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It was rare anyone verbally confronted an avatar of sin, and almost unheard of for someone to physically assault one. But when it happened, it was usually Mammon.
He and MC had just begun heading home after a shopping spree, arms full. MC held bags of groceries, the original errand they'd been sent on, and Mammon carried bags of clothes and jewelry, and the rest of the usual haul he brought home.
Because it was so rare, neither of them reacted quickly enough when a demon ran up and threw a liquid in Mammon's face.
Mammon dropped his bags with a yell, stumbling back and wiping at his eyes. MC should have looked for any distinguishing features, but she let the demon get away, instinctively turning to Mammon to make sure he was okay.
She pulled one of the new shirts out of one of his discarded bags, handing it to him, and watching him clear the stuff from his face. They both ignored the watching crowd around them.
He was blinking rapidly, hunching over like something was painful, and MC was concerned.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
He didn't answer, hunching further, and letting out a sound that was halfway between a growl and a whine. MC took a step back, nervous system activated by the sound, flaring up further as horns began to peek through his hair, and two spots on his back began to extend and stretch.
“Mammon?”
He was transforming, but slowly and painfully. And it was unnerving. He growled again, slowly turning his head until they locked eyes. Glowing golden eyes, pupils narrowed to slits in an animalistic display of the power of a predator.
Her instincts screamed, cold terror filling her bones, and she took another step back. Then another. People were still watching, a fair number of them looking confused, and even a couple looking concerned, which made her adrenaline hit even harder.
“Mam-”
He was on her, right in front of her before she could blink. By the time her brain caught up, she had already stumbled back, tripping over her own feet and falling to the ground, never breaking eye contact with him.
Nobody moved. Not Mammon. Not MC. Not the demons around them. And then everyone moved.
Mammon pounced on her, knocking her head against the cobblestone street, and everyone around them scattered. He was fully in his demon form now, his wings flapping lazily as he soaked in her terrified scream. He lifted her, throwing her a short distance. Short enough to hurt, but not far enough to break anything.
The groceries lay forgotten in the street alongside Mammon’s own bags as she scrambled to her feet and began running, glancing behind her every so often. He was just watching her, expression blank, but eyes wild. She ran, knowing it was pointless since he could catch up before she could take another step if he wanted to. And when she turned a corner, he did.
She screamed again as he crashed into her, digging his claws into her sides and tearing at the skin there, the thick wool of her coat giving way like water. From there, he moved again, slamming her against a wall, hand around her throat as he widened one of the gashes with his other hand.
Her tears flowed as freely as her blood, and whines punctuated her sobs. “Mammon, please!” She wasn’t above begging. Not when she hurt like this. Not when her best friend was literally tearing her apart.
Nothing. Not even a flicker of recognition that she even spoke. Just fangs that seemed to grow as he released her neck, angling his head like he wanted a bite.
She shoved his face away, leaving smears of blood on his skin. He did react this time. He pulled back in surprise, and then to her disgust and horror, licked the blood off his lip.
His eyes glowed brighter, and he went still, finally letting her go. So she ran again, slower, and each step more agonizing than the last. She muffled her sobs and held her waist, glancing back over and over, desperately making an escape. He was still standing there, head cocked like he was listening, and slightly raised, like he was tracking her scent.
For their part, the demons around her let her pass. No one helped, but no one grabbed her to help let Mammon finish the job. She panted, vision blurring and legs shaking. She was slowing down, she could feel it, but she forced herself to continue anyway, taking advantage of the adrenaline.
She turned another corner, darting into a crowd. Word had clearly spread about Mammon snapping, and while there were complaints as she shoved and weaved, the energy around her was nervous, and the crowd helped to carry her further, hands pushing her forward, even if forward was away from the person she’d bumped into.
Screams were heard behind her, and her shield fell apart as the crowd dispersed, demons running in all directions. MC looked over her shoulder to see Mammon fling a man aside, eyes locked on her.
“Lucifer!” She screeched, desperate and panicking, praying that someone would somehow hear her. “Satan!” She tripped, only just managing to catch herself. “Someone help me!” Her voice was shrill, and the tones carried far in the night sky, but not far enough. Everyone was at home waiting. That was why she’d been sent out for groceries in the first place; so no one else had to.
She stumbled again. He was getting closer. He wasn’t running at full speed; he was practically walking toward her, even though his slowed demonic speed was still a human’s run.
If she could get out of his line of sight again, she could hide, but she didn’t think that would work, not with his enhanced senses. She couldn’t think of another solution though. She actually was having a hard time thinking at all. Despite the adrenaline, the gashes in her sides tortured her with each gasp for air, and each collision of her foot with the street.
She wasn’t going to make it back to the house. She was going to die.
She stumbled one more time, this time falling. She tried to get up, but her arms shook, and her body hurt, and she was tired. She was actually going to die.
She watched through lidded eyes as Mammon approached, no longer fighting. She thought he’d go for the kill right then and there, but he didn’t. He lifted her roughly, and took to the skies, holding her limp body like a carcass; which she essentially was, or at the very least would be very soon.
She watched the blurry lights beneath them, wishing she could die right then, looking at something pretty. But the blur became a smear as he suddenly let her go.
She didn’t feel like she was falling. She felt like she was still, laying on air, and surrounded by wind, but weightless. Maybe her wish was granted and this was death.
But no. There was a building under her, and she could see inside. And when she hit the building, inside became outside, the glass roof absorbing her impact and shattering in cacophonous chaos as she crashed through at an angle, knocking the breath out of her.
There was a stone fountain underneath her, and she hit it wrong, but it might be what saved her from a broken neck. She clipped one of the tiers, the impact twisting her violently, pain detonating through her shoulder and ribs, spinning her body away from the more dangerous part of the statue, and into the water below.
She couldn’t breathe, and pain wracked through every part of her. The stars above her were blocked out by Mammon’s silhouette, the gold glow of his eyes all she could see.
The water she was in was red, and she could no longer feel anything beyond the pulsating pain. She didn’t want to know the moment she’d die. She didn’t want to see someone she loved go in for the kill. So she closed her eyes, pretending the arms circling around her were giving her a hug, not adjusting her for a better angle.
There was noise. A door slamming open, and then several screams. She felt Mammon pulled off of her, and animalistic snarls joined the mix of shouting.
Her eyes fluttered open, but she couldn’t really see anything, and it was becoming easier to just give in. She just wanted all the pain to stop.
Someone was pulling her up out of the water; maybe multiple someones. She was being asked something, but she couldn’t piece it together through the fog in her mind, and the yelling around her.
She groaned as she was carried from the room, the person’s gait rough and panicked, but they didn't stop. Whoever it was definitely slapped her when her eyes slipped shut, yelling once again, but she didn't know what he said.
She was outside once more, wind whipping past, stinging her face. She closed her eyes again, and was met with another hit and another sharp command.
The crack of splintering wood echoed in the night, and there was more shouting. First of shock, then of anger, and then finally of panic.
Why was everyone around her so panicked? Panic was loud, and she just wanted quiet. The lights were too bright, and the voices were too loud, and she could feel the life leaving her body and she just wanted to go to sleep, but the person kept hitting her.
Dishes clattered as they were moved, rushed to the kitchen, and then she was laid on a firm surface.
A black form ran from the room; that must have been the person who carried her here. She didn't know why, but seeing that particular figure afraid like that felt wrong.
After a few words passed between the people she was with now, hands covered her eyes and a blinding light permeated through them anyway.
The sensation was just short of being painful, but it was agonizingly uncomfortable. She felt more than heard the groan rumble through her chest, and she must have said something because three separate people were murmuring reassurances to her.
The longer the light was there, the more her sides ached and burned, and through her haze, she remembered Mammon’s fingers digging in, his cold detachment as she pleaded with him. She jerked away weakly, making one of the hands touching her extend pressure in order to keep her in place. A choked gasp forced its way out of her throat.
The people released her, and she almost felt worse than before. She was able to see white above her, now that the hands were gone, and in the corners of her vision, outlines of people she thought she should know.
One of them ran off, in a hurry. The other two spoke to each other, and to her, shaking her gently and speaking a little more firmly anytime she closed her eyes.
The man was back, and someone propped her up as something was brought to her lips. She blinked, eyes focusing on the bottle, then the hand, then the arm, and finally the person themselves.
Everything around her was still blurred, but she absolutely saw the white hair framing this man’s face. Panic filled her, adrenaline she didn’t know she had left dulled the pain in her body, and helped her move. She flailed, knocking the bottle away, and fighting the people holding her still. Everyone was shouting, but hers were shouts of fear, which brought the man dressed in black to come running back in.
The white haired man brought the bottle back to her lips, and while she was still fighting, it was weaker now, so the liquid went in. She didn’t even think not to swallow, that the drink could be dangerous, so she did, retching at the metallic taste and coughing through the tingling in her throat. It was followed by another bottle, but this one made her pause. The taste was awful, and she did not want it inside of her.
She started opening her mouth, turning her head away, but hands returned. They held her still, and one even kept her mouth shut until she swallowed. Fortunately, the next thing they brought to her lips was water, which she drank greedily.
She was laid back down, and the hands covered her eyes again, hiding the worst of the bright light from her gaze. It lasted for a shorter amount of time than before, and this time, she did feel just the slightest bit better. When she closed her eyes again, no one stopped her.
She had no dreams, and the time she spent in darkness seemed to pass slowly, yet restfully. She woke up briefly a few times, but never long enough for her to realize she was awake, until finally, she was.
MC cracked her eyes open, squinting against the soft glow of a single lamp. Her head hurt. Really, everything hurt. And she was content to go right back to sleep, except there was this feeling of dread in her chest, like something awful had happened, and she needed to be prepared.
She moved to sit up, letting out a groan the moment she tried. Something next to her shifted, and she turned to look, a jab hitting her head with the quick movement.
Simeon was there. He was smiling gently, but he couldn't hide the concern in his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
It took an embarrassing amount of time for her to piece the meaning of each word together, but he waited patiently.
“...Bad.” She finally said, her voice weak.
“I’m sorry.”
“What ‘appened?”
Simeon frowned. “Don’t worry about that right now, okay? Just rest.”
“Somethin’ happened.” She insisted.
“I know. But you’re going to be okay. You’re safe. You’re going to stay with us at Purgatory Hall for a few days.”
Despite his reassurances, she didn’t feel safe. She knew she should, that nothing could happen to her here; but she couldn’t shake the fear tingling in her chest.
“Hur’s…” Was that right? He seemed to understand.
“I know. Is there something that hurts the most? I can get you something to help.” Simeon offered.
She ran a mental scan, clocking the places where the pain stood out. “M’ head.” She licked her lips, feeling like her words sounded off. “An’ my…” She raised a shaking arm and gestured to her abdomen, letting it fall back onto the bed after a moment.
“Alright. I’ll be right back.”
Simeon got up and left, but it took her a minute to realize that. Sleep called to her again, and she forgot what Simeon was getting, but surely he could just give it to her later.
She was woken sooner than she would have liked. Luke was here now too, and as soon as he noticed she was awake, said something to her before leaving. Simeon picked up a bottle, and gently helped to prop her up a bit.
The whine she let out was pathetic, but the aching agony that rolled through her, and the nausea she had to fight back, allowed for nothing else.
Simeon was murmuring to her as he brought the bottle to her lips, and something about this felt familiar. She drank, recognizing it as a potion, one she’d had before, although she had to take a moment to place the taste of it to a pain reliever Solomon had offered her once or twice in the past.
Luke came back in with a plate and a glass of water.
“I wanted to make your favorites, but Simeon said I should stick to lighter stuff.”
She looked at the bread on the plate. It was dark, and buttered. Oh, toast. That would probably be okay. But she wanted water first, which Simeon helped her with.
“I’ve always said you can’t trust demons.” Luke started, ignoring Simeon’s warning glare, and the snap he sent his way. “Even the ones that seem nice. Ma-”
“Luke!”
“-mmon was really good at prete-”
“Luke!”
MC had never heard Simeon yell before, but damn if it didn't hurt her head. Wait, what about Mammon? Why did his name make her heart beat just a bit faster? But not in the normal way. Not in the way she pretended not to notice. Not in the way it did when he did something cute or funny.
“Mamm’n?”
Luke furrowed his brow in confusion. “Yes, Mammon. He-”
“Get out.” Simeon commanded, plunging the room into cold, awkward silence.
“...What?” Was the eventual, small reply.
“You need to leave, Luke. I’m going to talk with you later.”
And then Luke left, uncharacteristically quiet.
“Mamm…on?” MC asked again once the young angel was gone.
“Later. You need to eat.”
“Mammon… Did somethin’.”
He hesitated. “...Yes. But it’s being handled.”
There were several seconds where they just looked at each other. His expression was full of concern, and love, and even though she still felt like something was wrong, she could tell that whatever he wasn’t telling her, he was keeping to himself for a reason.
“After you eat, I want to do some more healing.” He picked up the toast. “Can I help you, or would you like to try on your own?”
“...I don’ know if I can.” She whispered.
“That’s alright.”
She could tell she was eating slower than normal, but it was like her mouth needed a minute to catch up to the fact that she was trying to chew. Simeon sat patiently, holding the toast without judgment.
“Alright.” He said when she finished. “It’s going to be very bright, so I’m going to cover your eyes with this.” He showed her a blindfold, one of the really nice ones with padding around the nosebridge designed to block out all light. “You’re probably going to feel tired as soon as I’m done, and I want you to listen to your body and sleep.”
“What’s bein’ healed?” She asked as he tightened the strap of the blindfold.
“Right now, I’m going to focus on your head. It will make it easier for the rest of your body to heal once the inflammation in your brain is calmed.”
“Oh, a concussion.” She said, only just piecing together why everything around her was so hard to comprehend.
Simeon chuckled. “You have some broken bones, as well as several fractures, but we’ll take care of those once the more pressing concerns are out of the way. Close your eyes.”
She did, and once again, unnaturally bright light shone through anyway. Her headache seemed to grow worse, pressure constricting from both outside, and inside, but it eventually settled, and sure enough, she felt absolutely exhausted. By the time Simeon took the blindfold off, she was already asleep.
The third time she woke up, she felt like she could think more clearly, and process more quickly, but the persistent anxiety in her gut still didn’t make a lot of sense to her. She could hear two people talking in the hall, their words muffled and broken. If she really focused, she could make out a few fragments.
“...Insists …doesn’t remember… after… groceries.”
“Doesn’t make sense… attack… He’s never… like that.”
“Keeping him locked… until we can…”
“Thank you… keeping me updated.”
The voices got closer, finally ending with Simeon’s right outside the door. He opened it, noticing her state right away.
“How are you feeling?”
“Not great.” She responded. Better than ‘bad’, but she still felt like she’d been hit by a bus.
“It’s going to be a while before you do.” Simeon informed her, taking a seat. “Humans can’t handle too much Celestial Realm energy, and you’re reaching the threshold. I don’t have the power to transfigure you or protect you from it, so from here on we’re going to let your body heal more naturally.”
The disappointment and apprehension she felt must have been obvious, because he gave her a reassuring smile.
“Solomon is making you something that will knit your bones back together. We wanted to wait until we were able to get a better grasp on your injuries before giving you another potion. It’s really your head and your sides we’re going to be keeping an eye on. They’re what I’ve focused the healing on, but you were in such bad condition that I couldn’t fully repair either.”
“Was there some sort of accident?” MC asked hesitantly. “Did Mammon crash his car?”
“I want you to heal first. Don't worry about it right now, MC.”
There was the lightest hint of frustration in his voice, but hidden under that was fear. He didn't want her to know something.
“What's wrong with my waist?” She challenged.
“I’ll show you when Solomon finishes brewing the potion.”
It’s not what she wanted to hear, but at least it was an answer, so she reluctantly backed down.
“How does your head feel?” Simeon asked after a moment, taking the surrender gracefully.
“I have a little headache, and everything feels like it’s just a second behind. Also the room spins if I move my eyes too fast.” She admitted, taking a moment to let her eyes roam, only to shut them as she let the nausea settle.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Solomon might be able to make something, but I think I managed to get the swelling down enough that a few more days of rest will help with the worst of it.”
“And then I’ll be able to go home?”
Simeon hesitated and MC felt frustration rise again, and tears spring to her eyes.
“Let me get you something to eat, MC. We can talk about this after.”
“I don’t want to talk after, I want to know what happened! It’s obvious it was bad, and I was really scared. I didn’t…” She trailed off, bringing a hand to her head as fragments of terror surfaced in her mind. The thoughts were interrupted by pain as her wrist twisted.
Simeon immediately came to look when she cried out, holding her wrist gingerly. “There’s a sprain here. Don’t worry, Solomon will be done soon. In fact, I’ll go downstairs and get you something to eat, and I’ll check on his progress on the way back.”
She felt the tears dripping down her face, but Simeon didn’t comment. She just felt so chaotic and disorganized, her brain catastrophizing every little thing. He left with a gentle squeeze to her hand, closing the door quietly.
She tried to conjure up the faint, disjointed memories, breathing through the anxiety in her chest. She remembers this internal knowing that she was going to die. She was going to die. She was going to die and her family would never know. She was going to die, painfully, and alone. But she didn’t know how. No solid memory surfaced, leaving her frustrated and with a headache.
She didn’t realize it had been long enough for Simeon to return until the door was opened, and his figure filled the frame. He was looking over his shoulder, talking to someone.
MC didn’t remember the first time she had reacted to Solomon’s hair, but her body reacted just as strongly. She jolted, pure adrenaline shooting through her, urging her to move. To run. She felt her breathing stutter, but that didn’t matter, not when there was a demon, a real one. One she was supposed to be able to trust. One that was supposed to keep her safe.
Glowing gold eyes filled her vision, except when she blinked, it was only the lamp in the guest room, and when she focused, it was only Solomon. And when she took a deep breath, she realized it hadn’t been more than a few seconds.
Solomon noticed her reaction, unsurprised by it. No one knew exactly what had happened, but the outcome had been obvious. Obvious in the way Lucifer had looked, literally breaking down their door holding a body drenched in water and soaked in blood. Obvious in the way the demon lords avoided saying Mammon’s name. Obvious in the way MC had reacted both before, delirious with a concussion and blood loss, and now, aware of her surroundings, and knowing she was safe.
He pushed aside the feeling of guilt, the shame that reminded him he’d considered wearing a hat, but had decided testing a theory was more important. But MC was strong, and now he knew for sure; Mammon had hurt MC. It was obvious.
Simeon set down the tray he was carrying. “Solomon finished just as I knocked on his door. Why don’t you drink the potion first? That way you can feed yourself.”
She just nodded, frowning. Her gaze was distant as she felt something nudging at the back of her mind.
Solomon walked closer, and held the potion as Simeon helped her sit up to drink it. It slid down, coating her tongue and throat in the taste of earth, but she drank until it was gone. Having your bones fuse together at any speed faster than a normal healing process was an odd sensation. Her bones obviously didn’t feel anything, but there was movement on the underside of her muscles, reminding her of horror movies where something moved under a victim’s skin. It lingered in some areas, taking longer on worse breakage, but eventually, the feeling went away.
“Thank you.” She said, moving around a bit experimentally.
“Of course.” Solomon replied.
“Eat now.” Simeon handed her a plate. “You need to make sure you’re consuming nutrients.”
It wasn’t much. They were still giving her lighter foods, but mashed hell potatoes and plain devil chicken was much more filling than toast, which was the last thing she’d eaten. A part of her wondered how long she’d slept for; what day it was. A bigger part of her was too hungry to care.
She was still hungry when the food was gone, but Simeon refused when she’d asked for more.
“Do you want to rest more, or would you like some company?” He offered instead.
“What’s wrong with my waist?” She responded, expression set.
Simeon sighed, and shared a look with Solomon that MC didn’t appreciate. But they helped her up, holding her weight when her legs shook, and walking her to the dresser where a vanity mirror sat. Simeon lifted the oversized shirt she was wearing to an appropriate height, and Solomon angled the mirror down.
Her knees completely buckled. There, sitting in rows from her back to her hips, one side longer and deeper than the other, were deep, ugly gashes surrounded by blue and purple bruising that spread like spilled ink across her skin.
She remembered this. She remembered being pinned against a wall, and Mammon was ripping her, destroying her without a sliver of mercy. Without a single emotion playing across his usually expressive face. She remembered being thrown, and chased, and dropped. She remembered shards of glass hanging in the air around her as she fell, a snapshot of frozen time in what she had known would be her final moments. She remembered being hunted, prey being toyed with, like a cat and a mouse. She’d stood no chance, and was only alive because it had been a game to Mammon.
She remembered how he looked more like an animal than anything else. A true demon.
A strangled sob worked its way out of her, and the men quickly pulled her away, lifting her back into the bed. Their words washed over her as her body was wracked with grief and fear, the ache in her sides a sharp reminder of who had done this. What had done this.
“It will heal.” Solomon reassured her, misunderstanding the reason for her tears. “You won’t even notice it.”
“You’re alive. You’re here.” Simeon soothed, more attuned to her internal panic. “You’re safe.”
It took her a while to calm down. First, she had to process the initial shock, and then, the feelings that had resurfaced with the memories. After that, it took some time for her body to remember it wasn’t currently in any danger. It left her feeling mentally drained, and physically sore.
“Would you like us to stay or go?” Simeon asked gently.
“Stay please.”
Simeon climbed into the bed to hold her, while Solomon sat in the chair.
“I think I remember what happened. Or most of it.” She admitted.
Simeon stilled for just a moment.
“What’s wrong?” She asked.
He hesitated but eventually sighed. “Lord Diavolo asked to meet with you when you recovered your memories. We can wait until you’re a little more healed, but now that you remember, we can’t hold him off for too long.”
“Oh.”
“But he can wait a few more days. You’re really not in any condition to go anywhere right now, even just downstairs.”
She didn’t want to meet with anyone ever. She wanted to go to sleep and forget this ever happened. She nodded instead.
The appointment was made, and she spent a couple days more bored than she wanted to admit. Luke was finally allowed to see her again, and they passed the hours doing crafts. By the time Diavolo was supposed to come around, she was able to walk if she leaned on someone.
When he arrived, she was taken downstairs, each step slow and calculated, and led to sit in a chair in the living room. Diavolo sat in the other, expression a mix of concern, guilt, and weariness. Barbatos stood behind him, impassive as always.
“Good afternoon, MC. I’m glad to see you up and about.” Diavolo started, exchanging pleasantries neither one of them really felt like going through. “You’re looking well considering the circumstances.”
“Thank you.” She answered.
“I know you’re still recovering, and I want you to rest as much as you can, but I need to ask you some questions.”
“Alright.”
“Mammon says he doesn’t remember anything. He says he knows you both went out for groceries, but after that, there’s nothing. Did you notice anything odd on the day of the attack?”
“No.” She said, fidgeting with her fingers. “Where is he?”
“In the castle dungeons. He’s not too thrilled about it either, but there are consequences for harming those under my protection. His sentence could be better or worse depending on what my investigation reveals. Your testimony is key.”
She looked away. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“It is.” He agreed. “And I don’t want to add more, but his life is on the line.”
Her head snapped up, eyes locked on his.
He continued. “I really want to do a thorough job. I don’t want to have to end Mammon, and I know his brothers will be heartbroken. But I also won’t let him go just because I’m fond of him.”
“Death, really?” She asked, voice tight. “That’s a little harsh. I don’t want him to die.”
“I don’t either. That’s why I’m asking you to really think back. Was he acting off? Did he touch anything? Eat or drink anything?”
So she thought back, trying to remember any odd behavior. Anything he may have touched or… “Drink.” She whispered. “Someone threw a drink at him. Or something. I don’t know what it was, but someone threw a cup of something at his face and took off. That’s when…” Memories of a half-transformed Mammon, and a deep, instinctual fear surfaced. “That’s when he started acting weird. Like he couldn’t control himself.”
Diavolo’s eyes had gone wide, and a hint of relief was present. “That’s extremely helpful. Thank you, MC.”
For some reason, his relief irritated her. “So what now?”
“I continue investigations, interviewing witnesses and such, and now, looking into this drink.” He answered seriously. “In the meantime, you’re obviously excused from RAD, and are until Simeon says otherwise. Until then, you can return to the House of Lamentation whenever you’re ready.”
“Oh.” Return? Did she want to return? Was it safe? What if some medical complication happened? What if the boys were mad at her for getting their brother locked away? What if this wasn’t a fluke, and demons really do just snap one day? “Okay.”
“MC, I just want to formally say, as the one who created the exchange program, I’m truly sorry that you were put in danger while in my lands.” Diavolo stood and bowed slightly.
Her eyes widened this time, and she moved to stand too, aborting the action halfway. “It’s…” What, okay? Not something to apologize for? “...Not your fault.” She finished lamely.
He smiled softly. “Rest, MC.” He said before walking through the newly replaced front door.
It took Diavolo a few more days to investigate, and in that time, MC had moved back into the House of Lamentation, at Simeon and Solomon’s encouragement. All the boys, except Mammon, monitored her every move, making sure she didn’t have to get up too often, or strain too far. It would have been more touching if she didn’t feel so smothered, but she still understood their actions as coming from a place of love and care.
It didn’t take Diavolo too long to find out what had happened. Once questions of a liquid being thrown at Mammon came up, demons corroborated the story, and while he was still looking for the perpetrator, the substance had been identified as a dangerous and illegal potion. Mammon was cleared, and sent home.
The day he returned, no one had warned her. They had announced that Mammon was free to go, and that it wasn’t his fault, but no one had warned her that he was coming home.
When she saw him, she froze. Her heart beat faster, like a rabbit’s, and she became hyperaware of the limitations of her body; how she still walked gingerly, pain stabbing her sides with every movement. How she didn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep, for more than a few hours at a time. How she felt nauseous if she moved too fast, and got a headache anytime the room was too bright or too loud. So frozen, she stared at him, waiting.
Mammon stared at her too. He had been told that she had been hurt, that he had hurt her. That she had almost died. The guilt he felt now, looking at her, was nothing compared to the horror and self hatred he’d been filled with as he waited in a cell to hear if she was okay.
But he didn’t remember. At first, that had made it worse, but now, now that it was confirmed he had had no control, his defense mechanisms warred with his heart. Yes, he hurt her, but it wasn’t him, and why should he be blamed for yet another thing that wasn’t his fault? But looking at her, he knew it didn’t matter. She was scared of him. She knew it wasn’t his fault, and was still scared. Because his fault or not, the demon that attacked her had looked just like him.
She was able to move again as he looked away, accepting the welcoming his brothers were offering. Obviously they were happy. She knew they should be. But she felt betrayal anyway.
She hid in her room, turning a lock she knew made no difference. She had to get her breathing under control. She had to hide, and then she had to breathe. Because that was hard right now. Because she looked at Mammon, and her body thought she was being chased again, but she wasn’t, so she just had to breathe.
In. Out. Once she remembered how, it wasn’t too hard to even out her breathing, even if the anxiety held strong, making bile rise in her throat, and tears flow down her face.
She knew he’d come sooner or later, and she had been brought dinner, a not unusual request as of late, so she knew he’d be wanting to see her. When there was a hesitant knock just before the time she would usually go to bed, she just as hesitantly allowed entrance.
He was making himself smaller, hunching over, and walking in timidly, leaving the door open just a crack, which despite herself, she was grateful for. His movements were slow, yet jerky, as if he didn’t know exactly how to approach her.
They stared at one another again, just as lost for words as before. Mammon’s eyes roamed all over her, checking for injuries, and taking in the signs of trauma. Her eyes stayed locked on his face, memories of her best friend fighting for dominance in her mind with memories of being powerless and in pain.
He didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t going to cut it. Sorry wasn’t enough to wave away the list of injuries he’d been forced to sit through as he cried in a dungeon cell. He couldn’t have faked the grief he’d felt, and that may have been what had given him more time for investigating. Besides, sorry was an admission of guilt that he didn’t want to hold himself accountable to. But he had to say something.
“I’m so glad you’re alive.” That was him. That was his rasping whisper, vocalizing the first thing he thought as he finally met her eyes. That was him speaking before he thought, as usual. Those were his tears he felt welling up. If she had died, he would have killed himself, he was sure of it. In the dark, cold cell, all he could think about was her, and Lilith, and how innocent, perfect souls were cursed by simply being near him. How another woman he loved might have died, and this time, it would have been by his hands.
His expression was so foreign to her. This wasn’t friend or foe; this was someone new. Someone so broken he couldn’t possibly be the thing that had nearly killed her. Someone she saw in flickers of the inferno that was Mammon. The demon had been cold and heartless, expressionless as he performed mindless actions. Her best friend joked and laughed, and told her things he had never told others. Things that made him avert his gaze as he hid his feelings behind a quip or a laugh. This, in front of her, was Mammon.
“I don’t want to be afraid.” She whispered in return.
“I’m so sorry.” He said, falling to his knees, finally confronting his own role in this head on. Looking at her, at the thing he coveted the most, seeing the signs of sleepless nights and etches of pain, there was no way he couldn’t.
She slipped out of bed, slowly, unsurely, taking small steps toward him. He looked up. She was so close, but he didn’t move. He knew if he moved, she would leave him forever.
At her own, agonizingly slow pace, she knelt too, wrapping her arms around him.
Eyes wide, he brought his own up, slowly and softly encircling her. He felt the stiffness of her back as he touched her, the muscles loosening in increments.
Finally, she leant her head against his chest, and he took that as permission to bury his face in her hair.