Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stolas woke the morning after, and for one groggy, blissful moment, he forgot.

And then he felt the crick in his back from lying on a too-small sofa all night, heard the sound of an unfamiliar tap running, smelled the slightly stale odor of Blitzø’s apartment—and it came rushing back, every excruciating detail.

A weight settled on his chest, hot and heavy. Everything he had was gone. The wealth and status he could live without, those weren’t his main concerns. But...his daughter. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her, to explain. To say goodbye. And now...

He squeezed his eyes tight, willing back the tears. Tears wouldn’t help him now.

The tap cut, and the bathroom door opened. Quiet footsteps approached the sofa—familiar footsteps.

Blitzø.

Stolas certainly wasn’t ready to deal with that whole mess, so he feigned sleep as Blitzø passed by him and settled into the bean bag beside the window. There was a huff of the cushion shifting and a deep sigh from the imp, and then it was quiet once more.

He didn’t dare open his eyes. He was afraid to face his new reality, to face his...

What was Blitzø to him now? There hadn’t been time to think, what with the executioner’s axe only moments from striking true. He’d barely been able to concoct his harebrained musical number, let alone question why he was sacrificing himself for someone who’d made it painfully clear how little their arrangement had meant. The only thought he could muster at the time was please let me not be too late, please let him live.

And he had. And then Stolas had, too.

He couldn’t stop the next tear from leaking down his cheek.

“I can hear you thinking yourself in circles over there.”

Stolas cracked his eyelids. Blitzø was looking at him from across the room—the far-too-small room with far too little space between them—sharply curved horns and spines haloed by the burgeoning daylight (horns and spines that had nearly been separated from his body only yesterday, had Stolas been only a moment too late, Satan forbid). There was a softness to Blitzø’s gaze, an affection he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. Only a handful of months ago, this would’ve been a fantasy—waking to Blitzø’s smiling face, some flavor of gentle emotion reflected there. Today, it stoked nothing but heartache.

“I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I know.”

Words eluded him; all he could do was blink owlishly back.

“You want coffee?”

The silence stretched.

“Okay, I’m making coffee. You look like you need it.”

The bean bag huffed again as Blitzø rose. Stolas stared blankly on. His insides felt hollow, scoured out. What reason was there to get up, to face the day? He was a dead man walking—scratch that, being dead would be easier than this.

Perhaps he dozed, because between one moment and the next there was a steaming mug of coffee being shoved under his nose. Blitzø’s hand—that beautiful, wide hand, a hand that had almost ceased to exist yesterday, oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer—curled tightly around the mug’s handle, a little too tight. Like he was working hard to steady his fingers.

“C’mon Birdbrain, take the fucking mug.”

Numbly, he shoved himself upright, brushing back the disorderly feathers at his crown. His fingers brushed Blitzø’s as he took the proffered mug, the heat of the ceramic seeping into his skin, though the sensation was much weaker than usual. The coffee tasted like ash on his tongue.

“There we go,” Blitzø grinned his crooked grin, like this was a normal day, like this sort of exchange happened all the time.

Stolas hazily recalled being led home last night, dripping with sludge of some kind, being undressed and scrubbed down, Blitzø speaking to him in what was meant to be a soothing voice (though none of his actual words breached Stolas’s cloud of self-loathing). It was a surprisingly domestic thing for Blitzø to do. Certainly, his strong hands—hands that had almost been thrown to the flames, oh Lucifer—had run over his body many a time, in many a manner. Rough, stinging scratches, or painful little squeezes. But not...tender. Not like a lover’s would be.

Blitzø was speaking again; Stolas had no idea what he’d been saying.

“—Well?” Those luminous eyes pinned him where he sat, pupils blown wide and wanting. “What do you think?”

“About what?” His voice was a croak—a wheeze. He sounded as though he’d just smoked an entire pack of Blitzø’s cheap cigarettes.

He braced for irritation or anger, but the look he got was worse. It was pity wrapped up in an unfamiliar fondness that left Stolas wanting to scream. Who was this imp? This was not the Blitzø that had screamed at him in his yard, refusing to apologize for his many sins. This was not the Blitzø that left him to wallow alone in the hospital after failing to save him from a known assassin. This man was a stranger.

“Too early for it, I get it. We’ll ease into the day.”

It? What was ‘it’? If he had the wherewithal to follow the thread, he’d ask a million follow-up questions. As it was, he sipped his coffee again and tried to remember what living was supposed to feel like.

Why have I given up my freedom for this idiot?

Why didn’t they just kill me?

“Fuck,” Blitzø swore, pulling his buzzing phone from his pocket. “Sorry, it’s Fizz. Give me a second.”

There wasn’t anywhere in this tiny, cramped apartment to really go, so Blitzø retreated as far as he could, to the bathroom. The door clicked quietly closed behind him, and Stolas was alone once more.

Blitzø didn’t have a bedroom.

The thought sliced right through him. There were only two doors in this apartment, one of which was the bathroom, the other of which was clearly Loona’s bedroom judging by the caution tape and ‘keep out!’ signs. Blitzø must sleep on this very couch every night. Where had he slept last night? The bean bag? A lump lodged in his throat, the weight on his chest growing heavier.

Why had Stolas never known this before? Granted, they’d always rendezvoused at the palace, since his mattress was plenty big enough for them both, and Via’s room was in a different wing, allowing them privacy. But perhaps their consistent meetings in Stolas’s marital bed had other motivations too, motivations he’d never bothered to learn.

A wave of exhaustion hit him. This was too much all at once, perhaps too much for a lifetime, which...well, he supposed he had at his disposal, now.

One hundred years—a lifetime, by human standards. Before he could staunch the flow, the dam broke and he was sobbing, shoving a hand over his beak to quiet his hooting cries. A lifetime without his precious Starfire, living amongst the citizens of Hell, who hated him. Homeless. Magic-less. Friendless. Stuck stealing the couch/bed of his maybe-sort-of-friend-slash-fuck-buddy. A disgrace.

Pull yourself together, he scolded himself, drawing on years of masking his true feelings for the sake of polite company. Don’t let Blitzø see you cry. He took a deep, shuddering breath, dabbing at the delicate feathers around his eyes. By the time Blitzø emerged from the bathroom, the mask was back in place, a thick shield of neutrality that threatened to crumble when Blitzø smiled that Satan-damned smile at him again. That roguish grin, the one that tugged adorably at his lips and lit up his face, the one that had almost ceased to exist yesterday, oh my Lucifer—

“Fizz says hi,” Blitzø sighed, flopping into the bean bag ungracefully. “He also says that Asmodeus is willing to help you with whatever you need. So, that’s good, I guess. Right?”

“If he couldn’t help yesterday, I don’t see what he could possibly do now,” Stolas bit out.

“...right.”

Stolas went to take another sip of coffee, only to find his mug empty. That was just fitting, wasn’t it? He had nothing to his name now, not even caffeine to keep him awake.

“Here.” Blitzø handed over his own mug, the one with horses galloping through grassy fields decorating its sides. The coffee inside appeared untouched.

Stolas stared at it, at the slight swirl of oil on the surface, at the rich brown color that lightened round the edges. This kindness—this pity—was suddenly unbearable. He brushed the offering aside. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know.”

Blitzø quirked his brow. “Try so hard? I’m just offering you coffee, not proposing. Take the damn cup.”

“You know what I mean!” Stolas cried, words ringing far too loud in the tiny space.

Blitzø looked taken aback, eyes wide and guileless. “Uh...I don’t, though?”

Stolas dropped his head into his hands, hating that the sweater he wore and the sofa below him and even his own feathers smelled heavily of Blitzø. “You don’t have to assuage your guilt by overcompensating! I chose to take the blame, and I’ll handle the consequences. You don’t need to, to baby me, or feign kindness, or pretend I mean anything to you! That was the whole Lucifer-damned point of me giving you the fucking crystal, Blitzø! And you made your feelings perfectly clear, so I don’t need you tripping over yourself to even the scales, or whatever bullshit you’ve convinced yourself is necessary. I saved you because I care for you, Blitzø, not because I expected some reward, or because I wanted to win you back. As aggravating and abrasive as you are, I don’t want you dead, and I don’t want you accused of something you didn’t do. I lent you the grimoire, I proposed that blessed deal, and I stood up for what I felt was right yesterday.”

Stolas sucked in a gasping breath, too afraid to lift his head and see whatever unpleasant emotion was splattered across Blitzø’s face. Would it be anger? Annoyance? Or worse...disinterest?

“Just give me a few hours to make arrangements, and I’ll be out of your hair. I appreciate you taking me in last night, but you owe me nothing more.”

His talons were wet with tears, but that was to be expected. He’d made an awful, terrible wreck of his life. He’d ruined all his relationships, lost his powers, and now he was as pathetic as he always deserved to be. A sad, pathetic disgrace of a prince, an idiot in love, an absent father and a sniveling wretch. He shook with the weight of it all.

“Are you done?” Blitzø asked.

Stolas’s heart clenched. This is it. He nodded, unable to speak aloud.

“My turn then. I’m sorry, Stolas. I’m sorry for everything.”

“You don’t need to—”

“Will you shut up for a minute? I’m not done.”

Stolas squeezed his eyes closed, but stayed silent.

“I’m sorry for the things I said to you, both on the full moon and...after. I just wasn’t—I didn’t know how to—you just sprung a lot on me all at once, and I didn’t know how to deal. And by the time I figured my bullshit out, you were mad at me and telling everyone I was a motherfucker and kissing some Lust-ring slut, and I was too late. I never got to tell you how...how you make me feel.”

Stolas lifted his head at that, hope wriggling in his heart like a worm on a hook. Blitzø was turned away from him, eyes fixed out the window, surveying the skyline of Imp City. Was it Stolas’s imagination, or was there a faint flush to his cheeks? He hated that he could still hope for such things.

“There were so many things I wanted to...it doesn’t matter,” Blitzø sighed. “Point is, I thought I’d lost you for good, that you never wanted to see me again. I thought you canceled our arrangement because you were sick of me.”

“What?” Stolas squawked. “You thought I was—”

“Pretty stupid, huh?” Blitzø chuckled, interrupting him. “Anyways, we’re good now, so it’s fine.”

Were they good? Stolas felt as though he had more questions than he’d started with. Perhaps Blitzø wasn’t propelled to kindness by his guilt, but then why was he taking such care with him—housing him, washing him, clothing him?

“Loona will be up in a few minutes. I’m going to make breakfast,” Blitzø said. “How’s pancakes sound?”

As he retreated into the kitchen, head held high, Stolas felt his love for him pulse like a living thing in his chest, a starving monster clinging to any scraps of affection Blitzø was willing to dole out, subsisting on stunted apologies and the barest of smiles, still alive despite both their efforts to smother it once and for all.

True to his word, Loona oozed out of bed only minutes later, fur sticking up at odd angles, murder in her eyes. “Morning, sweetie!” Blitzø called. He received a grunt in response before she retreated to the bathroom.

“Hey, Stols, can you grab the plates? We gotta expedite feeding her or she’ll get hangry. Trust me, none of us wants that.”

Might as well earn his keep. He reached into the cabinet Blitzø pointed to—a tall one by imp standards, but still only at chest height for him.

Blitzø brushed against his back as he took the plates, a warm hand curling against his hip for a fleeting moment. Stolas’s skin burned from the contact. It’s just a small kitchen, it doesn’t mean anything. You’re just too big for this space.

Loona’s arrival at the table coincided with Blitzø plating the first of the oddly-shaped, slightly off-color pancakes. Either she was accustomed to such things or simply hungry, because Loona tucked in with a gusto Stolas would never understand.

“Want any?” Blitzø asked, smiling up at him. His neck was cranked all the way back at this angle, their height difference stark in the limited space.

Stolas couldn’t imagine putting anything in his stomach at the moment. It would probably come up within the hour. “No, thank you.”

Blitzø nudged that horse mug across the counter, in Stolas’s direction, offering again the undrunk cup of coffee he’d rejected earlier. With a sigh, he relented. He could use the energy, after all.

It was going to be a long day.

***

“Your highness? Er—”

Stolas looked up, blankly trying to remember the white-haired imp’s name. Did it start with an M? It was something ridiculous, that was all he could remember.

“Should I still...what should I call you now?”

It was an appropriate question. Whereas Blitzø had always foregone formalities with him, the others in his employ had stuck to the traditional methods of address. Which was, of course, moot now that he’d been stripped of his title. “Just call me Stolas, I suppose.”

“Right. Stolas.” The imp seemed to sweat a bit at the informality of it all. “I wanted to ask if you needed coffee or tea, or something? I know this must be pretty boring for you.”

This involved sitting on I.M.P.’s couch while the four assassins puttered around, fielding the many new inquiries they’d received after their televised not-execution—which suited him about as well as anything else. He was more than satisfied with staring at the wall and overanalyzing his many, varied mistakes. “I’m alright, but thank you,” he sighed, attempting a smile.

“Well, let one of us know if you do. We, uh. We’re grateful that you, y’know. Saved Blitzø and everything. I don’t know what we would do if he—” He choked on the words, the sentence left hanging.

“Of course,” Stolas responded. I would do it again, if I had to. I’d do it as many times as was needed.

The imp shuffled on his feet a bit, scratching his neck. “Blitzø is grateful too. Sometimes he’s bad at expressing it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. He was a wreck after your break-up. We know how much it meant for you to step in like you did.”

Stolas cleared his throat. “Thank you, uh...I apologize, I can’t recall your name.”

“Moxxie,” the man smiled, cheeks dimpling. “Well, I better go make sure Blitzø isn’t draining our pensions to buy novelty plates again. But seriously, ask me or Millie if you need anything.”

The imp—Moxxie—wandered away, retreating further into their dingy office. It was truly impressive how the space managed to be both damp and moldy, and dry and crusty. He’d been here before, of course, but only in short bursts. That was another one of those unspoken rules between them—Stolas wasn’t to intrude into Blitzø’s personal life without invitation. Just like how they never met in Blitzø’s apartment, he’d never been formally invited to the office.

His ear ruff twitched as he caught whispers from Blitzø’s private office. Was it uncouth of him to use his superior hearing to eavesdrop? Perhaps. But he did it anyway.

“I couldn’t just leave him at home! I don’t know, Mils, he’s clearly not okay, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Did you two talk? You need to actually articulate your thoughts and feelings, B.”

“I mean, we did. But like, what else is there to say? Sorry I fucked up your life so spectacularly that you lost everything you ever cared about? Sorry you were almost executed because I decided to steal your book and you decided to be nice about it instead?”

Stolas’s heart sank. So he was right. Blitzø did harbor guilt about the events of yesterday. He felt altogether foolish for hoping there could ever be something more than obligation between them, something more than evening the score; he slumped further into the couch cushions, misery descending yet again.

“You’d do the same for him, wouldn’t you?”

“In a fucking heartbeat.”

Stolas’s hope flared, maybe he’d been wrong, maybe—

“ —I’d do it for any of you, you know that.”

—and deflated like a popped balloon.

“Just talk to him, idiot. In the meantime, help me pick out our next job. I’m thinking San Diego...”

“Hey.”

Someone else was speaking to him now. Didn’t these people know all he wanted to do was rot away in peace?

But it was Loona, Blitzø’s daughter. She appeared to be I.M.P.’s secretary, although that job description apparently included playing online poker and scrolling Sinstagram. She and Via got along well, however, which was all the endorsement he needed. He cocked his head at her in a silent question.

“I thought I should tell you. Via texted me. She said she’s okay. I tried telling her you’re alright, that you’re staying with us, but the message is unread. I think maybe she doesn’t have her phone on her. But she’s okay.”

Relief warred with despair; no doubt Stella and Andrealphus would purge Via’s contacts, ensuring none of them could message or call her again. This might be the last, final update he’d ever hear from her. His precious little Starfire—the chick he’d held in his two talons, so small and fragile, so beautiful—all grown up into a vibrant young woman—lost to him for at least the next hundred years, plus however long it would take to reestablish contact after, to mend the damage wrought by this whole ugly affair. How much older and wiser she’d be in a century—she’d live five times longer than he’d known her before they’d ever meet again.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you. I’m glad to hear she’s alright.”

The hound failed to acknowledge him, burying her nose in her phone once more. He ached for what he’d lost, slumping impossibly further into the couch cushions, hoping that at some point they’d absorb him fully.

Of course, just as he was growing comfortable in his misery, Blitzø and Mildred emerged, twin grins splitting their faces. “Who’s up for a fucking murder?!” Blitzø crowed, holding a manila folder over his head. He sidled up to the couch, leaning an elbow on Stolas’s shoulder; he startled at the contact.

“So soon?” Moxxie cried, dropping his stack of inquiries. “We were all nearly killed yesterday! Can’t we get a day to process our collective trauma, at least?”

“Ain’t no better way to process than by killing people, Mox,” Blitzø laughed, tossing the case file to him. “Besides, we have too many new clients to sit around twiddling our thumbs. I’ll even let you dip into our new inventory, pick out one of those real fancy guns you like.”

Moxxie brightened considerably, pouring over the file with renewed vigor. Blitzø looked down at Stolas, who fidgeted under his unexpectedly warm gaze. “I’ll take you home, first. Set you up with one of those soap operas you like. It’ll be better than sitting around here.”

It was awkward untangling his limbs from where he’d been attempting to become one with the upholstery, but once freed he allowed himself to be led back to Blitzø’s half-rusted, dented-to-heaven van, where he struggled to bend his limbs enough to fit.

“We may have to invest in a vehicle that accommodates you, Long Legs,” Blitzø chuckled, pulling out of the parking lot with a squeal of rubber against asphalt.

He wondered why Blitzø would do such a thing, since he wasn’t likely to stick around, wasn’t even wanted. He just had to find somewhere else to go, first, and then he’d...then he’d...

Well, he’d think of something.

“Here we are,” Blitzø pulled up to the curb and tossed Stolas the apartment keys. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. And, uh, y’know.” He seemed to debate within himself for a moment, before leaning over and brushing his lips feather-light across Stolas’s cheek.

Stolas stood on the curb for ten full minutes after Blitzø drove away, talons ghosting over his cheek, wondering what the fuck was going on.

***

Blitzø came home covered in blood, and for a moment Stolas’s heart stopped.

But it was red and iron-rich, unlike the black ichor of the Hell-born. Human, then. His pulse resumed its unsteady rhythm.

Blitzø grinned at him. “I fucking love my job!” He stomped around the kitchen, shoving chips between his fangs and grabbing two beer bottles from the fridge. “What a fucking rush.”

Loona followed him in slowly, eyes still glued to her phone. There was no blood coloring her fur, which was a relief. Blitzø lobbed a beer in her direction, which she caught without looking. “He’s always like this after mass murder,” she mumbled, sighing heavily. “Be grateful he let you go home before they crossed over. He was worse at the office, and he made us listen to thrash metal in the car.”

“I take it the job was a success, then?” Stolas asked.

Loona shrugged.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Blitzø flopped on the couch beside him. There was so little space, their arms were pressed together from shoulder to elbow. It was too much and not enough. “Anything exciting on TV?”

Stolas snorted, stretching his legs across the carpet. “No public executions today, I’m afraid.”

Blitzø snorted beer up his nose. “Oof, isn’t it too soon to be joking about that?”

Stolas hummed noncommittally.

They watched Hell-a-Novella quietly for an episode, Blitzø alternating between crunching chips and sipping beer. Loona had already disappeared into her room, which he was assured was normal. What wasn’t normal was the way Blitzø kept casually brushing against him—be it an elbow, a knee, his tail. It was feverishly distracting, a constant reminder of the intimacy he would never be allowed again, of the long nights of skin-against-skin and breathless moans, of the love that still paced in his chest like a caged tiger, antsy and starving.

The next episode began, and Stolas started to nod off. Sue him, he’d had his magic ripped out of his body only yesterday, and he hadn’t really eaten anything since. He was allowed to be tired. So I guess I’m staying here another night, then, he thought. So much for getting out of Blitzø’s hair.

“Hey, Stols.” He was shaken awake a while later by Blitzø’s elbow in his ribs, gently nudging him to consciousness. The light outside had faded away, leaving them both alit by nothing but the television’s blue-green glow. “You gotta go to sleep, c’mon.”

“Mhm,” he grumbled, allowing himself to be canted sideways across the cushions. His legs hung awkwardly over the arm, too long, too big, not meant for this space. Not welcome in this space. He had to remember that this was temporary, only temporary.

“Yeah, just rest up. I’ve got you.” Blitzø draped a blanket over him, tucking it gently around his shoulders. He must’ve dreamt the kiss on his forehead, because there was no ring, planet, or galaxy in which Blitzø kissing him goodnight made any sense.

Chapter Text

Stolas couldn’t rip his eyes away. Light from the rising Pentagram slashed across the apartment wall, violently highlighting the heartbreaking truth right under his beak. It’s not that he didn’t know that Blitzø was deeply troubled, that he possibly even hated himself (he’d all but admitted it, albeit during that facetious apology). But he’d at least thought the self-hatred would be buried deep under layers of sarcasm and sex jokes, not papered all over his Lucifer-damned walls.

“Hey—oh.” Blitzø sidled up next to him, two cups of coffee in his hands. He passed one to Stolas, who took it with shaking fingers. They surveyed the scattered collection of photographs for a while, silently sipping their drinks. The heat of it did nothing to ease the ice-cold dread in Stolas’s gut. “I started doing that a long time ago. It’s just...I don’t know, it’s easier somehow.”

Stolas recalled asking his staff to drape curtains across the palace portraits, tired of seeing his sadness telegraphed in every version of his face. This was...this was different.

“Sorry if it upsets you.”

He looked down at Blitzø, at the bashful way he hid his face. It cracked off some of the wall he’d built up, chipped away at his resolve to not care, this is temporary. Affection was a hard drug to quit. “You don’t need to apologize for this, Blitzø.”

There it was again—that slight blush. Blitzø rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, alright. No tough emotions before breakfast, yeah?”

Loona took that moment to emerge from her bedroom, like a corpse rising from the grave. It was a suitable distraction for Blitzø, who left his side to dote on his daughter, plying her with cereal and coffee. Stolas lingered by the photographs, unable to quiet his thoughts. He remembered the resigned way the smaller man had simply bent over, on his knees, accepting the executioner’s axe with nothing more than a proclamation of love and a smile—at face value, a heroic sacrifice in the name of found family. But perhaps there was another undercurrent driving that self-sacrifice. Perhaps Blitzø felt such a sacrifice was inevitable.

***

He’d only been without his magic for a day, and already he missed portalling an almost desperate amount. Driving was so slow, what with traffic jams and stop lights and pedestrians crossing at a crawl. How did anyone get anything done with half their day sacrificed to travel? It didn’t help that Blitzø’s van now officially sat too many people, Loona forced to squish between Moxxie and Millie in the back since Stolas’s ill-proportioned limbs were only suited for the front (though even that was still a poor fit). Their commute was colored by much elbow-knocking and shouted insults, meaning I.M.P. was in a collectively foul mood upon arrival at the office.

A mood that was immediately exacerbated by the instant ring of their telephone, by the flood of e-mails to their company address overnight, and by the several clients already lined up outside their door.

“Fuck me,” Blitzø groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Split up, gang. Looney, answer the phones. Mox, comb through our e-mail for actual jobs—and no bullshit this time, I mean real work! We can afford to be picky. Mils, you and I can interview these fuckers at our door. It’s going to be a long day, so buckle up, fam.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Stolas offered, wringing his hands. He hated this feeling of uselessness, this new listlessness as he struggled to find a purpose. Only a few days ago he’d had legions to mind, stars to chart, magic to perform. Without his Grimoire or his powers, he could think of very few skills he possessed, very few...uses, he had. But he wanted to help, if at all possible.

Blitzø eyed him thoughtfully, stroking his chin. “Tell you what—Millie and I will screen clients for the jobs actually worth our talent, and once we take a case, you can gather the details and make us a case file. How’s that sound?”

It sounded...like a job. A real job, performed by real people. Sure, there would be no flashy spells or mind-bending constellations, but it was something to do. Something he could do. “I am at your office’s disposal.”

Of course, once each assassin had tucked into their individual jobs, Stolas realized he had no clue what making a case file entailed. Note-taking, perhaps? He’d need paper. And a pen. And perhaps an actual file folder.

“Yo,” Loona called, barely glancing at him over her phone. “Office supplies are in that cabinet. Knock yourself out.”

His first interviewee was a mousy Sinner nursing a grudge against a former-best-friend-turned-mortal-enemy, who maybe-sort-of tripped her into the pool where she drowned. The plus side was that this former bestie was the daughter of some boot-licking politician or other, meaning there’d be actual security to circumvent to complete the hit, and thus a hefty fee for the trouble. Stolas took dutiful notes, writing steadily in neat little lines, trying to keep the information as organized as possible. He paper-clipped a photograph of the mark to his notes, then slipped it into a slightly-creased manila folder, labeled by name and date.

And then the next client replaced the first.

And then the next.

And then the next.

It was noon by the time they’d gotten through all their walk-ins, by which time Moxxie had compiled a hefty stack of e-mails that seemed promising and Loona had scheduled several more consultations.

Despite the chaos of the past few days, I.M.P. was thriving.

“Lunch!” Mildred grinned, banging through the door with an armful of paper bags. Loona moved with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, snatching the largest parcel for herself. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, your Highn—I mean, Stolas,” Mildred corrected herself. “I guessed as best I could.” She handed him something meaty and fried, a timid smile on her face.

“I’m sure it will be lovely, thank you dear.”

Mildred practically glowed.

They ate in the conference room, clustered around one end as the table stretched out beyond them. His meal was surprisingly good, and clearly a company favorite judging by the gusto with which the others ate.

“Right,” Blitzø mumbled past a mouthful of food, indelicate as always. “We’ve got a slew of hits to take care of. I say me and M&M take out as many as we can this afternoon, and Looney and Stolas, you guys can handle restocking our armory. We’ll need a lot more firepower to deal with the influx of clients.”

“Ugh, why do I always get stuck with the boring jobs,” Loona grumbled, glaring at her father.

“Oh, but Looney, this is such an important job!” Blitzø pouted, eyes round and glimmering, bottom lip stuck out to a comical degree. Loona remained unaffected.

Stolas cleared his throat. “I’ve never fulfilled such a request before, but I’m happy to assist. I sorted your new cases by level of difficulty, with the easiest on top. I’d start your work there, as you should be able to knock several out in quick succession.” Stolas plonked the thick pile of folders on the table, pushing them in Blitzø’s direction.

Moxxie snagged the folder on top, ogling the neat pen strokes and carefully paper-clipped photos. “Stolas! These are—they’re—”

“Did I do something wrong?” Stolas asked, stomach threatening to upheave his lunch. “I can always fix it!”

Moxxie looked up, genuine tears in his eyes. “Don’t change a thing. This is the file system I’ve been begging Blitzø to use for months.” His lips wobbled as he clutched the folder to his chest.

Blitzø quirked a brow and flipped the next folder open, eyes skimming the pages within. “Mox isn’t lying, Stols. This is good work. Why did no one think to organize our files like this before now? This is clearly the superior method.”

“SIR!” Moxxie yelped, glowering. “I brought this to your attention many times. I offered to work overtime to get it done! But noooo, you said it was too difficult to change our ways now that we had a ‘system’ in place, even though your system might as well be chalk drawings on the sidewalk in the rain—”

As the white-haired man continued rambling, Blitzø caught Stolas’s eye and winked. Stolas was sure everyone could see his blush from six rings down.

***

“That was a stop sign you just ran, you know,” Stolas grimaced, clutching the grab handle a little tighter.

“Hey! No backseat driving. I drive just fine,” Loona bit back, simultaneously swerving into the next lane over without using her blinker. The hellhound practically vibrated with rage, although its exact source was unknown.

He had a hunch, however.

“Not that it’s any of my business, but I’m sure Blitzø has good reasons for not taking you topside more often,” Stolas ventured, crossing his fingers that his hypothesis was correct, and also that his unsolicited comment didn’t get him thrown out of a moving vehicle.

In response, Loona laid into the horn, the truck nearly slamming into the car in front of them. “Move it, asswipe!” she screeched. With half a hand on the wheel, she scrounged a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, shaking one out and grabbing it between her teeth. A lighter materialized in her hand, flicking the cigarette to life. The move was so quintessentially Blitzø, it was hard to believe they weren’t blood relations.

He felt a familiar ache in his chest at the thought, wondering if Via was thinking of him, if she missed him, if she would still look and act and speak like him by the time they met again, if the family resemblance would persist. One could only hope.

“He doesn’t take me topside because he thinks I can’t handle it,” Loona growled. “He’s too up his own ass to realize I’m an adult, same as him.”

“Oh no, I don’t believe that’s what gives him pause.” He white-knuckled the grab bar as Loona hit the brakes with her full weight. The second the light turned green, she cut off the car in the turn lane and made a wide left into traffic. “Ahem, uh, I believe it has more to do with—Lucifer that was far too close—his concern for your well-being—please would you check your blind spot!”

“What would you know,” Loona scoffed, rumbling the van to a wheezing stop in front of a run-down surplus store.

Stolas sent her a flat look. “I believe you had to help collect my daughter from the human world when she decided to run off, did you not?”

Loona shrugged, snubbing her cigarette on the dash next to a line of similar burn marks. She ended the conversation by stomping out of the truck, trudging her way into the store without glancing back to make sure he was following. Reluctantly, he did.

In some vague sense, he’d been aware that Hell was a dangerous place. Just how dangerous, however, he’d been blissfully unaware of. The surplus store was stocked to the teeth, crate after crate of bullets, knives, axes, grenades, gunpowder, and more stacked in haphazard heaps. One spark might very well set the whole building aflame.

“Order for Buckzo,” Loona barked at the cashier behind the counter. The long-necked imp cast them both a skeptical look, then checked the store log and held up a finger for them to wait. He disappeared into the back, tail flicking behind him.

They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, Loona tapping one claw loudly on the counter. “I know he’s fucking concerned,” she grumbled, staring down at the chipped formica. “But he can trust me. I won’t fuck up.”

Stolas softened. “I’m sure he knows that. He’s likely afraid he’ll be the one to fuck up, and you’ll be harmed due to his mistake.”

Loona growled, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “He always—ugh. He always throws himself in front of us, totally willing to die if it means keeping us safe. He’s a fucking idiot.”

“No argument here.”

Loona chuckled, but it was a feeble thing. She closed her eyes and ran a hand down her face, looking so much older than she was. “Thank you, by the way. For saving him.”

Hesitantly, Stolas placed a hand on her arm, moving slowly so she could bat his hand away if she wanted. His talons touched soft fur. “Just as he is willing to sacrifice himself for those he loves, I too am willing to do the same.”

Something dawned on Loona’s face then, something soft and startled. “Stolas—”

“Order for Buckzo?” the cashier returned, empty-handed. “Yeah, sorry. No can do.”

Loona glared at the imp, hands curling into fists. “What did you just fucking say to me?”

The cashier shrugged, unbothered. “I said what I said—no can do. We don’t serve arrogant bitches like this feathered asshole here.”

Stolas could see steam coming out of Loona’s ears. “You little—”

“We all know what you did, your Highness. And you better believe no one will be helping your sorry ass in Imp City anytime soon.”

An eerie sense of calm washed over him, even as Loona seethed. Of course. I am persona non grata now. But just because he was condemned, didn’t mean Blitzø’s business had to be too.

“You are entitled to your feelings on the matter, Sir,” Stolas said, bowing his head to the imp. “However, Blitzø Buckzo runs a very successful imp-owned business, and if you recall, he was also the imp who survived a trial by the Seven Deadly Sins. By refusing to give Loona here the shipment, you’re only hurting him, not me. I am here simply because...well, I have no other use, at the moment.”

The cashier eyed him warily, glancing back to Loona. “This true?”

Loona flashed him a photo of her and Blitzø, posing in front of their office. “100%.”

He rolled his eyes, but relented. “Whatever. Just don’t bring this motherfucker back into my store, capische? We don’t serve your kind here.”

“You have my word,” Stolas nodded gravely, but the imp only scoffed.

They left with the order, though, so he still counted it as a win.

“Ugh, sorry about that,” Loona offered, driving slightly less aggressively as they peeled back onto the highway. “I didn’t realize...I just didn’t think.”

In truth, the whole affair made him feel next to nothing. It was no more or less than he deserved.

Loona huffed a deep sigh, grinding her jaw. She gave him a cursory once-over, taking in his borrowed sweater and loose shorts. “Fuck it—you need actual clothes. Let’s go find you some.”

***

“This really isn’t necessary.”

Loona ignored him, rummaging through the racks hard enough to make the hangers rattle. She already held an armful of long, loose sweaters for him to try, and had graduated to searching for pants that would accommodate his feathers.

Stolas glanced around, neck tingling. He felt as though everyone was staring at him, wishing he would leave.

“Stop freaking out,” Loona grumbled. “I know the owners, they’re chill. They won’t make it weird.”

As if anything about this situation wasn’t weird. He understood perfectly well that this was a pity trip, Loona’s atonement for what happened at the ammo store. He stood out like a sore, seven-foot-tall thumb amongst the store displays, towering above the other patrons. So far they’d gotten some dubious stares, but no one had outright harassed him (forgive him if he remained pessimistic about his ongoing odds, however).

“Eh?” Loona shoved something black and basic at him, and he took it without complaint. “Go try this shit on, make sure it fits. Your proportions are impossible.”

He accepted the armful of clothes she passed him, frowning. “Why are you doing this? You don’t have to feel guilty for anything. You don’t have to...humor me.”

“Trust me, I don’t do shit unless I want to.”

In the fitting room, he took a moment to compose himself. He had to stoop uncomfortably low given the height of the ceiling, but if he hunched in a ball on the floor, trying not to panic, the low clearance failed to actually matter.

This is temporary, he told himself. She only feels guilty, like she owes you something. Just like her father.

You’ll have to leave sooner rather than later.

He sorted through Loona’s selections, noting a strong preference for dark grays and blacks. It was so like his Starfire that he was tearing up before he knew it. And when he found the sweater with little stars on the sleeves...

For so many years, he’d foregone his own happiness, his health, his sanity, all for her. And now she was lost, tucked between Stella and Andrealphus’s wings, beyond his reach, beyond his love. He never even got to say goodbye—

There was a knock on the fitting room door. “You uh...okay in there?”

“Fine! I’m fine!” His voice was not as steady as he’d hoped.

He could hear Loona’s sigh from beyond the door. “You’re thinking about Via, aren’t you?”

Slowly, he cracked the door, peering out at Blitzø’s daughter, older and tougher than his Via, but shining just as bright.

“She wouldn’t want this for you, you know that, right?” Loona asked. “She’s a teenager whose parents are getting divorced, of course she’s prickly. But she loves you. That doesn’t change just because your social status did. You’re her dad.”

“She will be over a hundred by the time I see her again,” Stolas whispered. “She will have forgotten me, forgotten her love for me.”

“Bullshit,” Loona scoffed. “You don’t forget the people who loved you, just like you don’t forget the people who made you feel like shit.” She hesitated, ears falling back. “You forget the parents that refused to know you, that dropped you off at a shitty adoption agency because they couldn’t be bothered to raise you. You don’t forget the father who loves you, who makes time for you, who is proud of you.” She tapped her paw impatiently, crossing her arms and looking anywhere but at him.

So that was another lie in the blacked-out photos on Blitzø’s wall, the unspoken implication that he didn’t matter, that his presence was inconsequential to the others’ lives. Loona considered him her family, her dad, and Blitzø could scratch his face out as many times as he liked, but that wouldn’t change a thing.

“Thank you, Loona.”

She jabbed him in the chest with a finger, face suddenly very close to his own. “You mention this conversation to anybody, I’ll rip your feathers out one by one and make myself a fancy-ass pillow. Got it?”

“Of course.”

Loona loaned him money (well, Blitzø’s money) to purchase several sweaters and a few passable pairs of pants, the sweater with the little stars among their spoils. A sprig of hope sprouted in his chest as he mulled over Loona’s words. Perhaps his Starfire didn’t hate him. Perhaps she wouldn’t forget him.

Or, he thought as he folded himself back into the van, perhaps I can do something to ensure she doesn’t.

***

They returned around closing time, hauling in the boxes of ammo and weapons with lighter moods than before. Loona dumped her stack on the floor with a huff as Stolas gently eased his box to the ground.

They found Moxxie huddled on the couch, head in his hands.

“Welcome back, Moxxie. Did the jobs go alright?”

Moxxie looked up with a grimace. “It was...fine. We finished, at the very least.”

Stolas set down his load of bullets, catching the nervousness in the imp’s tone. “Is Blitzø back as well? Is he in his office?” He took a few steps toward the rooms further in, but was stopped before he got very far.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Moxxie’s voice was exhausted, his shoulders slumped. Stolas took the time to really notice the imp’s sorry state, including the several new bruises on his jaw and the dribble of blood down his arm. “Last time Millie tried going in, he screamed until she left.”

Stolas startled. That didn’t sound right. Blitzø had been so exuberant after their job yesterday, what could’ve been so different about this one?

Loona, however, rolled her eyes and slumped into her desk chair. “Overdramatic bitch,” she muttered under her breath, surreptitiously glancing at the closed office door with concern.

“What happened, if I may ask?” Stolas ventured, curious yet afraid of the answer.

Moxxie shrugged. “It was fairly normal as far as jobs go, but there was this moment where Blitzø was grazed by a bullet. Normally that kind of thing doesn’t faze him, so I don’t know what brought this on.”

Mildred emerged from the restroom, looking likewise worse for wear. “Oh, Stolas. Hi. I don’t think he’s up for company at the moment. Perhaps you ought to take Loona home?”

Stolas glanced back towards Blitzø’s closed office door. He couldn’t just...leave him, could he? He was of two minds on the subject, as he generally was when it came to Blitzø. On the one hand, it wasn’t like they were more than temporary roommates or former fuck-buddies. But on the other hand...well. Their ill-defined situationship had never stopped Stolas’s love from burning bright as a star before, and that love was what spurred him to action.

“Would you and your husband mind taking Loona home? I’ll deal with Blitzø.”

The imps exchanged looks. “If you’re sure,” Mildred answered.

He waited until the elevator doors closed shut behind the three of them before braving Blitzø’s office. If there was to be screaming, there was no reason the others had to suffer such abuse. Stolas could handle it. He’d endured it for eighteen long years of marriage, after all. With a stiff upper lip and a backbone grown from years of withstanding Stella’s wrath, he entered.

There was no immediate yelling, which could be a good sign, or it could not, he didn’t really know. The lights were off, Blitzø’s silhouette cast in the glow from the city lights out his window. Two luminous yellow eyes caught his gaze, and Stolas braced for impact.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Blitzø’s voice was quiet, resigned.

When Blitzø didn’t immediately ask him to leave, Stolas edged closer, hyper-attuned to the imp’s fickle mood, unsure whether he was welcome or not. There was an open bottle of cheap whiskey on Blitzø’s desk, half empty. It was unclear if it had been full earlier that evening. “Are you alright?”

It was a silly question, given that Blitzø was drinking alone in the dark. He himself understood the urge, and it was never a good one.

“Yeah, yeah, just...rough day.”

“Mildred and Moxxie are taking Loona home for you. I was told that you needed some space.”

Blitzø snorted. “You can call her Millie, Stols. Nobody calls her fucking Mildred.” He slung back a long swig from the bottle, hand shaking as he returned it to the desk.

“Your employees mentioned that a bullet grazed you—are you injured?”

“I’m fine,” Blitzø huffed. “Near-death experience just hit a little different today, is all. You all can stop mother-henning me.”

Stolas had to quickly squash the memory of seeing Blitzø kneeling, head down and seconds from death, before he vomited his gizzards over the carpet. He swallowed thickly, willing his pulse back to a normal rhythm. His eyes caught on a splash of dark blood on Blitzø’s shoulder—nothing fatal, but even a scratch like that made the memory of his near-execution feel too close for comfort. “You’re bleeding.”

Blitzø glanced at his shoulder, face impassive. “I’ve had worse.”

“At least let me look at it.”

Blitzø took another swig of liquor, but didn’t outright say no. So, with careful steps, Stolas approached his side, kneeling so he could be at eye level with the injury. He could see where the bullet had parted Blitzø’s skin, slicing a thin line across the white scar tissue. It was shallow at least, which made him feel marginally better.

“First aid kit?”

“Bottom drawer.”

Stolas dug around in Blitzø’s desk, retrieving antiseptic and a wide bandage. He kept his touches light and utilitarian, not lingering longer than strictly required. It was the work of minutes, but Stolas stayed kneeling when he was done, hoping to pry a little further into whatever had prompted this melancholy.

Why are you even trying?—his uncharitable subconscious whispered. This is temporary. He doesn’t feel the way you do.

He ignored the voice, as he had been all day. Someone needed to talk Blitzø off the ledge, and it might as well be him. “What. Happened.”

Another swig of whiskey. “Close call. Yeah, it’s a graze—but it could’ve been much worse if I reacted even a half-second too late—” Blitzø’s voice caught, and Stolas thought he understood.

A half-second too late, and he would have been dead.

“Never mind,” Blitzø huffed, head thudding back against his chair. “It doesn’t matter.”

This ridiculous man would be the death of him. Mustering what was left of his regal poise, he drew to his full height, looming over Blitzø’s desk. “Blitzø, you have a daughter and two employees who depend on you. They are shaken by what has become of you today, and what almost happened at the trial. So you’re going to pull yourself up by the bootstraps and talk about it, or so help me Lucifer I will figure out a new way to rip a portal open to deep space and throw you in.”

Unsurprisingly, Blitzø smirked. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Birdbrain.”

“I’m serious, Blitzø!” He sniffed indignantly. He remembered Loona’s intentional softness that afternoon, at the way she’d quietly looked after him, quietly referred to Blitzø as her dad. “If not for yourself, then for your daughter. You have to pull it together!”

“I’m fucking trying, okay!” Blitzø sucked in a deep breath, wiping his nose on his sleeve and doing a piss-poor job of hiding his damp eyes. “I thought I was going to die, Stolas! I was ready to die, to save them! Fuck, not...not ready, but if it saved their lives then who fucking cares!?”

“I care!” Stolas screeched, feathers puffing up. “Was that not made obvious by the way I threw myself to Satan’s mercy?! How I offered myself up to the chopping block in exchange? And do you really think Loona would survive a loss like that? That your friends would? That your business would?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.” There was no accusation in Blitzø’s tone; his words were eerily quiet in the wake of Stolas’s shrieks. Blitzø’s shoulders slumped, and he pinched his forehead, looking more exhausted than Stolas had ever seen. “It’s not that I’m not grateful—seriously, you have no idea—but I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to lose everything, or to...to die. For me. I’m not worth it.”

And this was the crux of the issue, wasn’t it? The reason Blitzø scratched his face out of all his photos, forgetting for all intents and purposes that he was a part of the photo too, that the people smiling in each snapshot cared just as much about him as he did them.

“I didn’t ask for your guilt,” Stolas sighed, lowering his volume to match Blitzø’s. “I didn’t ask for your gratitude. I just wanted you alive. We all just want you to stay alive. Is that truly too much to ask?”

Blitzø shrugged.

And—fuck it—Stolas was already in too deep, already gone too far, what was another round of heartbreak to add to his bottomless supply? “I would’ve let them do whatever they wanted with me, so long as they set you free. Because I love you.” A tear dripped down the curve of his beak. “And when you love someone, the consequences don’t matter. My status, my wealth, my magic—none of it is more valuable to me than your life.”

Before he could overthink the gravity of his admission, he had an armful of imp, Blitzø clutching his sides like he might take flight any moment, spade-tipped tail winding tight around his thigh. He was trembling, likely crying too, and all Stolas could manage was to hold him—what else was he meant to do?

“What about Octavia?” Blitzø sniffed after some time, voice muffled somewhere in Stolas’s chest. “You love her too.”

“I do,” Stolas said, feeling that twist in his heart again, like a knife driving deeper. “But I was hoping perhaps you could help with that. If you’re up to it.”

Blitzø pulled back, staring, unflinching, into Stolas’s eyes. “Fuck yeah I’m up to it. Whatever you need, Birdie. I’ve got you.”

It was Stolas’s turn to shed tears.

***

“What is that?”

Blitzø looked to where he was pointing, down to the extra-long, narrow mattress laid out beside the couch. “Oh. Fizz hooked us up. Figured you couldn’t sleep on that tiny couch forever, and the bean bag was growing old.” Blitzø stretched, his threadbare t-shirt inching up his stomach as he did. Stolas did his best not to ogle. “You know how they are down in Lust—always have something available to fall ass-up on. Anyways, Fizz offered and I wasn’t going to turn down free help, y’know.” He paused, face suddenly flushing. “Is it not—I mean, is it okay?”

Okay? Okay!? Why even go to the trouble? This is temporary, it doesn’t mean anything—

He shook his head to clear his mind. “Yes, yes. It is much appreciated, Blitzø, believe me. Please extend my thanks to Fizzarolli.”

And it was appreciated—Asmodeus must’ve had a hand in picking it, as it was actually long enough to accommodate his legs. Trust another avian demon to get that right. Blitzø reclaimed the sofa as Stolas laid back, staring up at the darkened ceiling.

Tomorrow, Blitzø promised they would plan how to reach Octavia. It was misery not to know where she was, how she was. Was she asleep, safe under the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling? Or was she awake and missing him just as he was missing her? That knife in his chest twisted deeper.

Gentle claws nudged his hand. Blitzø had let his arm dangle over the couch’s lip, reaching out to curl his fingers around Stolas’s own. “We’ll get her back, Stolas. I promise. Just rest now.”

And fuck it—he was sleepy and comfortable, his guard down in the quiet safety of night, so he let himself relax into Blitzø’s touch, gripping his claws back.

They fell asleep like that.

Chapter Text

“Shame you won’t see your kid again.”

“Don’t you dare breathe a word about my daughter.”

Stolas felt every sting from where Striker’s blessed-tipped blade had rent his flesh. It was unlike the prickly hum of normal steel, which had a low-level bite that when applied correctly could feel borderline erotic. Instead, where the glowing, blessed metal had touched his flesh, he burned. It didn’t dull like normal pain, but raged on, impossible to ignore. Stolas could feel blood dripping through his feathers, black and gelatinous. He was helpless, bound. And he was going to die.

“Ooooh, finally hit a nerve, huh?” Striker leaned forward, looming over him, as though ten times larger than he actually was. His yellow-ringed eyes were all Stolas could see, two giant flames that blazed with a hatred he would never understand, a hatred that would drive that knife home and be his end.

“Any last words, Goetia?”

The knife in his shoulder sliced deeper, passing clean through the other side, tip kissing the dirt below. Stolas’s whole arm went numb from pain.

“Blitzø—will—”

“He ain’t coming. No one is coming for you.”

“Blitzø—”

“He ain’t coming”

“Blitzø—”

“—hey, hey, Stols, c’mon, wake up! Wake up, dammit!”

He surfaced from the dream with a gasp, shoulder still burning with phantom pain. His lungs struggled to take in enough air, as though blessed rope was wrapped tight across his chest. Blitzø hovered over him, golden eyes glowing brightly in the early-hour gloom. When he saw Stolas’s eyes were open, he relaxed, spines flattening.

“There you are. Shit, that looked like a bad one.”

Stolas wheezed, still hyperventilating. He couldn’t catch his breath no matter what he did, and worry seeped back into Blitzø’s face. “Stolas, hey, c’mon. Breathe.” Blitzø shook his arm again, harder than before. His fingers brushed against the silvery scar on his shoulder, and his arm spasmed with residual pain. “Breathe! Dammit, hold on—”

A warm weight settled over his chest—Blitzø, pressing their bodies together. He wrapped his arms under Stolas’s shoulders, eliminating every inch of space he could.

And then, Blitzø’s chest started rumbling.

It was so unexpected that it shocked him out of his panic. His breath caught, then slowed, oxygen finally reaching his brain. The rumbling continued, vibrating through his hollow bones, gentle and comforting. Was Blitzø...was he purring?

He was not aware Blitzø could do such a thing. He’d never done it before.

Blitzø raised his head, scanning Stolas’s face. “Better?”

“A little.”

He reburied his face in Stolas’s chest, rumbling louder. Slowly, the tension in Stolas’s muscles relaxed, and he melted back into the mattress, exhaustion hitting him like a truck. It had been a while since he’d had such a vivid nightmare, but it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d woken in a panic.

Once it was clear the worst had passed, Blitzø cleared his throat. He spoke directly into Stolas’s feathers, voice muffled. “Yeah, uh. My m-mom, she...she used to...y’know, when we had bad dreams. Thought it might help.”

Hesitantly, Stolas placed a hand on the back of Blitzø’s head, stroking at the tender skin there. A lump grew in his throat as he realized this was the closest they’d been since before their final full moon debacle, before the anti-Blitzø party. He had to fight not to fall back into memories of tongues and teeth and shared pleasure.

Vaguely, he felt the tears falling down his face, felt his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Blitzø soothed, resuming that quiet purr.

If anything, it made Stolas cry harder.

It was torture to be reminded of what he could never have, to feel Blitzø’s body so close next to his own, all lithe muscle and sharp edges against Stolas’s slighter frame. The softness of his purring and his attempts at comfort were sweet agony, exactly what he’d always wanted and not enough at the same time. He clapped a hand over his beak, trying to silence his wails. Blitzø’s momentary kindness would hurt all the more once his guilt ran dry and he turned him out for good.

Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe.

“Can you—” he cleared his throat. “Can you get off me please?”

Blitzø leaned back, brow furrowed, blinking in surprise. “Uh, yeah. Hold on.” He peeled himself off Stolas’s chest, flopping onto the mattress beside him so they were side-by-side. It wasn’t enough space, but Stolas still breathed a little better than before. “Okay?”

No. “Yes.”

They breathed in tandem, Blitzø no longer purring, Stolas no longer crying. But the silence was tense nonetheless.

Blito turned to look at him; his gaze burned in the best and worst kinds of ways. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Blitzø heaved a sigh. “Did I offend you?”

“Huh?”

“With the, y’know...purring shit.”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Oh.” Blitzø fidgeted, the mattress dipping slightly as he shifted his weight. “Because I don’t have to do it ever again if you think it’s weird. It’s not a thing I generally do, anyways.”

Stolas couldn’t calm the storm of emotions in his chest. Deep down, in that secret place in his heart where he kept all his forbidden desires, he was thrilled. By the Seven Rings, Blitzø’s purr was downright adorable: warm and rich and heartfelt. He wanted to bottle that sound for rainy days, press Blitzø so tight to his chest that the vibration rattled his bones to dust.

But he couldn’t grow accustomed to such luxuries. If he savored them now, it would only break his heart to lose them later on.

“I’m just tired,” Stolas answered, resigned. There was no way he could put his feelings into words, certainly not ones he thought Blitzø would understand. It was the coward’s way out, and he took it confidently.

“Of course, yeah,” Blitzø said, reaching down to stroke his claws down Stolas’s arm. “You can go back to sleep if you want. It’s still early.”

When he closed his eyes, Striker’s yellow sneer greeted him. His breath caught again.

Blitzø continued his gentle stroking. “Shhh, it’s okay. If you have another nightmare, I’ll wake you again.”

Striker’s grin disappeared, replaced with a golden gaze sparkling with mischief.

After that, he slept like the dead.

***

“I.M.P., Immediate Murder Professionals, how may I help you?”

“Stolas? Por fin, I’ve been trying to reach you for days!”

Stolas blinked, for one moment not recognizing the voice on the other end of the line. He’d only offered to cover the phones today to avoid Blitzø as much as possible, and hadn’t expected to field any calls specifically for him.

“Stolas? Are you there?”

“Vassago,” he breathed, putting a name to the voice. “What are you...? How did you...?”

“I’ve been calling your cell, but it’s been going to voicemail. This was the only other number I could find to try.”

“Ah, yes, I don’t have my cell phone, as it happens. I didn’t have time to collect my things after, well.”

“Ugh, yes, that sham of a trial. Believe me, I remember.”

Stolas glanced around, ensuring the others were tucked away in their individual tasks. He hunched down behind the desk, pressing the phone tight to his ear ruff. “Vassago, please believe me, I never did what they accused me of. I’m not some villainous mastermind, I never meant—”

“I know, Stolas, cálmate. The whole thing reeked of Andrealphus’s treachery. Are you safe? Do you have somewhere to stay?”

“I...am safe. Blitzø and his crew have allowed me to stay with them for the time being.” He swallowed thickly. “I don’t believe it’s a permanent arrangement, however.”

“Don’t worry about a thing. You can stay with me whenever you need, you know that. We’ve been friends too long for me to have doubted your innocence for a second.”

“Ah, yes, well, I did lend the book to I.M.P., so I’m not entirely innocent in all this.”

“¿Y? He’s an imp. What trouble could he possibly have gotten up to? There’s no way he could master any of the truly dangerous spells. No, that trial had nothing to do with your guilt and everything to do with Andrealphus publicly humiliating you and seizing your power. I’m ashamed to say that many others saw what he was doing, and let it happen. Lo siento mucho, Stolas. I wish I could’ve done more.”

“No one could’ve done anything more, I’m afraid. He and my harpy of an ex-wife had been scheming for a while, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.” He wrapped the telephone cord around his finger. “The only thing I need is...well, I just need to speak with my daughter.”

“It’s not like they can keep you from her, you’re her father!”

“They’ll try, I guarantee. We believe either her phone has been taken, or all her contacts wiped. Even Blitzø’s daughter Loona hasn’t heard from her in days.” At that moment, Blitzø stepped out of his office, empty coffee mug dangling from his hand, a wad of paperwork under his arm. He smiled tiredly at Stolas, gaze far too fond for comfort, as he wandered off to find one of his employees. Stolas had to work hard to focus back on his conversation. “Well, we’ve been trying to work out a way to visit her. I don’t know where she is, whether she’s at the palace or at Andrealphus’s estate.”

“That should be simple enough for me to find out.”

“And then we’ll have to fight our way in, I believe.”

“Ah.” There was a brief pause. “Let me see what I can do.”

“Vassago!” he cried, before the bird could hang up on him. “You don’t have to—I mean, why would you wish to help me? You know you can’t be seen aiding an outcast, it would be murder for your status.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Stolas. Even if I didn’t consider you a friend, Andrealphus cannot be allowed to have so much power, that—” Vassago rambled off a long string of what Stolas assumed were colorful insults. “I’ll be by later with news. Keep safe, Stolas. The Goetia need you in one piece.”

“...thank you, old friend.”

***

Also on his list of things he was not expecting to happen today, beyond receiving personal calls, was for a Deadly Sin to hurl open I.M.P.’s door and squish his way into their tiny office space. It took much maneuvering and a smidge of magic, but then Asmodeus, the King of Lust, was standing before Loona’s desk in all his three-headed glory.

“Your Highness!” Stolas squawked, straightening from his former slouch. “What are you—I mean—how can I help you?”

“Actually, I’m here about how I can help you.”

“He means how we can help you,” piped a gravelly voice from behind the Sin’s bulk. The famous Fizzarolli, in the flesh—well, flesh and circuitry, as it were. “Now where’s that washed-up asswipe? I have a fist to deliver to his face.”

“Ah, if you mean Blitzø, he’s in his office—”

Fizzarolli didn’t wait for Stolas to finish before marching his way back with longer-than-normal strides, courtesy of his robotic legs.

“Should we be concerned?” Stolas asked as Blitzø’s door opened and closed with a slam.

“No, no,” Asmodeus chuckled. “He’s more bark than bite—at least outside the bedroom.” The Sin settled himself on the couch across from the front desk, looking suddenly nervous. “How you holding up, hun?”

“I’m fine,” Stolas answered automatically. What else were you supposed to say to demon royalty?

Asmodeus gave him a dubious look. “I was there, remember? I know what went on, and I know all that you gave up. Blitzø and Fizz—they know, but they don’t understand. If I couldn’t be there for you at the trial, at least let me be here for you now.”

Stolas let his shoulders droop. There was no hiding from someone much older and wiser such as a Sin. “It is an adjustment. All of it would be manageable, if not for my daughter.”

“Octavia, right? I’ve asked around about her. She hasn’t been sighted outside the palace walls.” Asmodeus propped his cheek on his fist, head tilting to the side. “What will you do, if you reach her? Take her with you?”

Stolas hadn’t thought that far ahead. There was no use planning for a future without knowing if he could speak with her first. Many things needed to be said before she would willingly follow him, and without a guarantee that she would hear him out, thoughts of whisking her away were too bittersweet to linger over.

Asmodeus seemed to understand his inner turmoil. “You know, if you end up needing somewhere to take her, I have a few private properties in the Lust Ring that are perfect for a quiet hideout. I’d be more than happy to put you and her up, if needed.”

“That’s very generous, Your Highness.”

“Pfft, none of that Your Highness crap, Stolas. Call me Oz. We’re practically family at this point, anyway.”

Before Stolas could question where in the hell that sentiment was coming from, Fizzarolli and Blitzø emerged from the back office, twin grins on their faces. Blitzø had a developing bruise on his cheek, but that appeared to be the extent of his injuries; he seemed unbothered by it, in any case.

The two imps looked good next to each other, a learned comfort vibrating between them. Stolas recalled a fuzzy memory of Blitzø clinging to the hand of another young boy as they soared on the trapeze, weightless and smiling.

“So no more dying?” Fizarolli cackled, punching Blitzø in the shoulder without any real force. Their familiarity might have been old and well-practiced, but it was also new. It wasn’t so long ago that Blitzø had burnt Loo Loo Land to the ground just to spite the robot version of Fizzarolli, let alone the real deal.

“I’ve had my fill of near-death experiences, thank you very much,” Blitzø answered. “I’m committed to living and annoying the shit out of you, don’t worry.”

The jester punched him again, and Blitzø held his arm in mock pain, hamming it up for dramatic effect, laughing when Fizzarolli pivoted to poking him in the face, the previous animosity between them gone as though never having existed at all.

I sorry-ed Fizz so hard he cried! —Blitzø had said. It must’ve been one hell of an apology, for the hatchet to be buried this deep. And oh—that stung, that Blitzø was so willing to bare himself to someone who wasn’t him, to offer apologies to others and not to the one who loved him so fiercely.

“Hell to Stolas? You with us, bud?”

He snapped out of his private sulking; the motley assembly was all looking at him expectantly. “Sorry—what did you need?”

Blitzø quirked a crooked grin. “We’re gonna get Via back, Stols. So c’mon! Come join our scheming.”

Asmodeus gave him a knowing look—although what he thought he knew, Stolas wouldn’t hazard a guess. He, being a Deadly Sin, could certainly appreciate Stolas’s situation more than those unfamiliar with Goetia politics, however, he was still afforded much more latitude than Stolas ever would be. Jealousy curled in his heart as Asmodeus scooped Fizzarolli onto his shoulder, their public affection sticky and cloying on the back of his tongue. Asmodeus didn’t know what it was to not be allowed the person you loved. He could live with Fizzarolli, coddle Fizzarolli, and now he could even love him openly.

What must that be like?

“So!” Blitzø clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth with glee. They’d settled in a loose circle around the conference table—an odd assortment of imps, hellhounds, and demons. “We’re gonna get Stolas’s kid out from under her mother’s thumb. Do we know where to launch our offensive?”

“I believe I can help with that.”

Stolas’s head snapped up. Vassago was straightening his crest feathers from where the low door frame had messied them. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“Hey, pretty bird,” Asmodeus grinned, pulling out the chair next to him for Vassago to sit. “Glad you could join us.”

Blitzø nudged Stolas’s arm, quirking a brow. Stolas nodded, giving him the all-clear. They could trust him.

The macaw folded himself into the offered chair with a huff. “That pendejo arrogante has taken over the palace. That’s where he and Stella have squirreled Octavia away.”

“Alright, alright, familiar territory. I can work with that,” Blitzø mused.

“Not so familiar, I’m afraid,” Vassago countered. “Andrealphus has frozen the whole place over. It’s practically an ice fortress now. Getting in and out won’t be as simple as you’re used to.”

“Is it, like, sealed with ice, or...?” Moxxie asked.

“There’s one entrance in or out. Everything else is solid.” Vassago grimaced. “Lo siento, Stolas, but your plants have all been frozen to death. I couldn’t get close enough to salvage any.”

His heart sank. Stella knew how much he cherished his gardens, of course she’d go out of her way to ensure their destruction. Taking his whole life from him wasn’t enough, apparently.

“Mox, don’t we have that special something locked away in our armory? Y’know, the one that really brings the heat?”

Moxxie grinned at his boss, a feverish glint in his eye. “Oh, I believe I know exactly which one you’re talking about. That should do the trick nicely.”

“We’ll have to split up,” Millie said, tapping her chin. “I’m assuming the Princess will need a moment alone to speak with her father, so we’ll have to find a way to buy them time. That means drawing the peacocks’ attention while Stolas sneaks in.”

Fizzarolli looked up at Asmodeus, mischief in his gaze. “Oh, I think we have something explosive that can cause a ruckus. I’m great at distractions, after all.”

“No singing,” Blitzø snapped, glaring at his longtime friend. “I’ve had enough of that. Violence and destruction only.”

“Aye aye, cap’n!” Fizzarolli crowed with a mock salute.

Asmodeus shook his head fondly at his not-so-business partner. He turned, smiling sadly at Stolas. “Once you retrieve Octavia, Fizz and I can take her in until things quiet down. No one will dare challenge a Sin. It’s the least I can do.”

“Blast our way in, blast our way out, hole up for a few days—brilliance in the making! Now—Mox, Mils and I are going to handle the weapons portion. Looney, man the phones, pretty please!” Blitzø said. As if just remembering there were others in the room, he added with a wave of his hand—“The rest of you can, er, do whatever it is you wanna do.”

“Stolas and I are going to grab coffee,” Fizzarolli announced, startling both Asmodeus and Stolas alike. “Right, Stolas?”

“Uh, we are?” he asked.

“Yep. C’mon, big bird. You know everyone’s orders, right?”

“Something iced, bitch!”

“Yes, Blitzø, we know!”

Before he could blink even one of his four eyes, Fizzarolli was dragging him down the hallway and into the elevator, metal hand a vise around his wrist. As the doors slid shut, Fizzarolli let his cheeky grin drop. “That idiot will be the end of me, I swear to Satan.”

This was the closest Stolas had ever been to the famous jester. He knew his likeness—everyone in Hell did, he was a household name, after all. But the persona that was Fizzarolli the Clown and the tired-looking man beside him now were different, despite being one and the same. From the rainbow-striped pants to the pastel jester hat on his head, he was picture-perfect, his clown makeup painted just so—

To his surprise, the whiteness of his face wasn’t stage paint, but extensive scarring. Familiar, almost like...

“I don’t understand how he gets himself in these situations,” the jester sighed, striding forward as the elevator doors dinged open. Stolas scrambled to keep up. “I hated his guts for fifteen years over a misunderstanding, and the next month he’s being publicly executed? It’s like the universe is determined to get rid of him.” He glanced side-eyed at Stolas. “Thank you, by the way. I don’t know what I’d have done if... never mind. Ugh. That stupid fucking circus freak. He just can’t catch a break, I swear to Satan—”

That was...a lot of information to process all at once. And continued to be, as Fizzarolli kept rambling while they walked. Stolas only vaguely knew that Fizzarolli and Blitzø had a history, mostly intuited from that disastrous night at Asmodeus’s club—though the exact nature of their history remained a mystery still.

“ —and after you two had a falling out, too. Which, by the way, is fucking stupid. It’s like Blitzø is incapable of having any kind of relationship without some big, dramatic misunderstanding getting in the way! And Satan’s taint, only Blitzø could fuck someone so good he almost gets his head cut off about it!”

Stolas glanced around nervously, noting the filthy looks being thrown his way by passersby. He was acutely aware that Imp City was still no friend to him, regardless of which famous company he was keeping. “Um, might we quiet down a tad? I’m afraid I’m not well-liked at the moment, and I find it’s best not to invite attention.”

Fizzarolli grimaced and flipped off the nearest onlooker. “Fuck off, fuck face!” He steered Stolas into a quieter alley. “I can’t deal with this shit today.” He stuck a cigarette between his teeth, fingers shaking as he lit the end. “Don’t tell Oz,” he growled, offering the carton to Stolas.

They smoked, letting the nicotine and relative quiet soothe their nerves. Stolas had no clue why he’d been invited on this little outing, but it was helpful to get space from Blitzø and...all he entailed.

“He told me about you, y’know,” Fizzarolli broke the silence, watching smoke curl up towards the sky. “When we were kids. He disappeared for a day, and when he came back he wouldn’t shut up about the little owl boy all alone in the palace. It took a while for me to put two and two together, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? That he’d find you again in adulthood.” He flicked ash from his cigarette’s burnt end. “He has a way of never letting people go.”

“Hm,” Stolas hummed, noncommittal. Smoke leaked out from his beak as he spoke. “I believe he wanted my grimoire, and that was the reason he found me again.”

“Bullshit,” Fizzarolli huffed. “If it was just about the book, he wouldn’t have kept coming back. I know that dipshit. He doesn’t waste time on people he doesn’t care about. He certainly doesn’t put this much effort into someone if he doesn’t think it’s worth the hassle.”

Stolas took another long drag, savoring the burn of smoke in his lungs. “It was merely transactional. Favors for favors. Once I gave him an out, he made it clear where his feeling really stood.”

“Oh, so you’re both stupid,” Fizzarolli sighed. “Guess you deserve each other. Look—if anyone asks, I never told you this shit, got it? But Blitzø? He wouldn’t know love if it hit him over the horns. He loves, that’s never the problem. But being loved? He has no frame of reference. His dad was a piece of shit. A drunk piece of shit. I got out, but Blitzø was stuck for a lot longer after I was gone. By that time, he’d lost the person he loved most, who protected him from the worst of it, and it all just...stunted him. He doesn’t trust that love can be unconditional, or that it can last.” Fizzarolli breathed deep. “I won’t lie and say I didn’t contribute to that. It’s complicated. But just because he reacts weird to shit doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things. He cares, in his own weird, ass-backward way.” He snubbed his cigarette under the heel of his boot. “And if you hurt that motherfucker, I’ll kill you. Got it?”

Stolas was not given time to respond, not that he had adequate words to voice his swirling thoughts. Fizzarolli grabbed the cigarette from Stolas’s talons and dropped it to the ground, drawing their confessional to a close.

“Now let’s get that bitch some iced coffee, before he throws a tantrum.”

***

Their preparations—fueled by the coffee he and Fizzarolli had procured—lasted long into the evening. It was growing dark by the time Vassago announced his departure, pulling Stolas aside one final time before leaving, his voice subdued. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather come home with me? I have a guest room with your name on it.”

Stolas glanced behind him, to where the employees of I.M.P. were hunched over their stockpile of weapons, Moxxie with an oily rag for polishing, Loona with a case of bullets for reloading, Millie with a whetstone for sharpening.

And Blitzø. Blitzø, with a bloodthirsty grin and his beloved flintlock between his claws, looking for all the world like an action hero befitting the big screen.

Was it selfish of him to want to cling to these moments while he could still have them?

“I’ll stay the night with them. After all, we have a battle to be ready for tomorrow.” He placed a hand on Vassago’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Thank you for all your help, my friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Vassago squeezed his shoulder in return. “No te preocupes. Just...be careful. I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt.”

Stolas didn’t think he meant physically.

***

“Stols.”

He blinked blearily, quickly wiping the drool from his chin. It was dark, the office cast in purple shadows, the evening much further progressed than he last remembered. He’d nodded off sometime between Loona unplugging the office phone to stop its ringing and Millie loudly sharpening her axe. “Where is everyone?”

Blitzø ran claws through Stolas’s head feathers. “Gone home. Looney’s waiting in the van. We’re ready for tomorrow, and we’ve got an early morning.” He paused, fingers stilling. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

Ready was a strong word. He hadn’t been ready for any of this—to be exiled, to lose Via, to accept charity from the man who didn’t love him back. In all his eternal lifespan, he doubted he’d have ever been ready to face such things. But, for better or for worse, he’d been given the life he’d been given, and if he had any hope of salvaging a future he had to speak with Via. He couldn’t put down roots until he knew if she would be a part of his life or not.

“I will be prepared, not to worry.”

Blitzø’s claws resumed their stroking—why? What did the imp hope to gain from such tender touches? It set his mind ablaze with anxiety.

“I’ll worry anyway. It’s not...I can’t...ugh, you don’t have your magic anymore.”

Stolas pulled away harshly, leaning back against the conference chair sharply enough to rattle its hinges. Of course. What good was he to I.M.P. without his magic?

Blitzø was wide-eyed, palms up in a sign of surrender. “Whoa, Birdie. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

“I am perfectly capable of assisting even without my power!” he hissed. “I don’t need my magic for everything, you know!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Blitzø snapped. “Christ on a stick, not everything I say or do is an attack! I’m just fucking worried that you’ll get hurt, asshole!”

Stolas’s anger fizzled out in an instant. He recalled the meaningful look Fizzarolli had given him as they’d rode the elevator back up, coffees in hand. “Remember what I told you, yeah?”

“Look, Stolas, I never thought you could get hurt before! You were invincible or some shit, and so I never worried! But then that sneaky motherfucker managed to hurt you so bad, and you were...you were so bad that you ended up in the hospital, and I just never thought it’d get to that point! And now...” He gestured wildly to Stolas’s now powerless form. “You’re easier to hurt than ever, and I worry.”

Oh. That was.

Unexpected.

Perhaps, even if Blitzø could never love him in the same way...perhaps he still cared. He cared enough to bring him into his home, lend him his bed, plot a way for him to see his daughter again. Guilt was a powerful motivator, that was true enough. But not so powerful as to drive a man to such lengths for someone he didn’t care a lick about.

He has a way of never letting people go. Over two decades since they’d met, and here they were. Against all odds, here they were.

Hesitantly, he reached out, letting his talons brush against Blitzø’s face. His skin was always so warm, it used to make him dizzy with the need to touch and taste. “Now you know the fear I feel every time you wander into danger.”

Blitzø chuckled wetly. “It fucking sucks.”

“Indeed.”

Perhaps they could never be all that Stolas wanted them to be. But he could settle for friends—couldn’t he?

Loona barely looked up from her phone as they loaded into the van. He was learning to interpret the little gestures, like the way her ears perked up and her shoulders relaxed. She, like Blitzø, threw up walls to hide the parts of herself that could get hurt, that had been hurt. But he could see her relief and affection in her body language, and he mulled that knowledge over as Blitzø turned the engine and skidded out of the lot. To fill the silence, Blitzø flicked on the radio, letting the thrashing of guitar and drums ferry them home. Stolas drifted, letting his earlier exhaustion fall back over him. For a moment, he could pretend that he was wanted, that this was a day like any other day, driving home after work with the assurance of his loved ones by his side.

He would miss these moments, when they were no longer afforded to him.

Chapter Text

Nestled amongst the chaos of the Pride Ring, a bastion of serenity from the cacophonous car horns, sirens, and bustle of commuters going home for the evening, stood a palace of gleaming stone, fringed with delicate greenery and embellished with decorative stars and moons, a panoply of celestial motifs. Today, as it had been for the better part of a week, the palace lay silent, as though everyone inside was holding a breath they had yet to let out. Those delicate details and lush gardens were frozen in ice so hard and clear it looked like diamond, glittering under the light from the setting pentagram.

Dormant. Waiting.

An explosion split the quiet in two, shaking the palace’s very foundation. Smoke billowed up from the east-facing wall, a cloud of purple haze dimming the shine of the icy grounds.

“Told you those faulty vibrators would be good for something,” Fizzarolli said with a devious smirk. “Now aren’t you glad I didn’t let you toss them?”

“Froggy,” Asmodeus sighed, rubbing his temples. “This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

“No use crying over smoking rubble,” Blitzø grinned, checking the safety on his beloved flintlock one final time. “Now are we doing this, or what?”

A hideous screech pierced the air, and a frosty chill settled into their bones. “That would be Andrealphus,” Stolas grimaced, zipping up the coat Asmodeus had lent him. “I guess he’s gotten the memo.”

“You and B go on ahead, we got this,” Millie growled, eyes flinty. Loona bared her teeth behind Millie’s shoulder, ready to join the fray.

“And Sir, you’ve got the—”

“Yes, Mox, I got it,” Blitzø answered. “Call if you need me, otherwise I’m getting this one to the kiddo.”

Stolas blinked as Blitzø offered up his hand, swaddled in a thick glove to ward off Andrealphus’s magical chill.

“You ready, Birdie?”

No. But he would have to be. There wasn’t another option. He slipped his talons into Blitzø’s palm, and then they were running, skirting around the palace toward the western side, opposite the explosion. Hopefully Andrealphus would be too enraged by the property damage to notice two demons slipping through the backdoor.

They paused at a familiar spot, just underneath the balcony Stolas had once called his own. It was a lot taller than Stolas remembered—how had Blitzø scaled it freehand so many times? He truly was a wonder.

“I’d stand back, if I were you,” Blitzø warned, unstrapping their secret weapon from his back. He and Moxxie had cooed over it all morning, polishing it and babying it like a fussy newborn. Not that it wasn’t impressive—it was large, bulky, and formidable, to be sure. But still, Stolas couldn’t understand the allure.

At least, he couldn’t until he watched Blitzø balance it on his shoulder and let it rip.

Turns out, flamethrowers really did have sex appeal.

Blitzø cackled as the concentrated flames melted clean through Andrealphus’s defenses, whole sheets of ice sluicing off the stone walls. In seconds, the balcony and the entire wall down to the grass was clear, nothing left but a pitiful little puddle under their shoes.

“Fuck yes!” Blitzø cried, peeling off his gloves so he could grip the stone. “Hang tight, this’ll only take a sec.”

For the first time since childhood, Stolas got a front row seat to Blitzø’s acrobatics. His fingers skated over the stone like it was nothing, his body scuttling vertically up as easy as walking. He gripped the railing of the balcony and swung himself over, tail flicking to give him the last push of momentum.

So that was how he managed that.

“Incoming!”

A rope sailed over the railing, hurtling down weightlessly before uncoiling at Stolas’s feet. He gripped the fibers nervously, unconvinced it—or Blitzø—could hold his weight.

But this was one time when hollow bones really came in handy.

Blitzø tugged the rope up, hand over hand, hauling Stolas higher and higher. He squeezed his eyes shut so as not to look down at the drop below.

“I gotcha,” Blitzø said, one of his strong hands gripping under Stolas’s armpit. He lifted Stolas the rest of the way, perching him on the lip of the balcony until he could get his bearings. “You good?”

“As much as I can be,” Stolas huffed, letting his nerves settle. He wiped his clammy palms on his thighs, but it accomplished little.

They made it. They were here.

Octavia was here.

Blitzø pulled his gloves back on and checked that the spade of his tail was still securely swaddled. “Fuck, it’s cold. Okay, let’s do this.”

He turned to the balcony doors, striding forward with purpose. Stolas hung back, legs refusing to move, as Blitzø battered through the flimsy lock and swung the doors open to reveal the cold, barren room beyond. Stolas’s personal effects had been stripped from the space, his bookshelves emptied. From where he was standing, he thought he could see black scribbles over his face in the family portrait beside the bed.

“Stolas?”

He snapped to attention, looking again to the man who had gotten him this far, who was risking his life and his team’s lives to get him here, just so he could have a moment alone with his estranged daughter.

Lucifer, he loved him. It ached in a confusing, painful-pleasurable way.

“C’mon, Birdie. You can do this.”

He wouldn’t squander Blitzø’s efforts—he had to see this through. He took a deep breath, steeling himself.

And walked forward.

The bedroom was frigid, like an icebox set to its coldest setting. Their breaths misted the air, and Stolas was never gladder to have insulating down over his arms and chest.

Right, he had to focus. Ignore the cold, find Via. Where would Via be? Her bedroom? That’s usually where she holed up, even when things weren’t as fucked as they were now.

“Lead the way,” Blitzø chattered, rubbing his arms to conserve warmth.

It was easy to get them where they needed to go—after all, he’d spent his entire life in the palace. Before it had been his, it had been his father’s (one of many—Paimon had more estates than sense). He knew every dent in the floor, every crack in the paint, every hidden corner away from prying eyes. He could find his way to Octavia’s room with his eyes closed.

It wasn’t as far as he remembered—or perhaps his laser-focus made time move quicker. He barely noticed the creeping frost on every wall, the desolate halls empty of his staff, the gaudy ice sculptures of Andrealphus propped in obvious places. The only thing he cared about was Via, Via, Via.

Her door was closed. The walls surrounding it crackled with ice, but the wood itself was bare and warm to the touch. He hesitated, knowing she might yell, knowing she would be angry, knowing he had one chance and one chance only to fix this.

He could fix it. He had to fix it.

“Go on,” Blitzø whispered, brushing a hand across Stolas’s back.

He opened the door.

For a moment, wide, desperate red eyes met startled pink. The moment hung frozen just like one of Andrealphus’s silly statues, and then—

“The fuck are you doing here?”

There were nicer ways to be greeted by your daughter, but they had to start somewhere. Blitzø hung back by the door, keeping watch on the hallway as Stolas approached his little owlet, his precious Starfire, his very reason for breathing. “Via, darling, are you alright?” He glanced around, ensuring her room had remained untouched by frost. The air was cool, but not cold. Her trinkets and posters were as he remembered them. She seemed whole and hale—and supremely cross to boot.

“Like you care all of a sudden,” she scoffed, turning away from him

Stolas stopped short of where she sat on the mattress, sure any attempt to touch her would result in being shoved away. How had they gotten to this point? He remembered when she was nothing more than an egg curled in his arms, warm and delicate. He remembered the joy of watching her little beak breach the hard surface, eager to welcome her to the world. He’d resolved that day to love her more than his studies, more than the stars, more than his own miserable life—and he still intended to keep that promise. “Via, it is important to me that you are alright. No one has hurt you, have they?”

She snorted. “Like who? The only people here are Mum and Uncle Andrealphus, and Mum won’t let me leave the palace.”

Stolas heard Blitzø snort in turn; indeed, there was a certain irony to her words considering Stella’s previous attempts to have her husband assassinated, and Andrealphus’s ploy to have I.M.P. executed. But he wasn’t interested in turning Via against her mother; he only wanted her to understand, at some level, why he’d made the choices he had.

“Darling—”

“Don’t,” she spat. “You don’t get to be all sweet now.” There were tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes; she dashed them with her sleeve. “You couldn’t stop at just the divorce, could you? You had to go and get yourself banished, all for that stupid, homewrecking little lizard—”

“Hey!” Blitzø cried, just as Stolas snapped “Via!”

She glowered at them both.

“This isn’t about Blitzø, Octavia. And don’t ever insult him like that again.”

“See, you’re still doing it! Picking him over me!”

Stolas looked to Blitzø helplessly, unsure what else he could do. Via seemed intent on hating him for the rest of time, and time wasn’t something they had in abundance.

“I’m going to—yeah. I’ll wait in the hall. I’ll call if someone’s coming.” He smiled thinly at Stolas, giving him an encouraging nod, then closed the door between them, sealing him and Via in together.

Back at Loo Loo Land—Lucifer, didn’t that seem like a century ago?—he hadn’t had the words to explain himself properly. Of course, the divorce hadn’t yet been initiated, and his behavior towards Blitzø had been embarrassingly gauche. But things were much different now, so for the sake of his precious Starfire, he’d have to find the words whether he liked it or not.

He sat gingerly on the bed, still leaving several feet of space between them. Via crossed her arms and refused to look at him. “On my eleventh birthday, my father told me I was engaged to be married,” he began.

She didn’t acknowledge him, but he could tell she was listening, so he took that as a sign to continue.

“I was shown one photograph of your mother that day, and I didn’t see her face again until the day of our wedding. My father never gave me a choice in the matter. I was more like...a chess piece, than a son, to him.” He rattled out a breath. “We were told in no uncertain terms that our marriage was intended to produce a precautionary heir. No one cared that...that I was gay. That there would never be a way for me to want your mother like that. Siring an heir was more important than such frivolous details, in the Goetias’ eyes.”

Via sniffed. “You’re gay?”

He cleared his throat unnecessarily. His mouth felt dry as a Wrathian desert. “I-I am. I believe I’ve known that much longer than I’ve been married to your mother.”

“So why would they...why couldn’t they—”

“It’s not how things are done, Starfire,” he smiled sadly. “Your mother and I tried for months to conceive you. It was not easy. But the moment you were laid, I knew that it was all worth it. Having you in my life made the discomfort bearable, because you were so brilliant. It’s how I kept going all these years.”

“Great,” Via sniffed, pulling her knees up to her chest. “So you’ve been miserable this whole time because of me. Thanks, dad, I feel so much better!”

“No! No, no, no, Via, no.” He hazarded placing a hand on her shoulder, emboldened when she didn’t pull away. “I haven’t been miserable the whole time, darling.” He took a deep breath, ready to finally lay all his cards on the table. “There were ups and downs, of course. But when you were an owlet, I cherished every minute of my time with you. I was overjoyed to be your father. It’s only grown difficult in recent years, as you’ve needed me less and less, as I’ve had to learn who I am outside of being your father.” He smiled wistfully, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to Via’s ceiling, the ones he’d lovingly arranged into familiar constellations so she could sleep under the human sky every night. “And then Blitzø crashed back into my life, after all this time. And I started to remember who I was.”

“...after all this time?” She was looking at him now, beak parted in surprise.

“Yes. We met as children. Not under the best circumstances, I’ll admit, but I was so taken with him at that age. He was fierce and funny and unlike anyone I’d ever met. Meeting him again...I hesitate to call it fate, but it is certainly something I will forever be grateful for.”

“So he wasn’t just...he wasn’t just a random fling? You actually knew him?”

He ran his hand up and down her back, sensing that her anger had ebbed. “Not a random fling at all. He was my childhood crush, darling. I wouldn’t be doing all this for just anyone. I wouldn’t have offered my life up for just anyone, especially knowing I would have to leave you behind when I went.”

Via sniffed and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “You love him.” She said it as a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“And mum?”

Stolas sighed. “I love what we created together. But if there was ever a chance of us loving one another, the circumstances of our marriage prevented it from happening. It’s not your mother’s fault that I couldn’t love her, nor is it yours. It is simply who I am, and who I was never allowed to be.”

Via stared at her talons, clearly lost in thought. She picked at a few loose feathers, little gray tufts drifting gently to the floor. “Dad, I think I’m asexual.”

“Alright. Thank you for telling me,” he nodded gently.

She choked on a sob. “Will...will they make me marry someone too? Will I have to...have to...”

“No, Via, no. I would never let them. Here, come here—” He pulled her into his arms, wrapping her tight as she buried her face in his neck. He could feel her little trembles, her soft hooting cries. “The moment you emerged from your shell, I promised myself I would never let your life look like that. I would never let them stuff you in a position that wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Mum, s-she, she wants to find me a suitor!” Via blubbered. “I know she’s already met with several families to try and arrange a match, and I...I don’t want that, dad!”

“I know, Via, shhh. It’s alright, my owlet. I won’t let them.” He cooed in her ear, stroking her head feathers. She clung to him like a creeping vine.

The door creaked on its hinges, and Stolas met Blitzø’s grim gaze. “We gotta go. We’ve got incoming.”

“Via,” Stolas whispered, disentagling her from his neck so he could see her face. “Via, I am giving you a choice now, and whatever you choose, I will not hold it against you, and I will still love you. But you need to make this choice. Do you want to stay here, amongst the Goetia, or do you want to leave with me? Asmodeus has offered you a safe place to stay for the time being, until I figure out where we can go. You will be well taken care of. But only if that is what you want.”

An errant tear slipped down her cheek, and he lifted it away with a gentle touch.

“Whatever you want, Starfire. The choice is yours.”

“Yep, yep, choice is yours, sweetie. And not to rush things along, but we have, like, thirty seconds before Andrealphus rounds the corner, and I don’t know if I can hold him off,” Blitzø called, looking too nervous for comfort.

“I love you, Starfire,” Stolas said, kissing her forehead as if it were going to be the last time...which it very well could be.

He stood, walking back to the door, back to Blitzø, back to exile. It felt like that same walk through the courtroom, knowing that his life was about to be over. Blitzø’s tail curled in agitation.

“Dad!” Suddenly, Via collided into his back, nearly bowling him over, clutching at his coat. “I’m coming with you, I’m coming. Let’s go, please! Take me with you!”

“There she is,” Blitzø grinned. “Knew you’d make the right choice. Now come on.”

“The right choice?” Via squawked, following as Blitzø led them down the arched hallway. “I thought it was up to me what to do?”

“Listen, just because your father wasn’t gonna be mad at you for whatever you chose, didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be,” Blitzø huffed, leaning around the next corner to check it was safe. “Your mother is—”

“Blitzø!” Stolas hissed, glaring down at him. Blitzø took the hint and shut his trap. Now was not the time to disclose Stella’s many sins to her daughter—that was a different conversation for much, much later.

Blitzø cursed as his phone screeched in his pocket. “Dammit, Moxxie, what!?” he shouted down the line. Stolas could barely hear the other assassin babbling through the speaker. “Yeah, I fucking know the pea-cock-sucker is in the palace! Little late on the warning, bitch!” He ushered the two owls forward, toward the east wing where the explosion had blown out one of the walls. “We’re on our way to you now.”

As ice transitioned to rubble, Via paused, looking bewildered. “Are those...pink vibrators?”

“Long story, but don’t touch them, they’ll explode.” Blitzø said, pushing her forward to get her moving again.

“I have so many questions...”

“Later, Starfire, please. Let’s go now.” Stolas slipped his hand into hers, squeezing tight. He would never let them be separated again, as long as he lived.

The three of them emerged into the dusk, the palace’s chill fading behind them. Stolas guided Via forward, toward where he knew Asmodeus and Fizzarolli would be waiting. They were almost there, almost free, just a little bit farther—

“Look out!”

Blitzø barreled into him, knocking them both to the ground. Where Stolas had stood, a splinter of ice jutted up from the ground.

“You!” Andrealphus loomed above them, standing on a wave of ice that kept growing the longer he seethed. “How dare you invade the home of royalty!”

“Via—” Stolas looked up, desperate to ensure she was safe. He found her hovering between him and Asmodeus, him and safety, one hand reaching toward him, her face pinched in fear. “Go!” he yelled to her. “Via, go with them!”

She didn’t move. Andrealphus grinned, snow swirling in the palm of his hand as he prepared to strike.

“Dad...” She took a hesitant step toward him.

Fizzarolli grabbed her hand in both of his, arms stretched to cross the distance. He jerked her back, forcing her to stumble towards them, towards safety. She was enfolded in those mechanical arms, which were likewise enfolded in Asmodeus’s feathers. Safe. She was safe.

Was he?

Andrealphus let a gust of wind loose, tiny shards of ice suspended in the blast. At the last second, Blitzø rolled over Stolas’s body, shielding him from the brunt of the attack. Blitzø grunted from the impact, tiny beads of blood seeping through his coat.

“Dad!” Loona cried.

Stolas saw red. If he’d still had his powers, Andrealphus would’ve been dust.

“Pathetic wretches,” Andrealphus scoffed. “To think, you lost all of this over an imp. The lowest of the low, the dirt under our shoes. Was it worth it, to fulfill your filthy kink? You gave everything up for a good fuck, if it even was one. From what my sister says, your standards in bed are subpar at best.”

“Hey! Our fucks are excellent, thank you very much!” Blitzø growled, fingers digging into Stolas’s sides. “You fucking wish you could get dicked down this good!”

The wave of ice grew, Andrealphus borne higher over their heads. His feathers splayed out, revealing impressive, ice-blue plumage. He looked the part of royalty, he truly did. At one time, perhaps, Stolas might’ve been jealous. But all he felt now was shame.

He nudged Blitzø off of him, rising on unsteady legs. From over his shoulder, he watched Fizzarolli and Asmodeus load Via into a car, ready to ferry her off to safety. She was safe. He could afford to be bold.

“You’re wrong on every front, oh brother mine,” Stolas said. “I haven’t lost everything. I have my daughter. I have my friends.”

Andrealphus threw his head back and guffawed, whole body shaking. “You can’t be serious!” He wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “That’s your takeaway, is it? The power of love and friendship. I don’t know which is sadder—that you fucked your future away, or that you’ve convinced yourself it was worth it.”

“It was worth it,” Stolas cried, talons curling into fists. He spoke his words with his full chest, believing them to his very core. “You may laugh and belittle my life, but I have made peace with my choices. I chose to love him, and I refuse to regret doing so. You can take away my power, my status, and my home, but all you’ve done is remind me who I am, and who really matters.”

Andrealphus’s fingers spun like spider’s legs, and a long, thin spike of ice materialized in his hand. “And that, oh brother mine, will be your undoing.”

Stolas braced for the pain, for the true death, this time. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping Via wouldn’t hate him for dying here when they had only just reconciled.

Instead of ice rending his flesh to ribbons, Stolas heard the sound of a bullet clicking into place.

“You wanna reconsider, dickhead?” Moxxie asked.

Stolas’s eyes snapped open. Andrealphus was frozen, two pinpoints of white marring his blue eyes. He followed the peacock’s gaze, trailing his eyeline to where Moxxie stood on a balustrade, gun propped against his shoulder.

It wasn’t a normal gun. The tip glowed with angelic light, swirls of runes twisting up the barrel. Oh. Oh.

“Word to the wise,” Moxxie drawled, smirking. “If you’re going to give your hired goon an angelic weapon, make sure you get it back when he’s done.”

“You wouldn’t,” Andrealphus laughed, the sound noticeably nervous. “You little imps would be in such incredibly deep shit if you killed a royal such as myself. Or did you not learn that lesson at the trial?”

“Are you seriously willing to take that risk?”

Andrealphus glowered, but he withered under the threat. The wave of ice retreated, splashing away in a flood of glacial water. “You’ll regret this. You’ll all regret this!” he hissed.

“Maybe,” Blitzø chuckled, rising to his feet to stand beside Stolas. “But not today, we won’t.” He took Stolas’s hand and tugged. “Let’s get out of here, huh?”

Stolas didn’t need to be told twice. He let his beloved drag him back to the van, turning his back on the palace, and his royal life, one final time.

***

Stolas sat numbly on the office sofa, the remnants of their takeaway dinner scattered across the stack of boxes being used as a coffee table. The others had cracked open Blitzø’s secret bottle of decent-but-still-not-great whiskey and were toasting their success, but he didn’t feel much like celebrating. The exhaustion of the day had caught up with him the moment his adrenaline fled, leaving him wrung out, too tired to feel a thing.

It didn’t help that Blitzø was currently being patched up by Moxxie. The lacerations from the ice shards had been deceptively deep, and Moxxie was only half finished painstakingly cleaning and taping them with swathes of gauze, as Blitzø sat shirtless on Loona’s desk and pounded back shot after shot of liquor. Stolas watched glumly as the love of his life bore the pain of protecting him in his very skin.

Via plopped down on the couch beside him, her own glass of whiskey in her hand. He quirked an eye at it, but didn’t say anything. After everything she’d been through, he could forgive her this once. “I love you, dad,” she mumbled, resting her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for coming back for me.”

“I will always come back for you,” he promised. And he meant it.

They watched, two Geotia amongst Hell’s least-loved, as Millie kissed Moxxie on the cheek and Loona silently passed her father another shot. They watched as Fizzarolli cuddled into Asmodeus’s side, a happy smile on his scarred face. This...warmth was foreign to the both of them. Their house had never felt like this, felt so familial and bright. Here, in this moment, Stolas couldn’t find it in himself to regret a thing.

“I’m going back with Fizz and Oz to Lust,” Via said, yawning. “So you and the dickhead can do whatever you want tonight.”

“Oh, Via, it’s not like—”

“Gross, dad, I don’t want details.”

He was too tired to explain that there were no details. They were friends, Stolas could reasonably assume that after today. But Blitzø didn’t want anything more, and he would respect the man’s wishes although it broke his heart to do so.

“I-I’m going to use the restroom, I’ll just—” He wriggled out from under Via. “Sorry, darling, I’ll just—”

“Dad, go, for fuck’s sake. Use the fucking loo, no one cares.”

“...right.”

Once he locked the bathroom door, he could finally breathe. Lucifer, Blitzø had looked so good all sweaty and shirtless, glowing from the success of the day, surrounded by his family. He was a temptation Stolas could not indulge in, and the more times he had to remind himself of that fact, the tighter the knot in his chest became.

Would it always be like this? Would it ever stop hurting quite so much?

He splashed his face with cold water, trying to ground himself. He had to pull it together. No one wanted a pooper at this party.

He shuffled down the hallway, trying to psych himself up to rejoin the others. He could do this. He could be happy—he was happy, he shouldn’t have to fake a thing.

He lingered outside the office door, smoothing his feathers. Via’s giggle cut him short, warming him from the inside out. He peeked in, looking for what had tickled her so.

Blitzø was perched on the arm of the sofa, shirt back on, wounds presumably patched. He wore his customary smirk, but there was a softness to its edges.

“He didn’t!” Via snorted, almost spilling her half-drunk glass.

“Honest to Satan, he stopped in the middle of traffic, cars swerving around him and honking and shit, nearly dying like twenty times, all to see fucking Venus.”

“That sounds like him” Via chuckled.

“Yeah.” Blitzø’s smirk melted into a soft smile. “He really loves you, you know that, right?”

Octavia’s smile dimmed. “I know. It’s just...with my mum...and with you...”

“Listen, I promised Stolas I wouldn’t shit-talk your mother in front of you, so I can’t speak to that. But he was really fucking unhappy when I met him as an adult. I know this isn’t how anyone wanted things to go, but he still seems so much lighter than before.”

“Yeah.” Via sniffed. “I still can’t believe he was going to sacrifice his dumb life for you.”

“Me fucking neither, kid.”

Stolas couldn’t bear to hear any more. He pushed through the doorway, forcing a smile. Via swiped her eyes quickly and donned her typical teenage grump. “I’m tired. Can Fizz and Oz take me to Lust now?”

“If that’s alright with them, I don’t see why not?” He looked to the happy couple, basking in the love they’d found together. He tried to quell the envy twisting in his heart.

“Yeah, we got her. Don’t worry,” Fizz smiled, taking Via’s hands to steady her. Whether her clumsy limbs were from exhaustion or underage drinking was unclear, but Fizz gently supported her through it.

“You’re welcome to stay with us too, anytime,” Asmodeus said, clasping Stolas’s shoulder firmly. “Once the dust settles, we can talk about setting up something more permanent.”

“I owe you a debt of gratitude, my friend,” Stolas said, grasping Asmodeus’s shoulder in turn. An understanding passed between the two demons, silent yet loud.

“Alright, bedtime for the youngster. We have the commute to Lust still to go,” Fizzarolli urged, shepherding Via out the door. He winked at Stolas as he passed, although what that was meant to convey, he had no idea.

As they were leaving, the phone rang, and Stolas hurried to answer it—anything to avoid more awkwardness with Blitzø. “Hello?”

“You have her?”

“Vassago! Yes, we do. I presume your dinner is over?”

A string of insults spewed forth across the line, which Stolas took to mean yes. “Stolas, te quiero, but if you ever ask me to entertain that bruja arrogante again, I will beg Satan to execute me instead.”

“Understood. Thank you for getting Stella out of the way, it made things much easier.”

“Only for you.”

Stolas glanced up, seeing Loona dodge yet another hug from her father. She rolled her eyes with a sneaky smile and shut the office door on the way out. With a jolt, he realized that Millie and Moxxie had also disappeared. Were the two of them alone? That didn’t bode well for his blood pressure.

“You’re alright?” Vassago asked, and Stolas remembered he was on the phone.

“Yes, we’re alright. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“I wish I could’ve done more, but it’s imperative the Goetias don’t know I’m aiding you. That way I can keep an eye on things and apprise you of any developments.”

“You’ve done more than enough, my friend.”

“Call me tomorrow? Have that imp of yours find you a cell phone, then we can text too.”

“I’ll see what he can do.”

“Hasta luego, Stolas.”

“Goodnight.”

The line clicked. And he and Blitzø were alone.

The other man yawned and stretched, joints popping. He seemed relaxed and in good spirits, in direct opposition to Stolas’s jangling nerves. Oh, why had everyone abandoned them? What was he supposed to do now, with Blitzø looking all rugged and sexy, having spent the day devoting his life and limb to Via’s safety?

It would make even a stronger man weak in the knees.

“C’mon, I hid the good cheap stuff where Loona couldn’t steal it. Let’s have a drink.” Blitzø wandered back into his office, and Stolas tried—he really tried—not to ogle his ass as he went.

It’s one drink, what’s the harm?

He followed—of course he did. Blitzø unlocked the top drawer of his desk, reaching past greasy takeout wrappers and what looked like old laundry to pull out a slightly-nicer-than-the-last bottle of scotch. “Old trick I learned. Pad it with enough smelly things and it flies under Loona’s nose, at least if she doesn’t know to be looking for it.” He pulled two mugs from on top of the filing cabinet. “Sit, don’t be a stranger.”

Stolas didn’t so much as sit as let his knees give out. Blitzø handed him one of the mugs, a conservative finger of amber liquor swirling around the bottom. The smaller man hopped up onto the desk right in front of him, far too close for comfort.

“To your badass kid, who made the right decision today,” Blitzø said, clinking his mug with Stolas’s. Blitzø knocked the whole thing back in one go, but Stolas couldn’t bring himself to drink. “You uh, did good in there. Said all the right things.”

Stolas cleared his throat. “Yes, well, she was willing to listen. That was the most important part.”

“Hm.” Blitzø leaned closer, their faces less than a foot apart. “You said some pretty nice things about me, too, y’know. Just a thing I happened to notice.”

Stolas’s entire body pulled taut like a live wire, hyper-attuned to Blitzø’s every breath and twitch and oh Lucifer was he leaning in further—

Blitzø’s hand came up to cup Stolas’s cheek. “Hey, Stols?”

He made a pathetic squeaking sound in response.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

And that was that—Stolas’s convictions crumbled to dust, every wall, every boundary, evaporating like mist. All his poor, feeble, arousal-addled brain could focus on was the feeling of Blitzø’s calloused palm against his face, of the way his breath ghosted across his beak, of the way his lips finally made contact and their tongues touched—

In the end, Stolas was weak, and he wanted Blitzø like he’d never wanted anything else in his life.

Chapter Text

This was not quite how he’d imagined beginning his day, but he wasn’t about to complain.

As the eleventh hour crossed over midnight, tipping one day into the next, Stolas tipped off the ledge and came with a shiver. Blitzø didn’t relent, stroking his insides with that devilish tongue of his, lapping up the cum dribbling down his thighs. Stolas gripped the edge of Blitzø’s desk, throwing his head back against a pile of paperwork so hard it slumped to the floor. Finally, just as pleasure morphed into overstimulation, Blitzø righted himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, running barbed claws up Stolas’s sides where they stretched across the desk, laid out like a sinful buffet.

“Fuck, you have no idea how much I missed doing that.” His voice was rough with need, his dick hard against Stolas’s leg. For one brief, shining moment, Stolas could pretend that this was for him, that this was all for him and no one else.

As the afterglow ebbed, reality descended like a shroud.

Blitzø remained oblivious to Stolas’s sudden melancholy. “Ugh, Moxxie’s gonna kill me for fucking in the office.” He leaned forward, brushing his hips against Stolas’s thigh again. “Might as well deface company property fully, if we’re already in this deep.”

Stolas hid his face in his hands, willing back tears. How had he let this happen? He’d been so grateful, riding high from the success of the day, and Blitzø had just looked so good all sweaty and powerful after the fight. He was weak, plain and simple. A weak, slutty mess that deserved everything he’d gotten and more.

“Hey, where’d you go?” Blitzø tugged at his arms, trying to unblock his face. “Birdie? Are you okay?”

“Please stop!”

In a flash, Blitzø’s hands left him. His body was left cold in his wake.

He couldn’t face him, couldn’t bear to see the irritation or anger or—Lucifer-forbid—disinterest in his gaze. He scrunched his eyes tighter, pulling at the feathers at his temple.

“Um, Stolas?”

He warbled some kind of response.

“What just happened?”

He couldn’t admit it, couldn’t admit that he’d fucked up, let him get too close, let it go too far. Again. Why did he keep throwing himself at this imp who didn’t want him like that, who fucked him out of pity, or guilt? How could he admit that he loved someone who could never love him back? “I—just—I’ll move out tomorrow!” he sniveled, tears clogging his voice. “Vassago has offered me a room, or Asmodeus will take me. Just, just let me make arrangements and I’ll leave you alone for good!”

There was silence, save Stolas’s feeble whimpers. He took a deep breath and wiped his eyes, daring to peek through his fingers, to survey the damage.

Blitzø looked like he’d been slapped.

Blitzø looked...

He looked...

Something wasn’t right. There was no anger, or irritation. Where Stolas had expected impatience, or relief, there was only shock and fear.

“What did I do?” Blitzø asked, hands curling into fists. “Stolas, whatever I did, tell me, and I—I’ll make it up to you. I can fix it, I promise, just please, please give me the chance.” He wiped his face on his sleeve. “If you need space, I can stay with M&M for a few days. Or if it’s about the sex, we never have to do that again if you don’t want. If you don’t like it. Whatever it is, I’ll stop. Or start. Er, whichever one you need.”

Stolas could only blink owlishly at him.

“Fuck!” Blitzø kicked a filing cabinet, shoulders drawn taut. “I knew I’d fuck this up.” To his horror, Blitzø’s eyes began to fill with tears.

Oh. Oh, no.

“That’s what I do, isn’t it?” Blitzø threw his hands up. “I ruin everything, fuck up all my relationships, lose everyone I—” He took a deep breath, eyes watery and pleading. “Stolas, please.”

Stolas prided himself on being an intelligent creature. He was a Goetia, responsible for divination of the stars, for charting the human skies with painstaking precision. It took focus and dedication to get good at such things, took a lifetime of study, but he’d taken to it so quickly as a child, advancing much faster than his peers. And yet, in this moment, Stolas felt like the dumbest demon alive.

“Blitzø, are you saying...that you have feelings for me?”

The imp looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “The fuck are you talking about? Isn’t that obvious?”

Stolas sat up and smoothed his feathers, distinctly embarrassed to be having this conversation while half-naked across Blitzø's desk. “It isn’t obvious to me.”

“Why the fuck would I be doing all this shit for someone I didn’t have feelings for? Are you insane?” Blitzø scratched his head in confusion. “What, do you think I just date whoever the fuck looks at me the right way? I’m fucking trying here, Stolas. I don’t do that for just anyone.”

His mind screeched to a grinding halt. “Hold on—date?”

“Yeah, y’know, that thing we’ve been doing the past four days?”

“The past four—”

No, he wasn’t the dumbest demon alive. He was the dumbest demon alive or dead.

He folded his hands tight in his lap, squeezing until his knuckles ached. “Blitzø, I need you to be brutally honest with me right now—and don’t laugh, I’m deadly serious. Do you think we’re dating?”

“Of course we are you—” Blitzø's eyes suddenly widened in recognition. “Did...did you not know?!”

“No!”

“How could you not know?! What about all the extra touching, and the kissing, and the flirting?! I’ve been making a real fucking effort over here!”

“I just thought you were just feeling guilty!”

“In what world does that make sense?!”

“I don’t know, that first day you apologized so profusely, and I did give up my status and magic for your sake—which I’m not blaming you for, so don’t even try feeling bad about it—so I thought you were just being nice because I had nowhere else to go!”

“The fuck, Stolas!”

They were both breathing hard, twin expressions of bewilderment on their faces.

“You really didn’t know? You’re not fucking with me?”

“I didn’t know! I didn’t think you felt what I feel for you...”

Hesitantly, Blitzø stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He nestled between Stolas’s knees, craning his neck to look into Stolas’s eyes. “And what do you feel, Stolas?” he whispered, breathless.

Stolas did the only thing he thought either of them could handle—he leaned forward and kissed him.

It was familiar, an odd combination of keratin and skin and tongues that worked even though it shouldn’t have. For the first time, Stolas realized he could have this. He could have and hold Blitzø in all the ways he’d been yearning to for so long, sweet Lucifer they’d already wasted so much time.

The kiss turned frantic very quickly.

“Please,” Stolas moaned, tugging at Blitzø’s coat. He could still taste himself on Blitzø’s tongue, and it was driving him mad. “Need to feel you, please.”

“Fuck,” Blitzø groaned as he wriggled out of his clothes, shucking down his pants and leaving them tangled around his ankles. “You birdbrained idiot, of course we’re fucking dating—”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Stolas fell back onto the desk with an oof, knocking over another stack of papers as he did. Neither of them paid any mind to the scattered files on the floor, too attuned to the sweet drag of Blitzø’s cock against his opening.

“Ready?” Blitzø panted, looking absolutely wrecked.

“If you don’t put your dick in me this second, I swear to all that is unholy—”

Blitzø pushed in. They both gasped, the stretch and squeeze rendering them both wordless. It took Blitzø less time to gather himself, grabbing hold of Stolas’s hips to find the right angle. He established a brutal pace, one of those desperate, rough fucks like they used to have when they hadn’t fornicated in longer than a month. Stolas took it all, losing himself to the euphoria of it, knowing that now Blitzø meant everything he did: every touch, every smile, every kindness. Tears sprang to his eyes for a different reason, knowing now that he could love and be loved, that this fuck wasn’t going to be the last one he’d ever have, that tomorrow they could wake up and do it all over again.

He came much sooner than he meant to, and so did Blitzø judging by the startled grunt he gave as he did. They breathed together, still connected, as close as two people could possibly be. And he could have this, he could have it for keeps.

“You really didn’t...?”

“Hush now, Blitzy, I’m enjoying the afterglow.”

Blitzø made a pained noise at the back of his throat. “You called me Blitzy.”

Stolas propped himself on his elbows, cocking his head. “Do you not want me to?”

Blitzø blushed, looking away quickly. “It’s whatever. Do what you want.”

Stolas reached down and caressed Blitzø’s horn, trailing a hand across his scarred cheek. He was beautiful, radiant and powerful, yet soft on the inside, loving with every atom in his body, in every action he performed. It was so obvious now, the love he carried like a flame inside him, casting Stolas in the warmest of glows. How he could’ve missed it before...well, there were probably many reasons. But he wasn’t missing it now.

He smiled, gaze incredibly fond. “Alright then, my darling Blitzy.”

***

It was halfway to first light by the time they’d cleaned themselves up and stumbled out of the I.M.P. office, jelly-legged and giddy. Blitzø dragged them into the local 24-hour cafe, proclaiming it his usual haunt after any job that stretched too late. Blitzø ordered the largest coffee they would sell him, and Stolas ordered tea. The only near-incident occurred when Blitzø growled at the waitress for sending Stolas a dirty look, but she only rolled her eyes and left the bill in response. The windows fogged as the temperature inside clashed with the temperature outside. It was a quiet, comfortable morning, and for the first time in a long time, Stolas felt at peace.

Until the anxieties caught up with him.

He glanced across the table, watching as Blitzø heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his mug. So they were...dating? Despite Blitzø’s words, he still found the idea preposterous. They’d ended their arrangement long ago, and Blitzø had made it achingly clear how lowly he thought of him, how, how, elitist and condescending and a whole host of other things he was. How could he have gone from that, to...this?

Nervously, in fits and starts, he found his voice. “Blitzø—not that I’m complaining by any means, but...are you sure you want to date me?” Stolas fiddled with the string of his teabag, avoiding the imp’s eyes. “I understand that your guilt may be influencing—”

“Oh, fuck off,” Blitzø snorted, slurping indelicately from his coffee cup. “My guilt isn’t influencing shit.”

“Then why...?”

“I like you, okay?” Blitzø huffed. His face pinched, as though he was scraping his words across broken glass. “I always liked you, I mean, look at you! Long legs, smackable ass. And you’ve got that nerdy, repressed librarian thing going too, which is, not gonna lie, hot as fuck. Trust me, I wouldn’t have fucked you that first night if I didn’t like you.”

“You wouldn’t have?”

Blitzø rolled his eyes. “Nah, I would’ve left you tied to that fucking bed and taken off with the book. But I like you. I didn’t want to just leave you there, waiting and, and lonely. And, no offense, but if I want to get my dick wet, I have options.”

Stolas cleared his throat. “O-okay?”

“This isn’t coming out how I mean it,” Blitzø sighed, running a hand down his face. “Listen, I fucked up, okay? I know that I’m rude, and standoffish, and I run at the first signs of commitment, and all of that combined made you feel like I didn’t give a shit. I don’t know how to deal when people don’t hate me. I thought you just wanted sex, and that was easier because I know how to fuck. I don’t know how to, y’know, be more.”

Stolas resisted the urge to chuckle. “Blitzø, you realize I also don’t know how to be more, yes?”

Blitzø stared at him blankly.

“Darling, my marriage was arranged. I’ve never dated anyone in my life. I don’t understand the rules of courtship, I don’t know what the expectations of a relationship are, and I don’t know how to tell when someone genuinely likes me for me.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“So I guess...”

“...we’re both idiots at love?”

They chuckled together, some of the tension melting away.

Blitzø looked out the window, cheeks flushed. “So you haven’t, like, I mean, there wasn’t ever anyone else you wanted to...?”

Stolas reached across the table and snagged his hand. “The only person I ever wanted to pursue was you, Blitzø. I was quite taken with you as a child.”

“Oh.” Blitzø’s flush deepened. “Then, I’m sorry I was such a shitbag to you. Back then, and also now.”

“You weren’t—” Stolas paused, mulling his words over. It couldn’t be said that Blitzø had never treated him poorly. For the most part, Stolas waved it away as part of his roguish tendencies, his bad-boy charm. There was one thing that still nagged at him, though, something he needed to speak now or he’d forever hold his peace. “The only thing I can’t understand is why you didn’t come for me when Striker tried to kill me.”

A stormcloud passed over Blitzø’s features. He pulled his hand away, curling his talons around his coffee mug.

“I-I didn’t mean to ruin the moment, darling. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” Blitzø growled, claws strangling the ceramic in his grip. “This will never work if you let me get away with shit.” He took in a deep breath. “If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me. I’m sorry for that, I am. I never wanted you to get so hurt. But that was genuinely the worst possible day for you to get kidnapped, it was. I don’t know how much you know about imp medical care, but it’s fucking grim. We’re lucky if we can get seen within the next six months, even if it’s a life-threatening emergency. And it’s worse for hellhounds. There was no way Loona could miss that appointment for her hellbies shot, she just couldn’t. And I’m the only one who can wrangle her when she’s stressed, which she is, like, so bad, when it comes to medical shit. Moxxie and Millie promised me they could handle it—a-and they did, as much as any of us could’ve. But...I’m still sorry.”

The crack in Stolas’s heart knitted itself back together a little more, but not all the way. “But then why didn’t you visit me? Explain all this? I was totally alone, and in pain, and I just wanted you to care.”

“I cared, hey, I cared.” Blitzø reached over and retook Stolas’s hand. “I just...didn’t think I could face seeing what that fucker did to you. I never knew you could get hurt like that, I thought you were practically indestructible. And even if I wanted to come, like, what was I supposed to do, show up and demand to see a prince, pretty please? They would’ve thrown me out on my ass before I hit the lobby.”

“I told them to let you through, you wouldn’t have had any issue—”

“That’s not how this shit works, okay?” Blitzø sighed, staring morosely out the window. “Imps like me don’t get listened to, regardless of who tries to vouch for us.”

Stolas turned those words over in his head for several moments, considering. He remembered Satan’s insistence that his life had actual value, whereas Blitzø’s did not. It was something he’d previously understood in an academic sense, but had never truly lived the Blitzø and his friends had. Who was he to tell Blitzø what struggles he’d have faced? And Blitzø...well, it was clear that he’d cared, in his own stilted way, and that was all that mattered. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes, dear, okay.” Stolas said, squeezing Blitzø’s hand. “But, if there is a next time, you’ll find a way to come?”

Blitzø nodded, squeezing back. “Yeah, Stols. I’ll come.” Blitzø’s thumb dragged across his wrist. “But like, you also gotta start listening, and paying attention. Especially now that you’re not sheltered by a royal title. Us lower demons have a real shit time of it, more so than you even realize. And I know, I know, you understood enough to realize my being an imp would fuck up your status. But now you’re in the shit with us. You can’t be acting embarrassed by me now, not when you’ll be dealing with the same shitty system that keeps us low-lifes in the gutter.”

“Embarrassed?” Stolas blinked. “But I was never embarrassed by you...?”

Blitzø flashed him a blank look. “Not even at Ozzie’s?”

Ah. Well, perhaps his behavior hadn’t always reflected the feelings within. “I wasn’t embarrassed. I was worried. Worried that Asmodeus’s little display would end up in the tabloids, that the press would drag you or Via through the mud, air out your dirty laundry for all of Hell to see. But I suppose that’s moot now, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Blitzø curled his tail into a knot. “So you’re okay with me, uh, being a lower-class fuckface?”

“That’s not exactly how I’d phrase it, but yes, I accept you for all that you are, darling. And I’ll try to...pay attention more, too.”

“Cooool. Yeah. Cool.”

They sipped their drinks, hands still interlaced. Stolas couldn’t contain the soft, lovesick smile that curled across his face. This beautiful man, this absolute idiot, had been courting Stolas for the better part of a week, offering up his well-suppressed softness, blunting all his sharp edges. He wasn’t a man for flowery words or dramatic declarations, but Stolas could work with that. In fact, it’d be his pleasure.

***

They walked home from the cafe, hand-in-hand. It continued to boggle Stolas’s mind that Blitzø meant these gestures with his full heart, that these tentative forays into intimacy were being earnestly made. In all their time together, Blitzø had been like a fantasy, something mutable and likely to slip through his fingers at any moment. For all his sexually charged overtures and flamboyant flirting, he’d never felt all that confident in Blitzø’s presence, ending up more wrong-footed than not.

But today was a new day.

“Blitzy, darling?” Stolas cooed, swinging their linked hands. “Does this make us boyfriends?”

“Ugh,” Blitzø huffed, rolling his eyes. “That sounds so lame.”

He didn’t say no, however.

The first light of dawn was peeking through the windows when they returned to Blitzø’s apartment. Loona wouldn’t be up for a few more hours, and there was still a while yet before the office officially opened. Enough for a quick nap, in any case.

Blitzø didn’t take his usual perch on the couch, opting to flop on top of Stolas instead. He shoved his face into the fluff of Stolas’s chest, knotting his claws in the feathers there. Stolas lay back on the narrow mattress, trailing his talons between Blitzø’s spines. They were both too exhausted to manage anything more, although his desire continued to burn like an eternal flame low in his gizzards, fueled by something magmatic and unknowable. But there was no longer any rush, no need to cling to clandestine meetings on the Full Moon only, to greedily soak up shreds of affection afforded at infrequent, specified times. They could simply exist together here, with no end on the horizon.

Blitzø propped his chin in one hand, leaning up to look in Stolas’s half-lidded eyes. His tail swayed happily back and forth above them. “So, where will you and Via go now?”

“I suppose wherever Asmodeus is willing to place us, whether that be in the Lust Ring or...I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Blitzø tapped a claw against his cheek, hesitating. “Alternatively, I hear one of the tenants in my building is moving out soon.”

Stolas’s talons paused their ministrations. “Ah, well, the problem with that becomes paying for such a unit—”

“I mean, you come on full-time at I.M.P. and you’ll get a paycheck. Enough to cover your bills.” Blitzø visibly swallowed, scratching at his jaw. “But, uh, that unit I mentioned? It’s a three-bedroom.”

Stolas took a moment to do the mental math, ultimately drawing a blank. “Why would Via and I need three bedrooms if there are only two of us? That seems like a waste of rent, if you ask me. And what would we do with an extra room? I suppose I could construct a greenhouse, but only if the windows provided sufficient light—”

“Stolas...” Blitzø sighed, quirking a brow.

It took a moment for him to catch Blitzø’s drift.

“Oh!” he squeaked, talons curling around the base of Blitzø’s horn, grasping for stability. “B-b-but, we hardly—I mean, we couldn’t dare impose—I-I mean—”

“It’s just an idea, Birdbrain, relax,” Blitzø chuckled, dropping his chin to Stolas’s breastbone. His gaze was fond. “Unit won’t open up for another couple weeks, anyway, so you have time to think it over. And ask Via, of course. We’ll only do what she’s okay with.”

Unruffling his feathers, he donned his most self-assured, non-panicky expression. “Of course. I will pitch the idea to Via and see what she says. That’s a very generous offer, in any case.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blitzø huffed, ducking his head to hide his blush. The happy sway of his tail continued, and Stolas resumed stroking Blitzø’s spines.

They dozed, not fully asleep, but at rest. Unconsciously, Blitzø’s purr began to rumble in his chest, warm and throaty and perfect. Stolas didn’t think he even realized he was doing it, and he dared not disturb him lest the purring stop. His boyfriend—his boyfriend!—was endlessly adorable when boneless and sleep-warm and curled up in his arms. For the first time in a long time, he was just...

Happy.

Happy enough to dip into sleep, hovering in a soft, serene haze. When he woke, coffee was still steaming on the stove and Blitzø was no longer in his arms. He used the old phone Blitzø had lent him to fire off a quick text to Via, anxious to know she was still alright. She messaged back quickly with a thumbs-up and a heart emoticon, which gave him a chuckle. Teens.

Properly assured of his daughter’s well-being, Stolas went to locate his boyfriend. He found him on the balcony, empty mug between his claws, and tears dripping down his cheeks.

“Darling?” Stolas asked, hands fluttering about, unsure how to help. “Are you quite alright?”

Blitzø wiped at his face, trying to hide the worst of it. “Yeah, yeah. Just. It’s a lot, you know?”

Stolas leaned his elbows on the railing, looking across Imp City’s skyline. Its citizens were rousing from sleep, heading off to work or school, ushering in a new day with the usual routines. He wondered if he’d ever fit in amongst the people here, if he’d ever be accepted as a citizen himself. From his experiences the past few days, he knew it would be a long while before that became a possibility, if ever it did. But he had hope.

“I know what you mean.”

Blitzø cleared his throat. “Breakfast?”

“Sure, darling.”

Stolas remained on the balcony, watching through the glass as Loona woke and fetched herself coffee, Blitzø fussing and doting and being an absolute menace to her all the while. It was subtle, but he could see the way her gaze softened when she looked at him, the way she stepped out of his path when he moved past or grabbed something from one of the higher shelves to help. They might not be blood, but they were kin, and it showed.

He’d very nearly lost that—what those two had. If any one thing had gone differently yesterday, their efforts might’ve all been for naught, and he might’ve been left standing alone on this balcony for a very different reason, in a very different mood. And wasn’t that a thought? That even if he’d lost Via, he’d still be here, in Blitzø’s home, being cared for so deeply. After their final Full Moon night, after All Hallow’s Eve, after trial by Six of the Seven Deadly Sins, Blitzø had returned to him—their wounds patched, their scars mostly healed. Like all lost things, eventually, they can be found again.