Chapter Text
A week passes, and Stolas feels like a living ghost. Everything in his chest hurts, and he feels so selfish. Every thought containing happiness is immediately followed by one of Octavia, and poisoned in the wreckage of his own fire.
Elara grows, fat sprouting from her arms and legs creating a great past-time in Blitzo pretending to eat them. The imp takes to fathering his youngest daughter like a true natural; often, when Stolas holds Elara, she’ll whine and wriggle until her other father has her. And it makes Stolas smile, which makes him feel guilty.
This is meant to be a happy time for them - for him. Just four months ago he would’ve done anything for Blitzo to truly look his way, and now he has a child with the imp.
But every time he closes his eyes he hears the argument with Octavia. Half of the nights he jolts up in bed, sweat sticking to his forehead feathers and the ghostings of “Get the fuck out!!” echoing in his mind. Sometimes he throws up, but sometimes he just sits in place and shakes like a leaf.
And Blitzo is always supportive, listening to his blubberings and breakdowns with this painfully attentive look, like Stolas is worth listening to even when he’s depressed. Stolas is thankful, because he doesn’t know if he’d be able to tell the story again. Talking about it aloud makes it real, acknowledges it, so he whispers, as if the world may not hear. As if tomorrow he may wake up to Octavia’s phone call or one of his painfully pleasant dreams - which sometimes hurt even worse than the nightmares - coming true.
They’re cruel. A happy family, three healthy daughters, a husband who loves him so fully and earnestly. It feels so real, for just a moment. Then the light filters in and he blinks away the sleep and remembers. He turns to curl into Blitzo and, even as his lover's arms curl around him and a kiss is pressed to his forehead, all he can do is moan Octavia’s name.
He goes through the motions. Wake up, feed Elara, Blitzo feeds him, nap, repeat. When Loona glances his way he forces smiles, gives little waves, and maintains basic conversation. At first a great effort had to be put in to reserve his crying just for baths, but now nothing comes, even then. Tears are only granted alongside a panic attack, it seems.
Sitting in his bed, he gives one word answers, rocks Elara, and stares at nothing.
Blitzo is so damn attentive it hurts. He rubs the others back and gets him a glass of water and wipes away his sweat before taking Elara’s next feeding. He mixes up her milk and rats until there’s no chunks left and doesn’t even complain when that means he has to fish out some bones. He tests the heat of the mixture against the palm of his own hand and warms it up or cools it down, whatever’s needed.
He’s just so… present. It’s not that Stolas is surprised - he’s seen Blitzo with Loona, on Earth and in Hell. The imp is an amazing father, through and through - an amazing person.
Stolas is a horrible father. Some nights he goes to Elara’s room and hangs over her crib, apologizing to her through dripping tears. He’s already messed up his relationship with one daughter. How long until he jeopardizes another?
It’s no question that Blitzo is worried, and as the days pass and Stolas remains deeply depressed, that concern only grows. The bird wants to be better, to talk, to cry it out. The pain could start to ebb, the wound could perhaps begin healing.
But every time he goes to speak about it again in the days following, his throat seems to close. He can’t even whisper the words - any and all acknowledgement into his daughter’s hatred makes it real. Makes the fact he’s blocked now real. Makes the unsent messages real. Makes all the pain real.
Life is spent and limbo and, before he knows it, significant time has passed. He tries to focus on the precious bundle of life in front of him, but her little face and fingers and hoots remind him so painfully of Octavia. Even if his precious starfire didn’t have an imp tail, horns, or red feathers. They have the exact same eyes, though, and Stolas finds himself tearing up when he looks for too long.
He feels guilty for having a baby when he’s let his first baby down and he feels guilty for comparing this new life he wanted to a life he let down. Every emotion feels like a betrayal to one or both of his kin. He feels like he’s drowning.
A blink and some muffled words from Blitzo and he finds himself sitting on his bed at Asmodeus’ penthouse, rocking Elara back and forth mindlessly in his arms as the doctor completes a routine checkup. While she usually fusses in Stolas’ arms, she’s calm now, holding onto one of his fingers with all five of hers as the doctor takes blood and checks her temperature and studies her vitals. When Stolas goes to pull away, allowing the doctor to touch her side, she whines, and continues fussing until his hand is back within her grasp and his body heat has returned. When he tilts his head down to press a kiss to the top of her head, she grabs at his horns, fingers impressively tight. She giggles - such a happy, smiling baby. She must get it from Blitzo.
The doctor gives her a clean bill of health with the same amount of certainly he’d given Stolas his - not very much at all. “It’s hard to tell, due to her being a hybrid, what the ‘average’ numbers are that we’re looking for. But her vitals are consistent, her mood and temperament seem good, and I haven’t found anything that seems cause for concern.”
Stolas tunes him out after that as his boyfriend picks up the conversation and he chooses to stare down at Elara, instead, running the pad of his taloned finger over the smooth expanse of her chubby cheek. She gurgles and turns her face towards the touch.
“-ols. Stols.” Stolas’ neck snaps upwards just a few moments later, drawn from his enchantment by the sound of his lover calling his attention back. Once he focuses on the room, he sees why - while the doctor has left, the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus, has taken his place. Ozzie stares at Elara and Stolas from the foot of the bed with a small, soft smile on his face. Blitzo doesn’t wear the same expression - his lips are pulled back into a straight line and his tail flicks back and forth behind his body, snapping in the air. Stolas tries to give him a reassuring smile, but the act remains cumbersome.
“Sorry - figured visiting now was better than interrupting peace and quiet later.”
Stolas gives him the same tired smile. “Absolutely no worries, Asmodeus. It is your room, after all.”
“About that,” Ozzie tilts his head to the side, “We’ve been doing weekly checkups in your owl form, and the pain you experience seems to be goin’ waaayyy down. Would you agree?”
“Yes.” Elara catches Stolas’ pointer finger again as he moves his hand to pet over her messy head of growing feathers. He allows her to suckle mindlessly on his knuckle. “Your medical assistance has helped a great deal. The pain I feel is practically gone.”
“In that case, birdie babe,” Asmodeus’ smile turns a little wider, reaching out to give Stolas a light pat on the back even when Blitzo growls low and under his breath, “If you want, you could turn back to being an owl a bit more full-time. I know Blitzo here has been itchin’ to have you home.”
The Sin tilts his head good-naturedly towards Blitzo, who, at the change of topic, has entirely switched his mood - now, he’s smiling ear to ear, tail flicking back and forth behind him. Stolas finds himself staring at his lover for a few, long moments, even as Asmodeus continues besides him, “Well, I think we can make that dream a reality, if you want to.”
Oh. Oh.
It’s not like Stolas hadn’t overheard Blitzo mention the ex-prince moving into the apartment he shares with Loona - several times, in fact. He’d just sort of assumed that it would never happen. Once the time came that Asmodeus was ready to kick him out - because, truly, Stolas was intruding on his space and taking advantage of his good-naturedness - Blitzo would’ve come to his senses and rescinded the offer. Their relationship was still so new, and it feels like little time has been had for talking, as of late.
Earnestly, the bird was so goddamn depressed that there was no way he’d do anything for the household except bring them down.
Yet, now, Blitzo begins to jump, tail making happy little curls in the air. “Oh, fuck yeah!” He cries, turning to Stolas with a wide smile. “There’s so much to plan, Stols! I know the couch isn’t, like, the best, and Elara kinda doesn’t have a room, but it’s temporary- I swear. But we can put some of your plants on the terrace, and make a shelf for your books, and-”
The owl tries to smile and listen along, nodding with medium conviction until being saved by his daughter. Elara, seeing her father jumping, raises her chubby little arms and flails them up and down just the same, again and again until she’s whining and wriggling.
The assassin doesn’t hesitate for a moment - before Stolas can blink, the swaddled up form of their daughter is scooped from his arms and securely in his boyfriends. “I got her!” He cries, bouncing her up and down and tapping his feet out the door as he whistles some loud, happy tune. “Hi, baby girl! You and daddy are coming home soon! Yes you are, yes you are!” Stolas hears, fading away as he retreats to the bathroom.
Stolas blinks. Next to him, the bed dips, and Asmodeus sits atop the covers, trying to smooth them out around him so as to minimize his damage.
“Talk to me, birdie.” He says, tone close to how Stolas imagines one may speak to a friend. “I want to make it very clear that I’m not kicking you out. This room is entirely unused when you’re not here, so there’s no rush, if you’re not ready yet.”
Stolas’ mouth feels dry. “That’s not what it is.”
“...Are you afraid of living with Blitzo? You know, it’s okay if you’re worried you’re going too fast. Slowing down isn’t a bad thing.”
“No, no. I…” Stolas pauses to pull up the falling shoulder of the burgundy robe Blitzo had gifted him a month or so ago now. “He must be making a mistake, surely. I simply cannot imagine why he would ever want to invite me into his home. I’m not-,” he shrugs, “Why would he want me there?”
Beside him, the figure of Asmodeus tenses, and Stolas finds himself freezing in response. His fingers clench around each other where they’re seated in his lap. What had he said wrong?
Asmodeus simply deflates a few moments later, and a flat palm, slow and reluctant, reaches out and pats gently along the others back. “She really did a number on you, huh?” he murmurs, voice oddly sad. “Stolas, you may be the only demon who doesn’t see the way Blitzo looks at you. I don’t know a whole lotta things but I know Mammon is a grade-A asshole and I know Blitzo the motherfuckin’ clown is in L-O-V-E love with you!” He annunciates his words with dramatic hand-gestures. “If you don’t wanna move into his place for your own reasons, that’s cool! But don’t get it wrong - he wants you there.”
“It’s Blitz now. The ‘o’ is silent.” Stolas says quietly.
Down the hall, Blitzo’s whistling returns, growing louder with the clicks of his heels and the soft babbling of Elara’s baby rambles. Asmodeus chuckles, low and quiet, and gives Stolas’ shoulder one more solid, flat pat before rising from his seated position on the bed. The rumpled bedding is patted clean before Blitzo walks back inside the room, bouncing a newly changed baby on his hip and giving her chunky little belly tickles in between her happy giggles. His shoulders seem less tense, and his smile bigger.
“Blitzo, may I see your hand? Your crystal, specifically.”
After Elara is passed back into Stolas’ waiting arms, Blitzo reaches his gloved hand out towards the Sin. Ozzie reaches out and takes the small wrist into his own large palms, whispering low and even a cantation below his breath. Eyes slip shut as an energy begins to glow around his body, pink and electric. As fast as it appeared, it’s gone, and the crystal gives a bright, pink-hued flash before settling back into its usual yellow-toned glint.
“There.” Asmodeus takes a step back and rubs his chin. “Here, lemme take her - let’s put you in your bed, baby!” Elara is lowered into her crib, both parents watching like a hawk. “Now, Blitzo, this may take a few tries, but I want you to take a few steps backwards - one more - there. Point the crystal towards Stolas, and tap it twice - now hold your thumb down, hard. Imagine Stolas as an owl in your mind, just like you imagine portals to open ‘em.”
Magic fizzles in the air, and, despite Asmodeus’ predictions, Stolas immediately begins to feel a familiar shifting take place. He’s had to do it weekly now for his checkups, but it always comes with the heavy knowledge of having to change back soon after.
Now, as his feathers sprout and his spine grows and his mouth stretches into a beak, he feels..excited. His legs grow and his talons return as his head fills out into a swoop of feathers, varying in thickness.
From the corner of the room, Ozzie whistles. “Damn. You’re a natural, Blitzo.”
Stolas’ imp lover continues to smile ear to ear. “Eh. I’ve just been really excited for this.” He turns to his lover, beaming like the sun, and reaches out, intertwining their hands. Stolas lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding as his feathers brush imp skin - different, his. “C’mon, birdie.” Blitzo continues, “Let’s get you home, yeah?”
The portal behind them fizzles shut just in time for Stolas to bash his head right into the hanging light fixture in front of the doorway.
Awkwardly moving it to the side, he rubs a palm along his forehead and takes a moment to look around Blitzo’s apartment. Despite his many daytime trips to the office, he’s never been in the imps home before. Even though he’ll be staying here now, it still distinctly feels like invading the space.
It’s small - very small. There’s a kitchen that opens up into a living room, and two doors - one Stolas assumes is Blitzo’s room and the other for Loona. Perhaps they share a bathroom between the two rooms?
Despite the size of the space, it’s so much warmer than the biggest, most lavish hall in Stolas’ palace. Organized clutter decorates every nook and cranny, the eyes of what must be hundreds of porcelain horses staring holes into him from each angle. The wallpaper is comforting, with family photos hanging up around them. Upon the quickest of glances, someone seems to have signed all of them. Odd.
The whole space has been baby-proofed by Blitzo. Little pieces of foam stick to corners and nothing sharp can be seen, at least from his current angle. Even the outlets are taped over so little fingers don’t wriggle inside them, once Elara begins crawling. It makes Stolas’ heart swell and his guilt gurgle.
An arm wraps around his waist while Blitzo says, “C’mon, pretty bird - over here,” and guides him towards the living room. There’s a couch, a beanbag, and, fitting into the space between them by just a hair, a small crib; complete with a rotating mobile toy of planets. Oh, Stolas’ heart is going to burst inside his chest.
Upon the couch, on the far left, Loona sits, scrolling absent-mindedly on her phone. She glances up once they walk over, and quickly moves to rise. Despite the fog in his mind, Stolas reaches out a hand and ushers for her to sit back down - “No, no, dear - you were here first.”
Loona just shakes her head. “Was just waiting ‘til Blitzo got home. Don’t worry about it.” The hand not holding her phone raises, hovers for a moment, and then gives Stolas’ long arm one solid, awkward pat. “Glad you’re here.” She offers, short and honest, and then turns to the baby.
Elara gurgles and bounces her little pudgy arms when she sees her sister, a big smile spreading across her beak. Loona’s face slides into an easy grin at that, and she reaches out, looking at Stolas for a nod of permission before taking the baby into her own arms. Elara chirps and snuggles her prickly body up against the nest of warmth her sister's thick fur provides.
Blitzo steps around Stolas and gives Loona a short side-hug, which she allows to happen, even if her arms are too full of baby to do much other than stand there. Still, Blitzo is beaming when he leans away. “Thanks for waitin’ up, sweetie! We’re kinda beat tonight, but we’ll do a family dinner tomorrow night, ‘kay?”
Loona glances at him, nods, and walks into her room, the door sliding shut behind her. Stolas’ eyes track the movement, but his arms feel empty without Elara, and he finds himself awkwardly shuffling.
A hand slides into his and he jolts, eyes flitting downwards, to Blitzo. There’s a soft smile on Blitzo’s face, far too gentle as he motions towards the couch. “You need some sleep.” He says, not unkindly. “C’mon, birdie.”
Stolas lets himself be led to the sofa and then lets his own body fall onto it in a heap, head cushioned by a small pillow that he falls off one side of no matter how he turns. A blanket that reaches his ankles is pulled over him, and then another is layered to cover his feet, draping off the couch with its excess. The ex-prince tries to force his eyes open, but he finds himself drifting the moment his head touches the pillow. It didn’t occur to him how exhausted he was until he was perpendicular, and now he finds himself fighting immediate sleep.
Blitzo’s calloused palm touches his cheek and he leans into it as the imp cradles his face like something precious. Lips press to his forehead and Stolas thinks of how he may have reacted to this exact moment a year ago, a month ago.
He can’t be what anyone needs, though. He wasn’t a good father to Octavia when she needed him, and now his own decisions have led to the demise of their relationship. Even though he pined after Blitzo for months, and they’re together , now, romantically involved and holding hands and everything Stolas wanted, he still feels so empty inside. The pain still hollows him out and leaves the hole behind bruised and aching.
A tear slides down his face and Blitzo whispers “Oh, baby,” using his thumb to wipe it away. There’s some shuffling, an elbow or two in his side, and then the small imp is crawling on top of him. He shoves his way underneath the pile of blankets and plops right atop his chest fluff, chin resting to look up at Stolas’ face. Long, low rumbles begin to leave his body. “It’s okay. We’ll be okay.”
Stolas collects the imp into his arms and presses him close, taking in his presence, his loyalty. As sleep begins to cobweb darkness through the corners of his vision, he mumbles, quiet, “Thank you…”
“For what, pretty bird?”
“For giving me time to be happy...before I mess it up…”
Silence falls over them. Stolas is practically asleep, but he feels a hand press to his cheek, holding him again. “Go to sleep, Stols. I love you.”
Blitzo’s vision dances in smudges of white as he wakes up gradually, the smell of feathers flooding his senses and making him press closer, chase it deeper. When he eventually turns his head, cheek smushing up to his eye, he finds himself as he fell asleep, laying atop the chest of his bird. Even after he becomes aware he gives himself a few moments to lay there, breathing in deep and taking in the morning. It must be very early - the streets outside are markedly quiet. Hell fire licks orange stripes up the walls of their apartment from the glass doors and awashes both of them in the light, framing Stolas just so.
Blitzo lifts his face and takes another moment to admire Stolas’ sleeping figure - the fluttering of his closed eyes, the way his beak opens and closes with little hoots, the ruffled feathers of his faceplate. Curled up in Stolas’ left arm, nestled against Stolas’ side, and next to Blitzo, is Elara, also sleeping peacefully. Her little fingers collect fistfuls of Stolas’ feathers and hold them so tight it must hurt the avian, at least a little, but he doesn’t move her - just keeps sleeping.
The assassin watches the two until the need to pee kicks his bladder and he’s drawn to rise, cracking his back as he does. When he passes Loona’s door, he sees that all of her decorations are down, which is odd. Maybe she’s redecorating.
He’s still looking towards her bedroom, eyebrows up in mild confusion, when he reaches and pushes open the bathroom door. He takes one step in and startles, looking down, because there’s something soft under his feet - not the cold tiles of their one-by-one bathroom.
Instead of his toilet, Blitzo looks out at the long, stretching hallway he had stepped into. “What the fuck?” He says, looking to the left and then down to the right. Some dingy ass hotel - did he take drugs last night? Was he drugged? Wouldn’t be the first time.
But- the phone is ringing down the hall, and, now that he really takes a look at the place, everything here feels really familiar . Narrowing his eyes in on the wall, he squints, and then looks down at the floor. That carpet-
The One Star Wonder Hotel. Rolando.
Blitzo’s heart thunders hard enough in his chest for it to echo through his ears. Nope, nope, nope, fuck that, nope! On the ball of his heel he turns right the fuck around, stepping back through the door he came from - and right into a clean, disinfected hospital room.
“What the fuck?!” He exclaims louder, taking a startled step backwards. A few nurses bustle past him, all frantic in their movements and uncaring if they bump him. One knocks him good in the shoulder, and he stumbles before catching himself on the wall.
“Hey, asshole-“ He spits, “If someone doesn’t tell me what the fuck is going on-”
“We’re losing him! Get CPR ready!” One nurse barks to another.
Something else slams into his back - knocks him clean over, actually. Blitzo hits the floor hard and barely registers the rush of bodies and sounds around him through the splitting crack of his skull against the tiled floor. For a few moments, everything spins, and there’s a flurry of movement.
Only after the shuffling has passed does he take inventory - nothing broken, although he’s disoriented. And, for some reason, something wet, on his cheek. A hand raises slowly and fingertips, dabbing, pat it away.
His fingertips, when he looks at them, are stained with black blood. He stares at them, and stares, and then looks towards the commotion that knocked him over.
Two women in lab coats and four other women in scrubs surround Stolas, who lays in bed, unconscious. Black blood seeps into and stains the sheets around his pelvic area. There’s a heart monitor connected to his fingers, and nothing is happening on the screen. He lays totally limp, head lulled to the side, like roadkill.
“One!” A nurse cries, raising and then pressing a charged defibrillator to the flat of Stolas’ fluffed chest, right over his heart. One moment passes, then two, and nothing happens.
“Two!” She tries again.
They wait a few long seconds. “Three!”
The other nurse sighs and glances at her watch. “Call it.” She hums low. “Time of death, twelve-thirty-four PM. Do we have any family?”
Everyone in the room keeps speaking but the words become muffled and blurred in Blitzo’s ears. He takes one step back, and then two, hands clenching and unclenching as blood roars in rushes through his head. This is wrong. No. No, this is wrong. This has to be wrong.
Stolas didn’t die. He got close, but we saved him in time. He’s safe. He-he has to be safe-
Four steps backwards find him hitting something behind him, and he spins around, ready to attack on adrenaline alone. His eyes meet, at his level, a familiar dress, the scent of a long-lost perfume, the air of a soft laugh.
When he meets his Mama’s eyes, she says nothing - just leans down and cups his face, wiping the tears that drip there away with the pad of her thumb. Her eyes study him for a few moments, drinking up his appearance, before she straightens, and he can’t help but whine at her loss. “Mama-“ he croaks, finding his voice again. “Stolas-“
She points left with a finger and hand wrinkled by time and decay, beyond recognition. Her guidance leads him into a door right behind them, one that wasn’t there where Blitzo first stepped into the room. He abandons the room without a second thought and runs through it.
Hot flames, licking and blue and scarring, explode onto his face when he opens this door. He lets out a gasped breath and steps back for a moment, hand coming up to cover his eyes - but, in his periphery, he sees a familiar horse wallpaper, a set of framed and scribbled-out memories, and Loona’s door, complete with all of her decorations. “No!” He keens, forcing his eyes forward.
His apartment living room sits before him, and the entire thing is up in flames. In front of the coffee table and well-loved sofa stands Stolas and Loona, hip-to-hip, with Elara bouncing gleefully on the owls opposite side. The flames lick up around them, closing in on them, and Blitzo feels a real, raw, guttural scream rip from his throat.
“No!” Lashing forward, he stumbles and falls until he’s reached them, blubbering out nonsense like “Move! Move, move, move !” and “Not them, please, not them!” As he grows closer, Elara reaches out her grubby little hands towards him, talons curling into a little wave. Loona and Stolas both turn and smile at the baby as the flames lick up them from behind, catching the tip of their tails. The putrid scent of burnt feathers and fur fill the air as the fire spreads to the rest of their bodies, curdling the flesh, boiling their faces beyond recognition. Flesh melts into bones beyond recognition. Elara’s little giggles fade as her clothes fall into ash around her body, burning with the rest of her.
Blitzo is screaming, screaming, screaming. One hand desperately grabs Stolas’ as he reaches them but it’s too late, and it crumbles into white ash, just like their baby, the second he’s holding it. Some of it blows away into the inferno around them and some of it sits heavy in his palm. The fire takes them all up as he falls to his knees before them, sobbing, begging, “No. No, please, no. Not again. Not them. Not them.”
Something touches his shoulder and he flinches back as his Mama’s perfume, this time mixed with the odor of death and burning flesh, pervades his senses. Above him, his family has all but burnt away, even their bones left ashed and charred. One eyeball, wide and red with a small white pupil pinpricked in the middle, falls from the carnage, and rolls to the center of the room.
Like a fucked up car crash, Blitzo watches it, all while the flames creep closer. When he turns, his Mama is also gone - a singed and torn dress laying crumpled in her spot. From the folds of the fabric rolls another eyeball, soft and red, black irises so filled with love and warmth. It rolls right over to the other, and together they turn towards him, staring at him as one as the fire overtakes the room. Blitzo watches them, feels their burn even hotter than the flames.
“If only we’d never met you.” His mothers voice and Stolas’ dance together, a song of aching torment. Blitzo opens his mouth, and sobs, and-
“-z? B-...itz. Blitz! Blitz!”
SLAP!
Sharp and sudden pain explodes all along Blitzo’s left cheek and down the curve of his neck. The imp’s eyes fly open and, moving on instinct, throws himself upwards. As a result, he smashes his forehead into Stolas’ with all of his body weight.
Both demons cry out with pain, Stolas rolling onto the floor with his head grasped in between two palms and Blitzo curling into the couch cushions in much the same position. His tail tucks tight around his body and he makes himself into a ball, impulsively muttering, “Keep fucking it up, keep fucking it up,” over and over again. Heat from the flames lick up his arms and he can practically feel fingers closing in around his throat; Coming for him, for everyone he cares about-
Low trilling manages to break through the pounding of blood that’s slamming in his ears and head. A tight pressure slips around his sides and hips and then his world goes sideways for just a moment. When he’s settled upright once more, he’s sitting on something much softer, and his face is buried in something so soft, so sweet smelling.
The trilling continues. Amongst his hypertension and panicked rambles, a low purr, however quiet, manages to respond.
The gentle giant holding him coos. “Just like that, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re safe, my darling.”
“Stolas- Loona-”
“Are both safe. We’re all in the apartment.” A palm runs up and down his back, calming down the spikes that have instinctually risen at the threat of danger. “Shh, shh. We’re okay.”
For a few moments both of them simply breathe, Stolas taking measured inhales and exhales while Blitzo does them alongside. After a few minutes, once most of the raw panic has subsided, Blitzo finds his voice enough to ask, “You okay?”
There’s no answer for a few long moments and he turns his head, fear pinching his eyebrows together. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn’t for his birdie to be sitting up straight and staring at him with one of the most incredulous expressions the imp has ever seen.
“Am I okay?” The bird scoffs. “Blitzo, you-“ he blinks, mouth open, “you must’ve been having…a horrible nightmare.” His eyes soften. “You couldn’t stop screaming.”
Blitzo blinks at him and feels his tail, still nestled underneath the thin blanket, wring around his own leg, squeezing lightly. “Sorry.” is all that ends up coming out, throat tight.
Stolas levels him with a look that makes Blitzo’s insides wriggle even worse, so he looks away. There’s something familiar in it - the pinched forehead and slight frown. “Blitzo.” The owl speaks slowly, and the imp gets ready to be yelled at. But he just pauses, beak opening and closing before he says, “You have… nothing to be sorry for. You don’t have to talk about it, if you do not want to. But please know that I am always here to listen, whenever you are ready.”
The assassin swallows. The sentiment would be nice, really - being said to anyone other than him. Because Stolas doesn’t know yet who the fuck he’s talking to; doesn’t know the kinds of skeletons Blitzo has in his closet. He’s only just beginning to formulate how to smoothly change the subject when, by the grace of Lucifer, a phone rings.
Both demons' heads turn towards the coffee table, where Blitzo’s phone glides around with the force of its vibrations. A winding tail wraps around it and drops it into Blitzo’s hands, illuminating his face in the light.
“‘s Millie.” He hums, brain still catching up as he denies the call - whatever it is, Mills can text him. His best friend's contact disappears, and, in its place, his homescreen pops up. He glances at the time.
His eyes shoot wide open. “Holy fuck.”
“What?” Stolas looks at him, alarmed by his tone. All Blitzo can do is stare with wide eyes at his phone.
“It’s the next fucking day. We slept, like, forty hours!”
Stolas is quickly scrambling to his side, grabbing the phone from his hand and looking down to double check. His beak also falls open. “Twenty-two.” He corrects quietly but not rudely, staring at the time. “Wow. We must’ve really-“ his head swivels around mid thought, right towards a - very empty - bassinet. “Elara. Where’s Elara? Oh my Lucifer-“
Unoiled hinges squeak loudly as Loona’s door, still decorated in all of her posters and photos, swings open. In the doorframe stands the young hellhound, dressed in a short party dress, with a gurgling Elara balanced on her hip. The baby is wearing a comfy onesie covered in horses that Blitz bought, and if the smell and lack of stains were anything to go by, the diaper strapped around her middle is fresh and clean.
Stolas melts, “Oh, Loona, darling - you are simply the best. Thank you!”
Loona just grunts in response, although Blitz notices the way her ears fold back and her tail gives a gentle swish in response to the compliment. He grins. “That’s my girl! What would we ever do without you, Loona honey?”
To that, she gives a low growl. “Okay, okay. I’ve been ready to go to this party for like, an hour, so take her, please. I was this close to kicking Blitz awake.”
She walks over, Elara having noticed her parents and devolving into a wriggle monster to get to them. Blitz holds out his arms and her little body is plopped into them, a squealing, giggling mess. He coos at her and brings her close to his face, peppering kisses over her forehead and cheeks. With a grand sweep through the air, he plops her into Stolas’ lap. An easy smile on his face, he watches his birdie greet their daughter. All five of her taloned fingers wrap tight around Stolas’ one pointer and she kicks her feet and gurgles in excitement.
“‘kay.” Loona says, stepping backwards. “See you guys.”
“Bye, Loonie! Have fun, text me if-“
There’s a loud knocking on the door, and it cuts right through Blitzo’s sentence. He pauses. “You expecting anyone?” He asks Loona, who shakes her head.
Turning to Stolas to ask the same question, he finds himself pausing and frowning when he looks at his birdie and takes in the owls disposition - eyes wide, hands wringing in his lap. When they make eye contact, Stolas whispers, "What if it’s the Goetia’s looking for me?”
Shit. Blitzo goes from mildly annoyed at another interruption to serious in seconds, eyes scanning the room for his glove. Finding it crumpled up on the table, he wrestles it on, lifting it towards Stolas and wracking his brain for the imping spell-magic-shit. Did he, uh- tap it? Like this? No, fuck-
“Blitzo! Open up! I got a key!”
The panic drains from Blitzo’s body in a matter of seconds and he physically slumps, allowing the glove to fall to the floor. “Okay. Birdie. Babe, it’s all good.” He says, not laughing, because that would be mean, but maybe smiling just a little. “‘s just Millie.”
“…Oh.” Stolas straightens up a little and dusts off his lap gracefully. “Yes, Millie also makes sense.”
Elara is flopped as gently as possible from Blitzo’s lap to Stolas’, and whines just a little as she watches her Dad rise up from off of the couch and walk over to the door. Blitzo opens it, and sure enough, his best friend stands in the doorway, arms crossed and left foot tapping against the floor like a disappointed mother. Her eyebrows shoot upwards when she lays eyes on the assassin.
“What. The. Fuck. Blitzo?”
Blitzo’s tail curls behind him. “Why hello to you fuckin’ too.”
Millie shakes her head. “No, no , not this time. Do you even fucking know how long it’s been since any of us have heard from you, B?”
“Uh…” Blitzo leans backwards to check the sunlight outside again. “Like, five days? Look, I'm not-“
“Try a month! Moxxie’s been in a panic - Fizz would only tell us that you were fine and nothing else, and Loona wouldn’t answer!” Besides Blitzo, his hellhound daughter walks up to the door, and Millie takes an opportunity to jab a light finger in her direction. “You need to be better about answering your phone, baby.”
“Yeah, sure.” Loona just flashes her a thumbs up as she rustles through her purse, though it’s clear to everyone there she’s not listening. “‘Kay. See you losers.” She holds one hand up to them in a sort of half wave, even if she’s already moving down the hallway.
“Bye, Loonie!” Blitzo waves after her enthusiastically, tail curling into a heart. “Stay safe! Text me if I need to kill anybody!”
She flips him off down the hallway, and he turns to Millie, about to gush about his amazing daughter when he’s met with a staunch and angry frown. It makes his own smile fall.
“Look, Mills, for what it’s worth, I am sorry. I’ve just been-” he glances behind his own back, towards Stolas and his mess of an apartment, “- busy.”
Millie opens her mouth to retort, and Blitzo can tell from the look in her eyes that he’s just going to get yelled at again. So, instead, he takes a step to the left, revealing Stolas and little Elara, nestled into his bare chest. The once-prince blushes and gives a cute little wave to Millie as the imp freezes, staring in wonder.
Blitzo, voice dropping with pride, announces, “Millie, meet my youngest daughter, Elara! We’ve been callin’ her El, sometimes Ellie.”
Millie just stares for a few moments longer, eyes glued to the wriggling ball of hybrid pressed up in Stolas’ arms. When Blitzo grabs her elbow, though, pulling her inside, she follows, and her face melts into an easy smile when she gets closer.
“Oh, hello.” She coos gently, kneeling down besides Stolas. She looks to the prince to make sure the close vicinity is okay and, once she gets a nod, maintains the eye contact for a few more, long seconds. In the back of Blitzo’s head, he realizes that these two haven’t spoken since Millie delivered his egg. Must be a little awkward.
Still, Millie reaches out, running a flat palm along the baby's forehead. There’s something on her face Blitzo can’t identify.
“Oh, Blitzo. You-“ she looks at the imp and swallows hard. “Good job, B.”
“…It was mostly Stolas, to be fair.”
“That’s not true.” Stolas speaks for the first time, voice quiet. “None if it would’ve been possible without Blitzo.”
The wording pangs through the assassin’s heart but he forces a smile anyways. “That’s certainly true. Anyways, Mills, sorry for not answering you or Mox, but, in my defense, we had a baby. Surprise!”
Millie only glances at him before looking back at the baby and cooing. “Is your daddy silly? Yes he is! Yes he is!”
Stolas smiles. “Would you like to hold her?”
“Aw, really? Could I?”
“Absolutely. Here, sit next to me.” Once Millie is comfortable on the couch, Stolas transitions Elara over to her lap, careful with the little body and head. She’s wrapped up in a blanket from Loona’s room, face snuggled into the down, trying - and failing - to fight sleep. Millie stares at her with a gentle smile, rocking the bundle back and forth. Her voice is quiet as she speaks to Blitzo, and she doesn’t even bother to turn towards him.
“I’m still mad at you. And you need to answer your texts. But, you made a damn cute kid.”
“Isn’t she the cutest?”
“You are! Yes, you are!”
Millie spends a few more minutes gushing and fawning over the baby while Elara giggles under the affections. Only after a sufficient amount of cuddles and a good chunk of procrastination attempts does she hand the baby back to Stolas, nodding towards Blitzo.
“I’m sorry I can’t stay as long as I’d like. I gotta get home.” She smiles, but it seems heavy around the edges. Blitzo can practically hear her thinking from here. “But I wanted to stop by and make sure you were alright.”
Blitzo smiles at her. “All good here!”
She studies him close; she sees right through him. Still, she continues to smile. “Just remember that all of us are here to help. I guess I don’ know Fizz that well, but I know he’d drop anything for you, just like Mox and I.” Her hand lands on and shakes his shoulder. “Just reach out. We’ll be there. And we're behind you, in everything. One-hundred percent.”
Blitzo swallows. There are fucking tears in his eyes, so he must look like a little…a little bitch. “Thanks, Mills.”
His friend hugs him, and he sinks into it. Millie hugs are the best - big and warm, squeezing the whole body just a little too tight, with her palm rubbing his shoulders in just the right spots. He sighs when the other lets go.
“I’ll text you”, he says.
“Good,” Millie nods, and leaves.
When the door closes behind her, Blitzo sighs, taking a moment to stretch one arm over his head, then the other. They both crack. He turns towards Stolas, ready to ask about possible dinner-breakfast-whatever plans- but his birdie is just staring and patting the empty spot next to him on the couch. Fuck.
“Sit, Blitzo.” The gentleness in Stolas’ voice makes Blitzo panic all the more, but he relents, walking over to the couch and sitting down. Elara giggles, and he turns to her, scowling exaggeratedly.
“You’re supposed to be on my side!”
“Why aren’t you reaching out to your loved ones, darling?” Stolas asks, low and gentle, and Blitzo’s first instinct is to get mad, because it sounds so fucking patronizing. But the owl continues, “I understand not reaching out in the eight, nine days since Elara’s been born - but a month is-... it just makes me worry.” Then, quieter, like a whisper, “This has to do with the nightmares, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not- it’s not that bad.” Blitzo’s tail winds and curls anxiously in the air, and he looks pointedly away from either of the set of eyes watching him as he speaks. “Really. I mean, you’re the one who- lost everything. It’s really nothing, compared to…”, he trails off.
“...Blitzo, I am not looking for your pity. I never have been.”
“I’m not- pitying you! That’s not it! I just- fuck, Stols, a month ago you almost bled out. Like, actually died. I could have fucking lost you, forever.” Blitzo’s throat gets caught, and when he clears it, tears dot in his eyes suddenly, so he just moves on. “I don’t pity you, and I know you’re strong as fuck, because I’ve seen it in action. It’s just that- none of-” he gestures to himself, “this comes even close to what you went through. Are going through.”
Silence. Blitzo keeps his eyes cast downward. The tattered coffee table in front of them has a particularly gnarly stain-slash-bite mark in the front left leg that he’s laser-focused on right now, instead.
“Blitzo. Tomorrow, if you woke up, and you couldn’t get up - you couldn’t make breakfast, couldn’t wash yourself, couldn’t go to work - I would love you just as much as I do today. I would lie with you until you felt better. No matter how long it took.”
Blitzo swallows. “That wouldn’t- I couldn’t. I have to- I.M.P. You, and Loona. E-Ellie.”
“Just because you have responsibilities doesn’t mean all of them have to be shouldered alone. And your worth isn’t based on any of that, anyways.”
“But I-” Stupid fucking tears again. Blitzo blinks. “None of this would’ve happened without me. I mean, I’m the one who fucked an egg into ya in the first place, you know? If you’d never met me, you wouldn’t be banished. You would still have Octavia in your life. You wouldn’t have almost- bled out, in a fucking dungeon.” Blitzo feels the ghost of fingertips against his windpipe, “It was all-all my fault.”
For a few moments, there’s silence, and Blitzo is panicked enough by it to look over at Stolas. His birdie has leaned his body over, towards the bassinet, placing Elara down into it like a cloud and wrapping her up in her favorite swaddle. She coos, and when Stolas turns back towards Blitzo, he wastes no time taking the other's face into his hands, cupping it like a prayer.
“Blitzo.” the owl says his name like it’s all that matters, like he’s worshipping at the base of an altar. “My love. Do you know what my life was like, before I met you again?”
Some of the fog clears in the corners of Blitzo’s vision. “...No. Not really.”
“On my tenth birthday, the one we met as children, I was told I was to be wed the moment I turned 18. My arranged bride’s name was Stella, and she was horribly cruel, but I had no say in the matter. We married the moment we were both of age, and we were forced to have a baby. It was horrific; I was drugged for most of it. Stella hit me and insulted me every chance she had. Eventually, Octavia was born, and she is the light of my life; my baby girl is everything to me.”
Stolas’ eyes slowly slid over to Blitzo, whose back is pulled tight, eyes zeroed in on something in front of him. A wire snaps. He looks to the side. “They-she did fucking what to you?”
“I miss Octavia every day, Blitzo, but the only reason I am not still in that house being abused and bullied by a woman who does not love me is because I met you. I have Elara because of you. Loona is not on the streets or dead because she met you. Moxxie and Millie are married because they. Met. You.” He finds and squeezes the others hands tight in his own. “Do you understand, my love?”
Blitzo wasn’t listening-couldn’t hear anything over the rush of blood and anger in his ears. “She-she hit you?”
For the second time today, it feels like the floor has opened up underneath him, ready to swallow them both whole. How didn’t he know? He saw Stolas flinch - it feels so fucking obvious in retrospect. The Full Moon nights he came over, when Stolas just wanted to cuddle or had injuries he explained away using plants and household accidents; had Stella been hurting him, then?
When Blitzo fell off the balcony and screamed in her face that they were sleeping- did Stella hit him over that? Oh, Blitzo was going to be fucking sick. There’s bile in the back of his throat, and Stolas is still talking, but sadly, it’s lost in the haze. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.
“-Blitzo. Blitzo!”
“‘m fine.” The assassin forces out. “All good.”
“Oh, dear- you’re not. I’m sorry, I’m sorry- I wasn’t- I had a point to make. I’m not very good at these things-”
Blitzo waves the other off and takes in a few more deep, exaggerated breaths. “It’s okay, Stols. All good. See?” He takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out as an example. He pretends it doesn’t hitch on the way out. “Fine. Just needed a second.”
Stolas stares and fiddles with his hands in his lap. “I know I have caused a lot of worry for you, Blitzo, and although I also know much of it was out of my control, I am sorry for the emotional roller coaster I’ve put you through. But, please know- my life right now is better than it has ever been, and I mean that wholeheartedly. There are many things I would’ve done differently, were I to do it all again. But I would want you in my life in any universe, any timeline. I do not and could never regret you, Blitzo Buckzo.”
Blitzo tips forward and finds himself quickly buried in Stolas’ chest plumage for the second time that hour. The owl takes it in stride, collecting the loose limbs of the imp up in his arms and hugging him so close as Blitzo says, muffles by feathers, “Man, fuck you. That’s not fair.”
He leans back. “You say that now, but how long until I hurt you? Or- or Elara. You know me, I-I burn everything I touch.”
“You do not.” Stolas answers without any hesitation. “I was miserable before you came back into my life. I spent every day in fear, wanting so selfishly to-to stop feeling. I stayed for Octavia, but I was never happy. You taught me that I could choose, that life doesn’t have to be so-so sad.”
“But now Octavia doesn’t talk to you.” Blitzo looks at Stolas with watering eyes, and Stolas coos, kissing his forehead.
“That is not your fault, my dearest. I have made many, many mistakes along this journey that have damaged our relationship. That is- that is only my fault. Not yours. Never yours.”
Blitzo shakes his head from where it’s being cradled between Stolas’ hands like he’s something precious. “Not fair. I fucked up too. I keep seeing you, in the hospital, after you laid the egg, and I guess I-I didn’t get you there in time. You ble-” the words lodge in the bottom of his throat. “I didn’t save you in time. I was so close to not saving you in time, Stols.”
The owl coos quietly, running the palm of his hands over Blitzo’s horns and pressing a kiss to the very center of his insignia.
“But you did save me, Blitzo.” Eyes study and search his face for something, but he isn’t sure what. “I owe you a second apology. Too much has fallen on your shoulders lately. I know I was out of commission for a while, and losing Octavia…” He swallows, and looks away, “Just because the pain is intense does not mean I can abandon my responsibilities elsewhere.”
Blitzo ‘psh’s quietly. “It’s fine to take things slow while you’re healing.”
“And your worth is not determined by just being a caretaker.” Stolas says it so solidly, so earnestly, like he believes it with his whole heart. And Blitzo takes a slow breath in, through his nose.
He still doesn’t really believe it. Nothing Stolas could say would magically undo years of being told otherwise- countless nights terrified of burning everyone he loves all over again.
He looks at the other. “I’ll work on believing that if you work on believing me when I say how beautiful you are.”
He gets a small smile in response, and a soft snore from Elara to boot. “Alright, my darling. Deal.”