her mouth first.

Charlie held it back, just barely. One hand over her mouth, while the other wiped clumsily at her cheeks and eyes, brushing most of the tears away. She didn't want to risk waking someone up, no matter how slim the chances were. If she was falling apart, she'd do it in a way nobody would notice.

For a few minutes, the Princess simply sat, crying silently. It was cathartic, once she got past the shame. The bite of it gradually dwindled from a merciless chomp to more of a determined nibble.

An idea formed slowly, dragging itself through the thick fog of emotions.

Now that she'd started, perhaps just... getting it all out of her system would be the best course of action. She could filter out all the bad thoughts in one go! Like her feelings-sharing exercises... only with no one else to share her feelings with.

The Princess let them out anyway. The lack of audience was a plus.

As soon as the first words left her mouth, the pressure eased, just slightly.

Her voice trembled a bit, and it sounded a little off from the crying, but it didn’t matter.

 

Can’t give in to the doubts,

Can’t show them how you feel.

"A lost, clueless girl."

Why does that sound so real?

 

Need to push the fears aside,

It’s time to get a grip.

"Just hold your head up high,"

Now’s not the time to slip.

 

For the first time in what felt like forever, Charlie was right. She was starting to feel better. It wasn’t some magical cure, but it did feel nice, singing her heart out to the empty air.

Her voice got louder, as she let more of her emotions spill out. The Princess stood up as well, brushing off the dust from her pants.

 

I will make my people better,

I will prove that I can,

And I will guide them on their path,

Guide them on that path, I’ll make a stand.

 

I will, I will,

Try my very best,

As I stumble through this mess.

I will, I will,

Shine and make Mom proud,

Stand tall and face the crowd,

No time to keep my head bowed,

I will, I will.

 

Inevitably, her brother’s turn came, and the tentative reassurance cracked.

 

How did you become,

This distant memory?

No warning, none at all.

I’m not your enemy.

 

Things had changed, and not for the better. That was true, yes. And it hurt.

But... Amiel was still her brother. Charlie would find some way to fix things. She had to.

 

I will make things better,

I will prove that I can,

And I will be all that you could want,

All that you could want or need!

 

Yes. She could do this. She could. All of it. Reconnect with Amiel. Make the Hotel work. Make Hell a better place. Everything! She wasn’t Mom, but she was her mom’s daughter. She would continue where Mom stopped. It was her duty!

 

I will, I will,

Rise above my fears, fight for Mom’s old dreams!

I will, I will,

Be all she’d wished and hoped,

I’ll be all of that and more,

All of that and more,

I will.

 

I will.

 

Her voice trailed off, letting that final promise, made to no one but herself, linger in the air.

Against all odds... Charlie felt better now. Her head hurt less. Her limbs had stopped aching. Even her thoughts felt slightly more in order, instead of the jumbled mess they’d been a little while ago.

Her lips curved upwards into a wobbly, unsure smile, for no particular reason. Just... pure relief. The Princess stared down at the city below, slowly waking up, but not yet devolving into utter chaos.

Her usual determination, the thing that had carried her this far, flared up again. Charlie felt energized, far too much for someone who’d slept as little as the Princess had. She bounced lightly on her feet, shaking off the last of the drowsiness and worry, her hands pumped into fists.

It was time to plan.

Step one! Amiel. The most burning issue she had to address. The only one that needed to be dealt with AT ONCE.

Her newfound energy dipped immediately, but she forced her smile to stay on. This wasn’t something she could run away from. Charlie had to push through.

Necessity didn’t make the task any easier.

The Princess had tried so many different things over the course of the last couple of days. Nothing stuck. She wanted so desperately to bridge the gap that had appeared between Amiel and her, but her brother drew back a foot for every inch he gave.

So what was she supposed to do?

Push harder? Stop trying altogether?

No. Those ideas were stupid! One had already proved itself a failure, but the other... she couldn’t accept the other. No matter what. She simply couldn’t.

Anxiety gnawed at her again. The Princess could feel it, crawling around her brain like some kind of itch.

She had to stay calm. The Princess was not going to spiral into yet another stress-fueled spiral. She couldn’t afford to. No, this time she was going to be what she’d always been supposed to be, what Mom raised her to be. A problem solver!

Charlie sat down on the ledge again, though she kept her feet firmly on the roof this time. Once more, she gazed at the city below, chin propped on one hand.

Her focus was absolute.

Pushing got her nowhere; that was obvious. Giving up wasn’t on the table, nor would it ever be. So what was the solution?

The Princess scrunched her nose, huffing quietly. Seconds trickled by, as she wracked her brain for a solution.

Some kind of compromise would be needed; that much was obvious, but... what kind? Where was she supposed to draw the line between what she wanted, and what Amiel wanted?

It was so frustrating, not knowing, and yet, perfectly aware that another misstep would cost her. It would hurt her brother, though she was one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t admit anything.

It just made things that much more frustrating.

Charlie couldn’t risk any more mistakes.

So, then... was it safer... to do what Amiel asked her to? Pretend that she didn’t see all the cracks, and treat everything like things were fine?

That sounded horrible, not to mention barely better than doing nothing.

But... it was what her brother wanted. So... perhaps that made it an okay starting point? Charlie would still be there for him. Still hover nearby, still do her best to bond with Amiel, but... perhaps... perhaps it’d be better for everyone, if she did it on her brother’s terms?

The Princess smiled again, though it was barely more than an upwards quirk of her mouth, and tinged with sadness.

Charlie did NOT like leaving other people’s problems to fester. If they could be helped, then she wanted to help, by any means necessary.

But... maybe this time, she could make an exception, no matter how uneasy it made her feel? For Amiel?

She swallowed thickly, the sound quiet but audible.

No, she most definitely did NOT like this. Not one bit. But she couldn’t deny that it seemed like the solution most likely to succeed. And if things didn’t go according to plan... she would be alert now. She’d take in every detail, and if needed, she would step in.

The Princess sighed heavily.

One problem taken care of. Sorta.

Now she only had EVERYTHING ELSE to worry about. The Extermination. And the Hotel. And the sinners she had no idea how to redeem.

Angel was... not making much progress, despite her best efforts. In all honesty, he wasn’t even trying. Vaggie had mentioned once how they’d be better off kicking him out, but... Charlie didn’t have the heart to do it. If Angel decided to leave on his own terms, she’d obviously let him. Still... the Princess chose to believe that he was staying for a reason, one more important than "no rent and free food."

Pen was doing better, at least. Amiel’s arrival seemed to be doing wonders for the snake demon. He was really getting out of his shell, and it had been less than a we—

The Princess froze.

A week.

Oh. Oh gosh. Oh goodness. She’d forgotten. Charlie had completely forgotten. She’d gotten the idea only hours after Pentious "joined" the Hotel, but then Amiel happened, and then more things happened, and it sort of... slipped her mind.

The Princess stood up and immediately started pacing, heels clicking against the roof’s floor. She could still manage. It would be a bit... sped up, but she could manage. She was already up. She had enough of a head start.

Though... yeah, she was definitely going to need Vaggie’s help to pull this off. So much for letting her girlfriend rest.

Vaggie would understand. Charlie was absolutely sure of that. Embarrassing as it was to admit, it definitely wouldn’t be the first time in their three years together that Charlie was dragging the sinner out of bed.

With Vaggie’s help, things would turn out fine!

Oh, but gosh, she needed to MOVE, immediately! There was so much to plan for, and make happen.

Charlie slapped her palms lightly against her cheeks, psyching herself up for the battle ahead.

There was no time for worries or stress. It was showtime.

 

 

*******

 

 

Was it too much?

Would it arouse suspicion?

Amiel tilted his hand this way and that way, violet eyes never leaving the handful of snow-white feathers clenched between his pale fingers. He'd smushed them together, crumpled them all into a little pile, but... the feathers he'd torn out last night had been pristine. No signs of the wear and tear that usually demanded preening. The rough handling had helped, somewhat, but... would it be enough? Was the pile too big?

The chances that Niffty would dig through his trash and connect the dots that the feathers had been... forcibly removed were small. Barely there. But... they were there.

No, Amiel decided, it was better to be safe than sorry.

The Prince stood up, bare feet hitting the thin carpeting as he made way for the window. He wasn't like his father. Unlike Dad, he didn't have the convenient ability to tell trash to just... stop existing. What Amiel could do, however, was burn things. Holy Light was handy like that, sometimes.

The latch, like most everything in the Hotel, was not in the best shape, but a few good tugs of his free hand took care of that issue. The window opened.

Considering their location, the morning was surprisingly chilly, even given how early it was. The Pride Ring was one of the warmer ones, beaten only by parts of Wrath, and occasionally Gluttony. And yet, cold air rushed inside as soon as the window was opened, nipping against his uncovered skin. It wasn't unbearable, though the angel still shivered. The rest of his family were much better at retaining heat, by virtue of their physiology. Amiel was, as always, the one exception. The thought left an acrid tang in the back of his throat.

At least the view was nice. Sort of. Pentagram City had a somewhat pleasant-looking skyline. It could have done without the buildings on fire and the random explosions, but that was the Doomsday District for you.

Amiel stuck his hand out through the window. The bite of cold became harsher, but it didn't matter. He'd make his own warmth soon enough.

Just the faintest spark of Light. A familiar tingle, from his chest, through the arm, down to his fingertips. He let his fingers relax, unclench, but the feathers stayed where they were, floating in the air, still smushed together. The sight was, admittedly, somewhat eerie. Like a shot out of a particularly slow, atmospheric horror movie. He'd never liked the genre, though he'd watched the most culturally significant ones, for the sake of knowledge.

If the floating had been the "setup," then, by the same analogy, what came a second later was the "payoff."

The feathers burst into flames. Brilliant, golden-tinted flames. The fluff's color shifted. White, then translucent for the briefest of moments, then black, as it shriveled up into nothingness. The spines bent and twisted from the heat.

The Prince kept at it. Nothing less than ashes would do.

Once he was satisfied, he sent the charred, unidentifiable remains of the spines to the wind with a slow flick of his hand. His magic would give them some extra airtime. Wherever they landed, there would be no way to connect them to the Prince of Hell. That was what mattered.

With "the cleanup" taken care of, Amiel closed the window and made his way back to the bed. He sat primly on the edge, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His eyes trailed idly over the faded wallpaper.

The angel hadn't slept that well. There had been... far too much to think about.

He would be fine, of course. He'd slept great the night before. That alone gave him enough rest to last him... probably around a week, if he paced himself, before the need to close his eyes for a few hours would become urgent. He could likely go for even longer now, with no paperwork to keep him busy. Not that the Prince was all that eager to test out his theory.

He'd tried to sleep, after a furious march up and down the length of his room that spiralled into a brief assault on his own wings. It hadn't worked out.

Thoughts of Charlie had crept in the back of his mind, springing up from shadowy corners whenever he tried to get some rest. Even now, despite his efforts not to think about her, she was there. She and those... stupid portraits.

She had meant well. Of course. Like always. Charlie always meant well. Knowing her, the portrait stunt was probably her trying to be inclusive. To hug him, hold him close, and send a powerful, heartfelt message of "you're family, and I love you" to him. It was... admirable, if naive. The message Charlie had actually sent was the total opposite, but... the Prince could appreciate the wish to be close to him, to smooth things over. It was what family did, after all.

But... how could Amiel let her come any closer? What was he supposed to tell her? All the frustrations that had bubbled up to the surface during his stay at the Hotel stemmed from bigger things. Things she could never fix. Things that weren't hers to fix in the first place. How would that conversation even go?

"I'm sorry I broke our family apart."

"I can't help the feeling of resentment I get whenever I look at a Morningstar portrait."

"I hate that I'm the one creature in Hell that absolutely, irrefutably, completely doesn’t belong."

"I wish she'd given me a fraction of the love she gave you."

Or better yet, the feathers thing. Why not? That would go over great. Absolutely wouldn't destroy the way everyone looked at him. She'd tell Dad. And their uncles and aunts. And Pen. That was something Amiel couldn't risk.

No, there simply was no way to talk. Not really, not honestly. Never heart-to-heart. Never in a way that wouldn't hurt her, and everyone else.

So, the Prince had lied last night. Forced on a mask of neutrality, held her hands and lied.

Part of him had considered it. Yesterday. Before he came to the Hotel. A thousand other times, during the last decade. He'd toyed with the idea of opening up. He gave up on it every time. Doing so would be far too dangerous.

Though she wasn't at the root of any of them, a fair number of his frustrations were connected to Charlie. Disgusting and shameful as it was to admit, some of that ugly, ugly resentment was directed at his sister. Opening up would have posed too great a risk. If their tempers flared, if they clashed, Amiel could say something they'd all regret, like he did that first night. Then she'd lash out, and things would escalate, and he'd let something else slip, and...

The Prince's fingers clenched. One hand gripped at his bare knee, the other at his thigh. Fingertips dug into flesh. Not outright painful, but definitely felt.

It was all so... irritating. A fire thrumming behind his ribs, hungrily demanding fuel, forever to be denied. Amiel had to deny it. If he ventured even one complaint, even one thing to feed it... he knew he wouldn't be able to stop.

But... ugh. Charlie just had a way of making it so hard to hold it all in.

Amiel sighed, long and drawn out. The solution to this entire mess was annoying in its simplicity.

Leaving.

He shouldn't have come to the Hotel in the first place. It was a mistake. There were some good things, here and there. Pen was... a spot of light in all the bleakness. And... it was nice, seeing Charlie again, breathing in her scent when she hugged him, feeling her hair tickling his cheek.

That was about it. The rest was... annoying at best. Unpleasant enough to make his skin crawl at worst. In a word, a mistake. But fuck, it was a mistake he couldn't just undo. Not after he'd made a show of everything being fine.

The Prince's only option was to... play pretend for a couple more days. If he could make it through a week or so, he could pack up, and never accept a multi-day visit ever again.

Easier said than done.

Amiel buried his face in his hands, sighing into his palms again, breath warm against his skin.

Just a few more days, he told himself. Just a few more days, and he could go back to how things were. It wasn't perfect, but... it was easier than this. And he'd go back to Dad.

Fuck.

As soon as the figure of his father—short, blonde, hunched over a workbench—materialized in his mind, it was over. The floodgates opened.

Amiel misses him. And worried about him. Lucifer had tried to haunt his brain last night, too. However, thoughts of Charlie had kept thoughts of Dad at bay. Only enough brainpower for one family member to agonize over, he supposed.

Luckily for him, now his headspace was nice and free.

He groaned into his hands.

It wasn't anything groundbreaking. His mind took him down already trodden paths, ones he'd revisited numerous times in the last few days. And yet, each thought was as cutting as ever.

Had Amiel made a mistake, leaving him alone? Dad had made it clear that he wasn't supposed to call him while he was at the Hotel. Had insisted that he'd be able to handle everything back at home. But... the Prince had spent the last seven years alone with the King of Hell. So... he knew. He was, unlike Charlie, aware of the situation. Did that... did that make him a bad son? That he knew and still left?

His fingers twitched feebly, one arm trailing over his thigh in the direction of the nightstand, where Amiel's phone sat.

He could call, regardless of his dad's wishes. Do it right now. Just a little check-in. A "How are you doing," a "Charlie says 'Hi.'" Or he could message. He'd said nothing about messages. But... Dad rarely checked those. He preferred calls. Would he even answer, or would he stubbornly refuse, after having given Amiel clear instructions?

Ugh.

It was silly, how much the Prince wanted to talk to him. As far as he knew, it wasn't exactly normal young adult behavior. Not that he knew many young adults.

Then again, Amiel did not much care for normalcy. His very being was an affront to it. So... perhaps he could try, later today. If his father didn't answer, he didn't answer. That would be that.

But... what if it didn’t end at that? What if Dad got mad? Or felt insulted? Would he think that Amiel didn't have any faith in him? Would he sink further into depression if he did think that?

Amiel couldn't risk it.

He loved Dad too much to ever hurt him like that, even accidentally. Dad had always been the one constant in his life. The one who made it a point to carve a slot in his timetable every day, a space to fit Amiel in.

Dad was loving. Even if he'd been distant these last seven years. Even if they rarely spent much time together nowadays. Even if... even if he'd been VERY eager to send Amiel away.

The angel bit his lip. Hard.

He couldn't lie. Not to himself. It would have been much easier, if he could.

That had hurt. Being sent away, even for a little while. Why had Dad been so insistent? So happy, after seven years of hollow melancholy? Had he finally decided he'd had enough, that—

No. No, no, no. Amiel cut that train of thought short, forcibly. He was just retracing old ground, anyway. It was always that, since he came to the Hotel. It had become something of a theme. Scratching at old scars, tearing at half-healed wounds.

He stood up, shaking out his wings. The angel paced again, padding across the carpet, wings flicking all the while. He did not have the luxury of making himself feel even worse.

The Prince of Hell looped around in small, precise circles, over and over until he felt as though he'd memorized the feel of the material under his feet. He counted too. Not anything meaningful. Just numbers. From one onwards. Just something to focus on, to leave no room for unwanted thoughts to slip in.

It took him a minute. Perhaps a couple of them. But he did get his brain under control.

Amiel craned his head slowly upward, staring at a crack in the ceiling. Not for any particular reason, no. He just stood, expecting. Waiting for his mind to spring to action, to jump him the moment he let his guard down.

Seconds trickled by, drawn-out and sticky. The moment, mercifully, never came.

The Prince breathed out slowly through his nose.

Good. Good. Amiel was officially ready to start the day.

There was no point in trying to catch some last-minute sleep. If he'd spent the entire night fruitlessly chasing it, it obviously wouldn't come now. And it was too early to even start on breakfast. Barely past five. So... he'd just... get ready and sit in the lounge for a bit. Maybe watch the news, or simply let the TV provide white noise. Perhaps Pen would be the first one out of bed today too. Amiel wouldn't mind the company, if it was his.

Yeah. That was a solid enough plan.

Five minutes later, his solid enough plan fell through with all the grace of a collapsing building.

"The Unluckiest Being in All of Creation" was a lofty title to claim, but damn it all if Amiel was not at least a strong contender.

The moment he'd closed the door to his room and turned to leave, he ran into her. Charlie. Vaggie trailed behind her, two steps back, singular eye watchful, as if waiting to get attacked.

Amiel froze, wings unfurling from where they rested at his back. Charlie, too, stopped dead in her tracks. She dug her heels in, almost causing her girlfriend to send them both to the ground.

The siblings stared at each other, neither one saying anything. From behind his sister, Vaggie eyed Amiel warily, stance going stiff and guarded for a second before she seemed to catch herself and relax. She didn't look straight at him, though. Her fists remained clenched. It only reinforced what the Prince had immediately figured out.

She was afraid of him.

Amiel could hardly blame her. They'd barely talked, mostly during meals. Stilted things, their conversations, polite but awkward, quickly swept away by the voices of the louder residents. And then there was their first meeting. It had certainly been... very memorable.

In all honesty, he should have been thanking his lucky stars. Only one person reacted to him as he'd expected everyone to. It was a blessing.

And yet... did it have to be his sister's partner that proved him right?

Charlie, the eternal go-getter, broke the silence before it could become too uncomfortable, tone upbeat despite the ungodly hour. "Good morning, Ami! Why are you up so early?"

If not for the present company, the Prince would have breathed a sigh of relief.

Charlie wasn't always the most... astute. That particular trait didn't exactly scream "royal heir" material, but it was hers, and it remained, even after decades of training. His sister was simply naive. But, even so... naive did not mean stupid.

Amiel took note of every tiny detail. The intentionally oblivious question. The huge grin, and the slightly-too-cheerful cheer. Those mildly bloodshot eyes of hers. They could all mean only one thing.

There would be no mention of what had transpired yesterday. She was purposefully avoiding it. That was good. Great, even! For once, Charlie would not push.

Relieved, he gave the pair what he hoped was a convincing smile. He would play right along. "Good morning, you two. Couldn't sleep, decided to go down to the lounge. You?"

Charlie's expression was... comical, in all honesty. A traffic light in demon form.

For a split second, there was the barest trace of a frown, before it vanished, brushed away by a bright smile. That  remained, until his question fully sunk in. As soon as it did, the Princess froze, her smile becoming glassy.

His sister blinked, like a doe staring at a rifle's barrel.

Amiel recognized that face. It was the same expression she always wore when desperately trying to think of a way to dodge a question. Usually because the answer would prove embarrassing.

So very, very slowly, the Princess glanced back at Vaggie, as if hoping she’d provide an explanation. The sinner stared back at her, expression at once both nervous and practically screaming "don't expect ME to answer."

The Prince's mouth twitched, smile transitioning into more of a cheeky smirk. For all their mother taught her about the importance of appearances, his sister was as subtle as a kid with their hand stuck up to the elbow in the cookie jar.

"Uhh... you know... stuff." She laughed, turning around, the sound far too airy to be genuine. Her eyes settled on Amiel's shoulder and refused to look any higher.

All in all, supremely convincing. Not. The Prince raised an eyebrow, violet eyes narrowed, smirk stretching wider.

This was easier than yesterday. Lighthearted, meaningless banter. He could do banter. Especially with Charlie.

"Stuff, of course. At five in the morning. And it's a two-woman job, too."

Charlie's grin wobbled. "It's important!"

Amiel hummed and glanced down, languidly examining his gloved hand with the utmost care. "Mhm. Important enough for you to forget about it up until... let's say... ten minutes ago?"

The Princess sighed, two slender fingers tapping at each other as Charlie did everything in her power to finally make proper eye contact while simultaneously looking through Amiel.

"Maybeeeee?"

Amiel giggled, cerise-gloved fingers hovering over his mouth. "I expected as much."

His sister frowned, black lips settling into a pout. "Don't be mean, Ami."

"It's not mean. I'm just right." He paused to adjust his bangs, one strand fighting valiantly to gouge his eye out. "Now, are you going to tell me, or is this a secret mission?"

Charlie huffed through her nose, straightening her lapels. She rocked lightly on her feet. It all contributed to the Princess looking... much more sheepish than usual. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.

"We're... throwing a party. For Pen. It's his first-week anniversary today. I planned for it, but it kinda... got lost in the shuffle?"

Amiel drew in a small breath. Blinked. A faint warmth wriggled in his chest, like a mouthful of warm tea as it slid down the throat.

A party. And it was for Pen.

The Prince smiled, one hundred percent genuine now. He didn't even consider his words before they were leaving his mouth. "Can I help?"

Charlie lit up. The transformation was as instantaneous as it was noticeable. She grinned back at him, her usual radiant self back in full swing. Behind her, half-hidden away by his sister's body, Vaggie also relaxed by another fraction of an inch. Her fists finally unclenched, and her lips, which had been pressed into a thin line, curved almost imperceptibly upwards.

That was all he could take note of, before the Princess of Hell descended on him, crossing the space between them in what felt like a breath.

Charlie's hands found his shoulders, gripping firmly for the briefest of moments, before relaxing. Her hold loosened enough that he could shake her off if he really wanted. It was definitely a conscious effort. His sister was both a hugger and a physical talker.

"You'd be a huge help!" She chirped. "There's a lot to get through, and we barely have enough time!" Charlie paused, and Amiel caught the way she subtly nibbled on the inside of her cheek, just for a split second, quick enough that he almost missed it. "But only if you want to! I don't want you to do any work, if you're not feeling up to it."

That was... considerate. Sweet in that special way only Charlie could manage. She had... obviously given what he'd told her last night some thought.

Amiel hadn't expected that from her. She wasn't good at... being distant or subdued. Unlike him. And yet, here she was, trying to do just that. It was... touching. It made the Prince's heart do a little, joyful leap. He... he hadn't really left the attic with the highest of hopes yesterday. And yet, she’d understood.

Amiel brushed her worry off with a smile and a lighthearted tone. "Char, I like Pen. I'd be happy to help." The Prince paused and shot her a meaningful, cheeky look. "Especially since someone seems to have her hands full."

His sister huffed, rolling her eyes and leaning back, almost sending them both down to the floor. Through her hair, the angel caught a glimpse of Vaggie staring at them both, expression fond-ish.

"You really like rubbing it in, don't you, Ami?"

He giggled in response, echoing her previous tone with surprising accuracy. "Maaaaybe?"

Charlie stuck her tongue out at him—like any true, well-bred royal would have—and let go of his shoulders, nose up in the air, arms crossed in an attempt to look haughty. "Hmpf!"

Amiel couldn't resist another poke. He'd expected the sense of nostalgia he felt from pointless teasing to fade away after a day or two, but it was still there. And... surprisingly comforting.

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Char. Quite literally in this case, since I know you're incapable of baking a cake."

That brought her down a peg. Her lips still settled into another faux pout, even as she grabbed his gloved hand in one of her own and swung it around gently. Charlie gave his fingers a soft squeeze and bumped her hip against... well, she'd probably been aiming for his own hip, but it ended up being more of a nudge against the abdomen. She laughed, pure and musical.

"You're lucky I like you so much, Mimi."

"Don't call me that," he snapped, wings ruffling.

Behind them, Vaggie snorted.

Both siblings turned their eyes on the sinner. Their hair billowed from the movement, matching curtains of inky black and pale blonde.

Vaggie blinked at them, completely caught off-guard by the sudden attention. She stared back, frozen. Then, as if her brain caught up to the moment, she looked away, one hand rushing up to adjust her bangs. They were already perfectly in order.

It was... very cute, for someone who held herself so stiffly all the time. Amiel found it endearing.

"Sorry for interrupting your moment," she mumbled, still not quite looking at either of them.

Charlie rushed to her girlfriend's side, tugging Amiel along. The Prince of Hell let himself be dragged.

"You didn't interrupt anything! Ami's just being difficult on purpose!"

He gave an exaggerated fake cough, hoping to alleviate some of the tension. The Prince wasn't an idiot. He knew exactly who was the source of Vaggie's jumpiness. If they'd been together for as long as his sister claimed, there was no way she was still shy and awkward around Charlie.

"Just a reminder," Amiel singsonged, voice high and musical, "I'm still here, Char."

Both girls laughed, his sister while trying to muster up a fake glare at him—and failing miserably—and Vaggie quietly and with her mouth hidden behind a fist. Amiel smiled too, eyes twinkling.

The tight, clenching feeling in his chest that had lingered ever since he walked out of his room and ran into Charlie... loosened somewhat, as he listened to the two girls laughing. It was not unlike what he felt when talking with Pen. Amiel wasn't quite that at ease, but it was a close enough thing. A sharp contrast to how he'd been feeling only minutes prior. Certainly a surprise, but a welcome one.

Once the laughter died down, Charlie clapped her hands like she was rounding together schoolchildren.

"Ooookay, team! Time to get to work! Task division!"

Vaggie rolled her eye, sighing softly. "Babe, we need to handle two things. Decoration and food. We already have a bar, and we're doing it in the lounge."

Charlie fiddled with her bowtie, chuckling quietly. "Right! Right. You're right, Vaggie."

Amiel cut in, raising one hand. "I'll handle the food. And Charlie, let me guess. You have no decorations ready, right?"

The right sleeve of his sister's dress jacket suddenly became veeeery interesting. So interesting, in fact, that adjusting it required all her concentration. Even so, she graciously managed—without meeting his eyes—to mumble out that "she had ideas."

It was Amiel's turn to laugh, that bell-like chime of his. "You are still SO BAD at organization."

Surprisingly, Vaggie agreed with him, a small, fond smile on her lips. "I did tell you to start working on it a few days ago, Charlie."

The Princess of Hell groaned with all the dignity of—and with a similar sound to—a dying horse. "You're both so meeeean," she whined, though anyone who'd ever met her could tell she wasn't actually upset. That usually involved more... waterworks.

Vaggie patted one of her shoulders gently all the same. "We'll still make it in time, don't worry."

Amiel's own lips quirked upwards into a smile softer than the teasing grins he'd mostly been flashing the girls so far. He couldn't help it, when he watched those two. The sinner was... different around Charlie. Softer. More openly affectionate. It was sweet. Amiel was happy Charlie had someone like that around. Truly.

He moved too. His free hand came to rest on top of their still interlocked ones, sandwiching Charlie's larger one between the two of his. Amiel squeezed softly. Teasing was fun, but... Charlie had made an effort to adjust for his sake. So... he could make an effort for her. He knew how much she liked physical affection.

"Don't worry. We've got plenty of time. Razzle and Dazzle can help. Lulu and Lighty too."

The encouragement did wonders for the Princess. Charlie beamed, red eyes glinting with an inner fire that Amiel was well familiar with. It was that mix of determination and enthusiasm that she'd always had, since they were kids.

Her free hand pumped in the air. "Alright! We got this!"

She turned to Vaggie. "Could you go and wake them all up?"

The sinner nodded. "Sure thing, sweetie." Vaggie stood on her toes and pressed a quick peck onto Charlie's cheek, right over the bright red marks. Then she turned her head to the side and... realized Amiel was still there.

Again, it was adorable how lost she looked. As if kissing his sister in front of him was some great crime. Really, he'd been there when Seviathan dated Charlie. Sometimes he wished he hadn't—that guy had some personality problems—but he'd seen his sister both kissing and being kissed plenty of times.

The Prince tried to spare Vaggie from any further embarrassment. He spoke up, brushing the entire situation away expertly. "If you could, tell Lighty to come down to the kitchen, please. We might need someone to go on a grocery run."

Vaggie, after a moment of staring that ran only slightly too long, gave him a brisk nod and mumbled out a barely audible "Sure" before taking off down the hallway. Her quiet footsteps faded away in a matter of seconds.

And then, the siblings were alone once again. A recipe for disaster, if the last couple of days had been any indication. Another one of those silences settled between them. Not exactly charged, definitely not relaxed. They seemed to follow the two of them whenever they went.

No. Amiel cut himself off before his thoughts could become too negative.

For once, the Prince decided to be cautiously optimistic. They'd been doing fine so far. And besides, he wasn't going to be standing in the hallway for much longer. Amiel had a job to do. The kitchen was calling for him. The beginnings of a menu were already starting to form in his mind.

That's when he noticed it. One brief glance in his sister's direction was all it took.

Charlie looked like she wanted to tell him something. He knew that look on her face, and her posture was making the obvious even more so. Hands interlocked, fingers tapping at her own knuckles, swaying lightly on her feet.

The relaxed-ish atmosphere they'd so tentatively built soured, just slightly. There was a hint of apprehension to it now. Or perhaps that was just the Prince's brain, deciding to be difficult after all.

Amiel really hoped she wouldn't reopen the matter he'd tried so hard to close yesterday night.

And yet, he knew she would. It was simply who Charlie Morningstar was.

Ugh. So much for cautious optimism.

Still, the Prince decided to bite. If there was no way out of the situation, then he might as well speed up the whole process. Like tearing off a Band-Aid. The sooner they got it over with, the sooner he could go bury his nose in pots and forget about it.

"Yeees?" He prompted, giving her an imploring look. He hid the mounting tension he felt behind a relaxed tone. "You look like you want to say something, Char."

The Princess of Hell blinked at him like a startled kitten. Charlie's mouth slipped open the tiniest bit as she drew in a preparatory breath. Then it closed. She pursed her lips, lifting one hand like a teacher about to deliver a lesson. The hand hovered awkwardly for a moment, before it went down to rest loosely at her hip.

Amiel let her work through it. He really didn't want to hear whatever it was his sister had on her mind—he knew it'd just make the already messy thoughts in his head even messier—but he didn't hurry her up.

He did watch her, though, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed in quiet observation. She was gnawing on the inside of her cheek again. A moment later, she cracked her knuckles. The sound rang far too loudly in the silent corridor.

Finally, she looked up, their eyes meeting.

"Ami?" His sister called out to him, drawing nearer to the point they were almost pressed against each other, voice small but steady.

"Yes?"

The Princess of Hell took a deep, slow breath. Then, she smiled. It wobbled near-imperceptibly at the edges. Amiel pretended not to notice.

"I'm glad you're here. Really."

He smiled. Performative, but she needed it, he could tell. The reply came smoothly. "I'm glad I'm here too."

Hadn't they exchanged these exact same words once before? Or at the very least some similar ones? He couldn't remember the details, but the entire situation felt familiar.

Then again, all their talks did seem to blur together into one endless, looping circle.

Why did they always end up in the same exact situation?

Charlie continued, just a bit too eager. "You've been a huge help! I can't thank you enough." Then, at a more normal volume. Hesitant. "Buuut... you're here on vacation. If anything's bothering you... you know you can say so, right?"

Ah. That was... quite vague, which told Amiel one thing. She really was trying to take what he'd told her to heart, in her own way. His sister was far too sweet.

Even so... he couldn't. He absolutely couldn’t take her up on that offer. The risk was too great.

Once again, for his sister's sake, Amiel Morningstar lied. He laughed, trying to get out the most convincing chuckle possible. "Do you really think I'd skip the chance to complain? I'm not saying anything because there's nothing to say."

Charlie saw through him; he could tell. Her brows furrowed, and those huge, crimson eyes that had always seemed too large for her head narrowed, locked onto his face.

The frown was only there for a moment. It disappeared, wiped away by a smile he could tell was about as genuine as his previous laugh.

"That's good to hear!" She bounded over to him. Her voice was slathered in artificial cheer. "Now, are you ready to throw Pen the party of a lifetime?"

Amiel nodded, one hand coming to rest on his cocked hip. "You know I am."

Charlie wrapped him up in a quick hug. Brief, but firm. The Prince barely had time to lift his arms and put them on her back before she pulled away.

"Okay! I'm going down to get the art supplies! I bought new paint, and I can't wait to try it ouuut!"

With that, she was off. Big, hurried steps, carrying her down the hallway. Charlie tossed him one final wave over her shoulder before disappearing from view entirely.

As soon as he was left alone with his thoughts, Amiel frowned.

Weird.

Out of character.

Forced.

He couldn't help but worry. Some part of the Prince really was happy that Charlie has finally understood what he was trying to tell her, and that she was at least trying to take his advice. But... his guts tied themselves into twisted, tangled knots all the same. This was not Charlie. She was obviously trying so hard, but... it wasn't easy for her. The Princess of Hell was a bleeding heart. Caring was in her nature, and Amiel had basically told her—in a roundabout way, yes, but still clearly—not to do that.

"Please, don't waste your time caring about me," only nicely worded.

Goodness, did that make Amiel a bad brother? It felt like it. It was for both their sakes, but... why did it have to feel so much like bile clawing its way up his throat?

Was he supposed to... back down? Ask? Say something? Try to meet her halfway?

No. No, no, no.

That was not an option.

The Prince sighed, heavy and much, much too tired for the early hour.

This was just his mind, second-guessing everything. What he was doing now, what they were doing right now—that was the best course of action, no matter how sour of a taste it was currently leaving on their tongues.

Treating his visit like a vacation. That was what he was supposed to do. Be happy—as much as he could—smile, and get along with everyone.

Then leave and never get himself into a similar mess ever again.

Another weary sigh crawled out of him. He tossed his head back gently and stared at the yellow lights overhead, somewhat muted by the various stains and dirt.

There was no way around it.

Amiel had to up his game. He would not let Charlie torture herself over dancing around him on her tiptoes. The Prince had to try his best to be happy. Find the positives in the situation, rare and far-spaced as they were. If he was convincing enough, Charlie would back off.

He snorted like a lunatic, standing there in the deserted hallway.

When he put it that way, it almost sounded easy. There were many words that fit the situation they found themselves in, but easy? That one couldn't be further from the truth.

Amiel would still do it. What choice did he have?

It was another one of those questions with deceptively simple answers. He had no choice whatsoever. It was his only option. The only option that didn't promise disaster.

Sigh number three made its appearance, accompanied by a drooping of the wings and a matching slump that settled in his shoulders with all the elegance of a hunk of stone.

Slowly, he started making his way towards the stairs, not unlike how prisoners walked to the gallows in movies. He couldn't afford to waste time. The Prince had a loooot of work ahead of him.

...

He could only hope that the end result would manage to make someone happy.

 

 

*******

 

 

Of‐fucking-course. The one time Husk desperately needed something from the kitchen—which everyone but Niffty avoided like the plague in the morning—it was occupied.

At least it wasn't Legs. Small mercies. Husk had little patience in general, less in the wee hours, and less still when Angel was throwing himself at him.

It was Amiel.

As far as the nutcases he was forced to live with went, the Prince was one of the better people to bump into. For one, he usually didn't speak unless prompted, and Husk sure as Hell wasn't one for promptin'. The angel was also a decent cook, which the Hotel sorely needed. Husk liked—had an easier time tolerating—useful people. Life was more bearable when those around him could pull their weight.

And... the kid hated Alastor's guts. He hid it well, yeah, but Husk was a Grade-A gambler. The subtle narrowing of the Prince's eyes, the barely-there, carefully held-back twitches of his mouth. The flicks of his wings. Small things, ones that most wouldn't have noticed, but to Husk, they were obvious.

Pure, searing LOATHING.

As far as he was concerned, that was the only sign of a functioning brain he'd seen from anyone at the Hotel. The only other person to mistrust Alastor was Vaggie, but that girl trusted NO ONE except the Princess, which was its own separate issue. Amiel's wariness wasn't much, but it counted for something.

Still, he couldn't give the kid too much credit on the "not being an absolute pain in the ass" scale. Especially not now, when he'd turned the kitchen into a fucking warzone. Plates, bowls, and even a bit of eggshell decorated the edge of the counter, having probably escaped Amiel's notice. Cabinet doors gaped open, their contents lined up in rows of varying neatness, like fresh recruits in boot camp.

How the Hell was Husk supposed to make coffee in this mess?

Amiel hadn't noticed him yet, busy furiously mixing something—probably cake batter, judging by the ingredients scattered about—with his back turned to the doorway where Husk stood, a fresh bottle of whiskey in one hand.

The sinner briefly considered... just leaving. He seriously wasn't in the mood to even look at anyone else, so early in the morning. But, damn it all, he really needed a coffee. It wasn't often that he felt like that. Husk was many, many things, but a caffeine addict was not one of them. He preferred beverages with more kick to them, early in the morning. But, sometimes, the itch for coffee showed its ugly head around, insistent and unbearable.

This was one of those times.

The cat demon weighed his pros and cons with all the grave seriousness of a desperate man considering where to invest his last dollar. What was it he wanted more? Caffeine, or silence?

In the end, the need for a drink won out. Of course. It was funny, in a deeply unfunny, morbid sort of way. That was practically his fucking life's story.

He could stomach a single greeting in exchange for coffee, then, he supposed.

Husk coughed into a fist, making no move to step fully inside. Amiel heard him immediately, of course. He was a jumpy kid.

The Prince's wings gave an alarmed little flap as he whipped around, bowl and whisk still in hand. He'd traded the usual white and gold jacket for an equally white apron. The cerise vest and matching gloves were still on, though. Amiel apparently had a preference for cooking in formalwear, for whatever reason.

He fixed Husk with those eerie violet eyes. Kid had a way of staring right through a person's soul. Even the old demon found it somewhat unsettling. Thankfully, the tension only lasted a moment before the angel relaxed, wings folding back in, resting snugly against his back.

The Prince offered a small, faint smile. "Oh. Hello, Husk. You're up early."

The bartender gave a noncommittal grunt in response. He made no attempt to return the gesture.

"Yeah. Mornin'."

Silence settled in the air between them as the seconds stretched on, thick and stale, like cigarette smoke in a bar with no windows. Husk let it linger as he shambled towards the coffee maker nestled in the corner of the kitchen aisle. Lingering silences were where budding conversations went to die, and that suited him just fine.

The clanking of a whisk against the bowl started up again, though Husk could feel Amiel's eyes trailing him as he moved. He paid it no mind. Ignored the Prince outright, actually. Coffee was why he came to the kitchen, and as soon as he had it, he'd be out of the room and back behind the bar.

The appliance was, shockingly, not in the best shape. Mister Great and Powerful Radio Demon, despite his "passion for the culinary arts," hadn't bothered freshening up the kitchen. The old piece of junk fit in great with the rest of the Hotel's aesthetic. A bit rusty, a bit wobbly, but it worked, if you handled it properly and weren't too picky about the results. Husk wasn't going to ask for much more than that.

Now, all the old gambler needed was to roll the dice. If any scrap of his bygone luck remained, everything he needed would be there. He'd have no need to waste time wandering, or worse yet, talking.

Fate, as if it hadn't screwed him over enough during his lifetime, gingerly told him to go fuck himself.

The area around the coffee maker may as well have been a white marble wasteland. No handy container of water, no coffee nice and visible nearby. Nothing. Just a gaping, taunting emptiness.

Goodie.

Husk let out a puff of air through his nose, fangs gritted. He would have to stomach a bit more than a single greeting for a cup of coffee, after all.

At least it wasn't Angel in the kitchen with him, he told himself as he spun around.

Amiel was still looking at him out of the corner of an eye, doing an honestly great job of making his stare subtle. The kid was good at not drawing attention to himself.

Husk scanned the mess that dominated the rest of the kitchen aisle with something between disdain and acceptance of a miserable fate. His eyesight was sharp, but no matter where he looked, coffee was nowhere to be seen.

Fucking wonderful. He'd have to ask for help.

The demon wandered over to Amiel, hands in his pants pockets. He came to a stop a few paces away from where the Prince stood, bowl out of his arms and by his side, eyes searching for something among the piles of ingredients.

Husk's tail flicked idly behind him. "You wouldn't happen to know where our coffee ended up, kid?"

Amiel's wings ruffled once, before he turned to face Husk fully. "Coffee? Hmm..." A single, gloved finger tapped against his chin. "I added a bit to the cookies, for flavor. It's probably somewhere..." He trailed off, giving the unholy mess another once-over.

"Oh! There it is!" The Prince bounded over to the spot he'd stashed the coffee tin, practically buried between two bags of sugar, and plucked it out triumphantly, before making his way back to Husk. There was something in the way he held it, like a kid showing off their shitty drawing, that someone less grouchy than the sinner would have probably found... cute.

"Here you go!"

Husk didn't do cute. He nodded briskly and simply took the offered tin.

"Thanks."

There was no need for any more talking after that. He could thankfully find the sink on his own, so Amiel's assistance was no longer needed.

Two minutes later and after far too much fiddling, when the coffee maker mercifully decided to end Husk's torment and start working, the Prince chimed in again. "Would you like anything in particular to go with that coffee?"

"Huh?" Husk grunted, tossing an over the shoulder glance the angel's way.

Amiel, sprinkling cocoa powder into the batter with more care than some people showed when disarming bombs, gave him a sidelong look that would have made any judgmental churchgoer proud. He stared at Husk as though he were both painfully dumb, and blissfully unaware of the fact. And yet, his eyes twinkled with the barest trace of amusement.

"I'm already making about ten different things here. Breakfast will be all sweets. Anything in particular you're craving? As long as it's not too complicated, I can probably manage it."

Ten desserts for eleven people? Four of whom were plushies? And he was taking requests on top of that?

Fucking Hell. The Prince was an overachiever if Husk had ever seen one.

Admittedly, he did seem the type. Quiet, withdrawn, but with some inner fire pushing him to take things too far. Maybe it ran in the family? The Princess usually brimmed with enthusiasm too, even if she wasted it on childish delusions.

It didn't really matter, in the end. Free food was free food.

"You any good at making donuts? Plain ones, none of that chocolate-filled shit."

Amiel chuckled to himself, lips dancing. "Very adventurous. Very flavorful. But yes, I can, believe it or not, make plain donuts. You're lucky. Batter for them is ready to go." He pointed to a far-off corner, where yet another covered bowl rested.

Husk snorted, rolling his eyes. Kid was slightly less of an annoyance than he'd first thought he'd be, even when he was sassing him. "You always this mouthy in the morning?"

"Only when Charlie has me conjuring a banquet out of thin air," he deadpanned.

The coffee maker behind Husk dinged, an off-key, whiny noise. "Mugs are to your left," Amiel supplied helpfully. "I didn't move those anywhere."

Husk didn't bother answering as he turned his back fully on the angel, grabbing a mug at random and pouring the dark, piping hot liquid into it. Only about halfway, though. A little less than that, even. He topped it up with a very generous serving of whiskey, enough of it that his "coffee" sloshing over the porcelain edge became a real danger.

The bartender turned back around just in time to see Amiel giving him a look. Somewhere between concern and disgust.

"Do... people on Earth actually drink coffee like that?"

"Some of us do."

The Prince smirked faintly. "How many is some?"

Husk's wings twitched. "Enough."

Amiel giggled daintily into a glove. "Don't drink it just yet. I'll get started on the donuts. You just make yourself comfortable at the table."

The sinner, surprisingly, made no move to leave, despite having no business in the kitchen anymore. If Amiel was offering, he could wait for the first batch. Nothing more to it.

The minutes trickled on in a silence that was less oppressive than Husk usually preferred. Seated on one of those uncomfortable, stiff chairs, he was content to watch the Prince buzz around the kitchen. If the angel wanted help, he didn't ask for it, and Husk wasn't going to offer. Every so often, he took a small sip of his coffee-flavored whiskey, savoring the all-too-familiar burn of alcohol sliding down his throat. Nostalgic, in the sourest way possible.

Eventually, a plate of golden brown donuts was set down in front of him, coupled with a smile so bright, it would have scored the Prince plenty of tips back on Earth.

"Ta-da! A culinary masterpiece, brought to you by Hell's very own royalty." He curtsied mockingly, one hand pinching the end of his apron like a skirt. "Hold your applause, please."

The only acknowledgment Husk offered was a small snort of breath through his nose. The bartender wasn't exactly one for laughing. He still reached for a donut, though.

Amiel puffed out his cheeks. "I've changed my mind. Do clap. At least once."

The demon rolled his eyes at the Prince's antics. Amiel was... unusually chipper this morning. "Not happening."

Husk took a bite. And... shit. The kid wasn't messing around. He could make donuts. They were no masterpieces by any means, but to someone like Husk, who could turn anything into charcoal by so much as stepping inside a kitchen, they might as well have been.

"Do you like them?"

He looked up, only to see Amiel eyeing him intently. He should've figured the Prince would be weak for compliments. Usually, that would have mattered exactly not one fucking bit, but Amiel had gone out of his way to feed him. He could spare a few words.

"'S good, kid. You're probably the best chef this hellhole's seen yet."

The angel beamed, though he quickly schooled his expression back towards something less... childishly proud.

"Thank you!"

With that, he sat down himself, in a chair nearest to Husk. The bartender didn't mind quite as much as he thought he would. Must have been the coffee doing its work. Or the donuts.

Amiel reached for one himself before giving the corner of it a dainty nibble. He chewed thoughtfully for a second, eyes staring at the donut with comical intensity, before swallowing.

"They could have done with some chocolate glaze on top, at least," he mumbled.

"Hah! Not everything needs to be a sugary nightmare, kid."

Amiel rolled his eyes. "Excuse me for wanting to engage my taste buds with something, Husk."

Husk gave another one of those grunty almost-laughs. Yeah. He didn't hate the present company as much as he thought he would.

He even found himself venturing a question, since he was curious about that.

"So... what's with the whole... this?" He gestured vaguely with his free hand at the cakes and pastries that littered the room in various stages of completeness.

Amiel lit up, just a little. "It's for Pen. Charlie wanted to throw him a little party, since it's apparently his first week here."

Husk frowned. The snake guy. The yappy one, who never knew when to shut up, and had the screechiest voice Husk had ever heard. Wonderful. He had no idea what the kid found appealing in that buffoon.

Amiel noticed his expression. He frowned too, though his landed closer to concerned, rather than annoyed.

"You'll come, right?"

Damn. That voice. Not begging, not pleading, and yet tugging at the heartstrings. Not that Husk had any heartstrings left to tug at. Not really.

He snorted dismissively. "I live here now. Can't exactly say no."

Shit. That had come out more bitter than he'd intended. The words not quite growled out, but not that far off either.

The Prince narrowed his eyes, worry and recognition both evident in them. "If... you don't want to come... maybe I can work the front desk this morning? I don't know how to mix drinks, but you could leave... instructions or something? You can go out if you don't want to be there."

Oh, fuck him twice over. The kid only looked reasonable. Behind it all, he was as stupidly nice as his older sister.

Husk laughed. Actually laughed. Amiel looked mildly miffed about it.

"Kid, if you think you can pick up bartendin' from a book, you're dumber than you look."

Another pout, though it was slower to leave the Prince's face, lingering for a couple of moments.

"I was just trying to be nice."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks for offerin'."

Amiel said nothing. Another silence settled between them, less cozy than the previous one, less cold than Husk's usual.

The angel broke it. "Umm... could I ask you for a bit of advice, Husk?"

Husk huffed around the rim of his almost empty mug. It had disappeared quickly. Whiskey/coffee and donuts were a nice mix.

"Shoot."

Amiel leaned one elbow on the table. "I tried to cast a wide net, but... do you maybe know what sort of sweet stuff the others like to eat? I mostly guessed, but it's not too late to whip something extra up."

Fuck, this kid was a people-pleaser. Husk still obliged him.

"Don't strain yourself over it. Niff and I ain't picky. And Alastor... he ain't into sweet stuff either way. Hates it."

Amiel's lips fucking twitched. Husk saw it. The hint of a smile, smothered as quickly as it appeared.

Husk felt his own lips inching upwards for the first time that day. He swore the Prince's violet eyes glinted when he saw that.

"Alastor doesn't eat sweets? But... everything I made is a dessert food."

"You win some, you lose some."

There it was again. That smile. Tiny, still well-hidden. To anyone not in on the conversation, it would have looked completely ordinary.

Husk saw it for what it was. Pleased, and just a bit smug.

Heh. Maybe the kid was less of a bad fit for Hell than he'd thought. Still hopelessly out of his depth, but less than the demon had thought at first glance.

The bartender chugged the last of his drink, before getting up. The angel blinked up at him.

"Thanks for the food, kid. I'll be at the bar if you need me."

Amiel smiled, though this one was warmer. No malice in it. He stood up too, glancing over his shoulder at the mess that was the kitchen. "Bye, Husk. Thanks for the company."

Husk... did something uncharacteristically charitable for him. He leaned in and gave the Prince's shoulder a brief pat.

"You got a decent head on your shoulders."

Amiel said nothing, but they understood each other perfectly. His smile grew a bit wider as he made way for the aisle, steps measured, eyes on the bartender.

Husk broke the eye contact after a second and turned around, ready to leave. The bar was waiting for him. As was a party he'd inevitably have to play staff for. Loud, crowded, and annoying. Why, he could just choke on the enthusiasm.

Still, in the present moment, he felt slightly less miserable than usual. Husk blamed the donuts for that.

 

 

*******

 

 

So far, so good. More or less. It had seemed like he'd be cutting it close for a while there, but the Prince had managed.

The food was ready to go. All of it. He'd prepared enough to satisfy the sweet tooth of every single person at the Hotel for days. If they paced themselves—and if Amiel figured out how to stuff the inevitable mountain of party leftovers into the fridge—the sweets would probably last longer than the remainder of his visit.

In truth, he'd gone overboard to a terrifying degree.

And yet... he couldn't help but feel just a teeny, tiny bit proud of himself.

The Prince wasn't the best at baking, and he'd had his fair share of kitchen accidents over the years, but this time he'd managed everything remarkably well. Nothing burnt, nothing goopy, nothing too hard or inexplicably crunchy. Unless he'd done something truly idiotic, like used salt instead of sugar—and he did not; Amiel had double-checked—then it was safe to say that his part to play in organizing a party for Pen was a success.

Pen. It all came back to him, didn't it?

He was the reason why Amiel tried so hard. Even now, the Prince was thinking of him. Amiel's eyes were firmly locked onto a vanilla cake he'd drowned in frosting and decorated with chocolate-covered cherries, trying to figure out if he'd made the entire thing too symmetrical, yet it was Pentious who lingered in his mind.

It was... a little silly, yes, but the angel couldn't suppress the giddiness he felt as he imagined the inventor's dopey, all-fangs grin. He could picture it clearly, exactly like the ones he'd given the Prince last morning, while they were making breakfast. Pentious clung to an—admittedly terrible—supervillain act, but he was a softie under it. He liked boisterously claiming that he was hungry for recognition, but... Amiel had a sneaking suspicion that the word he truly wanted to use was attention.

The Prince's lips curved into a small but genuine smile. He liked seeing his friend—goodness, that was still a strange thing to say, after only a couple of days—happy.

And, stranger still, the angel felt... fine. Not exactly brimming with happiness, but still quietly content.

Even the unexpected company had been surprisingly pleasant.

Husk' unannounced visit to the kitchen had been fun. The cat demon ended up being less grouchy than Amiel had first pegged him for. Not by a lot, but still a noticeable margin. They'd had a nice, subdued chat. Nothing groundbreaking, but enjoyable all the same.

And... there was the little secret that the bartender had shared with him. The Prince knew it was wrong. It was mean, and not something Charlie would have approved of, but... the little tidbit of info about Alastor... it made Amiel smile too, though for an entirely different reason.

The Radio Demon could use a bit of mild discomfort in his life, in the Prince's humble opinion. Mild discomfort was a great cure for overinflated egos, and Alastor had the worst case of it that Amiel had ever seen. It would do him good, and if the Prince was the one to administer the medicine... well, he'd do his duty with no small amount of satisfaction. If Alastor could push everybody's buttons for the sake of personal entertainment, couldn't Amiel? Just a little?

As if trying to warn him against being too mean, the Prince's back ached. Funny. The comedic timing of "instant karma," as the humans called it, was very much not appreciated.

Amiel's posture while baking... left much to be desired. All the awkward bending and hunching, the occasional slouch, and the night he'd spent tossing and turning in bed had taken their toll. It wasn't an unbearable pain, but it was certainly annoying.

The angel had no time to worry about it, however. He had plenty of other, more pressing issues to address.

Issue number one being... getting all the food to the lounge. Carrying it by hand would take far too long, especially since all four of their bodyguards were currently hanging up banners and other decorations. There were too many doors to open, corners to turn, and things to carry.

Magic was... also an option, certainly. Levitation was hardly a complicated spell, but... Amiel was easily startled. If that happened... it would not end well. Not for him, not for the person doing the startling, and most definitely not for the desserts. He didn't want to risk his hard work ending up splattered on the floor because of one accident.

Failing always did leave him feeling like a gaping hole had sprouted in his stomach.

Perhaps a waiter's cart, then? They were at a hotel. There had to be at least one lying around somewhere.

The Prince sighed softly, warm breath ghosting over his own lips.

Even if there was a service cart tucked away in some corner of the Hotel, Amiel had no idea where to find it. He could stumble his way to the lounge and lobby, or the elevators, or his own room, but that was about it. The rest of the Hotel was uncharted territory.

He groaned. The lounge it was, then. He'd have to ask Charlie for help.

Amiel... wasn't too crazy about that. He... wasn't sure how to go about talking to her. The Prince needed more time to process the changes in her behavior, and adapt accordingly.

It really was stupid. She was doing the closest thing to what he'd asked her to as he could expect from her, and he was completely lost.

There was a knock at the kitchen door. Quiet to the point he'd barely caught it. That was odd. From what he'd gathered, most people who lived at the Hazbin Hotel barely bothered to knock at all. Much less when entering a communal space.

"Hm?"

The door opened slowly.

Amiel almost let out a sigh of relief. Fate had seen it fit to send him an angel. Or rather, a sinner. And a well-equipped one at that.

Vaggie came in, pushing a waiter's cart in front of her. She glanced at him for a second, gave him a brief wave and what could only be described as an attempt at a smile, before locking her eyes firmly onto the cart again.

Logically, Amiel knew the situation was neither her nor his fault. And yet, guilt still nipped at him, paired with frustration he couldn't stop from bubbling to the surface. Really, was Charlie blind? Surely she could see that her girlfriend was uncomfortable around him.

The angel really hoped he wouldn't need to spell it out to his sister.

He risked a quick look in the sinner's direction. Vaggie had let go of the cart and was now taking in the kitchen, its every available surface holding some sort of dessert. Amiel took note of the way her eye widened, and the slight parting of her mouth.

She eventually met his eyes, and didn't look away. "Wow. That's... a lot."

Amiel bit his lip, though it was just a gentle nibble. "I might have gone a bit overboard. Sorry about that."

"No, no! It's... really impressive."

The Prince felt a faint heat crawl up his cheeks. He brushed the compliment off, though he felt relieved that Vaggie was speaking to him, even if it was a bit awkward still. "Most of this stuff is pretty simple to make. It's really not that big of a deal."

Vaggie snorted, offering another shaky smile. "I once messed up frying an egg."

Amiel blinked, giving her the flattest stare imaginable. "How."

She looked away, gaze locked onto the floor. "It started smoking. I panicked, and... tried to flip it."

He didn't want to laugh. Really, he didn't, but it was impossible to hold back. At least he managed to muffle it somewhat, slapping one gloved hand across his mouth. Thankfully, his sister's partner didn't seem insulted.

"If it's any consolation, Charlie tried to flip spaghetti when we were kids. I think that makes you soulmates."

It was Vaggie who laughed this time, though it was more subdued. "Charlie... never told me that."

Amiel rolled his eyes at her. "Would you have told anyone that?"

The remark won him another quiet chuckle. "Fair point."

From there, a silence settled over the kitchen. It was... calm. Not unpleasant. Vaggie stayed quiet, and so did Amiel. Neither of them seemed to be particularly willing to break it.

Eventually, though, Vaggie did clear her throat. "Uhh... by the way, Charlie sent me to help you with the food. I thought I'd grab one of those." She gestured towards the cart with one hand. "Just in case."

Amiel smiled. "Think we'll need another one?"

"I can carry a few things, if you need me to. It's not a problem."

The Prince waved a hand dismissively. "No need. We'll make it fit."

Vaggie adjusted her bangs, gaze flicking between Amiel, the cart, and the plethora of food lying around. "Better get started, then."

So, for the following couple of minutes, they did just that. The two of them moved desserts, shifted plates aside, nudged, renudged, and tested the limits of how much weight the poor cart could bear.

Somehow, though, they managed. Everything was in place, and hopefully in no danger of sliding right off during transit.

Amiel exhaled, wiping at his forehead, though it was mostly for show. "We survived."

"We were cutting it kinda close at one point."

The angel giggled, swooning theatrically. "Oh, the tragedy. Perished in the kitchen. Slain by frosting's hand."

Vaggie laughed quietly again. She was... slowly growing less stiff, minute by minute. Still guarded, but Amiel was beginning to think that it was simply how she was, more so than a him thing.

"Sooo," the Prince began. "I drive, and you handle the doors, check the corners, and stay close enough to grab whatever decides to fall off?"

She nodded, the ribbon in her hair bouncing lightly. The sinner marched towards the door, steps perfectly measured.

Amiel, meanwhile, moved to stand before the service cart. It was a bit lower than he'd have liked, even with his... slightly lacking stature. The angel needed to bend down a little in order to push it properly.

He did, and—ouch. The pain was... still not bad, but it did catch him off guard, to the point he hissed through his teeth. The area of his back from which the wings sprouted stung.

Vaggie's head snapped up, concerned. "Are you okay?" She asked, voice just a little bit too loud.

Amiel nodded, brushing the pain off. He was okay; he'd just... forgotten about the pain while working. "Yeah, yeah. Just... back pain. Bad posture while cooking. I'll live."

The sinner nodded.

Still, the Prince needed to do something about it. Properly tending to it would be a waste of Holy Light—and he was not about to use it in broad daylight—but a simple stretch would probably at least take the edge off.

"Actually, could you give me a minute? I just need to..." He trailed off, not really waiting for an answer. The angel's arms went above his head, one holding the wrist of the other. Amiel stood on his tiptoes, straightening out. His wings flared on instinct, extending as far as they could go.

Vaggie inhaled sharply, and Amiel's heart skipped a beat. His wings drew in immediately, so suddenly they practically folded one over the other as he teetered, scrambling to stay upright.

Stupid!

There was a reason his sister's girlfriend was so uneasy around him. A very valid reason. Charlie, though she'd omitted some extremely important details from the story, had told him a little over three years ago how she'd rescued an injured sinner after an extermination.

If he'd felt guilty before, now Amiel felt practically tormented. Like a serial killer haunted by his past victims.

Both of his hands went up placatingly, palms plainly visible and turned towards Vaggie. Her one eye remained firmly locked onto what few feathers poked into view from behind his back, before she finally forced herself to meet his gaze.

He kept his voice from wobbling only by sheer will. The Prince succeeded, though it didn't make the words that tumbled out any less jumbled. "I'm so sorry about that! I didn't think. That was so insensitive of me!"

She shook her head vehemently, bangs swaying and slapping against her forehead. "No, no! It's not your fault. I just..." Vaggie trailed off, looking away, stare trained on some indescript spot on the kitchen counter.

Amiel's bottom lip found itself in between his teeth. He bit down, hard.

She felt stupid now. He could tell. The angel felt like an idiot too, and unlike her, he actually deserved it.

Goodness, he was panicking on top of everything, too. His heart rate was spiking, the beating in his chest starting to become uncomfortable.

Should he say something? Stay quiet? Pretend nothing had happened?

Ugh, he had no idea what to do, and he had to decide, immediately.

The Prince drew in a deep breath, in through the nose, out through his mouth. His eyes remained firmly locked onto the cart in front of him, as if that one particular muffin would tell him how to get out of the hole he'd dug himself into.

"I... I can stay a bit further away, if it'd make you comfortable." He pried his eyes away from the desserts and cast a look in her direction. "For as long as I'm here."

She met his eyes, though the angel could tell Vaggie was looking through him. "N-no. There's—you don't need to do that. I'm fine. Really. It was just..." Again, the sinner cut herself off, letting the silence settle. This time, it was most definitely not a comfortable one.

Amiel, the idiot he was, insisted. "I understand. Really, I do. Charlie... she never said much, but I understand. I know... what you've been through. And I know who's responsible, too. I get it. Truly."

For a moment, they looked at each other. Really looked at each other, not through. Then Vaggie looked away, adjusting one of her fingerless gloves.

"I promise it's fine. I'll be fine."

It sounded to Amiel's ears as unconvincing as it must have felt to Vaggie. But the Prince couldn't insist for a third time. He'd already messed up enough.

He simply nodded, tossing a tiny, whispered "Okay" in the sinner's direction.

Vaggie opened the door silently. Amiel pushed the cart across the kitchen, past Vaggie and into the hallway. She closed the door behind him, before slipping past him and moving on ahead to the next door.

The Prince kept his wings as tight to his body as he physically could, determined not to brush even a single feather against his sister's partner.

There was no need to make a disaster into an even bigger one.

...

So much for making an effort to appear happy. It'd been only hours since he'd promised himself to do so, and already, he had messed up horribly.

The day was shaping up to be a wonderful one.

 

Notes:

I know I said we'd cover around half of episode 3, but the angst grew legs and ran away from me. It was simply too much.

Next chapter (which I won't even attempt to predict the post date for) will definitely take us there, so just be patient. Big things are coming. (Some parts of it are also written, because this chapter almost killed me via writer's block and perfectionism)

I know this chapter may seem disappointing, being mostly consequences and setup, but I hope you found some enjoyment in it regardless. As always, kudos, bookmarks and comments are truly appreciated, but I'm just happy you've made it this far, through all the hiatuses and the endless angst.

Love you all, Timi <3

Chapter 10: Closeness and Distance

Notes:

What's this? It can't be?! A "God Help the Morningstars" update? With no unreasonable hiatus?!

Miracles do happen, folks. Sinners can be redeemed, people can change, and Timi can update on time-ish!

Enjoy!

Fanart:

https://twitter.com/NaroJunipo/status/1844118619397275956?t=g0j3oiVCcGKEdYhBmBsrFg&s=19

https://x.com/Optimism_Timi/status/1941414542292156912

The day was shaping up to be less of a disaster than it could be, and that was... something?

As far as self-reassurances and optimism went, what his brain had just come up with was downright pathetic. Unfortunately, it was also just about the best Amiel could manage.

The Prince was on edge. His bottom lip was, as usual, nestled between his teeth. He gave it a gentle nibble, just enough to ground himself.

Heh. Despite everything, he almost chuckled. Funny choice of words, considering his current predicament.

Amiel was perched rather precariously on a ladder—the angel was definitely not going to fly, not in the present company—fighting a losing battle against some streamers Charlie insisted would look amazing on the support beams. He was doing his best to hang them all evenly—crooked decorations just had a way of driving him crazy—but the Prince's heart simply wasn't in it. His mind was busy chewing over much more important issues.

His sister still hadn't asked anything, despite the silent, fidgety way Vaggie and he had crept into the lounge. Vaggie, similarly, hadn't said anything. He was sure of it. The angel had cast plenty of subtle glances in the girls' direction, watching for any signs. He saw none.

Amiel... he was quite certain Vaggie would remain quiet. She didn't seem the type to share her feelings, though he couldn't be completely sure. He barely knew her, after all. The Prince was not Charlie.

Wasn't that a common issue in his life?

Ugh! Again with the underhanded jabs at his own expense. His brain was truly merciless.

He sighed, just quiet enough to remain unheard.

Fuck, he hated it. So, so much. The anxiety that had slithered its way through his insides and now burrowed in there, like some parasite. The Prince was tired of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios.

It wasn't fair.

They'd been doing... okay! Not perfect, but Vaggie and he had actually talked. Properly. She'd laughed a few times. He'd laughed too. They were making progress!

And then his wings ruined it.

It was hardly the first thing in the Prince's life to fall prey to them, but that fact didn't make it hurt any less.

His stomach twisted itself into knots from guilt. The angel wasn't even sure what he was feeling guilty about. His lack of awareness? His biology? Existing?

Amiel bit back another sigh. He really needed to drop the subject and focus on just making it through the next couple of hours. Though he wanted nothing more than to crawl back to his temporary room and bury his face in a pillow, that simply wasn't an option. Neither was kicking himself while he was down.

He had to stay. Had to smile, had to be cheerful and pass off as happy and content.

Easy as pie. Not.

He would still do it. He had to.

The angel clambered down the ladder slowly, wings tightly pressed to his back. He'd kept them like that ever since the... "incident." Just to be safe. He was really not looking to have a repeat performance on his hands.

Amiel glanced around the room, taking everything in with a critical eye. It was... casual was perhaps the most charitable adjective?

The party supplies had done their best, but there was simply no tearing your eyes away from Charlie's own handiwork. The banner was written in shaky letters, like a child's attempt at neat handwriting. The accompanying doodles were... the less said about them, the better.

Amiel truly did not enjoy insulting his sister's passions, even when it was in the privacy of his own thoughts. But... there was just no way around it. The Princess had a unique gift to fashion any artistic expression, done through any medium, into a potent weapon against good taste.

It was a tragedy framed as a comedy.

His own handiwork, the pile of desserts, sat in the middle of the lounge, still on the cart. Razzle was currently busy defending it from Lulu, who seemed intent on taste-testing everything. Amiel was too far away to hear, but he could tell by their expressions that the little goat was giving his bodyguard quite the verbal lashing. Razzle and Dazzle spoke in this odd mix of growls, hisses, and bleats. Judging by the way Lulu's ears were drooping, Razzle was probably hissing at him.

Amiel chose not to interrupt. His eyes continued to roam the lounge, searching. The Prince was looking for some uneven piece of decoration, preferably in a faraway corner. Some shadowy place to wait out the preparation time and get some privacy for himself. A chance to slip away without actually slipping away, so he could steel himself for the party ahead.

Unfortunately... as horrible as she was with making decorations, Charlie apparently had a knack for setting them up, and guiding said efforts. No bow was askew, no streamer drooping, no banner in danger of detaching. Everything looked to be in perfect order. Even the drinks, which Vaggie had fetched from Husk's bar and laid onto a table, were neatly ordered.

In the middle of one last, desperate sweeping glance across the room, the angel made a horrible mistake. His eyes strayed too close to where the girls were standing, the spot he'd consciously been avoiding. He caught Charlie's eye, and their gazes locked together.

Everything seemed to play in slow motion from there. The Prince could clearly note every little change, even from across the room.

The initial recognition. The realization clicking. The spark in his sister's eyes, as they all but lit up. The way she flashed him a brilliant grin from the other side of the lounge. And finally, the moment she lifted one pale hand and waved him over.

Amiel gulped. Nipped briefly at the left corner of his bottom lip, before forcing himself to return a smile to his sister. It wobbled; he could feel it, though they were hopefully far enough apart that she wouldn't notice.

He had no choice but to go.

So he did. With the air of someone moving to stand before a firing squad, Amiel padded over to the two girls, steps light on the creaky floorboards.

The angel came to a stop a few feet away from the pair and glanced at them briefly.

Charlie seemed happy with herself, judging by her beaming smile, and the light that danced in her eyes. Vaggie... smiled at him too, and she seemed to be doing better, but she had that air about her. A very familiar one, to the Prince. The air of someone deep in unpleasant thoughts and trying not to appear so.

Amiel looked away, adjusting a glove. An awkward silence lingered in the air. It scraped against the Prince's brain like a shard of glass.

Why was Charlie not saying anything? Was she going to say something? Or was she waiting for him to say something? Did... did Vaggie finally tell her? Had she figured out something was wrong herself?

His mouth was starting to feel dry. The urge to bite down on his lip gnawed at him.

Amiel willed himself to speak up first, anything to get away from the awkwardness.

He tried his best to smile and sound upbeat. "Hi! The streamers are up. Is there anything else you need me to do?"

Charlie clapped her hands like an overexcited child. "Nope! Everything's peeeeerfect! Oh, Pen's going to love this!"

The snake demon didn't really strike Amiel as a surprise party person. Or a party person, for that matter. But, Pen did like attention. He'd probably enjoy himself by virtue of that alone.

Amiel smiled. "I'm sure he will."

"Now all we need areeee... the guests!"

The Princess turned to her girlfriend, looking at her expectantly. "Vaggie, could you go get Husk and Niffty?"

The sinner nodded, mumbled a brief "Mhm," and immediately slinked away from them and through the double doors. Charlie watched her go, and then promptly set her eyes on Amiel instead. He couldn't be sure, but the Prince swore he saw the briefest of twitches in her smile, before she smoothed it over.

"I'm going to get Angel and Alastor. I was wondering if you'd like to go bring Pen?"

Amiel blinked at her, surprised and relieved at once. Was that all she'd wanted?

He played it cool. The angel tilted his head slightly. "Me? It's a party you planned, Char. I thought you'd want to do the honors."

The Princess flicked her wrist dismissively. "You did as much work as I did! More, even! And you and Pen get along the best, Ami. He really likes you!"

Ah. That was... she'd noticed? Goodness, they really had made it obvious, hadn't they? His gaze slowly drifted down towards the carpet.

Then, out of nowhere, Charlie laughed. Probably at him. Those high-pitched giggles of hers rang out through the mostly empty lounge.

"You're so cute when you're embarrassed, Ami!"

The Prince pouted, lips pursing before he could even think of stopping them. "I'm not embarrassed," he said, just a bit too loudly, his wings flicking.

Charlie leaned forward until they were properly face-to-face. "And you shouldn't be! I'm glad you two are friends." And she really was glad. The smile, the way she was looking at him could have been nothing but genuine. "Noooow, are you going to go get your friend?"

Amiel nodded, and despite himself, his lips did twitch into a tiny, faint smile. "Yes. I'll do it."

Charlie threw her arms around him in a quick hug. No sign, no warning. One moment she was in front of him; the next she was on him.

The angel stood perfectly still for half a second, before patting her back lightly. Then... he leaned into his sister. Completely.

Amiel hated how eagerly he did so, but... the stress he'd been feeling for hours now had taken a bit of a toll. He hadn't even fully noticed how heavily it weighed on him, until he was caught in his sister's hug.

It felt nice to melt into an embrace. The hug... reminded him of childhood. They'd both grown, but their height difference remained similar. His head still fit just right against her shoulder, and the fabric of her suit was warm and soft against his cheek. One of Charlie's own cheeks settled gently on the crown of his head.

They stayed like that for a couple of seconds, neither sibling moving. Just... soaking up each other's presence. Eventually, it was Amiel who had to pull back, and only after he realized how long the hug was starting to stretch on.

Charlie stepped back without a word as soon as she felt him squirming, though her smile seemed to be just a bit brighter than when they'd started the conversation.

The Princess took a step back, heels clacking against the floor, though the sound was muffled by the stained carpet.

"Okay then!" One of her arms went up, fist pumped triumphantly. "Off I go to get this party started," she yelled dramatically, like a knight setting out for a quest. Really, she was, despite being older, still such a child.

Charlie's eyes met his own once more. Her smile grew softer, though she didn't say anything. The Princess tossed him one more casual wave, before making way for the other set of doors and disappearing.

Amiel stood still for a moment, feeling the echoing touch of the hug slowly fade. It didn't feel cold, exactly, but... he already missed it. More than he'd have thought he would. It was... odd. Must have been all the morning's events, making him sentimental.

Childhood had been... not perfect, but... it had been simpler.

No. He had no time for bittersweet reminiscing! The Prince's wings flapped once, like a dog shaking off excess water after a bath.

All that mattered right now was that his mind felt calmer. Not calm calm, but certainly less volatile. He probably—no, definitely—had Charlie's surprise hug to thank for that.

Whatever the cause, Amiel wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had work to do, and... this time, he didn't dread it. Not if it involved Pen. Pen he could handle. The snake demon didn't ask painful questions, or poke at old scars that Amiel did his best to keep out of sight. Pen was simply there, nice and understanding and sweet.

The angel took a deep breath, adjusted the lapels of his jacket, and made way for the inventor's room. A faint but persistent warmth settled behind his ribs. He was... somewhat looking forward to getting there.

 

*******

 

Bah! Honestly, the Hotel was impossible to work at! Someone was banging on the door of his room like an absolute lunatic! And just as he was riding a fresh wave of inspiration! He hadn't been blessed with such a clear vision of a project in weeks! Granted, this current one was already in the construction stage, but the images in his mind were so vivid, they were practically begging to be put on paper. Pentious simply had to make some last-minute adjustments!

The inventor could see it. His newest weapon, "The Skinflayer 11000," he'd call it, would be one of his greatest triumphs. He could already feel the adoration of the masses! The praise demonkind would shower him with, once he unveiled it!

Another knock came from behind him. Quiet by all standards except his own. To Pentious, it might as well have been a sledgehammer banging around in his skull. He was trying to make a masterpiece here, for goodness' sake!

Knock number three shattered those hopes with cold, extreme prejudice.

His masterpiece would have to wait until the issue was dealt with, apparently.

Pentious turned sharply to one of his Egg Bois, the daft creature doing... whatever passed for helping in their scrambled brains. This particular one was wrestling with a wrench that was around his size and which Pentious absolutely did not currently have any need for. Still, the Egg Boi dragged it closer to the work station all the same.

Witless and useless.

The inventor locked eyes with the Egg Boi and glared. His irate stare met the creature's beady, yellow eyes. The wrench dropped to the floor with a clang.

Pentious was annoyed, and when the snake demon was annoyed, he got LOUD. "Would you please get the door, AT ONCE?!"

The Egg Boi blinked up at him, expression depressingly vacant. Then, after a second that might as well have been an eternity spent staring at his own personal failure—which the creatures sort of were, all things considered—what precious little light could turn on upstairs finally flickered to life.

The answer, however, somehow managed to increase the already substantial disappointment he was feeling.

"I would, boss, but we can't reach the handle," his minion informed him happily, dopey grin plastered on its face and all.

The snake groaned, the sound trailing off into something hisslike, as the tip of his tongue poked out from between his fangs. "Of course. It'd be too much to ask, for you lot to pull your weight."

The Egg Boi remained blissfully cheerful. "Isn't it kinda funny, boss? We're your helpers, but we don't help much!"

The inventor rolled his eyes as he slithered towards the door himself, because apparently villain extraordinaires did not have their own bellboys.

"Yes, hilarious. A cruel irony, like my dependence on you."

Again, the jab went entirely unnoticed. Hopeless morons, the entire batch of them.

Whatever. At least, with Pentious opening the door himself, he could properly vent his frustration at being disturbed. A small positive, considering the waste of his precious time, but a positive nonetheless.

And so, the inventor yanked the door open with much more force than required.

His hood all but exploded outward, flaring wide as he shouted. "WHAT isssss it?!" His fangs were bared, his eyes glowing. The demon's voice was more hiss than any sound a former human might make. "I'm trying to bloody work here!"

From the other side of the door, the Prince of Hell blinked at him.

Oh. Oh dear.

Pentious had just screamed. Like a madman. In Amiel's face. Fuck.

Okay! Alright! It was... a bit of a disaster, yes, but he could still fix this! He was a genius. Villain extraordinaire! Architect of destruction! He could handle this; he just needed nerves of steel and poise, two things he certainly had in abundance.

But, to his discredit... he very much did not handle it with nerves of steel and poise. Not even with just one of those things.

The snake's hood flopped down with a faint whoosh, elegant as a deflating balloon. His forked tongue flicked out between his teeth as he spoke, tone much more subdued than even his usual "indoor voice."

"Oh. Um, Amiel, dear. Hellooo. Good morning!"

Subdued, his tail! That last bit was far too loud! Why did he feel the need to yell, when they were barely three feet apart?! And why did he greet him twice?!

He attempted to salvage it with a friendly smile and a matching wave. Except... the wave felt stiff, even to someone as socially stunted as Pentious. His clawed fingers jittered in the air like undercooked noodles. And the smile... the snake demon had a feeling that if his cheeks hurt, it meant that the expression was too wide.

Amiel, mercifully, didn't look offended. If anything, the angel seemed to be in a good mood. His lips were twitching, and his violet eyes twinkled in that way Pentious had learned meant that he was amused.

The Prince laughed softly into his gloved fingers. "Busy morning, huh, Pen?"

One of the sinner's hands rubbed at his shoulder sheepishly. He made a valiant attempt, but Pentious struggled to meet Amiel's eyes.

"I was... in the middle of work, yes. You could call that busy, I suppose." Oh dear, did that imply he wasn't happy to see Amiel? He was, he really was, even if he'd done a piss-poor job of showing it so far.

"Not that I'm too busy for you, dear," he added so hastily he almost stumbled over the words. The inventor coupled that display of suave "coolness" with a wide, flappy gesture with both of his arms, making him look even more like a hopeless fool with brain damage. Wonderful!

Too much. He was trying too hard.

Pentious tried to dial it down. Voice somewhere around normal volume. Hands loosely clasped together at waist height. Smile less tight and more natural—at least he hoped.

"Err... yes, as I was trying to say... I'm glad to see you, Amiel, dear."

The Prince smiled back, and unlike Pentious' own pathetic attempts, his expression was perfectly natural. When Amiel smiled, it wasn't just with his mouth. His eyes had this way of lighting up that Pentious found... incredibly charming. The Princess was the only other person to have ever smiled at him like that.

"I'm glad to see you too, Pen." The angel chuckled. "And really, I've heard less pleasant conversation starters. No need to worry so much over a bit of shouting."

The Prince was being very nice, trying to spare his feelings. Those were the "little white lies" that Amiel had mentioned yesterday, weren't they? The sinner appreciated it. Still, the fact he appreciated them did not mean that he could just accept them so easily.

"Worse than that?" His tail swept behind him, cutting through the air. "I hardly believe it!"

"Welcome to high society," Amiel said with a smirk dancing over his lips. "Where the nobles like to shout over each other when they disagree, and shout louder when they realize the other person yelled too." The prince gestured dramatically with both hands, fingers wriggling in the air for emphasis. "Civilization."

Pentious, despite everything, snorted. Sarcasm sometimes slipped right under his nose, but Amiel was nice enough to telegraph it in a perfectly understandable way.

"Sounds draining."

"Because it is."

His hat rolled its eye just as he responded, voice purposefully dry. "Charming."

Amiel beamed at him again, and even though the angel said nothing, Pentious didn't worry that he'd done something wrong.

The silence that settled around them was... pleasant. It didn't demand to be filled with anything, it didn't chafe, or cause discomfort. It simply was.

The Prince broke it some seconds later, with a soft inhale and a casual lean against the doorframe.

"Are you... done here? There's something very important you need to see in the lounge."

Well, that was certainly intriguing. Pentious wasn't usually... consulted about things. Or had his opinion particularly valued. Or... invited along.

So, pardon him for being cautious. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he stared downwards at Amiel. "Is there something the matter?"

The angel shook his head, the two thick strands of hair framing his face swaying from the motion. "Oh, no, no, no. Nothing bad, I promise!"

"Then what is it?"

Amiel grinned, the expression floating precariously on the thin line between cheeky and trying to appear innocent. "That's a suuurpriseeee."

Pentious hummed distrustfully, crossing his arms. The tip of his tail gave a single, sharp flick. "I don't particularly like surprises."

The angel rolled his eyes playfully. "I had a feeling you'd say that. But I promise that this will be a good one. And... you trust me, right?"

The inventor did trust the Prince. More than he should have, in all honesty, considering how briefly they'd known each other. And yet... when he looked into those violet eyes, he couldn't not trust Amiel. Charlie and her younger brother were the same, really. They inspired trust with a simple look, even in miserable people like himself. It was a gift.

Pentious gave him a smile, small and hopefully proper-looking. "Yes, dear. I do."

The angel's eyes lit up. The sinner couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a brief flash of gold beneath the purple.

"Are we going to get going, then?"

The inventor glanced briefly over his shoulder. The Egg Bois were still engrossed in their "tasks." His blueprints were out of view, but they remained exactly where he'd left them. On the table, surrounded by pencils and rulers, waiting for him to resume work.

The answer should have been obvious. He had work to do. He was busy. His work ethic was one of his greatest strengths.

And yet...

The blueprints could wait for a few hours more. This vague surprise the Prince insisted on felt... more important, in the present moment.

Pentious nodded. "Yes, we are."

Amiel's joyful expression made the slight dip in productivity more than worth it. Something warm and fuzzy and soft settled behind his ribs and stayed there.

The sinner, not used to feeling soft, turned sharply, leaning further into his room. "Minions! Tidy up here! Come down to the lounge when you're done! And for the love of God, CLOSE THE DOOR when you leave!"

A chorus of "Sure thing, Boss" answered him. The creatures' loyalty, at least, was unshakeable, even if their intellect could be easily matched by a bowl of lukewarm soup.

The snake demon turned back to Amiel, who was once again hiding his mouth behind one of those cerise gloves.

Pentious, in a moment of boldness he wasn't quite sure how he'd come to possess... prodded Amiel. "Something funny, Amiel, dear?"

The Prince giggled, hand still over his mouth, eyes twinkling. "Oh, no, not at all."

"Veeeery convincing, Your Highness."

Amiel responded by bumping his hip against the demon's tail. "Oh, shut up," he said, no heat whatsoever in his voice. The angel's lips were fighting the good fight, trying not to twitch upward, but they were failing miserably.

Pentious stood there like an idiot, mind abuzz all of a sudden, though all it managed to produce was one simple observation.

"Odd."

It wasn't the first time that he'd found himself thinking that. He'd thought the same thing last morning as well, and a few times last evening, too, as he was showing Amiel around his room.

Everything about his recent behavior felt so very odd to the sinner.

In truth, he had always been... desperately out of his depth, when any sort of social situations were concerned. Pentious despised them; had always despised them. Only sadists could enjoy doing something they were woefully unequipped for, and he did not belong to that crowd.

And... nothing of substance had changed, not really.

Traces of old, familiar feelings still lingered in the back of his mind, even now. Embarrassment, shame, and horrible, gnawing doubt. He'd learned to live with them all. It was simply who the inventor was. An antisocial mess. Those feelings had long since become his constant companions.

But... where usually his instinct was to turn tail and retreat as quickly and with as much dignity as he could, now he wanted to do the exact opposite. He wanted to stay by Amiel's side, see one more of those smiles, hear another one of those bell-like laughs.

And so, instead of cooping himself up in his room like he would have done under any other circumstances, Pentious took charge. He slipped past the Prince and made his way into the hallway, coming to a stop a few feet in front of him. For some reason, he tipped his hat to Amiel, his back bending in an utterly ridiculous bow.

Pentious wasn't quite sure why he'd done that. Since when was he so bold? Or so loose?

It didn't really matter. Amiel evidently liked it. He bowed back, wings spreading with a quiet whoosh. His tone was lighthearted and relaxed. "Lead the way, good sir."

The angel asked, and the sinner obeyed. He led, while Amiel trailed beside him, chattering about nothing in particular, asking questions he was quite certain he'd already answered in the past few days.

Yet another oddity to add to the pile.

Pentious had loathed idle talk, back when he was alive. Loathed it during his many years in Hell too.

Today it didn't feel quite as unpleasant.

 

*******

 

Angel had been to a looootta parties in both his life and death, but this? Yeah, 'dis was the lowest of the low.

It wasn't even a fucking party. It was some miserable little hangout the Princess cooked up for the snake's first week at the Hotel. And boy, it was pathetic. Yeah, there was food—Feathers was one helluva chef, no way around it—and there were some decorations slathered around the lounge, but... the people were dead. Deader than dead. Everyone was there, but nobody actually wanted to be there.

Well... almost nobody.

After Charlie dragged him to the lounge, Angel had parked himself on one of the couches—he'd claimed the entire thing, courtesy of his long legs—just in time to see Princey come in, Pentious right on his heels.

What followed had been as embarrassing as it had been entertaining to watch from a distance, over the edge of his phone screen. Slimey had actually given them a hug. The Princess, her grouchy girlfriend—who'd taken a step back just in time to avoid the embrace—and Feathers. The snake coupled it with a loud, ranty speech about how great it was to have friends.

Pfff. What a fucking joke. Besides, the whole "party" reeked of sloppiness. Angel saw it for what it was. Something the Princess and her helpers threw together at the last minute. It sure as hell wasn't "Hotel tradition." The Hotel didn't have any traditions, much less party-flavored ones. He'd know, having been there from the start.

And Angel had never gotten a party for his first week.

Fuck. That'd come outta nowhere. Made him sound all butthurt and desperate.

It didn't matter. It didn’t. Angel Dust did not need a fucking party. Nor did he want one.

Still, the constant favoritism was pissing him off.

Seriously, was Charlie planning on cheatin' on her girlfriend with that fucking snake, or somethin'? She wasn't; Angel knew that. Princess was waaaay too much of a goody-two-shoes to ever even think of cheating. But then, what the fuck was making her so eager to praise every little thing that fucker did? The way he was fumbling through the exercises was more embarrassing than anything else. Sure as shit wasn't praiseworthy.

Ugh!

Really, he was better off just turning his brain off and focusing fully on the social media slop he was mindlessly scrolling through. The sinner could feel himself getting angry, and it was for no good reason.

After all, Angel had resigned himself to being "the fuckup resident." The one people didn't wanna talk about, except to complain. Charlie could coo to the steampunk supervillain wannabe as much as she wanted; it didn't matter to him one bit. He was resigned.

But... there was one very important thing he'd learned during his extended stay in Hell. Resignation only helped a little bit.

The porn star wasn't blind. If there was one thing Angel Dust knew, it was himself. He could tell that he was being more grouchy than usual. His jokes were even sharper than what was the norm. The flirting pushier. The insults... meant. Hell, yesterday he'd fucking flown off the handle at Feathers for asking a stupid question, one that probably hadn't been half as insulting as it had seemed at the moment.

He HATED how much his brain fixated on those three words, whenever they were all stuck in the same room together. "First real guest." He hated the way those words pounded on his nerves for some reason. How much the favoritism gnawed at him.

None of it even made any damn sense!

Angel Dust did not care about redemption. Angel Dust did not care about what other people thought of him, or about being a good person.

Those things didn't matter to him. They'd never mattered to him.

And yet, the grouchiness still clung to him like stains to a new suit. He couldn't even shake it off properly, because he was supposed to "try and get clean."

The porn star very much wasn’t getting clean—thanks, boss—but the drug ban inside the Hotel remained firm, and his stash had dwindled to nothing days ago.

That in itself wasn't much of an issue. There were always parties. Dealers. Hell, there were vending machines selling the hard stuff a couple of blocks down. But, between the Princess' piss-poor yet time-consuming attempts at exercises, and Val being... Val, Angel didn't have the energy for partying.

It left him stuck in this sludgy limbo of annoyances he couldn't ignore, or deal with in the only way he knew how.

Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a hit of anything. Even some pussy drug, like weed. Whatever, just something to get him through this slog of a party. Just a few hours of not thinking, but without the danger of coming to tied up, or beaten, or in the middle of—

Nope! Angel Dust had officially had ENOUGH. This shit had gone on for too long. He wasn't about to sit on that damn couch and brood for ten hours straight. No drugs to take the edge off? Fine!

Social media would have to fucking do. He'd just focus more on... not focusing. Yeah. What a plan. The Princess woulda been jealous.

Still, Angel scrolled on, doing his best to keep his brain occupied exclusively by what was happening on the phone screen.

It wasn't working as well as he'd have liked. He could, despite his best efforts, hear the snake and his stupid, screechy voice. As if on cue, as if he was waiting for the precise moment to annoy Angel, the inventor started explaining something unimportant and convoluted, probably to Amiel.

More emotions bubbled. They simmered in his stomach, angry and hot.

Angel hated him. Hated the Princess for keeping him around too. Hated Vaggie for not talking her out of that moronic idea.

Even the fucking Prince was head over heels for Pentious. Why? He'd literally tried to sell them out to the Vees on his first fucking day, and he still got less shit than Angel. Was the title of "first real guest" that important?! It just... absolved you of all the shit you'd ever fucked up?!

"Umm... Angel? Would you like something to eat?"

Oh shit! Angel actually jumped, sitting up straighter so quickly his brain almost went right outta his skull.

It was Feathers. Pushing that dessert cart like an idiot. Somehow looking even more sheepish than usual, if that was even possible.

Wonderful. Just when he was in the mood for company.

Angel slapped on the closest approximation of an easygoing grin he could manage. Ain't no way he was showing someone from the Hotel anything else.

"Sure! What's on da menu, Princey?"

Amiel blinked at him, looking somewhat confused.

Whatever he found so confusing about Angel, he shrugged off quickly. "Sweets. All kinds." The Prince trailed off, eyes inevitably wandering towards the floor. Some prince Amiel was. Social anxiety's finest work. "Anything... in particular you're in the mood for?"

Hard drugs. Peace and quiet. A new job. Maybe an apartment where you didn't pay rent by having to listen to overenthusiastic monologues and preachy speeches about becoming a better person.

"Any chance you put a lil' somethin' extra in any of dese brownies?"

The look Princey gave him almost made the entire party worth the hassle. The utter confusion. The head tilt. The blank stare. It was art.

"Pardon?"

Angel let himself flop gracelessly back onto the couch, and laughed. Amiel looked somewhat offended, and it only made the entire scene funnier.

"Pfahahha! Drugs, Sunshine. Drugs. You never heard of 'special brownies?'"

The angel's wings, tightly held against his back, gave a flap, their tips poking up into the air. "What?! No, of course not, I didn't put drugs in them! People do that?"

The sheer indignity in that last question almost set Angel off again, but he managed to hold himself back.

"Yes, Feathers, people do that. 'S a lotta fun."

The porn star saw the beginnings of a grimace, before Amiel caught himself. Adorable. Like a fuckin' toddler being offered greens.

"I'll pass." He shook his head, inky bangs swaying lightly against his forehead. "So... do you actually want the brownies, or was that just a joke?"

Angel rolled his eyes and gave the cart more than a lazy once-over. There was a lot to pick from. Feathers had put in the work.

One of his lower hands pointed in the direction of a cake, a few pieces already cut from it. White frosting, strawberries on top, pink and pale yellow on the inside. It looked promising. Even matched his aesthetic.

"What's in that one?"

The Prince smiled. "Oh! That's a vanilla and strawberry cake. Very refreshing. Very soft. It has a mild taste, so it's great if you don't like sugar that much."

Damn, the angel was far too adorable when he yapped away. All that was missing were literal sparkles in his eyes.

"Sure, I'll take somma dat."

Amiel nodded, reaching for a knife and a plate. "Okay! Coming right up."

Angel watched him cut the cake. The Prince was methodical. His hands were steady, eyes never leaving the task at hand.

"Hey, Angel?"

The sinner gave a single grunt of acknowledgment, eyes back on the screen.

"About yesterday... I..."

Angel stiffled a growl.

Fucking wonderful. Yesterday. Really, Prince of Hell or not, if Amiel started chewing him out for that, Angel was shoving that cake—plate included—so far up the angel's ass—

"Hello and good morning, my good fellows!"

For the second time today, Angel jumped. Amiel echoed him, a sharp little inhale escaping him as he turned around, knife still in hand.

His face settled into a frown immediately.

"Hello, Alastor," he said quietly, and with just enough cheer to beat a funeral director on a bad day.

Angel was much happier to see the deer demon. For once, Mister Fancy Talk Creepy Voice had picked a great moment to show up.

The porn star tossed Al a lazy wave with one of his hands. "Strawberry Pimp! Finally come ta join the party?"

Alastor made a show of checking his nails. He hummed softly to himself. "Mhmmmm. I could hardly refuse a personal invitation from the Princess, could I now?" He shot Amiel a brief glance, before looking away. "Always a pleasure to see you too, Your Royal Highness."

"Likewise."

Feathers woulda been better off cutting the tension in the air, rather than the cake. Speaking of cake, Alastor eyed it intently.

"Quite the selection you've prepared for breakfast, haven't you, Your Highness?"

The angel's wings were tightly drawn at his back. "Yes, I tried my best." Amiel went back to cutting the cake, not bothering to spare Alastor even a glance. "Anything you'd like?"

Angel was, for once, not interrupting this one. Amiel and Alastor steered clear of each other, but on the rare occasion they did end up talking... it was fun!

The Radio Demon pursed his lips, seemingly deep in thought as he strolled around the cart, observing the various sweets.

"I don't suppose you've thought to include anything that won't rot the teeth?"

Amiel bit back immediately, tone polite yet tight. "I assure you, all the recipes have been carefully chosen. None of them rot the teeth. Your pearly whites—" the angel cut himself off, a single gloved finger of his free hand tapping away at his chin. "Well, your mustard yellows will remain as safe as ever."

The pop of static coming from Alastor's staff was quiet, but not quiet enough. Angel was sure all three of them had heard it loud and clear.

"Ah, too bad. I suppose I'll simply have to pass on your wonderful cooking this time, Your Royal Highness. Perhaps next time you might put something more savory in your repertoire."

Amiel's lips pressed together into a thin line. He put the piece of cake on a plate and offered it to Angel with a smile that most definitely didn't reach his eyes. The sinner took it wordlessly, enjoying the in-house theater.

Amiel turned away from Angel, busying himself with rearranging the desserts on the cart. "And you might try to get out of your comfort zone, Alastor. It's surprisingly relaxing, you know. Much healthier than clinging to old, obsolete things."

Alastor chuckled. Angel dropped the first forkful of cake onto his tongue. It tasted... about as good as the rest of Feathers' work thus far. It was exactly what the Prince had promised. Sweet, spongy, sumptuous. No complaints. And the show he was getting was the perfect cherry on top.

"Oh, I simply couldn't. I'm afraid my ways are set in stone. Especially the gastronomic ones. Precious family memories! Surely you understand, Your Highness."

Angel noticed it immediately. The way Amiel's wings gave a single, sharp flick, before folding themselves neatly at his back.

The Prince's voice was a study in careful neutrality. "Of course."

Alastor continued. "Ah, it really does take me back! My mother was an extraordinary woman! Quite the chef. Taught me everything I know about cooking! Those moments are truly precious. There's nothing quite like the special bond between mothers and their sons, is there?"

One of Amiel's hands balled into a fist. The gloved fingers trembled slightly. He didn't retort.

Alastor noticed. His red eyes locked onto the angel's hand, that smile of his as wide as ever, but somehow... fuller.

"Hmm, hmm, hmm. I suppose I'll get going, then. I'm in the mood for coffee. Nothing puts a pep in one's step quite like a cup of black." The deer demon tossed them a cheerful, two-fingered salute. "Have a great day, chums!"

With that, he disappeared, melting into the shadows like he always did when he was sucking his own dick, the fucking showoff.

Feathers, meanwhile, stayed very still. The Prince's hand was still balled into a fist. Angel watched it slowly relax, Amiel's back fully turned to him. He had to admit, the wings looked pretty from behind. Like a fancy cape.

He couldn't help but notice that the angel wasn't saying anything. Too bad. Show was just getting entertaining, and the cake was great too. Angel popped another bite in, making sure to moan appreciatively—and make it as slutty as possible.

After all, why not poke the hornets' nest a bit?

"Mmmmmm! Princey, you should quit da whole monarchy business. Open a pastry shop or somethin' instead!"

No response.

He continued. "Too bad Al didn't wanna try any. That really got your wings in a twist, huh?"

Amiel still didn't turn to Angel, though he did finally say something. "I'm fine," he muttered, voice still carefully neutral.

The porn star didn't buy it. He said as much. No reason to dance around the issue. "Suuure. Lemme tell ya, Sunshine, you better leave acting to the pros. Ya ain't cut out for it." He paused, rolling onto his side, one heel propped onto the backrest. "What's the matta, anyway? Ya really that upset he didn't wanna try your sweets?"

The angel turned around, locking eyes with him. His expression was... controlled. Betraying nothing, though there was a glint of... something in the Prince's violet peepers.

"I told you I'm fine."

Angel shrugged, spearing another bit of cake onto his fork. "If ya say so, sugar. Delusions look great on ya!"

He expected a retort. Some snappy, sarcastic comeback. Instead, the Prince just sighed softly.

The angel's voice reeked of customer service. "Feel free to find me if you want anything else to eat."

Then he just... walked away. No warning, no sass, no nothing. The cart creaked as Amiel retreated, not even waiting for an answer.

Weirdo.

But, eh. Why care? Whatever rich boy angst Princey was wrestling with was very much not Angel's business. The sinner rolled his eyes and gave a single careless huff, before his eyes went back to the screen.

The end of the stupid party couldn't come soon enough.

 

*******

 

At some point, they all migrated to the lobby. Charlie wasn't quite sure how it happened, but she saw no reason to stop it. Not like it would change much.

In all honesty... she wasn't sure what to even think.

The party... hadn't been a failure?

It hadn't gone all that great, either. Sweets were nibbled at, drinks sipped, but all in all, it was very subdued. She'd dared hope for a bit of bonding among the residents. It was a nice occasion, after all. Instead, everyone had mostly kept to themselves.

Well... almost everyone.

The Princess of Hell smiled softly to herself as she leaned against a balcony's railing, up above and away from everyone's sight for a bit. She needed a breather. Charlie had managed to shrug the lack of sleep off remarkably well, but some drowsiness still lingered. But she digressed.

One duo, currently absent, had managed to have a good time! Pen and her brother. The two people she was most worried for.

Charlie had watched them during the party, out of the corner of her eye, though she made sure to give them some privacy, too. She wasn't a stalker!

The two were... very cute together. They'd settled on one of the couches in the lounge, the one that sat a ways off from the center of the room. Pentious had been his usual animated self all throughout—the snake demon had a lot of energy, and a very strong personality—but he'd seemed more relaxed, as far as Charlie could tell. The tip of his tail swayed from time to time where it draped off the couch. His hood flared and flopped back down while he gestured wildly. And he'd smiled. A lot.

Her brother had been much the same. Amiel had giggled. Actually talked. Beamed in a way that reached his eyes.

Her own smile wobbled and dipped as she remembered Amiel's expression.

Charlie... she was happy for him. For both of them. Truly. She was. Amiel deserved a friend like Pentious, and Pentious deserved a friend like Amiel. She wasn't blind. They were good for each other.

But... it stung, just a bit, when contrasted with how her brother held himself while talking to her. Why did he seem more at ease with Pentious than with her? Was she doing even more things wrong than she originally thought?

No! No, no. She wasn't going to push the issue. There was no point to focusing on that. Charlie was tired, and she was stressed. That's where the bad thoughts were coming from. She was just supposed to be happy for Amiel, and happy for Amiel she would be!

And hey! It hadn't gone without a hitch, nor had it been a perfect success, but... Pen had a nice time at his own party, and nobody complained about attending! It was a win in Charlie's book.

She needed a win.

The door to her left opened with a quiet creak and an annoying, dull scraping sound as it dragged against the carpet. She turned her head towards it, though she knew who it was.

Her brother was back. The Prince had left some minutes ago to somehow cram their newly acquired mountain of desserts into the fridge. She watched him as he tossed a glance below, violet eyes taking the lobby in. Niffty, Husk, and Angel were huddled in the corner near the bar, while Vaggie and their four bodyguards barely poked into view, all seated on one of the couches. Immediately, the Prince looked up and started making his way towards her.

Would he have done that, if Pentious were down below?

No, no, no, no. No. None of that.

Charlie smiled as Amiel walked over, one gloved hand busy tucking a stubborn strand of hair behind his ear.

He sounded... cheerful. Playful, even. "I did it. Somehow. Don't ask how, but I made it all fit." He smiled cheekily. "Bad news though, we're eating exclusively sugar for the foreseeable future. Every meal of the day."

Charlie laughed, a little awkward, but honest. A moment later Amiel joined in, and then the siblings were giggling like a pair of idiots where they stood, away from everyone else.

It was... nostalgic. It carried with it memories of their childhood, and that was grounding, in a way.

When they stopped, but before a thick, tense silence could have a chance to settle over them, the Princess tossed out the first question that came to mind. "Did you have a good time, Ami?"

Her brother smiled at her, and Charlie felt some of her earlier worries dissipating. It wasn't fake. It reached Amiel's eyes. It was directed at her.

He nodded, bangs bobbing. "Mhm! You know I usually don't like parties, but Pen was nice. I... had fun."

She couldn't help but tease. It felt... both too tempting and perfectly right for the moment. And... the safety of something familiar called to her. "Mmmm, I had a feeling you'd say that. You and Pen, huh?" The Princess added the most unsubtle eyebrow waggle she could muster.

Amiel rolled his eyes at her. "Oh please. Don't even try to suggest... THAT."

The Princess grinned. "I didn't suggest anything, Mimi. The that was your idea."

Gold crept up her brother's cheeks. "Sh-shut up. You implied it, and you know it. And don't call me Mimi."

She leaned in, cooing sweetly into his ear. Anyone with eyes could tell the two were simply friends. Buuuut... simple friendship didn't make for top-tier teasing material. "I can help you pick out the wedding dress. What are big sisters for?"

Amiel huffed, nose suddenly up in the air. He turned away, glaring at her imperiously out of the corner of one eye. "I am not dignifying that with a response, Char."

She groaned theatrically, hamming it up. "Ughhh, fineeeee. I guess I can pretend I don't see the signs."

Her brother huffed once more in response but provided no verbal answer, so she decided to change the subject.

"Fine, fine, new topic. What did you talk about with Angel, Ami? I thought you wanted to keep your distance."

Bad idea. Amiel's expression barely changed, but a subtle, newfound tightness settled in his features.

Damn it.

"Nothing important," he said quickly. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday, just to be safe, but... your business partner showed up."

Ah. Alastor. She'd seen him too, though she'd been in the middle of a talk with Pentious, when he appeared. She'd kept a close watch while she listened to Pen, but nothing had seemed wrong, at least not from across the room.

Should she have gotten a closer look after all?

She tilted her head, trying to keep the concern out of her voice. "Did he... say something rude?"

Amiel rolled his eyes again. "Nothing out of the ordinary," he said, distaste oozing out of his voice.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Charlie, I'm sure."

There it was. The slightly too sharp tone. The narrowing of the eyes. The Charlie instead of Char.

Her brother sighed, shaking his head. His expression softened. "Ugh. Sorry—sorry about that. It's not your fault, Charlie."

That should have been reassuring. It didn't really work as well as Amiel intended.

The Princess tapped her forefingers together, trying to sound casual. She could still feel the strain in her own smile, though. "I know he can sometimes be... a bit difficult. But he really has been helping out a lot."

Amiel sighed again, eyes drifting downward to his own hands. "I know, and I understand." He looked up and gave her a small, shaky attempt at a grin. "Just... don't expect any friendship bracelet exchanges between the two of us, and we should be fine."

She laughed quietly, and Amiel's lips quirked another fraction of an inch upwards, but it all rang hollow, compared to how they'd been laughing a few minutes ago.

The awkwardness was killing her. Charlie was trying her best! She wasn't pushing! Why were they still so painfully off around each other?!

Before she could even hope to find the answer, Pentious all but burst in through the other door, followed by his pack of Egg Boiz, as he called them. Adorable little things, if a bit... less intelligent. Still, they were surprisingly fun to chat with. A few days ago, one of them had given her a shockingly detailed explanation of how vaccines were actually tracking devices. It had been... captivating, in an eerie, "can't look away from a twelve-car pileup" way.

Pen's eyes scanned the wide balcony, and immediately landed on them. And once they did? He brightened. Visibly. His hood flared, and he flashed that huge, clumsy grin of his.

The sinner slithered towards them, the Egg Boiz padding after him like odd, misshapen ducklings.

"Hello, you two," he shouted, even though he was only a few feet away. Pen was always just a little too loud. Charlie found it endearing, honestly. She also had some trouble with volume control, just occasionally.

She waved at him, smile bright and glowing. "Hi, Pen!"

Beside her, Amiel waved too, cerise-gloved hand languidly swaying through the air. She didn't miss the way her brother's violet eyes lit up.

They didn't once light up like that for her since he'd come to the Hotel, did they?

No. No. Not the right time, not the right place.

The Egg Boiz, utterly carefree, spread themselves out around the three of them, chattering among themselves. One in particular seemed about two seconds away from attaching himself to Amiel's leg.

Without warning, her brother crouched down to get closer to the Egg Boi's level.

"Hi, Frank."

"Hi, not-Boss!"

Amiel giggled, eyes twinkling with amusement. "What's up?"

"The ceiling!"

The Prince of Hell, crouching on the floor like he was dealing with a toddler... blinked. Once. Two, three times. Then he snorted, before descending into another round of giggles.

"Fair enough," he said once he got ahold of himself. "But that's not what I meant."

"Oooooh! Nothing! We were just busy cleaning Boss' room!"

Pentious chose that moment to enter the conversation himself. His forked tongue slipped out from between his teeth, flicking through the air. "Yessss, and they did a very good job of it." Charlie had to admit Pen looked... a little silly, with his eyes—the one on his top hat included—all narrowed, and his hands resting on his hips. The sinner was simply not built for acting tough. "The place was messier than when I left. And they somehow managed to lock themselves inside."

A chorus of Egg Boiz chanted "Sorry, Boss" as one, their apology sounding at once both completely sincere and utterly unapologetic.

Charlie hid a smile behind one hand. Amiel didn't. Amiel full-on snorted, even when Pen turned his glare in his direction.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't encourage incompetence among my minions' ranks, Your Highness."

Her brother stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket, swaying lightly on his feet.

"Sorry, Pen," the Prince singsonged.

Unlike the Egg Boiz, there was no illusion of being sorry. The cheeky smile on Amiel's face left no room for error.

And yet, Pentious, despite trying very hard to look affronted, also smiled. "I ssssuppose I can forgive you, this time."

Charlie stayed quiet. She was... just in the way anyway.

The Princess didn't want to be bothered by it. Truly. She was happy for them both. She wasn't some jealous toddler. It wasn't jealousy that curdled in her stomach, acrid and bitter. It was doubt.

Was she doing something wrong? Again? She'd been trying so hard. Was Charlie just overthinking things? Maybe it was just... the appeal of someone new? Amiel was a loner by nature; it made sense that he'd enjoy clicking with someone. Didn't it make sense? Of course it did, and yet here she was, worried regardless.

"Hey? Heyyy, Charlie? Pride to Charlie?"

Oh! Oh gosh, someone—no, not someone, that was definitely Amiel's voice—was talking to her.

The Princess blinked.

Her brother was looking at her, head slightly tilted. On her other side, Pentious mirrored him, eyes focused on her face.

Awkward. Embarrassing. Stupid. What a wonderful combo.

She laughed, hoping she could shrug it all off. "Sorry! Got a bit lost in thought! What were we talking about again?" The Princess laughed again, the sound airy and unconvincing, at least to her own ears.

"Pen asked if you wanted a drink from the bar."

"Oh! Yes! Sure!" The Princess nodded energetically, her bangs slapping against her forehead.

Amiel gave her a questioning look, but he said nothing.

Pentious, meanwhile, adjusted his hat, though it already sat as it usually did on his head. "So... shall we?"

She answered so quickly, the sinner's words had barely left his mouth. "Yes, let's—"

"Oi, Princess! Someone's at da door!"

Charlie froze. Beside her, Pentious stiffened, and Amiel's wings poofed up comically.

Then the content of Angel's hollering fully registered, and suddenly nothing else mattered.

Someone was at the door! That could only mean ONE THING! A NEW GUEST! Their commercial—oooh, or maybe their recruitment efforts, or the fliers—had worked! They had a new guest!

The Princess sprinted for the front door, almost kicking one of the Egg Boiz in the face. She took the stairs two at a time, the clacking of her heels and the creaking of the old wooden steps mixing together, thrumming in her ears.

"Coming!"

"Charlie! Slow down, you'll hurt yourself!"

Charlie ignored her brother's warnings. A new guest was much more important than a little tumble. She was sturdy!

The Princess came to a stop in front of the stained-glass double doors. The glass was quite thick, so the only thing she could see was a vague silhouette—no, wait. Two silhouettes?! They had TWO NEW GUESTS?!

Gosh, this was so exciting! Vaguely, she could hear shuffling behind her, probably Amiel, Pen, and the many, many feet of the Egg Boiz, all following her. The Princess ignored them all for the moment. She took a deep breath, one hand resting on her chest, right over her heart. In and out. Slow and measured. In and out. Charlie smiled, wide and welcoming, but not too wide. It had to be perfect. She had to make a good first impression!

Charlie threw the door open, free hand making a sweeping gesture. First impressions were very important!

And then her gaze landed on the two sinners standing on her doorstep. One dark-skinned, the other ghostly pale, with her eyes obscured behind red-tinted glasses. Behind them, a moving cart sat on the front porch, piled high with boxes. It... very much didn't look like the two sinners were coming to live with them.

The Princess of Hell blinked.

"Umm... Hello?

The girl with the glasses glanced at her. "Carmine delivery," she said, tone flat, as if those two words explained everything.

"Ooh! The new parts for my machine are here!"

Charlie whipped around so quickly her braid went flying. Pentious was hurrying over to the door, while Amiel was... nowhere to be seen.

The dark-skinned sinner slipped past Charlie as if the Princess weren't even there, pushing the boxes into the lobby. The pale one, meanwhile, pulled out a clipboard and thrust it at Pentious. "Sign here, please."

The inventor did so without a second thought.

"Enjoy your Carmine purchase."

Just like that, the two sinners walked away, quietly closing the door behind them.

...

...

What. Had just. Happened?

Charlie's poor brain tried to wrap itself around everything that had transpired in the last minute, but it was a struggle.

She turned around, blinking owlishly at the lobby like she was seeing it for the first time. Pentious and his squad of Egg Boiz were eagerly looking through the boxes, the sinner with an expression of the utmost focus, and the little eggs with... the exact opposite of that.

Further back and away from the commotion, the small crowd at the bar were giving Pen judgmental looks of varying intensity.

And finally, coming over for a closer look were Vaggie and, only now descending from the balcony at a snail's pace, Amiel. The two sported very different expressions.

Vaggie got there first, and she was not pleased.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?"

Pentious rolled his eyes at her, his hat frowning deeply. "Exactly what I said just now? The new parts for my machine are here. I'm inspecting them."

Charlie saw it happen as in slow motion. Vaggie's face went through about five different emotions in the span of a second, before settling on one in particular. Anger.

The Princess hurried over, hoping to prevent an argument from breaking out. At the edge of her vision, she saw Amiel closing in, probably hoping to do the same thing.

Neither of them made it in time.

"You are buying parts from an Overlord?! Carmilla Carmine?! The weapons dealer?!"

Pentious, obliviously, didn't even bother looking at Vaggie. His nose was buried in one of the boxes, and his back was firmly turned to her. Charlie even caught the tip of his tail flicking dismissively in Vaggie's general direction.

"Yes? I really don't get what's so difficult to grasp there, gray female. She's the best in the business. Obviously I wouldn't go for subpar material. Who does that?!"

Charlie, to her credit, opened her mouth to try and put a stop to the impending disaster. She knew one when she saw it.

"Okay, we should all—"

Her girlfriend cut her off, voice surprisingly loud for such a short person. "You—What—You know what, NO! This is NOT going to continue!"

The sinner took a deep breath, eye dangerously narrowed. "No more weapons! No more ordering parts from Overlords!" She glanced to the side, where two Egg Boiz were busy trying to take a very sharp-looking piece of metal out of a box. "While we're at it, no more of these things either! You're getting rid of them!"

Pentious finally straightened out. He turned, arms crossed, hood flared.

Amiel, who'd made himself at home at Pentious' side, beat the snake demon to the punch. "Okay, now you're going too far, Vaggie. Why? What issue could they possibly cause?"

The answer came in the form of a bang and a flash of light. All four of them looked up. Right at a fresh, still-smoking hole in the ceiling. Below it, sitting on the floor, was one of Pentious' minions, happily clutching an equally smoking cylinder.

The Egg Boi flashed them a grin. At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. "Sorry, Boss and not Bosses."

Vaggie lost it completely. "What did I just SAY?!"

Pentious slithered forward, tail curved so it obscured his minions from view, chest and hood both puffed out.

"You can't just take my little Egg Boiz! They do my evil bidding for me!"

Oh gosh. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh. This was rapidly becoming a disaster. Charlie had to do something, but her limbs felt sluggish and heavy. Her tongue somehow both like jelly and wood. Her brain was empty.

"Watch me. If you want to stay here and redeem yourself, they are going out."

Amiel moved, wings flaring from where they were folded at his back, his brows furrowed. The Prince moved to stand in front of Pentious. "Not happening."

Vaggie flinched. Amiel immediately took a step back, almost bumping into the inventor behind him. His gloved hands went up in the air, and his stare softened. He drew his wings back in with a rustle of feathers. "I'm sorry. That was... a bit too harsh." His hands settled on his hips. "But you still can't do that."

Charlie finally got ahold of herself and moved, stepping in between the three of them, one hand to Vaggie, the other to Pentious and her brother.

"Okaaay, people! Can we all take a step back, calm down, and relax? I'm sure we can find a reasonable solution to this if we all hear each other out."

She gestured to her girlfriend. "Vaggie, you go first."

The sinner rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing deeply. "We cannot allow weapons in this Hotel, Charlie. It defeats the whole purpose. And those things are just too much of a liability. They've disrupted exercises three times this week already."

"My minions are not a liability, thank you very much! Only I may insult them!"

So much for taking turns. Charlie cocked her head to face the two boys. "Okay, Pen. We're trying to hear each other out, okay? Nice and patient."

Amiel rolled his eyes, huffing. "Charlie, surely you can see how bad of an idea that is. Those are Pen's friends, and his passions. You're trying to redeem sinners here, not break their spirits. How would you feel if you couldn't draw anymore, or if someone took away Razzle and Dazzle?"

The Princess bit at the inside of her cheek, nibbling at the sensitive skin despite the pain. Both sides had very good points.

"Uh... maybe we could... compromise? Like, Pen, you could only keep the things you make in your room? And not order things from Overlords? AND keep your minions away from our exercises?"

The snake demon hissed in frustration. "I need the material. And as for the rest... I would, if I didn't feel unsafe." The snake's tail gave a single, sharp flick. He glared very pointedly in Vaggie's direction. "Some of you lot aren't very welcoming."

"Maybe you should have thought about that before trying to sell us out. Everyone's being extremely welcoming, considering what you did."

Charlie gasped. "Vaggie! That wasn't nice! Pentious already said he's sorry. We've been over this."

It was too late. The jab had landed. She saw the way Pentious' expression jerked, before he schooled it into something neutral. Though... his eyes now seemed distant.

Her girlfriend doubled down. "I'm sorry you don't like what you're hearing, but it needs to happen. I'm doing my best to keep this Hotel safe."

Her brother lifted a hand up in the air, as though he were volunteering to answer a question in class. He smiled, tiny and tight, but a smile nonetheless. He stepped to the side to face Vaggie directly.

"Can I... say something?'

The sinner nodded. She looked... uncomfortable, jaw clenched, fists tight. "Sure."

"I know you want the best for my sister's dream. It’s obvious you care, and that's wonderful, but this is not the way. You can't just... force him to give up things and people he cares about. It'll do more harm than good." He paused, just for a moment, just enough to sneak in a brief nip at his lip between his words.

Her brother gave Vaggie the most imploring, intense look he could. Not forceful, not intimidating, just... charged with... something. "Can we... please try to find some way to make this work, without resorting to drastic measures right out of the gate? Please?"

The Princess saw her girlfriend's resolve crumbling in real time. Amiel's stares had that effect on people. She saw the hesitation creeping up on Vaggie.

There was a pop of static.

"I think I have just the solution to this little conundrum of yours!"

All heads turned to Alastor as he appeared from the shadows, like he usually did when he wanted to make an entrance.

Charlie couldn't help the pang of anxiety that shot through her. She... really doubted adding Alastor to the already tense mix would help.

The demon twirled his cane cheerfully, sharp teeth on full display as he smiled. "I couldn't help but overhear, and I must say, it's quite the dilemma, is it not?"

Amiel frowned. "This concerns you how, exactly?"

"Ah-hah! Of course it concerns me, Your Royal Highness! Why, I'm the host of this fine Hotel! What kind of host would I be if I didn't take an interest in our affairs?" He paused, tapping a claw to his chin thoughtfully. "In fact, the only person here who should absolutely not be concerned by this is... you. You have no official position here, do you now?"

Her brother gave Alastor the most withering glare he could. And yet... his bottom lip tucked itself between his teeth again.

It was as clear of a warning as she could get. Charlie had to intervene. "Alastor! Don't say things like that! Amiel's my brother, and he's been a huge help!"

"Of course, of course. In that case, I do apologize for hurting your delicate sensibilities, Your Highness."

"Don't flatter yourself."

"Mmm, a touchy crowd you make for, my dear Prince." Alastor turned his attention to Charlie, grin as wide as ever, red eyes twinkling with amusement. "Anywhooo, would you like to hear my proposal, dear?"

In truth... no. This was already too much for her. Her head was starting to throb, and she had little faith in Alastor's wish to truly help out. Especially with how he was currently acting. But... Charlie was desperate.

"Sure, Al."

"Wonderful," he crooned. "How about a little test run, eh? I take the little creatures with me today for a bit of an errand run. You do your exercises here, and we can see if there are any improvements in atmosphere. If not, I suppose they can stay. But if there are improvements... well... my mother did teach me the recipe for this wonderful egg dish..."

Pentious drew in a sharp, short breath. Charlie turned to try and catch his eyes, but he looked away. His hat, meanwhile, glared at her.

She couldn't accept that solution. Not after such a reaction from Pen.

Vaggie, evidently, could. "That's... not actually a bad idea. The first part, that is. We're not killing them, no matter what, and you better not try to, Alastor."

The Radio Demon made a show of sighing wistfully. "Oh, you have a way of sucking the fun out of life. But fine. I suppose I shall comply. That is, if our dear Charlie here has no complaints."

Everyone—even Pentious, though he only looked in her general direction—turned to stare at her. The weight of expectations settled like a rock on her shoulders. A really heavy rock.

The silence felt oppressive. Thick like tar. Charlie was still breathing, but it didn't feel like it. The air might as well have been cement in her lungs.

She tried very hard to not meet anyone's eyes. "I... uhh..."

Gosh, this was so difficult. If she said no, Vaggie would probably get frustrated. The Princess knew how hard she worked to keep the Hotel running. How much she cared about her vision. But, if she said yes, she would hurt Pentious. And most likely her brother as well. But but... perhaps it would be fine, if it was just for a day?

Gah! Why was this so difficult?! And why today, of all days?!

Alastor's staff prodded her shoulder gently. "A timely answer would be helpful, dear."

The Princess gulped heavily. "I guess... that could work? If you keep them safe?"

The reactions her "solution" drew from the gathered crowd were varied. A cheerful "Wonderful" came from Alastor, accompanied by canned applause. Vaggie looked away, frowning, despite technically having gotten her way. Pentious tugged the rim of his top hat as low as it could go, and Amiel just stared at her.

Great. Charlie loved feeling like she'd just gleefully murdered ten puppies in front of a crowd.

Pentious moved first, turning his back to everyone, even his Egg Boiz. His voice shook, just slightly. "Do... do try to keep yourselves in one piece to-today, minions."

Blissfully, they nodded. "Sure thing, Boss!"

Fuck, she heard the snake demon sniffle. "I... I need a moment. Alone. If you will excuse me." With that, he slithered away into the nearest hallway. It... did not lead to his room. It didn't really lead towards any of the rooms they used.

Fuck.

Before she could even think of going after Pentious, Alastor moved next. There was almost a bounce to his step as he strolled past them all, cane twirling through the air, the ends of his tattered coat flapping lightly in a nonexistent breeze. He bent down sharply, neck twisted at an odd angle as he stared the inventor's minions down. That smile of his remained firmly glued to his face.

"Well then! You and I are going to take a little trip today! It'll be fun, practically to die for!"

The demon played canned laughter from his staff to accompany "the joke." Nobody laughed, not that Alastor paid it any mind.

"Come now. Out the door, chums! Single line! I'll be waiting on the porch."

The deer demon rose, upper body turning towards the three of them that still remained, legs firmly planted on the floor. "See you around, folks!"

Alastor nudged one of the Egg Boiz in the back with his staff, tossed them a cheeky wave, and then melted away into the shadows.

For a moment, there was silence. Charlie... looked very intently at her sleeve. She didn't quite feel up to meeting either Vaggie or her brother's eye.

Amiel still spoke up. His voice was at once controlled and practically leaking disappointment. "I can't believe you did that."

Charlie looked up, their gazes catching each other. "Ami, I'm sorry, but... I had to compromise."

The Prince turned his back to her, wings flicking irritably. "Forget it."

He too walked away, loafers clicking against the floor.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She messed up again, she ruined everything, and now Amiel hated her, and Pentious probably hated her too, and she was going to ruin everything and—

Vaggie grabbed her hand gently. "Hey, babe, let's... let's go up to the balcony for a bit. I think you need a break."

The Princess nodded, letting herself be more or less dragged up and out of the view of the staff and Angel. As soon as they were safely up there... Charlie buried her face in her hands and groaned.

Her girlfriend patted at her back softly. "Hey, hey. It's not your fault, Charlie. Really." Vaggie sighed, and though she couldn't see her, the Princess could just picture her rubbing her temples or fidgeting with her bangs. "I... I blew it, I think. Shouldn't have pushed that far. I'm sorry for making your work harder... and for putting you in that situation." The sinner sighed again, somehow even heavier than the first time. "I got angry. I should have shut up and listened to your brother."

Oh, no, no, no. Charlie knew that tone. Vaggie talked like that sometimes. Like all the blame was hers. It was unfair.

"'S not your fault," she mumbled, face still buried in her own palms. "I should've handled it better. It's my mess."

Vaggie hugged her from behind, one arm giving her shoulder an encouraging squeeze. "You did what was best for the Hotel, and you tried to keep everyone happy. I'm proud of you, Charlie."

The words would have meant the world to her, under normal circumstances. Now they just felt ironic.

The Princess dragged her hands down her cheeks, taking a step back to finally face her girlfriend. "How do I fix this, Vaggie? Everyone's mad at everyone, and everyone's extra mad at me."

The sinner's mouth pressed into a thin line. She leaned against the banister, looking down at the small group gathered by the bar. Vaggie remained quiet for a few moments, eye narrowed. Charlie joined her, leaning on the same banister beside her.

"Maybe... today's exercises could help? You could do something to get everyone in a better mood?"

She considered Vaggie's words. For a moment. Two. Five. Then something in her brain clicked. Maybe... that really could work?

Yes... yes! A little bit of bonding and trust building could help them get through this. If she made them understand each other better, it would all be so much easier!

She needed help, though. The Princess turned to Vaggie, eyes shimmering with determination.

Her girlfriend smiled, small but sweet. "I know that look. You got a plan?"

"Yes! But I'll need your help!"

Vaggie nodded. "You know you can always count on me."

Charlie returned the smile. It was wobbly, shaky, and tight at the edges. But... it was a smile. It was earnest enough. It would do to keep the pressure and self-doubt at bay, for the time being.

The Princess had a job to do once again.

 

*******

 

The egg creatures were imbeciles. Utter morons. Their idiotic chatter was a hectic mess of pointless observations, harebrained theories and shoddy conclusions, and questions that were frankly offensive in their stupidity.

Usually, he would not have tolerated it, not for more than a moment or two. If it were entirely up to him, he'd have smashed them days ago, when the wretched sinner first moved in. But... that was then, and this was now.

Today, the creatures were a matter of leverage, and that made them oh-so-valuable.

"Alastor. I want to discuss something."

Ah! Wonderful! Truly wonderful. Why, this was just the sugar on the cream of an already perfect morning.

He ignored the Prince of Hell entirely, instead bending down to tap his staff against one of the creatures' shells. "Run along now, you lot. Down the hill. I'll join you shortly."

"Sure thing, new boss! Bye, new boss!"

They padded off in a messy cluster, like disfigured ducklings.

And now, after he'd made him wait a bit... the Prince.

Just for the Hell—hah—of it, the Radio Demon did not turn. No, he melted into the shadows for just a second, before reappearing in the exact same spot, only turned to face the new arrival.

Amiel Morningstar. Prince of Hell. Second spawn of the King himself.

A mouthy brat, and not a stupid one either. Unlike the Princess, he was much more aware of the weight his status and birthright carried, and he was not afraid to make them known.

Still, for all his bark... he had his charms. The angel was so very easy to rile up, if one knew where to prod.

"Oh-ho! Your Royal Highness! Back for another friendly chat?"

"Shut up. Don't bother."

His smile didn't drop, of course. Never. Still... the constant lack of respect was getting on his nerves. Alastor was used to his name eliciting a degree of respect. Paired with a healthy dosage of fear, of course!

And yet... Amiel Morningstar did not show him either. It was... infuriating and refreshingly unique in equal measure.

The deer demon clicked his tongue, eyes downcast as he pretended to adjust his bowtie. "Tsk, tsk. Really, Your Highness, has your mother not taught you any manners whatsoever?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched for the angel's reaction. And oh, he enjoyed the expression on the Prince's face. He could clench those teeth and narrow his violet eyes all he wanted. The brief flash of hurt could not be hidden, even behind eyelids.

The chat the royal siblings had shared in the attic had been... illuminating. His shadow had served him well. Alastor was sure that the information he now had at his disposal would prove to make for... excellent ammunition.

"You really are pathetic, aren't you?"

Alastor made a show of rolling his eyes carelessly. "You are quite fond of tossing out baseless accusations, aren't you?"

"It's not baseless, and we both know it. I know you enjoy insulting me, but you could at least not insult my intelligence."

Hah. What a jokester, this angel. As if he'd ever get an answer that straight out of the Radio Demon. No. Alastor prided himself on his image, and there was nothing worth more than his pride.

"You are, of course, free to believe whatever suits you, Your Highness. Who am I to deny royalty their delusions?"

Amiel huffed, his own eyes rolling. "I suppose I expected too much out of you. You aren't capable of being civil, are you?"

"My capabilities are one thing. Incentive is another."

The Prince looked mildly disgusted. Tasty.

"Whatever. I don't care what you think of me." He paused, taking a step closer. His wings, those massive, white things, extended partially. "But I do want you to promise me something."

Ho-ho! What a twist that was! Alastor had an inkling of what it could be.

The Prince had quickly grown attached to the snake. Pathetic, both of them. Clinging like drowning men to each other, as if that afforded them anything. Still, why spoil a good show? He'd let the brat tell him that himself.

Alastor looked away, one arm extended in front of him, almost brushing the angel's chest. He flexed his clawed fingers, pretending to inspect them. He didn't even glance at the Prince.

"Why, I live to serve, Your Highness. Ask away, and I shall provide."

"Look at me."

Alastor did, tilting his head up with mock laziness and a drawn-out hum. "Easy enough. You look the same as you always do, by the way. Nothing particularly noteworthy about your appearance, if that was what you were curious about."

Amiel did not dignify the jab with a response. His eyes narrowed, the Prince's glare searing hot and icy all at once. It was remarkable, he had to admit. Alastor had seen the portraits scattered around the Hotel. The Queen's eyes were quite something, even in this watered-down form.

"You will keep Pentious' Eggs safe. Am I clear?"

It was not a question, really. Not even a request. It was an order.

Bold.

"Enjoyable as our chat is, Your Highness, you're being a bit superfluous at the moment. I already promised your sister to do just that. If she trusts me, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I'm not an idiot. If you come to the Hotel with a pile of broken shells, and claim there was 'a tragic accident of some kind,' it will not end well for anyone involved."

...

Impressive. Truly. Unlike the Princess... the angel saw. He understood. Picked up on the subtleties, anticipated, guessed.

Troublesome. Still, Alastor had dealt with worse.

"I assure you, I will protect them as if they were my own. But... you know. Accidents do happen sometimes. We are in Hell."

"I'm warning you, Alastor. An 'accident' happens, and you will not like what comes next."

Oh. Now that was truly interesting. That had unmistakeably been a threat. One that, considering his lineage, the Prince could make good on.

"Oh. You do have a feisty side under all those angelic feathers, Your Highness." He chuckled airily, making sure to let some static bleed into his voice for extra effect. "I do wonder how your sister would feel about you threatening her business partner. Hmm? Care to find out?"

Score. The Prince looked away, just for a moment. Hesitation flashed across his face, a delicious little chink in that armor of his.

The Prince brushed it away remarkably quickly. "Don't flatter yourself. You aren't family."

"Neither is the sinner you seem so infatuated by," he countered, smoothly.

Amiel exhaled slowly through his nose. "It's about me, not him. She would understand."

"I have my doubts about that." He paused, giving another once-over to his nails. "Still, it'd be the height of foolishness to go against a being of your caliber. A walking calamity such as yourself... why, the damage you could do to even the most powerful of demons..."

The Radio Demon caught it. A twitch of Amiel's mouth. That rosy bottom lip almost slipping between the Prince's teeth, before he caught himself.

Powerful, yet wary of his own power. Alastor filed that wonderfully amusing tidbit of information away.

"Yes. So I advise you to take care of them." The angel tried for a mocking, glassy smile, but it wobbled slightly. "After all, you are the Radio Demon. I'm sure Pentagram City poses no danger to you."

He bowed mockingly. "The overgrown foodstuffs will be returned to their rightful owner at the end of the day." The deer straightened out, patting the front of his suit down unnecessarily. "Now then, I truly must be off. Imagine the tragedy if something were to happen to those poor, helpless eggs while you were distracting me."

He gave the Prince's shoulder a demeaning pat with the head of his staff. "Bye-bye for now, Your Royal Highness. Enjoy your day!"

Alastor did not wait for an answer, not that Amiel was likely to give him one. He let his body meld with the shadows, before popping up partway down the hill that led up to the Hotel. The creatures jumped in unison, giving shrill, ear-rending cries.

Morons. Honestly, killing them would have been mercy, both on them, and everyone who was unlucky enough to be in their immediate vicinity.

Since he couldn't kill them, he ignored the pathetic things entirely, marching forward with his hands clasped at his back. The thumping of feet behind him told him everything he needed to know. The creatures were following.

The demon would keep them safe. Clawing at the Prince was fun. It was enjoyable, but he was not foolish enough to risk going too far. He had more work to do at that shabby Hotel; he couldn't risk being kicked out.

Still... the end of his latest little clash with the Prince tasted very much like victory. Like fresh blood and adrenaline and sweat worked up during the hunt.

It was just the right thing to put some extra pep in his step for the meeting he was to attend.

 

*******

 

If he could, Amiel would have killed Alastor.

Pen wasn't crying at the moment, but the loss of his minions, temporary as it was—though the threat of it becoming permanent still loomed, technically—had done its job.

The Prince was furious. At Charlie. At Vaggie. At himself, for not doing more. Most of all, he was furious at the deer demon.

He couldn't focus on that now, however. He had a much more important task in front of him. The one he'd hesitantly crept into the hallway for in the first place.

Comforting a friend.

Amiel held Pen's hand, gloved fingers intertwined with the sinner's clawed ones. He gave it an encouraging squeeze. "I promise they'll be fine. I swear, Pen. I've warned Alastor not to hurt them."

Fuck. He hated that sinner. Despised him. The anger burned, writhing in his stomach.

Amiel did his best to hold it back. Pentious did not need him to get mad. Pentious needed him to be there.

Maybe. He hoped that that was the case. Amiel liked being alone, in moments like these, but perhaps that was just a him thing. Although Pentious had requested alone time. But on the other hand, he was here now, and Pen hadn't said anything, nor made him go away.

The inventor still said nothing, though his face was saying plenty. The wet eyes, the crusty tear stains down his cheeks, and the charcoal blush that had nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with too much crying. Above all else, the distant look in his eyes.

He was hurting. And... well... that made Amiel hurt too. It was so deeply disheartening, seeing Pen like that. It reminded him of the way he'd gotten in the kitchen the day before, when Alastor decided to drop in, only so much worse.

Always the fucking deer.

No! None of that. None of that when his... his friend needed him.

The angel was, as with most things of this sort, hopelessly out of his depth. Amiel Morningstar did not know how to handle complex emotions. He didn't know how to be comforting, and he didn't know how one should cope with the loss of companions. He couldn't even imagine losing Lulu or Lighty.

But he had to do something! He had to!

A hug had worked last time, hadn't it? Would... would that help now, in this much, much worse situation?

It was worth a shot.

Amiel didn't give him much warning. For once, he'd taken a page out of his sister's book, though the Prince's hugs could never hope to be half as energetic as hers. The angel plastered himself against Pentious' chest, arms wrapping around the middle of his back—he couldn't reach any higher—his wings following suit, wrapping around Pentious like a second, much fluffier pair of hands.

It felt... nice. A bit cold—the snake demon always felt a little icy to the touch—but... comfortable, in a way. Similar to Charlie's hugs. Amiel leaned into the sinner's chest, cheek resting against the fabric of the inventor's suit.

And Pentious... crumpled.

It wasn't dramatic. He didn't even start crying again. He just inhaled, shaky and hisslike. His chin came to rest on the top of Amiel's head, nestling in his hair. His arms, mindful of the claws, found the back of Amiel's jacket and gripped, as if trying to pull the angel closer.

Finally, the sinner said something.

His voice was surprisingly steady, but Amiel swore he could hear a little wobble in it. "They're stupid. Really. Utter morons. They're useless, and they can't do anything right, and I..." Pen trailed off.

Amiel rubbed his back as best as he could. His hands felt clumsy—stiff and sluggish—but he kept at it all the same. The Prince just hoped it helped.

"I know. You still care about them. It's perfectly normal."

Now there definitely was an audible wobble in Pen's voice. "YeEessss," he whined, the sound trailing off into a jittery, unsteady hiss.

Amiel went from rubbing to patting the sinner's back, as if that would change anything.

"I know. I know." Ugh, why did he keep saying that?! What was that supposed to do for Pentious?! Make him feel better?! "I know you're suffering, so go ahead and don't suffer anymore?!" Was that the thought process at play here?!

Ugh.

Amiel Morningstar wasn't good at being honest. Not open, either. But... perhaps he needed to be both, now.

"Look... I don't... I don't know how to deal with this. I'm sorry. Sorry for being so useless. But... I think I know Alastor well enough already to promise you one thing." Amiel tightened his grip on the snake, hoping it'd read as encouraging, and not constricting. "He won't hurt them. Not after I threatened him."

He felt Pentious stiffen. The snake demon pulled back slightly, just enough to look at the Prince and meet his eyes.

"You—you threatened him? Why?!" His voice rose, tongue flickering, Ss elongating. "What if Charlie finds out?! Your sister won't like the fact you're threatening people."

The sinner abruptly went near-inaudible again. He swallowed thickly, grimacing. "Especially not... for someone like me."

Amiel gave Pen what he desperately hoped was an encouraging smile. He kept it from sagging by pure strength of will.

"I doubt he'll tell. He's too prideful for that. I'm stronger than him." The angel looked away, gaze drifting downwards. "And besides... you're worth getting into an argument with my sister, if it has to come to that."

Pentious sniffled. Rather loudly. His lips quivered, and his eyes shone. The sinner was about to cry again; he could tell.

Amiel opened his mouth to try and offer some consolation, but... he didn't get the chance. The inventor went back in for another embrace, taking the lead this time. His hands wrapped around the angel's back, settling under his wings.

Pen's words came barely coherent and somewhat slurred, syllables colliding and sticking to each other in their haste. "Thank you. I... I know I'm overreacting. I know they'll probably be fine, but—I—they're—for the longest of times they were... all I had. I don't want to lose them."

Amiel's heart ached. Even his anger towards Alastor dimmed for the moment. He laid his head against Pentious' chest and whispered, half-cooing. "Shh... I understand. We've done all we could. And I'm sure it'll pay off. At the end of the day, you'll get to see them again."

Pentious said nothing. For a while, they simply stood there, in the dusty hallway that led to nowhere in particular, hugging each other. The snake demon made no move to detach himself, and Amiel definitely wasn't going to force him to.

Eventually though, the sinner decided he'd had enough. Pen pulled back slowly, with his claws lingering for just a moment, as if hesitating to let go of the Prince's jacket.

Amiel took a step back, wings fluttering lightly through the air.

"Thank you, dear... for... for all that. You didn't need to bother."

The angel frowned, voice serious, as if delivering a lesson. "Don't say things like that. It wasn't a bother." His tone softened, lips quirking up. "That's just what friends are for."

Pen's own lips mimicked his, though it seemed to take some effort. "Yes... I suppose that's true."

One of his clawed hands went up, tips of his fingers carefully rubbing at his eyes. "Crying certainly makes your eyes feel wonderful. My head hurts."

That was... a rather blunt way to change the subject.

Amiel understood. He knew first-hand how terrifying it felt, to show emotion so openly. He didn't blame Pentious for trying to nudge the conversation away from that particular topic.

He did, however, blame his tongue for moving faster than his brain.

"I can he—"

The Prince cut himself off, almost chomping down at the tip of his tongue to stop even a single syllable more from pouring out.

It was still too late. The inventor tilted his head, curiosity piqued.

"What do you mean, Amiel, dear?"

Stupid, stupid IDIOT! Pen said he was in pain, and his first instinct was to offer help, but he couldn't just DO THAT! Oh gosh, he'd dug himself into such a hole now. His teeth came down on his bottom lip in a brief but strong bite.

"Nothing!" The words came rapidly, his voice climbing in pitch until he barely sounded like himself. "It's just—that's a—you don't need to—it's nothing!"

Ugh, he felt like a moron.

Holy Light could heal, if properly guided. A headache was a trivial thing to help with. Physical pain was easy to dull, once you got the hang of it, especially in milder cases.

He couldn't do it, though. No. Not in public. Not with a demon.

Pentious looked... mildly concerned. And, unfortunately but unsurprisingly, entirely unconvinced by his pathetic denial.

The sinner prodded gently, one clawed hand rubbing at the wrist of the other. "I won't... ask if you don't want to tell, but... I just want you to know you are free to, whatever it is." Pen gave him a smile. A real one, slightly too wide and showing far too much fangs. "No matter what you say... it is safe with me, dear."

That smile. It simply wasn't fair.

It made Amiel hesitate. He trusted Pentious. He truly, truly trusted him. The smile tugged at his heart in a way that warmed him from the inside out, while also making him feel like he was being gutted.

Fuck. He wanted to. He really, genuinely, desperately wanted to say something.

He couldn't. He wouldn't. Amiel had... he'd ruined enough things in his life. The Prince wasn't looking to add another one to the list.

Still... he'd be honest about the matter. As honest as he could, in the given circumstances, at least. Pentious... his friend deserved that much.

The angel locked eyes with him, despite the way it made his brain buzz. "I... I'd rather not. I trust you, and I appreciate it. Really. But I can't."

Pentious nodded. "I understand, dear. More than you'd expect."

Amiel... hugged him again. It was less tight now, but it felt almost desperate, the way he moved so quickly. "Thank you," he whispered into Pentious' coat.

One hand settled on his back, patting gently. "Think nothing of it."

Amiel savored the embrace, just for a second. It was... so comforting. Pen didn't force him to say anything. He didn't push. He understood. He respected his space.

Still, after a moment, they separated, at Amiel's initiative. It would be pathetic, to cling like that for too long.

A silence settled over them, thick and slightly oppressive. Not crushing, but... uncomfortable in that vague, mild but unnerving way.

It was the Prince's turn to desperately change the subject, he supposed. Amiel threw out the first question he could think of. "Do you... feel better now?"

The sinner gave him a somewhat watery smile. "Yes. Thanks to you."

The door at the end of the hallway opened with an aggravating creak and a light shower of dust. It danced in the air where it caught the dim, yellowish rays coming from the few overhead lights that were still in working condition. Both their heads snapped in the direction of the sound.

Vaggie stepped inside shyly, one hand still clutching the door. She stared at them, expression... much more hesitant than she usually looked.

She stared in their general direction, but didn't really meet either of their gazes. "Hi."

Amiel waved and muttered a quiet "Hello." Pentious said nothing.

"Charlie... has some exercises ready. She wants us all in the lounge. Are you coming?"

The Prince hated that some resentment bubbled up in his chest. Logically, he understood. Vaggie had been there nearly from the start. She was Charlie's partner. Her intentions were good. And she had been so close to backing down, before Alastor chose to make an appearance.

But. She'd hurt Pentious. That... that Amiel found very hard to forgive.

Still, he kept it civil. Tone polite, expression devoid of hostility. "Yes, we're coming. Be there in a minute."

She nodded jerkily. "See you."

With that she disappeared, closing the door behind her. As soon as she did, Pentious turned to him. His expression was unreadable. Even his hat betrayed nothing, the eye vacant. Amiel did not push, nor prod, nor ask. Poking at unhealed scars was never a good idea. He knew it best, after all.

"So... are we going, or do you need a moment?"

For some five seconds, the Prince got no response. Then finally, the snake demon nodded, though the movement was small enough that it was almost difficult to spot.

"Yes, dear. We can go."

Neither moved.

Amiel gulped. In truth, he dreaded it. The day had been, apart from some small saving graces, one disaster after another. He wanted nothing more than to make up some excuse, and go lock himself up in his room. But... that would mean leaving Pen alone, to face everyone on his own.

That... Amiel couldn't picture himself doing.

So they went, eventually and after an extremely awkward exchanged glance. Unwillingly and dragging their feet—and tail. But together.

Notes:

Alastor haters and Feathersnake shippers getting fed like it's Thanksgiving dinner this chapter.

Okay, so, many things I want to say.

First, the sad news. I have exams. A lot of them. The next chapter, containing the other 90% of Episode 3 is already planned to detail (it's a great one, by the way, you'll love it). Some things are even drafted. But... I can't write, at least for a few weeks. And once I am able, we'll run into problem number two. The chapter might finally crack the big 20k in a single update milestone. I know I make you wait for far too long far too often, and I know the "cliffhanger-y" timing is unfortunate, but please be patient. I promise I'll do my best, as soon as I am able.

Now, onto the good news! This fic is turning one year old on August 31st. Wow. Woooow. Still can't quite wrap my head around that. Petition to make that Ami's birthday? (Asks the literal creator of the character XD)

On that note, I have some exciting news! The next batch of side stories is coming. I have a wonderful, post-chapter 3 Ozzie and Ami fic planned, but that's not the main event. The main event is actually something I want your opinions on.

How are we feeling about a Lilith oneshot? I can't think of a better way to celebrate this fic's anniversary (though this potential fic would be catastrophically late) I know she's the mystery figure of this story, so I want to know what you, dear readers, want? Do we keep her as such, or would you like some insight into her complicated feelings towards Lucifer, Charlie, and Amiel?

Goodness, that ran long. Sorry for the rambling. Must have been the anniversary nostalgia. I'll shut up now XD

Timi loves you all, and appreciates every kudos, comment, bookmark and the like. Your support on this fic made me love writing in a way I haven't loved it before. Thank you all <3

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Lives and Times of the Morningstar Family