Archive of Our Own

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The golden fields of Heaven stretched endlessly before Abel, a tranquil expanse where soft winds played through the tall grass like an unbroken lullaby. His flock of heavenly sheep grazed contentedly, their luminous wool shimmering faintly under the eternal sunlight. Sitting on a smooth stone near the edge of the pasture, Abel strummed a soft melody on his harp-shaped guitar. The notes flowed through the air like threads of peace, delicate and soothing.
For Abel, this was Heaven in every sense—a simple, untroubled afterlife. His responsibilities were small, his days filled with light and music. Here, he could escape the weight of his father’s name, his legacy, and the violence that had once torn his life away.

But peace never lasted forever.

The golden hue of the sky darkened ever so slightly, and a shimmer rippled across the air. Abel’s fingers stilled on the strings as he looked up. From the parting clouds descended Uriel, his six great wings glinting like polished gold. His radiant armor seemed to catch the sun, his stern gaze fixed on Abel like a blade.

Abel felt the knot form in his stomach the moment he saw the angel’s expression. He set his guitar aside, brushing his hands against his robe as if to steady himself.

"Abel," Uriel said, his voice deep and ringing with authority. "You are summoned to the Grand Chambers. Sera awaits."

The weight of those words hit Abel like a stone. Summoned by Sera, the High Seraphim, the voice of Heaven itself. It was never a good sign.

He nodded, his throat dry. "Of course," he said quietly. His sheep bleated softly as he stepped away, as if they, too, sensed his unease.

Uriel led him through the shimmering streets of the heavenly city, past crystalline spires and gates carved from light itself. Each step brought Abel closer to the towering Grand Chambers, a place he rarely visited and never willingly.

His nerves coiled tighter with every breath. Abel had always done his best to stay out of trouble, to live a peaceful and obedient life. But he knew Sera didn’t summon anyone without purpose, and her purposes were often beyond mortal—or immortal—comprehension.

The massive doors of the Grand Chambers swung open soundlessly, revealing a vast expanse of radiant light. The chamber seemed endless, its golden glow pulsing with a divine energy that made Abel’s knees feel weak.

At the center of the room stood Sera, the High Seraphim, her form radiant and her expression serene yet sorrowful. Surrounding her on raised tiers were countless angelic beings, their glowing eyes fixed on Abel. He scanned the assembly, his chest tightening when he noticed someone missing: Emily, the Seraphim of Joy. She was always present at such gatherings, her laughter a comforting balm. But today, there was no sign of her.

“Abel,” Sera’s voice resonated, both gentle and overwhelming, like the crashing of waves on a calm shore.

"Hi, Sera," Abel said, trying to sound casual despite the lump in his throat. "How are you today?"

Her gaze softened, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing her radiant features. "Abel," she said, "this is not a social call. You have been summoned to bear a great burden. One not your own, but one you must carry nonetheless."

Abel blinked, confusion and dread mingling in his chest. "I don’t understand," he said quietly. "What burden?"

Sera’s glow dimmed slightly, as if her very essence grieved what she was about to say. "Your father, Adam, is gone."

The words struck like lightning. Abel staggered. His father? Gone? How? "He’s… gone? You mean… double dead?"

“Yes," Sera confirmed.

Abel’s mind spun. His father—Adam, the first man, the unrelenting leader of Heaven’s exorcists, a figure he had both revered and resented—was gone.

"And," Sera continued, "his sins remain unpaid."

"Sins?" Abel’s voice cracked. "But he was… he was an archangel. Obedient, like I am."

Sera’s expression grew grim. "Obedience does not erase the stains of war, nor the imbalance his actions left behind. The price must be paid, Abel. And with Adam gone, there is only one who can carry the weight of his deeds."

Abel’s stomach dropped. "No," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’ve done nothing. I’ve lived a life of peace."

"It is not a matter of guilt," Sera said firmly. "It is a matter of balance."

Abel’s knees buckled. "Please," he begged, tears streaming down his face. "Please, don’t do this."

Sera’s light dimmed further, as if her sorrow darkened the chamber itself. "I am truly sorry, child," she said softly. "But the decree has been made."

From behind her stepped Lute, a towering figure with a sharp, angular face and eyes filled with a mixture of pity and cruel satisfaction. She had been Adam’s most trusted lieutenant, but now her expression was unreadable—half mourning, half elation.

"Lute," Sera commanded, her voice heavy with resignation. "You know what must be done."

Lute nodded. "Yes, High Seraphim."

Abel scrambled to his feet, his body trembling. "Wait—please, no!" he cried, but Lute was already moving.

In front of the assembly, Lute seized Abel’s robes, pulling him to the center of the chamber. Abel fought, panic coursing through him, but he was no match for her strength.

With a brutal swiftness, Lute drew a blade of pure light and severed his wings.

Abel’s screams filled the chamber as golden blood poured from his back, staining the pristine floor. Pain consumed him, but worse than the pain was the humiliation, the heartbreak of being stripped of his very identity.

"You were always weak, Abel," Lute spat, though her voice wavered.

Before Abel could respond, before he could process the agony, Lute dragged his broken body to the portal that had formed in the center of the chamber.

With a final, almost gleeful push, she hurled him into the abyss.

The last thing Abel saw was Sera, her back turned to him, her light flickering as if in grief.

And then there was nothing but darkness.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The skies above Hell rarely shifted from their red hue, a swirling canopy of smoke and fire. But tonight, something tore through the oppressive gloom—a golden streak of light, brighter than the sun and burning like a comet. It raced across the sky, drawing the eyes of every demon, every wandering soul, and every beast within the infernal abyss.
The ground trembled as the light descended, a fiery streak crashing into the barren, cracked earth of Hell. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward, shaking even the obsidian towers of the Demon Lords.

Among the watching throngs was Vox, a demon unlike the others. Lean and sharp-featured, he preferred invention over violence, using his intellect to create tools, machines, and spies for the Lords of Hell. From his hidden room of cameras, Vox watched the descent through the flickering screen of a drone he’d deployed minutes earlier.

The drone hovered above the crash site, its camera adjusting to the cloud of golden dust and debris that hung in the air. The crater was massive, its edges glowing faintly with residual heat. The unmistakable shimmer of celestial energy radiated from the center—a reminder of what, or who, had fallen.

Vox leaned closer to the screen, his long, clawed fingers tapping a quick rhythm on the console. "What have we here?" he murmured, his voice dripping with curiosity.

As the drone descended, its sensors detected a figure at the center of the impact zone. The feed sharpened, revealing a bloodied and broken body sprawled amidst the smoking rubble.

The being’s once-pristine robes were torn and scorched, the golden glow of Heaven clinging to him in faint flickers. His back, where magnificent wings had once spread wide, were now two bleeding holes. His face, pale and streaked with blood, was slack with unconsciousness.

"A fallen archangel," Vox whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of excitement and disbelief. “Interesting. Haven’t had one of those since…well Lucifer himself.”

A crowd of demons was already gathering at the edges of the crater, their glowing eyes filled with hunger and malice.

“Easy now,” Vox muttered to himself, his eyes flicking between the screen and the controls. His mind raced with possibilities. This was no ordinary fall. No ordinary opportunity.

From the safety of his monitor room, Vox activated the drone’s speakers, his voice booming over the din of the gathering crowd.

"Step back, you filthy scavengers," he barked, the drone’s mechanical voice amplified for all to hear. "This one belongs to me."

The demons hissed and growled but reluctantly obeyed, the sight of the VoxTek insignia enough to dissuade them. No one dared challenge Vox’s claim. His creations were legendary, his influence undeniable.

The drone descended further, its claw-like appendages reaching out to lift the unconscious Abel. It struggled under the weight, the archangel’s form larger and heavier than expected.

"Let’s get you home, little angel," Vox said with a smirk, watching the drone carefully maneuver out of the crater. "You’re going to make me a very powerful demon."

As the drone carried Abel away, Vox's mind swirled with possibilities. He saw it already—a weapon to be forged, a bargaining chip to be traded, or perhaps something far greater. A fallen angel was a rarity, a treasure that could elevate him above the squabbling masses of Hell’s ranks.

For now, though, Abel remained unconscious, his golden blood dripping steadily onto the drone’s surface, collecting vital DNA from the fallen angel.
The VoxTek facility looked pristine on the outside, inside , hidden in a secret lab, was an industrial nightmare of grinding machinery and hissing steam. Hidden in the shadowy depths of Hell, it was a fortress of twisted innovation, its walls pulsing faintly with the glow of infernal energy. Metallic clangs echoed through the labyrinthine halls as automated drones darted back and forth, their movements swift and methodical.
At the heart of this cold, mechanical empire, Abel lay broken on a padded table, his body too still, his wounds too severe. His once-radiant skin was pale, streaked with drying trails of golden blood that pooled beneath him like liquid light. The stumps where his wings had been ripped away were jagged, raw, and glistening, sending spikes of sharp, excruciating pain through his unconscious form.

Vox stood nearby, his sharp, wiry frame illuminated by the crimson glow of the med bay’s overhead lights. The static on his TV-shaped head flickered erratically, shifting between a distorted grin and a singular, focused eye. His long, clawed fingers rested on the console in front of him, twitching as he assessed his prize with growing excitement.

“Subject is deteriorating,” one of the AI constructs reported in a flat, mechanical tone. Its silver, humanoid body hovered over Abel, metallic hands deftly working to clean the gaping wounds on his back.

“Deteriorating, but alive,” Vox corrected, his distorted voice cutting through the room like the scrape of metal on glass. “Barely. Let’s not lose him now—this one is special.”

Vox’s gaze, simulated and yet unnervingly intent, lingered on Abel. “An archangel, fallen into my lap. The possibilities...” He trailed off, his screen flickering to an image of gleaming tools. “But first, we stabilize him.”

The surgery began, with AI beings cutting away the tarnished clothing that the angel fell in. Vox deemed himself to keep the soiled clothing, for who knew what it could possess that could be to his benefit.

Abel’s was laying in prone position, his he’d turned to the right side as an oxygen mask was placed over his nose and mouth to help with his labored breathing.

Abel stirred faintly, his body twitching as pain clawed at the edges of his unconsciousness. A low, broken groan escaped his lips as he felt the sharp sting of cold metal against his wounds. His chest heaved as he tried to draw in a full breath, but his ribs ached with every movement, each shallow inhale sending tendrils of pain through his battered frame.

His mind, foggy and disoriented, struggled to piece together fragments of memory. Golden light. Screams. Falling.

And now—cold. Pain. Voices.

“Where…” Abel rasped, his voice barely audible, each word a struggle as if it were being dragged from the depths of his shattered soul. Abel’s bleary eyes opened halfway, the harsh, artificial light above stabbing into his retinas. Shapes loomed over him—gleaming machines with cold, inhuman faces. And beyond them, the flickering glow of a demon with a screen for a head. His heart raced, but his body was too weak to react.

His back throbbed with searing, pulsing pain, the phantom ache of wings he could no longer feel burning like a cruel reminder. His stomach churned as confusion warred with panic, but he couldn’t summon the strength to lift his head.

“Subject is regaining consciousness,” another AI reported, its mechanical arms pausing in their work.

“No, no, no. Not yet,” Vox snapped, his claws waving the machine back into motion. “He’s in no condition to thrash around. Increase the sedative dose.”

One of the constructs moved to comply, a thin needle extending from its arm. Abel’s sluggish gaze caught sight of it, his instincts screaming at him to fight, to escape.

“No…” he croaked, his voice cracking with desperation. “Please… stop…”

But his plea went unheard. The needle pierced his arm with mechanical precision, injecting a strange, dark liquid that spread icy numbness through his veins. Abel’s muscles slackened almost instantly, his head falling back against the table as darkness crept at the edges of his vision.

“Good,” Vox muttered, leaning over Abel’s limp form. His static-filled screen displayed an image of flickering lines, like a heart monitor. “Keep him sedated, but alive. I’ll need to operate.”

The hum of machinery filled the sterile air of the med bay as Vox prepared for the delicate work ahead. The AI constructs hovered nearby, their tools gleaming under the harsh light. Abel's body lay still on the table, his golden blood seeping slowly into the grooves etched into the metal beneath him. His back was a mangled ruin of torn flesh and shattered bone.

“Scanners, online,” Vox commanded, his distorted voice crackling with authority. His screen flickered between a schematic of Abel’s anatomy and a jagged, toothy grin. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

A cylindrical drone descended from the ceiling, emitting a pale blue light that swept over Abel’s prone form. The holographic display on Vox’s chest flickered, revealing a detailed scan of the angel’s body. The fractured remnants of wing bones stood out, jagged and sharp, embedded deep in the tissue.

“Hm. Not ideal,” Vox murmured, tapping a claw against the console. “Those shards are a liability. They’ll tear him apart from the inside if they’re left in place. Let’s remove them.”

The constructs immediately went to work, their mechanical hands whirring as they prepared surgical tools. Long, thin instruments tipped with glowing blades were carefully sterilized before being handed to Vox. He grasped one, his claws oddly steady for someone with such malevolent intent.

“Careful now,” he muttered, leaning over Abel. The static on his screen shifted to a pair of sharp, glowing eyes. “Don’t want to lose him before I’ve had my fun.”

The first incision was precise, a thin line cut into the skin surrounding the jagged bone fragments. Abel’s body twitched faintly under the blade, the residual pain cutting through the haze of sedatives.

“Subject is reacting,” one AI reported.

“Double the anesthetic,” Vox snapped, not looking up. “He doesn’t need to feel this.”

Another needle pierced Abel’s arm, delivering a heavier dose of the numbing agent. His muscles slackened further, his faint groans fading into silence.

One by one, Vox removed the fractured bones, each shard glowing faintly with the remnants of divine energy. The edges were jagged, like shards of crystal, their celestial light almost hypnotic. Vox couldn’t help but pause to admire them.

“Such a waste,” he muttered, turning one of the shards in his claws. “But they’ll serve a better purpose now.” He set the fragments aside on a tray, his mind already racing with ideas for their use.

As he worked, Vox’s screen flickered again, this time displaying a detailed blueprint. Embedded within the schematic were small, glowing devices—trackers and monitors, designed to sync with Abel’s body.

“And now, the real fun begins,” Vox said, his tone almost gleeful. He gestured to the constructs, who presented the tiny devices with mechanical precision. Each was no larger than a grain of rice, pulsing faintly with an infernal glow.

Vox carefully inserted the trackers into the open wounds, embedding them deep within the exposed tissue. “One in the spinal column,” he murmured, positioning a device with meticulous care. “Another near the heart. And a few in the extremities, just in case.”

The AI constructs sealed the implants seamlessly, their tools stitching the wounds with threads of synthetic material that melded with Abel’s flesh. The golden glow of his celestial blood dimmed as the trackers settled into place, their faint signals syncing with Vox’s console.

“All set,” Vox said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. His screen displayed a live feed of the trackers’ readings—heartbeat, energy levels, and even faint neural activity. “Now I’ll always know where you are, little angel. And more importantly, I’ll know what you’re capable of.”

Abel stirred faintly, his body reacting to the invasive procedures despite the heavy sedation. His head turned slightly, his lips moving in a soundless whisper.

Vox leaned in, his screen flickering to display a mocking smile. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’ll thank me for this someday.”

With a sharp wave of his claws, Vox signaled the constructs to finish the cleanup. The blood was carefully wiped away, the wounds sealed, and Abel’s body stabilized with a series of injections.

As the machines worked, Vox leaned back against the console, his screen flickering with distorted static. “Now,” he murmured, watching Abel’s chest rise and fall with shallow breaths, “we wait. When you wake up, we’ll see just how far an angel can fall.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Pain. Blinding, searing pain. It clawed its way through the fog clouding Abel’s mind, dragging him toward a fractured awareness. He could feel the cold touch of metal against his skin, the sharp tug of instruments probing his broken body. Each touch sent a spike of agony radiating through his back, where his wings had once been.
Snatches of sound pierced the haze. A distorted voice, calm and calculating, floated in and out of his awareness.

“...delicate work… can’t afford to mess this up…”

The voice was unnervingly casual, almost amused. Abel tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to obey. His muscles felt like lead, his limbs bound by invisible chains.

“…shows remarkable resilience,” the voice continued, a hint of admiration seeping through the mechanical distortion. “But that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Can’t let this go to waste.”

A sudden, sharp pain ripped through his back, pulling a broken cry from his lips. It was muffled, weak, barely audible, but it was enough to draw the attention of whoever was speaking.

“Ah, he’s reacting,” the voice noted, the tone shifting to mild annoyance. “Fascinating. Increase the sedative dosage—again. Let’s keep him nice and docile, shall we?”

Abel felt a cold sensation snake up his arm, spreading a numbing chill through his veins. The pain dulled slightly, but it didn’t disappear. The haze in his mind grew thicker, swallowing him whole.

When Abel’s eyes finally fluttered open, the light was harsh and sterile, burning against his retinas. He winced, instinctively turning his head away, only to feel a sharp tug in his neck. He glanced down and saw an IV line snaking into his arm, its needle secured with clear tape.

His body felt like it was on fire. Every muscle, every nerve screamed in protest as he shifted slightly against the stiff mattress beneath him. His back throbbed with a deep, aching pain that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.

The room around him was unfamiliar. The walls were sleek and metallic, the air filled with the faint hum of machinery. Strange devices lined the walls, their blinking lights casting eerie shadows across the space.

Abel tried to sit up, but the effort sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through his body. He let out a low groan, his breath hitching as he collapsed back onto the bed.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a voice said, smooth and almost cheerful.

Abel’s eyes darted toward the source of the sound. A figure stepped into view, tall and lean, with a screen for a head. The screen flickered briefly before settling on a vibrant, toothy grin that seemed more unnerving than welcoming.

“Easy there,” the figure said, holding up his hands in a gesture of mock surrender. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal. Best not to move too much just yet.”

“Who…?” Abel’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. He swallowed hard, his throat dry and raw. “Where… am I?”

The figure tilted its head, the grin on the screen morphing into an expression of exaggerated concern. “Apologies. Where are my manners? I’m Vox, I’m an Overlord here in Hell’s Entertainment District.” He gave a mock bow before straightening. “And you, my friend, are in my lab. You fell from the sky—quite literally—and landed in one of the worst places imaginable. Lucky for you, I found you before the scavengers did.”

Abel frowned, his mind struggling to piece together the fragments of memory. The fall, the agony of his wings being torn away, the voice in the darkness…

“My back…” he rasped, his voice trembling.

“Yes, about that,” Vox said, his tone sympathetic. “You were in terrible shape when I found you. Those wounds of yours were—well, let’s just say I’ve seen demons in better condition after extermination day. I had to do surgery on your back to stop the bleeding and clean out the gashes.”

Abel’s hand instinctively moved toward his back, but the IV line tugged against his arm, stopping him. He turned his head to look at Vox, his golden eyes narrowing despite the pain.

“What… did you do?”

Vox held up his hands again, his screen flickering to display a calming wave pattern. “Relax, angel. I saved your life, that’s what I did. Pulled out all those nasty, jagged bones digging into your flesh and patched up the damage.”

Abel’s stomach twisted. There was something about Vox’s tone—too smooth, too rehearsed—that set him on edge. But the pain in his body left him too weak to argue. For now, he could only lie there, his mind racing with questions and doubts.

Vox stepped closer, his screen displaying a reassuring smile. “You should rest,” he said. “You’ve been through a lot, and you’ll need your strength.”

There was something almost hypnotic about Vox’s presence—the way he moved, the way his voice shifted between playful charm and genuine concern.

Abel watched as Vox turned to leave, his screen flickering briefly to static before the door slid shut behind him. Alone in the sterile room, Abel stared at the ceiling, his thoughts swirling with confusion and unease. He’d never felt so weak, so vulnerable. Even back when he was a human and received injuries or when he had died.

His body was in constant pain, his back a throbbing reminder of what he had lost.
In a sleek, dimly lit room far from the sterile lab where Abel lay recovering, Vox leaned casually against a table cluttered with blueprints, gadgets, and screens. The soft hum of infernal machinery filled the air as two figures materialized in the doorway.
Velvette, draped in silken fabric that shimmered with every color of the underworld, glided in first. Her lips curled in a sly smirk. Behind her, Valentino’s towering form followed, his aura of smoke and lust heavy in the room.

“You’ve been busy, Vox,” Valentino purred, his voice syrupy and teasing. “Rumors are swirling all over Hell. Apparently, a
golden star
fell, and you were the one to scoop it up.”

Valentino grinned, the glow from his cigar illuminating his sharp teeth.

“And here I thought you didn’t like to get your hands dirty, TV head. Saving an archangel? That’s bold, even for you,” Velvette added.

Vox chuckled, turning to face the two Overlords. The screen on his head flickered briefly before settling on an image of a sly, pixelated smile. “Ah, Velvette, Valentino. How delightful of you to drop in unannounced. I assume you’re here for more than idle gossip?”

“Cut the crap,” Velvette said, leaning against the table. “Why the hell would you bring one of
them
here? An archangel, no less. That’s not a small thing to keep under wraps.”

Valentino’s smirk deepened as he perched gracefully on the edge of a chair. “Especially one that caused such a commotion. What’s your angle, Vox? You don’t do anything without a reason.”

Vox tapped a few buttons on his console, summoning a holographic projection of Abel’s fallen form, his golden blood glinting like molten sunlight. The image rotated slowly, highlighting the archangel’s mangled back and still-glowing wounds.

“This isn’t just any archangel,” Vox began, his tone brimming with excitement. “This is Abel.”

Valentino raised an eyebrow, taking another drag from his cigar. “And I’m supposed to know who that is?”

Velvette, however, tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “Wait…
Abel?
As in… the son of Adam and Eve?”

“Exactly,” Vox said, pointing a long claw at her. “The first-born of humanity. The bloodline of Eden. The one who was killed in cold blood and became the first celestial martyr. He’s Heaven’s
golden boy
—or at least, he was. Now? He’s ours.”

Valentino barked out a laugh, his wings twitching with amusement. “You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that. But what good is he to us now? Heaven threw him out. He’s useless.”

“Useless?” Vox’s tone turned sharp, and his screen flickered to static for a moment. “Hardly. Abel’s lineage ties him directly to the power of the Creator. Even without his wings, he has the potential to channel energy that would make the most powerful Overlord look like a street rat. With time, we can unlock that power, mold it, and—most importantly—control it.”

Velvette’s smirk softened into something more calculating. “And by ‘we,’ you mean
you.
”

“Of course,” Vox said smoothly, bowing with exaggerated flair. “But think of the benefits for all of us. An archangel under our thumb? Someone who could give us leverage against the Demon Lords? Even Lucifer himself might take notice.”

Valentino exhaled a long stream of smoke, his grin turning darker. “So, you’re saying this little project of yours could help us overthrow even the most stubborn overlords, let’s say, Alastor?”

“Precisely,” Vox replied, his screen now displaying an image of a glowing golden key. “Abel isn’t just a fallen angel. He’s a golden opportunity. And with the right persuasion, he’ll see things our way. After all, he has nowhere else to go.”

“You do remember Alastor did manage to survive to go against Bug Daddy Adam right?” Valentino pointed out.

Vox hated that he was reminded of such a thing. That was sheer disappointment, like when you’re about to climax but then something happens that completely kills the mood.

Velvette tapped her chin thoughtfully, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. “If you can actually pull this off, Vox, it’ll change everything. But it’s a dangerous game. If Heaven finds out—”

“Let them find out,” Vox interrupted, his voice dripping with arrogance. “What can they do? They already threw him away. He’s no longer their concern. Down here, we make the rules.”

Valentino exchanged a glance with Velvette before chuckling darkly. “Well, Vox, you’ve got my attention. But don’t screw this up. If you do, we’ll make sure you’re the next experiment on that operating table of yours.”

Vox’s screen shifted to display a smug grin. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very special guest to attend to. I’m sure you can find your way out.”

The two Overlords left the room, their expressions a mixture of doubt and intrigue. As the door slid shut behind them, Vox turned back to his console, the grin on his screen widening.

“Soon, Abel,” he murmured to himself, his claws tapping rhythmically against the table. “Soon.”

Days passed, though time in Hell felt meaningless. Vox was always there, his screen displaying a variety of expressions: bright smiles, inquisitive tilts of the head, and even the occasional cartoonish wink. He handled everything with surprising care, from adjusting Abel’s IV to helping him sit up to eat.

“You’re healing faster than I expected,” Vox said one morning, leaning against a console while Abel nibbled at a strange, bread-like substance that had been placed before him. “Angelic metabolism, I suppose. Impressive, though not surprising. I mean, you angelic types are built to be practically indestructible.”

Abel glanced at him, his golden eyes dulled by exhaustion. “Doesn’t feel that way,” he muttered, setting the food aside.

Vox chuckled, the sound crackling through his speakers. “Well, you did fall from Heaven, literally. Can’t blame your body for being a bit…out of sorts.” He approached, his movements smooth and calculated, and adjusted Abel’s IV with the ease of someone who had done it countless times.

Abel frowned, his fingers brushing over the edge of the blanket covering him. “Why did you help me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Vox asked, feigning offense. His screen displayed an exaggerated gasp. “You fell right into my backyard, angel. Leaving you there would’ve been wasteful. Besides…” His tone softened, almost conspiratorial. “I have a thing for fixing broken things. And you, my wingless friend, were the most broken thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

Abel’s chest tightened at the word "broken." He looked away, staring at the unfamiliar machines lining the walls. “I didn’t ask to be fixed.”

“No, you didn’t,” Vox admitted, pulling up a chair and sitting beside the bed. “But I wasn’t going to let you rot in that crater. You can call it selfish if you like. Maybe I’m just curious about you. Or maybe…” His screen displayed a soft smile. “I don’t like seeing something with potential go to waste.”

Abel’s brow furrowed, his hands gripping the blanket tighter. He wasn’t sure if he found Vox’s words comforting or unsettling. “Potential?” he repeated, his voice low and tinged with suspicion. “What kind of potential?”

Vox leaned back in his chair. “You’re special, Abel. More than you realize. Son of Adam and Eve. You have a connection to something ancient, something powerful. That kind of potential isn’t something you just ignore.”

Abel shook his head, his eyes dim with fatigue. “I don’t feel special. I feel…” He faltered, his voice cracking slightly. “Lost. Empty.”

There was something seductive with the TV demon that Abel couldn’t put his finger on. Things like “seduction” weren’t in his particular vocabulary for obvious reasons. Reasons he didn’t like admitting to holding. Still, Vox leaned forward, his voice softening into a near whisper.

“Lost isn’t forever, my friend. Empty? That can be filled. You’ve been cast out, but down here, that doesn’t mean the end,” as Vox spoke, his left eye shifted into a hypnotic spin. “It means a new beginning.”

Abel’s golden eyes, dulled by exhaustion and grief, began to shimmer faintly as he stared into the spiral. The color red seemed to pull him in, easing the tension in his shoulders and slowing his breathing. “A…beginning?”

“Exactly,” Vox said, his voice warm and inviting. “Down here, you’re free. Free from Heaven’s rules, free from expectations,” his tone shifted from faux care to a man dangling a prize, “You can be whoever you want to be, Abel. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? A life where you’re not just your father’s shadow?”

Abel blinked, his mind swimming. The mention of his father sent a sharp pang through him, but the spiral soothed it almost instantly. The logic of Vox’s words burrowed deep, tugging at the corners of his thoughts.

“I don’t…know who I want to be,” Abel admitted, his voice distant.

“That’s the beauty of it,” Vox said, his screen shifting to show a comforting pixelated smile. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take your time, heal, and when you’re ready…you’ll see the truth. Down here, you’re not broken. You’re reborn.”

The spirals slowed, fading into the comforting blue of a clear sky. Abel’s gaze lingered, his body relaxing further against the bed. For a moment, he felt a flicker of hope, like a faint light in the darkness.

But somewhere deep within him, a quiet voice whispered doubt.

Vox rose, satisfied with the exchange. “I’ll let you rest. You’re healing faster than I expected, but you still need time. And who knows? You might even grow to like it here.”

“Like…it…here,” Abel was hooked by Vox’s hypnotism, his eyes changing completely to red with thin blue rings moving as he was lulled deeper and deeper by the showman.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Adam wandered the streets of Pentagram City, a newly damned sinner with no real direction. He had been here long enough to get his bearings, but not long enough to feel comfortable. The city was chaos—vibrant, loud, and brimming with demons going about their business—but it was a far cry from the perfection he had once known.
For the first time in generations, he had no plan, no purpose. He was simply… existing.

Then, a voice cut through the noise.

“Good evening, Hell’s finest degenerates! I’m Katie Killjoy, bringing you the hottest scoop that has EVERYONE talking!”

Adam’s steps slowed, his brows furrowing. Something about her tone made him stop in his tracks. Katie Killjoy’s broadcasts were usually full of trivial gossip, but this… this felt different.

"FALLEN ANGEL IN HELL?!"

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. His breath hitched, body tensing, hands instinctively curling into fists.

He didn’t believe it. He
couldn’t
believe it.

“Reports are FLOODING in about a mysterious fallen angel—this one’s got people whispering, speculating, even foaming at the mouth!”

Katie’s voice dripped with mockery and glee. Adam barely registered Tom’s grumbling before being drowned out by her sharp retorts. His focus was locked onto the screen.

And then, he saw it.

A blurry, grainy image of
Abel
—his golden-eyed, angelic son—crumpled in the dirt, lifeless. His radiant glow was gone. His body was scarred and broken.

A cold wave of shock crashed over Adam, his chest tightening. Abel—his secondborn, Heaven’s golden child—was here, in the filth of Hell.

But it wasn’t just the sight of his son that shook him.

It was how they spoke of him.

“Heaven’s golden boy… or at least, he
was
,” Katie taunted, her voice oozing with smug satisfaction. “Can you imagine that? Another angel
down here
?”

Adam tried to breathe, tried to steady himself, but his mind was reeling. He had already lost everything—his status, his pride. He had failed Heaven, failed himself.

But this?

This was different.

Abel had been
thrown away
—discarded like a broken toy, now nothing more than a spectacle for Hell’s amusement.

The sinners around him jeered and whispered, some laughing, others watching with curiosity. Then, one voice rose above the rest, deep and guttural.

“That’s a fallen angel?” A towering demon covered in tattoos stormed forward, rage rolling off him in waves. “That bastard is a fallen angel?!”

Adam barely heard him. His fury was silent, controlled—but inside, he was
seething.
He hadn’t even been given the chance to mourn, to process what had happened, but now it was all too real.

Abel was in Hell. On display. Treated as a joke.

“No. No,” Adam muttered, stepping closer to the screen, his voice thick with disbelief. “They can’t just—” He gritted his teeth, his golden eyes flashing. “
Damn it!
”

He turned sharply on his heel. There was only one person who could fix this.

As much as it
killed
him to admit it, only
one
being in all of existence had the power to save his son.

Or rather—
their
son.
Inside the hazbin hotel, Charlie, Alastor, Husk, and Niffty were gathered in the lounge, enjoying a rare moment of calm after yet another hectic day in Hell.
The firelight cast warm shadows across the room as Charlie scrolled through her phone, checking up on the latest news. Alastor sat nearby, reading a newspaper, his ever-present grin subdued.

Then, Charlie’s phone buzzed with a notification.

She glanced down, reading the headline aloud.

"Fallen Angel in Hell?!"

Her voice was laced with surprise and curiosity.

Alastor’s ears perked at the mention of an angel, though he remained quiet, watching her intently.

“Ooooh! Is he a
bad
boy?!” Niffty chirped, bouncing excitedly.

Charlie frowned, scrolling through the article. “I don’t know… Seems like one of Heaven’s guys—” Her eyes widened in sudden realization. “
Fuck!
What if it’s
Emily?!
”

“Who the hell is Emily?” Husk muttered, uninterested.

Before anyone could answer, the front doors
slammed
open with a thunderous
bang.

The air shifted.

Charlie’s heart stopped.

Alastor’s expression tightened.

Husk, acting on instinct, smashed a beer bottle to use as a weapon.

The figure standing in the doorway exuded an aura of barely restrained fury. His chest heaved as though he had been running for miles, and the demons in the room instinctively took a step back.

“I need to see Lucifer.
Now.
”

Charlie, still stunned, scrambled to process the situation. “Wait—who—
are you
—?” Her voice caught as recognition clicked. “Oh,
fuck
, are you
Adam?!
”

Alastor’s grin twitched, his sharp eyes assessing the situation.

“Lucifer isn’t here,” Charlie said cautiously, trying to keep her voice steady. “Why are you here? Or rather…
how
are you here? I thought you were dead!”

Adam’s golden gaze flickered to her, then to the others. “I don’t have time to explain shit,” he snapped. “I saw the news. My
son
is here.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

Niffty tilted her head. “Your son? Another bad boy?”

Charlie frowned. “Wait… what are you
talking
about?”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice was sharp, bitter. “
Abel.
The one they’re calling a ‘fallen star.’”

Alastor let out a low hum of intrigue. “So Abel,
the
first murder victim, has found himself casted out? How… fascinating.”

Charlie’s face paled. “
That
Abel?”

Adam nodded stiffly. “You don’t know him, but he is the LAST person who should be in Hell! He’s… soft.
Mushy.
A complete
pussy in all honesty,
but he’s still
my
son. And I am NOT going to let him be some goddamn sideshow attraction for Hell’s amusement.”

The weight of his words hung heavy in the room.

Charlie exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Alright, alright. We’ll call my Dad. Just… stay calm.” She quickly pulled out her phone, dialing Lucifer.

The line barely rang before it clicked.

“Hey, Char-Char! How’s my favorite
bitch
doing?”

Charlie groaned. “Oh good
God,
he called me ‘bitch’ again…”

Before she could say anything else, Adam
snatched
the phone from her hands.

“LUCIFER! GET YOUR ASS HERE
NOW!
”

A stunned pause.

Then, Lucifer’s voice, incredulous— “Adam?! I thought you were dead! How are you—”

“ABEL. IS. IN. HELL.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then—
BOOM.

A
pulse
of energy surged through the hotel, shaking the walls. The air crackled, charged with divine power. A golden light erupted in the center of the room.

Lucifer Morningstar stood before them.

His face, normally a mask of confidence and amusement, was utterly unreadable. His golden eyes burned like molten fire—wide with horror, disbelief… and something bordering on grief.

“No,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Adam’s fists clenched. “
Yes.
Our
son
is in Hell.”

Lucifer’s gaze locked onto Adam.

For once, there was no smugness. No arrogance.

Only
anguish.

And in the silence that followed, Charlie’s world tilted.

"Wait…
our
son?!
”

Silence filled the hotel’s lounge, thick and suffocating.

Charlie’s heart pounded as she stared between her father and Adam, trying to process what she had just heard.

"Wait…

our

son?!"

Lucifer closed his eyes, inhaling sharply before exhaling with an uncharacteristic slowness. When he opened them again, the golden irises blazed hotter, like the sun barely restrained.

Charlie’s voice wavered. “Dad… what is Adam talking about?”

Alastor leaned against his chair, intrigued. Husk took another swig from his flask, his tail flicking idly. Niffty, eyes wide with excitement, clapped her hands together.

“Ooooh, family secrets!”

Lucifer glanced at Adam, who looked smug despite the situation. With a slow sigh, Lucifer finally admitted,
“There’s something I need to tell you.”

Charlie's stomach twisted. She had seen her father in many moods—boastful, smug, furious, amused—but
never
like this.
Never… uncertain.

Charlie swallowed, her hands trembling slightly. “What do you mean?”

Lucifer hesitated. He
hated
hesitating. But there was no way around it anymore. He squared his shoulders, forcing himself to speak.

“Charlie, I love you. You are my daughter. But… you’re not my firstborn.”

The weight of his words sank into the room like a stone.

Charlie took a step back, her entire body going rigid. “What?”

Alastor’s grin widened, delight dancing in his crimson eyes. Husk raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Before Lucifer could continue, Adam smirked, arms crossed over his chest. “Before you ask—
no, Abel’s not Eve’s son.
”

Charlie’s mind reeled. “Then
who?
Was it… was it, Mom?”

Lucifer sighed. “No, not your mom either.”

Adam’s grin grew wider—wicked and self-satisfied. “Go on, Lucy. Tell her. Or should I?”

Lucifer shot Adam a warning glare, but it was too late.

Adam turned to Charlie, his voice dripping with amusement.

"I fucked your dad, ‘Princess’. He’s the reason why I’m called
The Dick Master!
”

“ADAM!!”

Charlie’s body
locked up.
Her mind screeched to a halt.

Her mouth opened. No words came out.

Alastor
howled
with laughter, clapping his hands. “Oh, this is
delicious!
Please, do go on!”

Husk groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m gonna need another drink.”

Niffty gasped, bouncing in place. “Wait, wait, wait—you and
Adam
had sex?! That’s
so scandalous!
”

Lucifer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I
hate
that this is how you all found out.”

Charlie finally found her voice—and it came out as a horrified
shriek.

“YOU HAD SEX WITH ADAM?! WITH
ADAM?!
”

Adam shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “What can I say? Your dad loved riding my—”

“STOP TALKING!!”
Charlie
screamed
, clapping her hands over her ears.

Lucifer shot Adam a
murderous glare.
“If you finish that sentence, I
will
make sure you never speak again.”

Adam smirked, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a twist, Lucy.”

Charlie groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. “I will
never
get this image out of my head. Ever.
Thanks for that.
”

Lucifer exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I was
going
to explain this in a more dignified way, but
thank you, Adam, for ruining that.
”

Charlie took a deep,
very
shaky breath. “Okay.
Ignoring
the
traumatizing
mental image I now have… are you seriously telling me that
Abel
is your son?”

Lucifer straightened, regaining his composure. His expression became serious, his voice steady.
“Yes. Abel is my firstborn.”

Charlie opened her mouth, but Adam cut in before she could speak.

“We don’t have time for a damn history lesson—ABEL HAS BEEN CAPTURED!”

Lucifer’s attention snapped to Adam, his playful demeanor
vanishing.
His expression darkened.

“Where?”

“I don’t
know!
” Adam growled. “Some
machine
snatched him up while he was unconscious! That’s what the damn news said!”

Charlie’s breath hitched. “A machine?”

Alastor’s grin
immediately
faded. His red eyes narrowed, his voice sharp with displeasure.

“Don’t. Say. His. Name.”

Charlie hesitated, then said it anyway.

“Vox.”

Alastor
sighed
, rubbing his temples like he had just developed a migraine. “Why did you utter that contraption’s name? Now you’ve ruined my afternoon.”

Lucifer’s expression turned cold. “Vox took Abel?”

Adam’s fists clenched. “If that tin-can bastard so much as
touches
my son—”

Lucifer’s eyes burned, his power rippling through the room. “Then we’re not wasting any more time.” He turned to Alastor, “You seem to have a history with this “Box” demon. Where would I find him?”

Alastor hmmed a bit, his amused expression widening. “Seems like you need me to do you a favor.”

“Alastor please stop—“

“What’s a favor between friends?” Alastor mused. “Some information for a favor later?”

Lucifer snarled, “I don’t have time for your games Alastor!”

“You know that tall, gaudy building in the entertainment district? That’s where the Vees reside. You can’t miss it. It’s truly heinous,” Alastor answered with surprised Charlie about his honesty.

Lucifer was skeptical but Charlie nodded, “That’s right Dad. I’ve been there before.”

“I’ll take your word on it,” the king merely said as he turned to Adam. “Come on. Let’s go save our son.”

The two men left, leaving a room full of confused demons to stand there awkwardly.

“So…are we not going to talk about how Lucifer was pregnant before?” Niffty asked. “Because I have some fanfics that may need editing now.”

“Niffty, what the fuck?” Husk asked.

Vaggie, who had been out shopping for some food, came back with an arm full of bags and a confused expression on her face, “why did I just see Lucifer fly out of here in a hurry?”

“That’s a long story,” Charlie groaned and went to go sit down at the bar. “Husk! Got anything what will wipe my memory clean? I need to get the mental image out of my mind.”

“Sorry Charlie, I’m not qualified to perform lobotomies,” Husk answered.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Abel stared out the window, his body sluggish, his mind clouded. He assumed it was from the fall—his injuries weighing him down, leaving him weak.
But something
felt off.

It wasn’t just exhaustion. It wasn’t just pain. There was something else pulling at him, something unseen.

A quiet hum of static filled the air as Vox approached, a glass of deep red wine in hand. “Here,” he said smoothly. “You look like you need a drink.”

Abel blinked, turning his golden eyes toward the offered glass. He hesitated before gently taking it from the demon. “Is it… is it okay for me to have alcohol?” The question left his lips before he could stop himself.

Vox barked out a laugh. “
Sorry,
but you’re older than
me,
and you’re asking permission like it’s your first time drinking?” Then, he paused, realization dawning. “Wait… is this
actually
your first drink?”

“What?! No, I—uh—” Abel stammered, flustered.

But the truth was… he had always felt
strange
about alcohol.

As a human, wine and liquor weren’t even a concept yet. By the time alcohol became part of human culture, Abel was long gone—his existence tied to Heaven’s domain, where such earthly indulgences had little meaning. The drinks in Heaven? They mimicked intoxication but never
truly
impaired an angel. There were no blurred memories, no loss of control, no hangovers.

But real alcohol?
Real
intoxication?

It made him uneasy.

He had seen St. Peter after a few drinks—his usual composure slipping, words slurring, movements sluggish. Abel had hated it. He hated how
vulnerable
it made people. How it turned sharp minds dull, made strong bodies sway.

And now, as he stared at the drink in his hands, it felt
dangerous.

Vox tilted his head, watching him with amusement. “Hey, it’s not a bomb or anything,” he teased. “Just try a sip. If you don’t like it, you don’t like it. No harm, no foul.”

Abel still hesitated.

But the weight of Vox’s gaze lingered—expectant, patient, but with an
edge.
The implication hung between them.

‘You don’t want to disappoint me, do you?’

Swallowing his nerves, Abel lifted the glass and
downed
it in one go.

Vox’s screen
flickered
in surprise.

Abel drank like a man dying of thirst, like the wine was the only thing tethering him to this moment.

By the time he slammed the empty glass down, his lips were stained red, his breath uneven.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—his vision blurred at the edges.

Was alcohol stronger in Hell?

A slow warmth spread through his veins, seeping into his muscles, his mind. A buzz settled beneath his skin, dulling the ache in his body.

Abel swayed slightly.

Vox smirked, setting his own glass down. “
Damn
. If I’d known you were that thirsty, I would’ve gotten you the whole bottle.”

Abel exhaled sharply, blinking to steady himself. The room seemed… softer now, the lights not as harsh.

“It’s… warm,” he murmured, placing a hand on his chest.

Vox leaned in, a glint of satisfaction in his neon eyes. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”

Abel’s mind swam, the heaviness in his limbs growing stronger. Was it the wine? Or had he already been this tired before drinking? He couldn’t tell anymore.

Vox watched him closely, studying every subtle shift in his demeanor. Then, with practiced ease, he poured another glass and pushed it toward Abel.

“Go on,” Vox urged, his voice smooth, persuasive. “Have another.”

Abel hesitated again. A small voice in the back of his mind whispered that he
shouldn’t.
That something wasn’t right.

But the warmth was… nice.

And for the first time since his fall, the ache in his heart wasn’t as sharp.

So he reached for the glass.

And took a second drink.

Then a third….then a fourth glass…

The warmth spread deeper, wrapping around his thoughts like a thick fog. His golden eyes, once sharp with suspicion, softened as the alcohol seeped into his system at an alarming rate. His body, still weak from the fall, had no tolerance for the drink—no defenses against the way it dulled his senses and slowed his mind.

Vox watched with quiet satisfaction, his neon grin stretching wider as Abel's resistance melted away.

“That’s it,” Vox murmured, pouring more into the glass before Abel could think to protest. “You’re handling this like a champ.”

Abel exhaled, running a hand through his blonde locks, his movements slow and uncoordinated. “M’fine,” he mumbled, though his words already carried the telltale slur of intoxication. “Just… warm.”

Vox chuckled, sliding closer, his static humming low in the background. “That’s the beauty of it,” he said smoothly. “Takes the edge off, doesn’t it?”

Abel nodded absently, the tension in his shoulders unwinding. His whole life—his
whole existence
—had been a cycle of pressure, duty, expectations. Even in Heaven, he had been watched, scrutinized, measured against the impossible standards of divinity. But now?

Now the weight was… lifting.

He didn’t feel like a fallen angel.

He just
felt.

Vox draped an arm along the back of the couch, his presence looming but not forceful. He didn’t need to push—Abel was already slipping, already caught in the undertow.

“You know,” Vox began, his voice smooth like silk, “I gotta say, you’re not what I expected.”

Abel blinked, turning toward him sluggishly. “Huh?”

Vox’s eyes flickered, his expression shifting to something softer, more
interested
. “I mean, an angel—
Heaven’s golden boy
—falling all the way down here? That’s gotta mess with your head.”

Abel opened his mouth, then closed it. Something in the words struck a nerve, but the alcohol dulled the sting. He frowned slightly, swirling the wine in his glass as if searching for an answer in its depths.

Vox leaned in just a fraction closer, voice dropping lower. “I bet they never appreciated you, did they?”

Abel tensed, just a little. “I… I don’t know if I’d say that,” he mumbled, though even he wasn’t convinced by his own words.

Vox smirked, sensing the crack in the foundation. “C’mon,” he pressed, his tone laced with knowing. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Heaven—
they
expect too much, don’t they? Always looking for perfection. Always wanting more,
more, more
—and never giving anything back.”

Abel’s breath hitched.

Because, deep down, there was truth in those words.

His whole existence had been dictated by expectations. By
them.

The angels, the archangels—
Sera.

Heaven had taken everything from him. His place, his name, his wings. They hadn’t listened. They hadn’t
cared.

Vox tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Tell me, Abel… what did they say when you fell?”

Abel swallowed thickly.

Nothing.

No one had come for him.

No one had fought for him.

He had been cast aside, abandoned.

And Vox saw it.

He saw the way Abel’s expression faltered, the way his hands trembled slightly around the glass. ‘
That’s it’
, he thought, pressing just a little more.

“Bet they just let you go without a second thought, huh?” Vox mused, running a clawed finger along the rim of his own glass. “Like you never even mattered.”

Abel exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. His golden eyes flickered—anger? Sadness? He didn’t even know anymore.

Vox reached out, slow and deliberate, and brushed a gloved hand over Abel’s knee.

“But you
do
matter, sweetheart,” Vox murmured. “You matter down
here
.”

Abel’s breath caught.

The touch was light, barely there, but it burned in a way he didn’t understand.

Vox was watching him carefully now, studying the way his lips parted slightly, the way his flushed face turned toward him, hazy and uncertain.

Naïve.

So,
so
naïve.

The poor thing had no idea what was happening.

Vox smiled, his neon eyes flickering like a lure in deep water.

And Abel, too dazed to recognize the predator before him, was already sinking.

The wine was strong—too strong—but he didn’t care. The ache in his heart, the overwhelming sense of loss—all of it was fading, replaced by something else.

Something
new
.

Something
dangerous
.

Vox’s hand, still resting on his knee, squeezed gently. Abel’s breath hitched, his golden eyes flickering up to meet those glowing neon blues. The demon’s grin had softened, turned
smoother
, more inviting.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Vox murmured, voice low and sultry, his static humming softly in the air between them.

Abel swallowed thickly. “Get… what?”

Vox leaned in, closing the space between them, his presence crackling with an unseen energy. “How
precious
you are.”

The words sent a strange shiver through Abel’s spine. He had been called many things in his existence—
righteous, obedient, golden child, Heaven’s lamb
—but never…
precious
.

His lips parted slightly, a quiet breath escaping. The static in the air thickened, surrounding him, sinking into his skin like an invisible embrace.

And then—

Vox kissed him.

The moment their lips met, Abel gasped softly, a shock running through him—not from surprise, but from the actual charge that passed between them. It was subtle at first, like the faint buzz of energy from touching a radio, but then it
lingered
, seeping into his skin, setting his nerves alight.

His curls stood on end, strands of white-blond hair lifting slightly from the static crackling off of Vox’s body.

Abel had never been kissed before.

Not like this.

Not
romantically
.

Not with
intent
.

The sensation was foreign, dizzying, overwhelming in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Vox’s lips weren’t warm like a human’s—they were cool, sleek, and tinged with the faint taste of metal and electricity.

It
should
have felt wrong.

But it didn’t.

The alcohol in his system, the gentle hum of Vox’s voice, the way his touch sent jolts through his body—it all blurred together into something Abel couldn’t comprehend, something new.

Vox pulled back only slightly, his lips barely brushing against Abel’s as he spoke.

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Abel’s breath was uneven. His heart pounded—whether from nerves or something else, he didn’t know. He couldn’t think straight.

“I…” He swallowed, his lips tingling, still buzzing faintly from the charge. “…It felt… different.”

Vox chuckled, low and smooth, his hand trailing higher up Abel’s thigh. “That’s because you’ve never been kissed like
that
before.”

Abel’s brows furrowed, his mind struggling to keep up, to process what was happening. His body felt heavy, warm,
relaxed
—too relaxed.

Vox leaned in again, his mouth brushing against Abel’s ear, his voice a whisper of static and silk.

“Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”

Abel shivered.

And despite the quiet voice in the back of his mind
screaming
that something was wrong—

Abel didn’t know what came over him.

The warmth in his chest deepened, pooling low in his stomach, making his limbs feel light but his skin feel
electric
. His lips still tingled from the strange static of Vox’s kiss, but instead of pulling away—

He leaned in.

Vox’s smirk widened as Abel hesitated for only a moment before pressing forward, his lips seeking another taste of that unfamiliar, buzzing sensation. The second their mouths connected again, Vox felt the slight tremble in Abel’s form—the way he was still unsure, still
innocent
in all of this.

But he wanted more.

That much was clear.

Abel was already too deep, already slipping into something he didn’t understand, his mind fogged and pliant under the influence of both alcohol and something else.

Perfect.

Vox moved slowly, deliberately, letting Abel take the lead for now. He let him push forward, let him melt into the embrace, let him shudder as another faint crackle of static ran between them.

Abel gasped softly against Vox’s lips, his fingers gripping the demon’s jacket for balance as his knees threatened to buckle. His body wasn’t used to this—to the heat, to the closeness, to the way his thoughts were turning to want rather than caution.

He didn’t even notice the faint glow in his golden eyes begin to dull.

Didn’t notice how Vox was guiding him exactly where he wanted him.

Didn’t realize that the warmth consuming him wasn’t just from the wine—but from something
far
more potent, something carefully crafted by a certain pink-obsessed demon.

The wine hadn’t just lowered his inhibitions.

It had made him
susceptible.

Vox deepened the kiss, his hands sliding up Abel’s sides, feeling the way the angel-turned-sinner shivered at the contact. Abel moaned softly into his mouth, his breath heavy, his body pressing closer without thought.

He had never felt anything like this.

Never felt
wanted
.

Never felt
needed
.

And that was exactly the thread Vox had been waiting to pull.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” Vox murmured against Abel’s lips, his voice low, hypnotic, carefully crafted to keep Abel teetering on that fragile edge.

Abel exhaled shakily, his golden eyes hazy, his lips red and slightly parted. “I-I don’t… I mean…” He swallowed, suddenly unsure of how to respond.

Vox chuckled, tilting Abel’s chin up to meet his glowing blue gaze. “You really don’t see it, do you?” he whispered. “How
divine
you are. Even down here.”

Abel’s breath hitched. His mind was a haze, his emotions muddled, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn’t untangle.

But Vox’s words—his
touch
—they filled something hollow inside him. Something Abel had never even realized was empty.

And so, when Vox kissed him again, deeper this time, more
intentional
—

Abel kissed back. His grip on Vox’s jacket tightened, his fingers curling into the sleek fabric as he let himself sink deeper into the kiss. His body felt hot, his mind hazy, and all he could focus on was the way Vox’s lips moved against his—smooth, electric,
commanding
.

His first kiss.

His first

real

kiss.

And he was craving more.

Vox smirked against his lips, feeling the way Abel melted into him, the way his body leaned in, as if searching for something unnamed—something he had been
missing
all his life.

Oh, this is too easy.

He slid a hand up Abel’s spine, fingers tracing lightly over the base of his neck. Abel shuddered, a soft whimper escaping before he could stop it. The sound sent a pleased thrill through Vox, his grip tightening just slightly, pulling Abel closer.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Vox purred against his lips. “Just let go.”

Abel was already
gone
.

The warmth, the buzz in his veins, the way Vox’s voice dripped into his ears like honey—it drowned out every warning, every logical thought.

He kissed back harder, his body pressing into Vox’s as heat pooled low in his stomach. His heart pounded not in fear—but in need. His fingers trembled against Vox’s chest, his breath coming out in soft, uneven gasps.

How his golden glow dimmed, just slightly.

Vox
did
.

And it made his smirk widen.

He pulled back just enough to watch Abel’s dazed expression—his flushed cheeks, his swollen lips, his half-lidded golden eyes shimmering with something vulnerable,
wanting
.

He was drunk. Intoxicated. But not just from the wine.

From him.

Vox brushed a gloved thumb over Abel’s lower lip, feeling the slight static still lingering there. Abel shivered, his lips parting slightly at the touch.

“You like that?” Vox murmured, his voice smooth as velvet, watching the way Abel’s breath hitched.

“I… I don’t know,” Abel admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. His thoughts were scrambled, his body betraying him, his innocence so painfully clear. “It feels… strange.”

“Strange can be good,” Vox said, his fingers trailing down Abel’s jaw, leaving behind faint traces of electric warmth. “New things always feel strange at first, don’t they?”

Abel swallowed, his lips tingling, his skin buzzing where Vox had touched him. His head was spinning, but he
didn’t want it to stop
.

Vox leaned in again, his breath ghosting over Abel’s ear.

“Let me teach you, angel.”

The words sent a violent shiver down Abel’s spine. His hands clutched at Vox’s jacket, his body swaying slightly as his knees weakened.

“I… I shouldn’t…” Abel mumbled, but the protest was weak.

Vox grinned. “Why not?”

Abel struggled to form an answer. He
shouldn’t
, right? He had never done this before—never felt this before. This kind of closeness, this kind of attention, this kind of desire.

But
why
did it feel so good?

Why did it make his heart ache in a way he didn’t want to resist?

Vox didn’t wait for him to figure it out. He cupped Abel’s chin, tilting his face up once more, and kissed him
again
—slow, deep, deliberate.

Abel moaned softly into the kiss, his resolve shattering.

And with every second, with every touch, with every whispered word—

Vox pulled him further down...

Abel woke up miserable.

The first thing he noticed was the pain—a deep, throbbing ache in his skull that pulsed with every sluggish beat of his heart. His mouth was dry, his limbs felt heavy, and the mere act of breathing made his stomach churn.

What the hell happened?

A low groan escaped his lips as he forced his eyes open, immediately regretting it when the soft neon glow of the room sent a stabbing pain through his skull. He squeezed them shut again, his face scrunching up as he tried to think past the pounding in his head.

His body felt strange.

Not just sore—used.

A sluggish movement beneath the sheets made him pause. His legs shifted, and a slow, creeping sensation pooled in his gut when he felt it.

A deep, uncomfortable ache between his thighs.

His breath hitched, his body tensing instinctively.

And then, realization hit him like a freight train.

His golden eyes snapped open despite the pain, his mind racing, memory still hazy but not empty.

The wine.

The kisses.

Vox’s voice, smooth and low, whispering things in his ear.

Vox’s hands on him.

The feeling of being touched, guided, claimed—

Abel sat up too fast, and immediately regretted it. His stomach lurched violently, his head spinning as a wave of nausea crashed over him. He gripped the sheets, his breath ragged as the room tilted around him.

“Ugh… fuck…” he groaned, his own voice hoarse.

He didn’t curse often, but this… this warranted it.

His mind reeled, his body aching in ways it never had before. His face burned as he shifted again, and the undeniable soreness confirmed what he was too afraid to admit.

He wasn’t a virgin anymore.

And he had no memory of it.

Panic clawed at his chest.

What did I do?

What did he do?

His hands trembled as he gripped the sheets tighter, his breath quickening. The room felt too hot, too small, and the muffled hum of electronics only made his head feel worse.

A slow, amused chuckle came from his side.

“Well, well~ Morning, sunshine.”

Abel froze.

That voice.

Vox.

His golden eyes darted toward the source, finding the neon demon lounging on the bed beside him, one arm propped behind his head, a lazy grin spread across his face. His screen flickered with mild amusement, taking in Abel’s disheveled state with clear satisfaction.

Abel’s stomach dropped.

Vox looked unbothered. Relaxed. As if nothing was out of the ordinary.

But everything was out of the ordinary.

Abel swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper. “Did we…?”

Vox’s grin widened.

“Oh, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth, dripping with something dark. “You were very eager last night.”

Abel’s breath caught.

His pulse pounded in his ears. His fingers dug into the sheets as his mind whirled, trying to grasp onto anything, any solid memory—but it was all fragments. Hazy touches, heat, whispers, the feeling of being pulled under.

“I—” He couldn’t even form words.

Vox sat up, stretching leisurely, completely at ease. “No need to look so scandalized, angel,” he purred. “You wanted it. Every second of it.”

Abel’s face burned, not just in embarrassment, but in confusion. His body remembered what his mind didn’t.

And that terrified him.

The neon glow of Vox’s screen flickered as he smirked.

And Abel realized, with a sickening churn in his stomach— hands shook as he gripped the sheets tighter, his breathing shallow. The realization hit him all at once, crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He had never thought much about his virginity before—never dwelled on it, never considered it in the way humans did. But now? Now that it was gone—given away in a drunken haze to a demon he barely understood—

It hurt.

A sharp, deep ache settled in his chest, twisting like a knife.

He had always imagined love would come first. That if he ever shared himself with someone, it would be because of love, not…
whatever this was
.

But there was no love here.

No romance.

No whispered promises of devotion.

Only hazy memories, an aching body, and Vox smirking beside him like this was just another night for him.

His throat tightened. His vision blurred. A choked sob escaped before he could stop it.

Vox’s expression flickered—his smirk easing just slightly as he watched Abel tremble, his golden eyes welling with genuine heartbreak.

The neon demon tilted his head, his screen dimming just a little. “Oh, sweetheart…
are you crying?
”

Abel sucked in a sharp breath, trying to hold back another sob, but it spilled out anyway. His shoulders trembled as the weight of it all bore down on him.

He had lost something.

Something he could never get back.

And he hadn’t even been aware enough to cherish it.

Vox shifted beside him, his smirk softening into something almost concerned. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing over Abel’s damp cheek, tilting his face toward him.

“Hey, hey… none of that,” he murmured, his voice smooth, calculated. “Why are you crying, angel? Last night was…
beautiful
.”

Abel flinched, his lip trembling. He wanted to pull away, but didn’t.

Because a small, broken part of him wanted to believe Vox.

Wanted to believe that this wasn’t a mistake.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Abel’s voice cracked, his breath hitching. “I didn’t think—it would happen like this.”

Vox hummed, his fingers still lightly stroking Abel’s cheek. “You mean… you didn’t think you’d give yourself to me?”

Abel swallowed hard, more tears slipping down his face.

Vox’s smirk returned, but it was softer now, laced with something dangerous—a subtle, poisonous comfort.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he murmured, his thumb brushing along Abel’s lower lip, feeling the way he shivered under the touch. “I know this is all…
new
for you.”

Abel bit his lip, nodding helplessly.

“But you wanted me last night.” Vox’s voice was gentle now, persuasive, dripping with something too smooth to be genuine. “I could feel it. You gave yourself to me because you
trusted
me.”

Abel squeezed his eyes shut. His heart hurt.

Had he?

Had he truly trusted Vox?

Or had he just been too drunk, too vulnerable, too lost to fight it?

Vox leaned in, his lips barely grazing Abel’s ear.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered. “You don’t have to regret this.”

Abel let out a broken breath, his hands trembling.

Because, deep down…

He wanted to believe him.

And Vox knew it.

Abel’s hands trembled in his lap, his mind racing in
too many directions at once
. His body still ached, his skin still felt warm where Vox had touched him, but his heart…

His heart
felt wrong
.

He wiped at his eyes hastily, but the tears kept coming—silent and
endless
, like a wound that refused to close.

Vox watched him carefully, his neon eyes flickering in thought. He could see it—the
uncertainty
, the deep-rooted confusion swirling beneath Abel’s heartbreak. The angel-turned-sinner wasn’t just upset because he’d lost his virginity.

He was upset because he didn’t
understand why it mattered so much
.

Vox tilted Abel’s chin up again, forcing their gazes to meet. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he coaxed, his voice smooth as silk. “What’s going on in that golden little head of yours?”

Abel swallowed hard, still avoiding eye contact. “…I don’t know.”

Vox arched a brow. “Sure you do.”

Abel bit his lip, struggling to put the tangle of emotions into words. He
knew
what sex was—
academically
. Angels had
no reason
to engage in it. Reproduction was for
humans
, and even then, it was just…

biological

. A function. A means to create life.

Not something to be
enjoyed
.

“…I don’t get it,” Abel admitted quietly, his fingers clutching the sheets. “I don’t understand why people… do that. Why they like it. Why they act like it’s
important
.”

Vox went still for a moment.

Then, his grin returned,
wider than before
.

Oh,
this
was interesting.

Abel wasn’t just naive—he was
completely uneducated
on the concept of
pleasure
itself.

And Vox was
more than happy to teach him
.

He leaned back casually, draping an arm over the bedpost. “Ahhh, I see,” he drawled, feigning deep thought. “So you mean to tell me… Heaven never taught you about the
fun
side of it?”

Abel hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. “…It’s not supposed to be
fun
.”

Vox
laughed
.

The sound made Abel flinch slightly, his face burning.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vox chuckled, shaking his head. “You have
so
much to learn.”

Abel’s stomach twisted with unease. He wasn’t sure he
wanted
to learn.

Vox reached over, tucking a stray curl behind Abel’s ear, his grin turning sly. “Lucky for you,” he murmured, “I know just the guy to help you with that.”

Abel blinked, his brows knitting. “What?”

Vox’s screen flickered, static buzzing faintly as he grabbed his phone off the nightstand. “You want answers, angel?” he purred, already tapping out a message. “Then let’s get you a

proper education

.”

Abel frowned. “Education…?”

Vox shot him a smirk.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” he said, amusement dripping from every word.

Ding!

A text popped up on his screen.

Valentino:

"Ooooh, Voxxy~ ¿Qué es esto? ¿Por fin nos vas a presentar a tu ‘Ángel’?"

Vox’s grin widened.

Abel,
completely unaware of the trap he was walking into
, only stared at him in confusion. “…Who’s Valentino?”

Vox slipped his arm around Abel’s shoulders, his voice deceptively soft.

“Just an old friend, sweetheart.  I promise Abel, You’ll love him like I do~”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Abel wasn’t sure what he had expected when Vox led him through the doors of
Valentino’s studio
, but it certainly wasn’t…
this
.

The studio was bathed in
lavish reds and deep purples
, the air thick with perfume, cologne, and something
far more illicit
. The scent made Abel’s head swim, but it was nothing compared to the sounds—moans, laughter, the distant hum of cameras rolling.

It felt…
wrong
.

Bright stage lights flooded the room, casting harsh shadows against a lavish, oversized bed draped in satin sheets. Camera rigs surrounded the set, and beyond them, demons and sinners bustled about—directors, assistants, lighting crews, makeup artists. It was an
organized mess
, but a mess nonetheless.

Abel swallowed hard, feeling
out of place
, his skin already
flushed
.

And then, there was the
scene
.

Right in the middle of the set, sprawled out on the massive bed, was a
white
spider demon—his lithe, long legs tangled with another demon’s as the cameras rolled.

Abel’s face
burned
.

He didn’t understand what was happening, not fully. But he understood
enough
.

The way the spider’s lips curled into a smirk, the way his body moved, the soft gasps and moans that filled the space—

It was
intimate
.
Deliberate
.

And it made something inside Abel
twist uncomfortably
.

This place was
designed
for sin.

He had seen debauchery before, had witnessed mankind’s
fall from grace
—but this?

This was
Hell at its most indulgent
.

“Welcome to the studio, Abel~” Vox purred beside him, his neon eyes gleaming with amusement.

Abel’s stomach twisted as his gaze swept across the massive studio floor.
Demons—dozens of them—were engaged in acts he didn’t fully understand
, their bodies intertwined in ways that made his face
burn
.

His golden eyes darted away,
anywhere but there
.

Vox chuckled. “A little shy, huh?”

Abel swallowed hard, his wings twitching at his sides. “This… this is a lot.”

Vox’s hand landed on his shoulder, firm yet
comforting
. “Relax, sweetheart. No one’s gonna bite. Unless, of course, you
ask
nicely.”

Abel shivered, unsure whether Vox was joking or
dead serious
.

“Ah,
Voxxy~!
”

A
new voice
cut through the air, dripping with
sleaze
and
dangerous charm
.

Abel turned just in time to see a
tall, sharply dressed moth demon
striding toward them,
white fur around his neck
, dark heart-shaped glasses, and a grin that made Abel’s skin prickle.

Valentino.

Vox’s
business partner
.

His
lover
.

And, if Abel understood correctly, the
one responsible for all of this
.

“Well, well, well,” Valentino drawled, adjusting his fur coat as he looked Abel over like he was something
rare
, something
valuable
. “So this is the angel you’ve been keepin’ all to yourself, huh?”

Abel stiffened under his gaze.

Vox smirked. “Valentino, meet the one and only Abel. Abel, this is Valentino. We’ve been in business for decades.”

Valentino
grinned wider
, his sharp teeth glinting. “
Charmed to meet you
Ángel caído, you didn’t tell me he was such a Chico bonito.”

Abel
flinched
. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way Valentino
looked at him
made his skin crawl.

“Valentino here is an expert in all things sex related.”

Abel now felt so much shame and embarrassment that his face burned bright gold, hands clenched at his sides, his stomach twisting into knots.

He wasn’t naïve to sin—he had watched mankind
fall
firsthand—but this?

This was
different
.

This wasn’t temptation in the way the stories had told it. It wasn’t the whisper of an apple in the Garden, wasn’t the fleeting touch of hands where they shouldn’t be.

This was
depravity
, so blatant and
unapologetic
that it made his wings twitch with something close to
fear
.

And Valentino?

Valentino was the
epicenter
of it.

The moth demon stepped closer, practically
looming
as he looked Abel over, like he was assessing him. Like he was
measuring his worth
.

Abel swallowed hard, suddenly feeling
far too exposed
despite still being fully clothed.

“Dios mío,” Valentino purred, his grin widening. “Look at that face. So
pure
, so untouched—well, mostly.” His gaze flickered toward Vox, amusement glinting behind his glasses. “You finally broke him in, huh, Voxxy?”

Abel’s body
locked up
.

Vox only chuckled. “Had a little help,” he admitted smoothly. “But you know me, Val—I like my projects.”

Valentino smirked, running his tongue over his sharp teeth. “Mmm. And what a
delicious project
you’ve got here.”

Abel
winced
, his face burning so brightly with embarrassment that his golden glow flickered in and out.

“Relax,” Vox murmured beside him, his hand pressing lightly against Abel’s back. “Val’s just
curious
. He likes to see potential when it walks through his door.”

“Potential?” Abel echoed, his voice hoarse.

Vox grinned, his screen flickering. “Of course. You wanna understand sex, don’t you? What better place to
learn
than from the best?”

Abel felt
sick
.

This wasn’t what he meant. He had just wanted
answers
—not this, not
whatever this was
.

His hands trembled, his heart pounding
too fast
, the studio lights suddenly
too bright
.

And then—

A loud,
exasperated
voice rang through the room.

“Cut! Cut, cut, cut—
what the fuck?!
”

Abel barely had time to react before a
blur of pink and white
stormed toward them.

A spider demon—
long legs, a voice full of attitude
—stomped off the active shoot,
still half-naked
, silk robe thrown on but
barely tied
.

Abel
froze
, eyes wide
at such a state of someone. So indecent. So…shameful. He covered his eyes for decency, blushing like a school girl.

Angel Dust.

One of
Hell’s most infamous porn stars
.

Angel stopped in front of them, his
pink eyes locking onto Abel like a target
. His usual smirk was nowhere to be seen.

“…who the fuck is this guy?”

Valentino chuckled darkly, clearly entertained. “Oh, this one? He’s none of your concern, sugar.”

Angel ignored him. His focus was
entirely on Abel
—on the faint traces of divinity still clinging to him,
no matter how much Hell tried to stain him
.

“…Yo, Vox, where the hell you pick up this one?”

Abel blinked, taken aback by the
casualness
of it all.

Valentino smirked, “This is Abel. Abel I apologize for my star’s brazen attitude. Angel Dust, you should be more respectful toward guests.”

Vox cleared his throat, “Abel is a bit anxious around sex. So I brought him here to watch your shoot. Is that okay Valentino?”

Valentino let out an amused chuckle, “that’s alright with me so long as he keeps quiet. We’re still paying off the damages from the last guest who was here.” There was some disdain in his voice but Abel didn’t know why.

Angel did those and he flinched at the mention of the time when Charlie can come here unannounced.

Abel suddenly felt
trapped
.

He didn’t want to be here.

Not in this room. Not
watching this
.

Yet, Vox’s grip on his shoulder was firm, his neon eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, steering Abel toward an empty chair near the set. “Sit. Watch. Learn.”

Abel hesitated. His body
screamed
at him to turn away, to walk out, to
run
—but his feet felt like lead.

And then he was sitting.

Right
there
.

Right in front of the
depravity laid bare before him
.

The cameras were rolling again. The crew moving, adjusting lights, calling cues. And at the center of it all—Angel Dust, sprawled out, his limbs tangled with another demon, their bodies moving in a way that made Abel’s heart hammer in his chest.

He had never seen
this
before.

Not like this.

The sounds, the way their bodies twisted together, the way Angel moaned, head thrown back, face contorted with something
pleasurable
—it made something in Abel’s stomach turn violently.

His hands clenched into fists, his breath unsteady.

“See?” Vox’s voice purred in his ear. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

Abel
didn’t answer
.

He couldn’t.

His body felt hot, but
not
in the way it was meant to. His face burned—not with arousal, but
shame
.

Because he didn’t understand.

He didn’t
understand
how they were enjoying it. Why they craved it.

Why people
needed
this.

Angel let out a loud, exaggerated moan, his body arching as the cameras zoomed in, and Abel’s breath hitched. His
whole body tightening up more
.

Vox chuckled beside him, clearly amused by the angel’s discomfort. “Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured, draping an arm over the back of Abel’s chair. “This is normal.”

Normal?

Abel felt sick.

This wasn’t normal.

This was…
wrong
.

The sheer
openness
of it all—the way these demons were
laughing
, the way the film crew didn’t
bat an eye
, the way
everyone in the room acted like this was just another day at work
—

It made Abel feel
small
.

Out of place.

Like a lamb thrown into the
lion’s den
.

Abel swallowed hard, his face burning even hotter.

Valentino noticed and chuckled darkly. “What’s the matter, cherry boy?” he taunted, stepping closer. “This
too much
for you?”

Abel’s lips parted, but no words came out.

Because
yes
.

Yes, it was
too much
.

But he couldn’t
say that
.

Not with Vox’s hand still resting on his shoulder. Not with Valentino’s
piercing gaze
watching him like he was some
pet project
.

Not when he already felt so
weak.

So, instead of answering—

He lowered his gaze.

Vos’s smirk faltered
just slightly
as he watched Abel shrink into himself. His arms folded, something
calculating
flickering behind his eyes.

Abel thought he fell before — he hadn’t even stopped falling.

“…Vox,” Abel managed to mutter, his eyes unfocused. “Why are you doing this?”

Vox’s grin widened. “
I’m merely educating you on how things are done down here
.” He stood up and stood behind Abel, his touch making the other shudder as he watched some carnal acts being performed before him.

“Stop…” Abel whispered. It was all too much. The heat in the room, the sounds, the overwhelming weight of
shame
pressing down on him—it all churned violently in his gut.

His stomach twisted. His breath hitched.

And then—

He
bolted
.

He barely heard Vox’s amused chuckle, barely registered Valentino’s laugh as he
stumbled
to his feet, knocking over the chair in his rush to get
away
.

His vision blurred as he reached the nearest trash can,
collapsing
to his knees just in time for his stomach to
violently empty itself
.

His entire body
shook
as he heaved, the acrid taste of bile burning his throat.

Tears stung his eyes. His wings twitched, curling inward as if trying to
shield
him from the sheer
humiliation
of it all.

His first real experience with
sex
—and this was his reaction.

Not curiosity. Not excitement.

Disgust.

And it made him feel
wrong
.

Like he was
broken
.

The room behind him fell silent for a moment.

Then—

“What the
fuck
?!”

Abel barely had time to register the voice before heavy footsteps
stormed
toward him.

Angel Dust.

The spider demon was
pissed
.

“Are you fuckin’
kidding
me?” Angel snapped, his multiple hands gesturing wildly as he stomped toward Abel, his silk robe barely tied. “You just—you just ran out and fucking
puked
?!”

Abel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still trembling, his face
burning with shame
. He couldn’t even lift his head.

He felt
pathetic
.

Angel, however, wasn’t done.

“What, my performance wasn’t
holy
enough for you?” he sneered, arms crossing tightly over his chest. “You some kinda
prude
?!”

Abel flinched at the accusation, his body recoiling as if struck.

“N-No, I just—” His voice cracked, weak, unsteady. He didn’t even
know
what to say.

Because wasn’t that exactly what he was doing?
Judging?

Hadn’t he
run away
? Hadn’t he reacted like this was
something sinful
?

Angel scoffed, his pink eyes glaring down at him. “Ugh, I’ve seen a lot of reactions, but this? This is a first.” He threw his arms up. “What the hell is your deal, angel boy? You come in here just to
vomit all over my livelihood
?”

Abel’s breath hitched.

It wasn’t like that.

He didn’t mean it like that.

Abel couldn’t stop it.

The overwhelming shame, the crushing weight of
humiliation
, the sheer
wrongness
of it all—

It broke him.

A
choked sob
tore from his throat, his shoulders
shaking violently
as the dam finally collapsed.

He cried.

Hard.

Not just small, quiet tears—
full, body-wracking sobs
that echoed through the studio. His face crumpled, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps as he buried his face in his hands.

He couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Everything—
everything
—was too much.

Losing Heaven.

Losing himself.

Losing something he never even knew was sacred until it was
too late
.

And now, here he was, on the floor of a
porn studio
, vomiting in front of demons who had no idea what he was going through. Who
couldn’t
understand.

Because how could they?

They had
always
lived like this.

This was
normal
to them.

But to Abel?

It was
Hell
.

His hands trembled as he clutched his arms,
rocking slightly
, his wings curling inward as if trying to make himself
smaller
. His sobs only grew louder, raw and
endless
, his golden glow flickering weakly as his whole body trembled.

Angel Dust just
stared
.

His ears twitched, his glare
wavering
slightly as he watched Abel
completely fall apart
right in front of him.

“…What the hell…?” Angel muttered, his voice no longer sharp, but
confused
.

Because
this
—this wasn’t judgment.

This was
something else
entirely.

Vox, still standing off to the side, only
smirked
, watching Abel break with something
far too pleased
gleaming in his neon eyes.

Everything was going
exactly
as he wanted.

Abel sobbed, his body curling in on itself as he
shook uncontrollably
.

His breath hitched violently, his mind
spinning
. He couldn’t
think
, couldn’t
breathe
, couldn’t
understand
why this felt so
wrong
—why he felt so
broken
.

And then—

A smooth, static-laced voice
cooed
above him.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Vox murmured, his tone dripping with
mock sympathy
as he knelt beside Abel, his hand gently resting on his trembling back. “You’re really struggling with this, huh?”

Abel hiccupped between sobs, barely
registering
the words at first.

Vox stroked slow, soothing circles between Abel’s wings, his tone taking on a gentle, almost
understanding
quality. “I get it. This is
new
for you.
Hard
for you. But, Abel…”

He leaned in, his lips almost brushing against Abel’s ear as he whispered—

“You need to let go of that
pride
.”

Abel
froze
.

The words
hit like a knife
, his breath
catching
in his throat.

Pride.

The sin of pride.

His body went cold, his golden eyes
going wide
as the weight of those words sank in, deep and
terrifying
.

Was that it?

Was he
too proud
?

Had he been
so blinded
by the expectations of Heaven that he couldn’t even accept something so
basic
—something that clearly brought others joy?

Had Heaven
shaped him into this
?

Rigid. Stubborn.
Afraid of change
?

His heartbeat
pounded violently
in his chest, his hands gripping his arms so tightly that his nails dug into his skin.

Vox saw it—the
panic
, the creeping doubt
bleeding into Abel’s mind
—and his smirk widened.

Perfect.

He let the silence stretch just long enough for Abel to begin
spiraling
, to let the fear
sink deeper
, before he spoke again.

“Think about it, angel,” Vox continued, his voice softer now, but
no less dangerous
. “Why does this make you so uncomfortable? Why are you fighting it so hard?”

Abel swallowed, his throat dry, his mind a
storm
of thoughts.

“I—I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice small,
broken
.

Vox’s hand slid to his shoulder, squeezing
gently
.

“Yes, you do,” he murmured. “You’re still clinging to the rules they gave you. To the
expectations
they forced on you. Heaven’s chains might be gone, but they’re still wrapped around your mind, aren’t they?”

Abel
shuddered
.

Because—

Because
wasn’t that true
?

Hadn’t he
lost everything
?

And yet…

Yet he was still holding onto their teachings, still
desperate
to find meaning in them, even though they had
cast him aside
like he was
nothing
.

Vox leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near
whisper
.

“You’re not in Heaven anymore, sweetheart.”

His fingers traced lightly along Abel’s trembling arm, his static humming softly.

“You don’t have to be
perfect
.”

Abel’s breath came out
shaky
, his body still racked with sobs—but now, his mind was
twisting
, turning against itself.

Was that it?

Was he just…
proud
?

“Did you know Pride is not the opposite of shame, but its source?” Vox’s voice rang like an echo.

Abel felt that statement strike his core.

Was he so desperate to hold onto what was left of his purity that he was
shackling himself
to something that no longer existed?

Hadn’t he
already fallen
?

His golden eyes darted downward, staring at his own shaking hands.

He wasn’t an angel anymore.

So why…

Why did he still try to be?

Vox’s hand moved back to his back, stroking slowly,
comforting
.

“There you go,” he murmured, voice like silk. “Just let go, Abel.”

Abel felt like he was
drowning
.

And Vox was standing at the edge of the water, smiling as he watched him
sink deeper
.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Abel was unraveling.
His mind, once sharp and steadfast, was fraying at the edges, his thoughts tangled in contradictions. Vox had guided him through the depths of Hell’s indulgences—pleasure, greed, excess—all the things Heaven had denied him.

He had been forced to watch, to listen, to understand.

Every lesson chipped away at the foundation of his beliefs, breaking him down piece by piece.

Now, he sat in Vox’s private lounge, his body slumped against the velvet cushions of an expensive chaise, his head heavy with exhaustion. His face was still flushed from the wine—more of that cursed wine—his body sluggish, his mind clouded.

He felt filthy.

Every touch, every whisper, every demonstration Vox had made him witness clung to his skin like oil.

And the worst part?

A small, treacherous part of him wondered if Vox was right.

“Y’know, angel,” Vox drawled, sprawled lazily in his chair across from Abel, one leg crossed over the other. His neon eyes flickered with satisfaction as he swirled his drink. “You’re getting better at this.”

Abel swallowed hard, his golden eyes flickering toward him, confused and wary.

“Better at… what?” His voice was hoarse, weak.

Vox smirked. “Letting go.”

Abel’s stomach twisted.

Was that what he was doing? Letting go?

Or was he just… losing himself?

He tried to push back, to stand firm, but his limbs were heavy, his mind sluggish.

Vox knew this.

And he was waiting.

The neon demon leaned forward, setting his glass aside. “But I think there’s still a part of you resisting.”

Abel flinched.

Because it was true.

No matter how much he was forced to endure—no matter how many sinful sights he was made to witness—something inside him still clung to the remnants of who he used to be.

And Vox wouldn’t allow that.

The static in the room hummed.

Before Abel could process it, Vox’s fingers trailed over his temple, his touch deceptively gentle.

“Shhh,” Vox murmured, his voice dipping into something silky and smooth. “You’re thinking too much, sweetheart.”

Abel’s breath hitched. His vision blurred, his thoughts turning hazy as if a soft pulse of electricity was rippling through his brain.

“V-Vox, I—”

The fingers against his temple pressed slightly harder, and the static deepened, wrapping around his mind like an unseen fog.

“Don’t fight it.”

Abel’s lips parted, a small, shaky breath escaping.

He knew what this was.

The hypnosis.

The same soft, insidious pulse of power Vox had been using on him since the beginning—subtle, patient, worming its way into the cracks of his already fragile psyche.

But this time…

This time, it hit deeper.

His shoulders slumped. His golden eyes dimmed.

Vox’s smirk widened as he guided Abel’s chin upward, forcing the angel to meet his gaze.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?”

Abel let out a breathy, almost whimpering sound—a sign of defeat.

Vox took that as a yes.

“Then stop fighting.”

The neon glow of his screen intensified, shifting into something hypnotic, something Abel couldn’t pull away from. His body betrayed him, his knees weakening beneath him.

His mind whispered for him to resist.

But his body obeyed Vox.

And before he could stop himself—

He sank to his knees.

Vox sighed contently, tilting Abel’s chin up with one finger, taking in the sight of Heaven’s former golden boy kneeling before him.

“That’s better.”

Abel trembled. His mind was screaming, but his body—his will—was slipping further away.

“Now,” Vox whispered, his voice silk and static, “I told you before, didn’t I?” His fingers traced Abel’s jawline, making the angel shudder. “I’ll take care of you.”

Abel swallowed, his breath shaky, his gaze loosing his light, “You’ll take care of me...”

Vox smirked maliciously before he forced another kiss to Abel’s lips…

“WHERE THE FUCK IS MY SON?!” Adam bellowed at the uncaring receptionist at the V Tower.

The sinner looked up and saw Adam fuming. “Who the fuck is your son?”

“ABEL! THE ANGEL WHO JUST FELL!”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” she rolled her eyes, popping her gum as she returned to typing.

Adam’s fists clenched. “Listen here, you lazy, good-for-nothing—”

Lucifer placed a firm hand on Adam’s shoulder, stopping him before he could leap over the desk and strangle the receptionist. “Patience,” he muttered, though his own golden eyes burned with irritation. He turned his most charming smile to the sinner. “Surely, darling, you’ve seen an angel wandering around this dreadful place. Golden curls, big innocent eyes, probably looking like a lost puppy?”

The receptionist barely glanced up. “Oh yeah, lots of angels fall every day. Real tragic. Next.”

Adam growled under his breath, his entire body vibrating with rage. “You’ve got three seconds to tell me where he is before I—”

Before he could finish his threat, a familiar high-pitched voice cut through the tension.

“Hey, what’s with all the yellin’? Some of us just finished a
very
long fuckin’ day and don’t need the extra noise.”

Adam turned, ready to tell off whoever dared interrupt—only to freeze when he saw the lanky, pink-and-white spider demon lounging near the entrance.

Lucifer, however, perked up slightly, squinting at him. “Wait a moment… I
know
you.”

“I should hope so considering I’m staying at Charlie’s hotel,” Angel retorted.

Lucifer’s eyes lit up with realization. “The hotel! Yes, you were there!
Charlie's
uh, guest!” He snapped his fingers. “Angel…
something.
”

Angel blinked. “...Dust.”

Lucifer pointed at him. “Yes, that one.”

Angel crossed all four of his arms and shot a look at Adam, who was still fuming. “So, uh… what’s got you two lookin’ like ya just got kicked in the nuts?”

Adam stepped forward. “My son. Abel. He fell, and we
know
Vox has him.” His voice was rough, bordering on desperate. “We need to get him back.”

Angel’s smirk faltered. His expression darkened just slightly.

A flicker of pain flashed in Angel’s eyes. And Lucifer noticed. “You know something.”

“Yeah. I saw him earlier today,” Angel said. “Vox brought Abel to the studio.”

Lucifer and Adam narrowed their eyes, “Studio?” They asked in unison.

Angel was about to say more but he looked over Lucifer’s head and saw Valentino walk by, fear locking his mouth shut.

He was more scared of Valentino than he was of the literal devil.

Lucifer followed Angel’s gaze, catching sight of the flamboyantly dressed moth demon striding across the lobby, his cane clicking against the floor with each step. Valentino didn’t so much as glance their way, but Angel’s entire body went rigid.

Adam, too focused on Abel, didn’t immediately pick up on the shift. “Studio? What the hell does that mean?” he pressed, stepping closer to Angel. “What
kind
of studio? Like a porn studio?”

Angel’s mandibles clenched. He flicked his cigarette to the floor and stomped it out, avoiding their eyes. “Vox owns a lot of ‘em,” he muttered. “TV, media, entertainment—he’s got his fingers in all kinds of pies.”

Lucifer studied Angel’s tense frame, putting the pieces together. He lowered his voice. “And you’re worried about
him
hearing you talk about it.”

Angel swallowed hard but didn’t respond.

Lucifer hummed. “Very well.” Without another word, he turned on his heel and sauntered toward Valentino, his posture relaxed, as if he were merely catching up with an old friend.

“Lucifer—!” Angel hissed, his eyes widening in alarm.

Adam frowned, watching Lucifer close the distance between them. “What the hell is he doing?”

“Doin’ what
I
would never fuckin’ dare,” Angel muttered, his hands twitching with anxiety.

Lucifer caught up with Valentino just as the moth demon was about to step into an elevator. “Valentino,” he greeted smoothly, his voice dripping with amusement.

Valentino froze mid-step. Slowly, he turned his head, adjusting his shades as he took in the tall, grinning figure before him. His lips curled into a slow smirk. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t the Big Man himself. What brings
you
to my lovely establishment?”

Lucifer’s smile didn’t falter. “Business. You know how it is.”

Valentino chuckled, adjusting his fur coat. “Oh, I
do
indeed. But I gotta say, this is a surprise. What kinda business you got with little ol’ me?”

Lucifer’s eyes gleamed. “I believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Valentino arched a brow. “That so?”

“Mm.
Abel.
”

The smirk on Valentino’s face didn’t waver, but his posture shifted, ever so slightly, as if preparing for something. “Ohhh, the Cherry Boy~,” he drawled. “Yeah, I met him. Came in with Vox. But, uh…” He tilted his head. “As far as I know, he ain’t
your
property, Lucifer.”

Lucifer chuckled, but his smile sharpened. “No. He’s my
son.
”

Valentino stiffened.

Lucifer took a leisurely step forward, his shadow stretching unnaturally beneath him. “And I’d
very much
like him returned.”

The air in the lobby grew heavy. Valentino’s fingers twitched against his cane. Angel, still standing with Adam, could feel the energy shift and swallowed hard.

“Shit,” the spider sinner muttered. “This ain’t gonna be pretty.”

Adam cracked his knuckles, smirking. “Good.”

Heavy panting.

Rising heartbeat.

Cold glass pressed against his hands as something was being forced inside of him from behind.

A small whimper was heard, resulting in being forced against the large window overviewing the district.

His back was killing him.

“Do you like it when I’m rough sweetheart?” Vox’s digital voice sounded fake, artificial.

“N-no,” Abel whimpered. “Please stop. It hurts.”

Vox ran his hands along Abel’s body, feeling the rolls of skin and fat, his nails stabbing the soft angelic flesh. “I’m not even remotely as painful as Valentino is. You saw what he had his employees do. Imagine being in bed with him,” Vox said, his hand moving from Abel’s hips to his fleshy ass. “So plump~ Heaven must have been so luxurious for you to be able to gain weight.”

Abel winced as he felt a slap against his ass cheek. He hadn’t been spanked since he was a small child and he had angered his father.

Though as Vox smacked him, he also thrusted.

“Yeah~ you like this~ your hole tightens with every smack~” Vox moaned, smacking the white flesh until it turned a bright gold from bruising.

“Please! Stop!” Abel cried out, his eyes opening, revealing the rings of hypnosis as he soon let out a moan. “I can’t handle it!”

“You’re such a needy bitch!” Vox mocked, grabbing a lock of Abel’s golden hair, and holding Abel’s head back. He pressed firm, pressing Abel’s chest press up against the glass. His face was so close that his breath was showing against the glass.

Vox leaned down to whisper in his ear. “This is just a touch of what you’ll experience here~ This could be yours~ it may not be Heaven but why serve in Heaven when you can rule Hell?”

Abel was trying to snap out of hypnosis, trying to will himself from this nightmare, but he wasn’t strong enough.

He wasn’t strong enough.

Vox let go of the other for a mere moment. Abel soon felt one of the worst pains in his entire existence! Not even his death was this painful.

He screamed as Vox grabbed the base of where Abel’s wings had been. The small fleshy part of Abel’s back where his wings would eventually have grown back. He pulled Abel toward him.

“FUCK ALASTOR!”

Vox released his load inside Abel.

The pain alone made Abel blackout, making his body fall forward. His eyes half open and the red hypnotic glaze vanished from his eyes, returning them to their golden color.

Still inside of him, Vox leaned down, along Abel’s back. “That was amazing sweetheart,” he said.

Abel felt the opposite, “it hurts. You hurt me.”

Vox merely laughed, “well love can hurt,” he said as he moved his hands along Abel’s scared and stitched-up back, nails circling the metal of stables, keeping his flesh held together from the incisions. “You of all people should know that.”

Abel turned his head to look at Vox, his tears falling down his cheeks. “Can you sniffle get off me now p-please?”

Vox reached down and cupped Abel’s round cheek, what would have been a soft moment turned into a painful one as Vox pinched his face, “You are just so adorable when you beg sweetheart. I’m just getting warmed up for round two.”

Abel whimpered, closing his eyes as Vox licked his tears.

The doors to Vox’s private quarters
slammed
open with enough force to rattle the walls.

Vox barely had time to register the noise before Adam’s voice tore through the room like thunder.

“
GET YOUR FUCKIN’ HANDS OFF MY SON!
”

Vox turned his head sharply, the corner of his screen face smacking Abel in the face, “What?!”

Abel blinked through his tears, his vision blurred and hazy. He barely recognized the two figures storming into the room. One was massive, broad-shouldered, and
furious
—his presence radiating unchecked rage. The other was petite, dressed in white, his eyes glowing like embers in the dark.

Abel knew neither of them.

Vox, however,
did.

Lucifer stepped forward, every inch of his being exuding quiet, controlled menace. In his grip,
dragged
behind him like a sack of garbage, was a bloody, beaten
Valentino.

The moth demon groaned weakly, barely conscious, his sunglasses shattered, one lens missing. His fur coat was drenched in blood—his
own
—and his heart-shaped glasses had been snapped in half.

Lucifer tossed him aside without care, letting Valentino’s battered body
thud
against the floor. He then adjusted his cuffs, completely unbothered by the violence, before flashing Vox a razor-sharp grin.

“I believe you have something of
ours,
” he purred.

Vox’s smirk didn’t waver, but his fingers twitched slightly against Abel’s cheek before he
finally
let go, dragging his thumb over the tear tracks staining the angel’s face. “Tsk, such
terrible
timing.”

Adam was already moving. He
lunged,
grabbing Vox by the front of his suit and
ripping
him off Abel, throwing him across the room with bone-shattering force.

Vox
crashed
into the far wall, the impact sending cracks splintering outward. His screen flickered violently, his entire frame glitching for a moment before he groaned and pushed himself up. “Well.
That
was rude.”

Adam wasn’t listening. He was already kneeling by Abel’s side, his rough hands hovering, shaking, over his son’s trembling form.

Abel blinked sluggishly, his vision swimming. His body ached, his skin burned, and his mind felt
hazy.
But through the fog, he peered up at the man crouching before him… and felt confusion twist in his gut.

This man… he
looked
familiar.

But he
wasn’t.

Adam’s eyes, once bright and golden, were now
black and red.
His once ethereal glow was
gone,
replaced by something darker, rougher. His face was rugged, lined with exhaustion and anger—so different from the man Abel remembered.

“…W-Who…?” Abel’s voice was barely above a whisper.

Adam’s breath hitched.

His son… didn’t recognize him.

For a moment, something
sharp
stabbed through Adam’s chest—something painful and
raw.
But he pushed it down, instead reaching out, his fingers ghosting over Abel’s cheek, hesitant.

“Abel,” he murmured, his voice softer now,
aching.
“It’s me.”

Abel flinched at the touch, his eyes darting wildly, his breathing quickening in panic.

Lucifer, who had been keeping his gaze locked onto Vox, finally turned to look at Abel fully. And as he did, something
odd
flickered across his face.

Because despite
knowing
Abel was his son… he had never truly
seen
him before.

And now, staring at the trembling, broken angel before him, he felt something stir deep in his core—something he hadn’t felt in
millennia.

He dropped to one knee beside Adam, his expression screaming with a longing ache as he studied Abel closely. “Abel,” he whispered.

Abel’s tear-streaked face scrunched up in fear and confusion. “W…who?” His voice was quiet.

Lucifer inhaled slowly, controlling the strange weight pressing against his chest. “My baby.”

Abel didn’t even register what Lucifer was saying. It seemed like he’d lost his ability to hear.

Abel’s body swayed, his golden eyes unfocused. The pain, exhaustion, and whatever Vox had done to his mind were dragging him under. His breathing was shallow, his limbs heavy. He just wanted it all to stop.

Adam noticed the way Abel’s eyelids fluttered and immediately went into action. “Hey, hey, kiddo—
stay with me.
” His hands carefully cradled Abel’s face, forcing his son to look at him. “Don’t you dare fuckin’ pass out on me now.”

Lucifer placed a hand on Abel’s shoulder, his grip warm, grounding. “We’re getting you out of here,” he promised. His voice, though gentle, was firm—undeniable.

Abel whimpered softly, barely able to process the words.

From across the room, Vox groaned, peeling himself off the shattered wall. His screen face flickered with static before stabilizing, his grin returning, albeit a little more forced. “I’ll give you points for dramatics, but you’re making a mess in
my
home,” he drawled, dusting himself off. “Really, Lucifer? I thought you had more class than this.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened, but it was Adam who reacted first.

Still kneeling beside Abel, Adam shot Vox a look so venomous it could’ve melted steel. “You
hurt
my son,” he spat, voice shaking with barely restrained rage. “You touched him.”

Vox smirked, the neon gleam in his eyes flickering with amusement. “I did more than just
touch
him.”

Adam
snapped.

In a blink, he was across the room, slamming Vox’s head into the nearest hard surface. The sound of cracking glass filled the air as Vox’s screen flickered violently.

Lucifer didn’t stop him.

Adam leaned in, pressing all his weight into Vox’s back, his voice low and deadly. “If he wasn’t
watching
,” he growled, jerking his chin toward Abel, “I’d tear your fucking head off right now.”

Vox let out a distorted chuckle, his fingers twitching as static crackled across his form. “
Do it,
” he taunted. “Come on, big guy. Show your kid what kind of monster his
daddy
really is.”

Adam’s grip
tightened.
He wanted to.
God,
he wanted to.

But then—

“D…Dad?”

Adam froze.

Slowly, he turned his head.

Abel was looking at him now. Really
looking
at him. His bleary eyes were wide, his expression one of pure, unfiltered
horror.

Adam felt something inside him shatter.

Lucifer stepped forward, his voice a quiet command. “Adam.”

Adam’s fingers twitched against Vox’s throat… before he finally let go, shoving the demon away in disgust.

Vox staggered but didn’t retaliate. Instead, he chuckled, straightening his tie. “That’s what I
thought.
”

Adam didn’t acknowledge him. He turned, his entire body tense as he walked back to Abel.

The younger angel was still trembling, his breath shallow. His golden eyes flicked between Adam and Lucifer, struggling to make sense of anything.

“…Is this real?” Abel whispered.

Lucifer knelt beside him again, brushing Abel’s damp curls from his forehead. His touch was surprisingly tender. “Yes, Abel,” he murmured. “We’re here. You’re safe now.”

Abel blinked slowly, his exhaustion winning. His head dipped forward, landing against Adam’s chest. His body finally
gave out.

Adam caught him instantly, his breath hitching as Abel collapsed into his arms.

Lucifer exhaled, standing to his full height. He turned to Vox, his expression carefully neutral. “We’ll be leaving now.”

Vox tilted his head. “Oh,
will
you?”

Lucifer smiled.

And then, with all the weight of
who he was,
he spoke.

“Try and stop me.”

The room
shook.

Vox’s screen
glitched.
The air itself seemed to
bend
under Lucifer’s presence.

For the first time that night, Vox’s smirk
faltered.

Lucifer turned on his heel, motioning for Adam to follow.

Adam didn’t hesitate. He lifted Abel effortlessly, cradling him close as he walked past Vox without a second glance.

Valentino, still crumpled on the floor, groaned weakly. “Fuck…”

Adam didn’t stop moving. He held Abel close, carrying him with the kind of care that only a father could give, his grip both firm and protective. Abel’s breathing was shallow against his chest, his body limp. He was barely conscious, but he was alive.
That
was all that mattered right now.

Lucifer strode beside them, his expression unreadable as they reached the building’s exit. Then, with a wave of his hand, he tore open a portal. The familiar scent of the Hazbin Hotel’s lobby wafted through from the other side, warm and safe.

Adam didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, ready to cross, but Lucifer’s voice stopped him.

“Go ahead,” the devil said smoothly. “I ‘forgot’ something.”

Adam turned, narrowing his eyes. “Bullshit.”

Lucifer merely smiled. “I won’t be long.”

Adam wasn’t stupid. He knew
exactly
what Lucifer was planning. “Don’t.”

Lucifer tilted his head. “Don’t what?”

Adam tightened his grip on Abel. “I want to kill that fucker!”

Lucifer looked at Abel, “he needs you more right now.”

Adam shook his head and scoffed, “give him a swift kick in the dick for me.”

“No promises.”

Adam stared at him for a long moment. Then, finally, he let out a sharp exhale through his nose. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Just don’t fuck this up.”

And with that, Adam stepped through the portal, vanishing into the hotel.

The moment the portal sealed shut, Lucifer’s expression
shifted.

The amusement drained from his features, leaving something cold.
Something monstrous.

He turned.

And walked back inside.

…

…

…

Vox stood before a shattered mirror, adjusting his tie with steady fingers. His screen flickered erratically, neon veins glitching beneath his skin, his form still corrupted from the earlier assault. Yet his expression remained composed.

He knew Lucifer would return.

And he thought he was ready.

The moment the Devil stepped back into the room, the temperature plummeted. The walls groaned as if in agony. The very air crackled, thick with something ancient, something beyond Hell itself.

Vox barely had time to process it before Lucifer struck.

In an instant, the Devil was upon him, his hand plunging into Vox’s chest like a blade through silk.

A distorted shriek tore from Vox’s speakers. His body spasmed violently as static erupted from him, neon tendrils lashing out, wild and desperate, like dying circuitry clinging to life.

Lucifer leaned in, his golden eyes burning—not with rage, but with something far worse. Cold. Calculated. Absolute.

"You," he murmured, voice smooth as velvet and venom, "
have made the greatest mistake of your miserable existence.
"

Vox gasped, glitching wildly. "L-Lucifer—"

Lucifer twisted his hand.

Vox
screamed
.

His screen cracked down the middle, fractures splintering outward like broken glass. His neon veins pulsed erratically, his entire being flickering in and out of existence as his very code began to unravel.

Lucifer tilted his head, his grin razor-sharp. "
What’s wrong?
" he cooed mockingly. "
Not so smug now, are we?
"

Vox’s hands clawed at empty air, fingers twitching, reaching for salvation that would never come. "W-Wait—"

Lucifer ripped his hand free.

With it, he tore out Vox’s
core
.

A writhing mass of tangled cables, flickering screens, and something far darker pulsed in his grasp—Vox’s very essence, stripped from him like a dying signal.

Vox convulsed. His mouth opened in a soundless wail, his screen flickering violently, fighting to reform—

Lucifer was not done.

He
squeezed
.

The core shattered in his grip.

Vox’s body erupted in a violent burst of static and neon light, his form collapsing inward, glitching, warping—
deleting
. His final, garbled scream crackled through the room before dissolving into nothingness.

Then, silence.

All that remained was the faint scent of burning wires and the dim flicker of a dying screen.

Lucifer exhaled slowly, shaking the remnants from his fingers. He adjusted his cuffs, smoothing out his sleeves, his expression serene, untouched.

Without a second glance, he turned and strode out of the room.

Leaving nothing behind.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Adam stepped through the portal, gripping Abel tightly in his arms. As soon as his feet hit solid ground, the stench hit him.
Blood. Sweat. Semen.
A foul mixture of suffering and violation clinging to Abel’s skin. To his hair. To the trembling weight in Adam’s grasp.

His stomach twisted.

The hellish glow of the Inferno bathed them both in crimson light, but Adam’s vision tunneled, locked onto Abel’s face—his boy’s face—pale and slack, his breath shallow, his lashes fluttering against bruised skin. His body was bare, marred with too many signs of what had been done to him.

Adam swallowed hard, bile burning the back of his throat.
No. No, no, no.
He couldn't think about that. Not now.

Abel stirred.

A faint, fragile whimper left his lips, his body twitching slightly in Adam’s grasp. He was trying to wake up. Trying to drag himself out of the abyss he’d been thrown into.

"Abel," Adam rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. He adjusted his grip, his calloused fingers careful against the bruised flesh. "I gotcha, kiddo. You’re safe now."

But was he?

Adam could still
see
it. The filth still leaking from Abel’s ruined body, staining Adam’s arms, smearing against his skin.

His
son’s
body.

He clenched his jaw so hard it ached. His wings ruffled, tense with the unbearable pressure of his emotions—
rage, grief, guilt.
He should have gotten to Abel sooner. He should have stopped it before it happened.

‘I failed him.’

Abel’s fingers twitched, weak but searching. His lips parted as if trying to speak, but only a cracked breath escaped.

Adam gently shook him. "Hey—hey, Abel, c’mon. Wake up for me, kid."

A shudder ran through Abel’s body. His golden eyes fluttered open, unfocused, dazed. He blinked sluggishly, confusion knitting his brow.

"Dad…?" His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

Adam’s throat tightened. He nodded, pressing his forehead to Abel’s damp curls. "I’m here, Abel. I got you."

Abel’s body tensed slightly as if his mind was catching up to the present. His breath hitched. His fingers curled weakly against Adam’s chest.

And then his face twisted in pain. In horror.

"N-No," Abel whimpered, a shuddering sob spilling from his lips. "No, no, please,
no
—"

His body jerked violently in Adam’s arms, his panic surging. Adam barely caught him before he could thrash away, his grip tightening, firm but careful.

"Shh—hey,
hey!
You’re okay!" Adam said quickly, his panic spiking. "It’s
me
, Abel, you’re safe now—"

But Abel wasn’t listening. His body trembled like a leaf in a storm, his breath ragged, erratic.

"They’re still—inside me,

please

—get them out—!"

Adam's gut twisted into knots.

He
hated
this. Hated the weakness in his voice. The terror in his golden eyes. The way Abel clutched at his stomach as if trying to rip something out of himself.

Adam had seen war. He had seen and enjoyed demons alike torn apart in slaughters. He had seen
pain and thrived on it.

But this? This was cruelty that Adam never thought he’d ever witness.

"
Abel!
" Adam barked, gripping his son’s face between his hands, forcing Abel’s frantic eyes to meet his own. "
Listen to me! They’re gone. They can’t hurt you anymore.
"

Abel’s breath hitched. His whole body trembled. He blinked up at Adam as if searching for the truth in his father’s words.

Adam softened his grip, smoothing his thumbs over Abel’s tear-streaked cheeks. "I swear, son. It’s over."

Abel let out a shaky breath. His fingers clutched at Adam’s arms, clinging to him.

Adam swallowed hard, his arms tightening around Abel’s frame.

How could his big boy look so small?

Abel was a large man, thousands of years in Heaven would make anyone soft. Even Adam developed a huskier frame.

But Abel seemed tiny.

The moment Adam stepped into the hotel lobby, Charlie and Vaggie turned to greet him—only for their smiles to shatter the second they saw what he carried.

Charlie gasped, her eyes widening in horror.

“Oh my God.”

Vaggie’s expression darkened. Her body went rigid, her wings—aching at the sight of Abel’s ruined form. The stench hit her next—
blood, sweat, semen.
Violent. Vile. She knew exactly what had happened.

Abel hung stiffly in Adam’s arms, his golden eyes barely open, his face pale and streaked with tears. He was too dazed to process his surroundings, too lost in the nightmare still clawing at the edges of his mind.

Adam barely acknowledged them, his focus locked on Abel, his grip protective. Possessive. As if afraid that if he let go, Abel would disappear.

Charlie’s hands flew to her mouth. “Is that—” Her voice cracked.

She didn’t know this man. But his eyes—his hair—there was something familiar.
Something like her Dad.

Vaggie, however, knew him immediately.

“Abel,” she breathed, stepping forward instinctively. “Holy shit—Adam, put him down, he needs medical aid—”

The sound of her voice snapped something in Abel.

His dazed eyes flickered toward her, widening in recognition.

And then he
screamed.

It was a raw,
animalistic
sound—fear and pain tangled into one. He
flinched violently
in Adam’s arms, thrashing as if trying to escape.

“No—NO—”

His voice cracked as he struggled, his wing bones that stuck out his back twitching, his hands pushing weakly at Adam’s chest.

Adam’s grip tightened immediately. “Abel, stop—!”

Vaggie froze, her blood running cold.

She had seen terror before. She had seen the way demons cowered before exorcists holding angelic weapons, the way sinners wept in their last moments.

But
this?

This was
not
the Abel she remembered. The soft-spoken, gentle archangel who used to radiate warmth.

This Abel was
shattered.

His eyes darted wildly, his chest heaving, his entire body wracked with tremors. His fingers dug into Adam’s shirt,
desperate
for grounding—but the second Vaggie took another step, he let out another shriek, curling in on himself.

“NO—STAY AWAY—!”

Vaggie’s heart twisted.

“Abel, it’s me,” she said quickly, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I just need to—”

Abel
shook his head frantically.
His breath hitched, his wings quivering violently behind him.

Vaggie
remembered
Abel.

He had been kind. Always kind. Even when the rest of Heaven treated her like a tool, Abel looked at her like she was
human.

And now, here he was—barely holding himself together—
terrified of her.

Charlie, still reeling, looked between them in confusion. “Vaggie, you—you know him?”

Vaggie clenched her jaw. “Yeah. From Heaven.”

Charlie’s face paled.

Abel
whimpered.
His fingers dug into his own arms, his body curling inward, shrinking away.

Adam’s patience snapped.

“Enough Vagasaurus,” he barked, his voice like thunder. His wings flared behind him, his grip tightening around Abel’s trembling form. “He doesn’t need your pity—he needs help.”

Vaggie swallowed the lump in her throat.

Adam was right. Abel was
barely
holding on. His golden glow was dim, flickering, his body too weak to keep up with his panicked mind.

“I can help,” she said softly. “But you have to let me.”

Abel
shook his head violently.
His breath hitched, his body convulsing as fresh tears welled in his eyes.

“N-No, please—please don’t touch me—”

Vaggie’s heart shattered.

Charlie, still hovering nearby, finally stepped in. She moved
slowly,
carefully. “Hey,” she said gently, kneeling beside Adam. “I know you don’t know me, but I promise—we’re not gonna hurt you.”

Abel’s breath hitched.

Charlie gave him the softest smile she could manage.

“My name’s Charlie.” She spoke softly, pausing as if carefully choosing her words. “We just want to help.”

Abel froze.

His golden eyes locked onto her, wary and uncertain. His body tensed, instinct driving him to shrink away, but he was too weak to move.

“You’re safe now,” Charlie whispered, her voice as gentle as a lullaby. “I swear.”

A shuddering breath escaped Abel’s lips. His fingers twitched against Adam’s shirt, hesitating—caught between the desperate need for comfort and the overwhelming grip of fear.

Vaggie turned to Charlie. “Can you prepare a room for him?”

Charlie nodded without hesitation, spinning on her heel and dashing off.

Vaggie refocused on Adam. “I need a first aid kit. I have to assess his injuries.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “Then go get one.”

Vaggie clenched her jaw, swallowing back a sharp retort. Now wasn’t the time for snark. Without another word, she hurried off in search of the nearest kit.

Moments later, Charlie returned, breathless but determined. “Follow me! I’ve got the perfect room ready!”

Without argument, Adam tightened his grip on Abel and followed her, his son cradled protectively in his arms.

Abel lay draped over Adam’s lap, his body curled into itself, trembling uncontrollably. His face was buried in a pillow, muffling his ragged breaths and quiet whimpers. The position was the only one he could tolerate—his back ached too much to rest against anything, and the pain between his legs made even the slightest shift unbearable. His fingers gripped the fabric beneath him, knuckles pale, as if anchoring himself to the only stable thing in his broken world.

Vaggie knelt beside him, her stomach tight, hands carefully poised over his battered form. She had seen plenty of wounds in her time—gashes from holy weapons, burns from angelic fire—but this… This was different. This was devastation carved into flesh, trauma burned into muscle memory.

She hesitated.
He had begged her not to touch him.
But she needed to make sure he wasn’t dying.

“Abel,” she said, her voice softer now, controlled. “I need to check your injuries. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Abel flinched. His wing-bones twitched violently, his breath coming faster. Adam’s grip on his shoulder firmed, steady but grounding.

Vaggie let out a slow breath, her hands moving with deliberate care. She started with the areas she
knew
wouldn’t hurt—the parts of his arms not bruised, the uninjured parts of his shoulders. Even then, Abel barely held himself together. His body locked up at every touch, his muscles seizing like he was expecting another wave of agony. His golden skin, dulled and dim, was marked with handprints and deep bruises, ugly reminders of the hands that had held him down.

When her fingers ghosted over his back, he gasped.
Tensed.

Then he started shaking his head, the motion frantic. “No, no, don’t—don’t—” His voice cracked, and his fingers clawed weakly at the sheets.

Vaggie withdrew instantly, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Okay,” she murmured. “Okay, I’ll stop.”

But Abel kept shaking, his breath stuttering as his body tried to fold in on itself. Adam cursed under his breath, his fingers carding through Abel’s damp curls.

“Shh, kiddo,” Adam muttered. “You’re alright.”

Abel wasn’t alright.

Vaggie clenched her jaw and refocused. She couldn’t afford to freeze—not when Abel was
this close
to breaking apart. She moved downward, her touch featherlight as she reached his lower back,
where the worst of the damage would be.

A sob wrenched itself from Abel’s throat.

Vaggie’s heart
plummeted.
She barely touched him, but he
felt
it—felt something, and whatever it was sent him spiraling.

Adam cursed, his arms flexing around Abel instinctively. “Easy, easy,” he gritted out, though whether it was directed at Abel or himself, Vaggie couldn’t tell.

She didn’t want to look.

She
had
to look.

Biting back nausea, she carefully spread her fingers over the bruised, swollen flesh. Abel
twitched violently
, his legs trembling, his whole body threatening to seize. The skin was torn in places, and raw in others. The scent of copper was thick, clinging to him, to
everything
.

Vaggie closed her eyes for half a second. Swallowed down the bile rising in her throat.

“This is bad,” she murmured.

“No shit,” Adam snapped. His voice was taut, cracking at the edges.

Vaggie ignored the bite in his tone. She could be mad later. Right now, Abel needed her.

“You need medicine,” she told him, trying to keep her voice even. “Something for the pain. And you—” She hesitated, unsure how to phrase it gently. “You should be cleaned. Properly.”

Abel
froze.

Then he sucked in a breath like she had stabbed him.

“No,” he choked out. “No, please—”

Terror bled into every syllable. His fingers clenched into fists. He twisted his head enough to look at her, his golden eyes wide, desperate.

“Don’t let them touch me.”

The words were small. Broken.

Vaggie’s throat closed.

“No one’s going to touch you,” she swore immediately. “No one but Adam and me. I swear to you, Abel.”

He whimpered. His body shuddered violently. But he didn’t argue.

Adam pressed a firm hand against Abel’s hair, the closest thing to comfort he could offer. His jaw clenched as his anger boiled, but he shoved it down. “We’ll go slow, alright?” he muttered. “No one’s gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”She met Abel’s eyes, and her heart ached at the sheer panic in them. The last thing she wanted was to force him into anything, but he was still covered in filth, in them. His skin was a canvas of suffering, and the thought of leaving him like this—of him feeling their presence still clinging to his body—was unbearable.

Adam inhaled sharply, his grip on Abel protective, his fingers lightly tracing over his son’s damp curls. "No one’s gonna touch you unless you say so. Remember?"

Abel exhaled shakily, his body still tense, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—relief, however faint.

Vaggie took a slow breath. “We can do this at your pace, Abel,” she said carefully. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think… I think you’d feel better if you were clean.”

Abel swallowed, his throat bobbing. His hands gripped the sheets beneath him, his breath unsteady.

Adam sighed through his nose, his other hand rubbing at his face. “How about this?” he offered. “You don’t gotta move. I’ll carry you. And Vaggie won’t even be in the damn room if you don’t want her there.”

Abel’s lips parted, a flicker of uncertainty in his expression.

“I’ll keep you covered,” Adam continued, voice gruff but gentle. “Just a quick rinse. Then we’ll get you wrapped up, medicated, and put you in the softest goddamn bed this place has.”

Vaggie shot Adam a glance, surprised at the tenderness beneath his rough exterior. He wasn’t exactly a nurturing type, but when it came to Abel, there was no mistaking the fierce protectiveness in his every move.

Abel hesitated, then gave a small, barely perceptible nod.

Adam wasted no time. He adjusted his hold and lifted Abel with careful ease, mindful of every bruise, every tremor of pain that wracked his son’s body. Abel whimpered softly but didn’t fight him.

Vaggie followed, just in case.

The bathroom was dimly lit, steam curling from the showerhead as warm water cascaded into the tub. Adam had set it to a comfortable temperature before bringing Abel in, and now he carefully settled his son onto a stool within the shower space.

Abel shivered, his arms locked tightly around himself. Adam frowned, his heart twisting at how small he looked.

“I gotcha, bud,” Adam murmured, reaching for a soft washcloth. He soaked it in the warm water before carefully—gently—pressing it against Abel’s shoulder, wiping away the filth clinging to his skin.

Abel tensed, but he didn’t flinch away.

Adam worked slowly, methodically. He kept the cloth between his hands and Abel’s body, giving him that small barrier of control. He didn’t speak, just focused on the task, his movements firm but careful.

Abel let out a slow, shaky breath. His body slowly unwound, not fully, but enough.

When Adam reached for Abel’s hair, his son whimpered—just slightly—but Adam shushed him gently. “Just gonna rinse it, okay? Nothing else.”

Abel nodded weakly.

The water ran red as it washed through tangled locks, purging the last remnants of his suffering from his skin.

Adam didn’t rush. He let Abel lean into the warmth, into the safety of his presence.

Because it was the least he could do.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the early days of the world, when Adam was the sole provider for his wife and sons, they would often sleep in a pile to keep warm.
On one particular night, when Abel was a newborn and Lucifer had been dragged back to Hell, Adam found himself alone, pacing in the dim glow of the fire, trying to soothe the wailing infant in his arms.

Abel had been born human. That fact had unsettled Adam more than anything. He had expected something—wings, perhaps, or unnatural eyes that burned with the power of his otherworldly lineage. But no. Abel was small, fragile,
ordinary.
The only thing he had inherited from his father was a shock of golden hair, soft as down, curling slightly from the warmth of the fire.

But that hair had been damp with sweat for hours now, Abel’s tiny face scrunched in distress, his newborn cries piercing the cold night air.

Adam sighed, bouncing the infant gently against his chest. “C’mon, kiddo,” he muttered. “You’ve got lungs strong enough to wake the dead, but I’d really appreciate it if you let me sleep.”

Abel, of course, did not listen.

Adam had never done this alone before. Eve had been the one with Cain, guiding their firstborn with practiced hands and gentle words. But this time, Abel had been placed in
his
arms. Eve had barely looked at the child since birth. She had cradled him once, observed him in silence, then passed him off to Adam without a word.

And now here they were.

He tried everything. Rocking, singing—though he had never been much of a singer. He even let Abel curl against his bare chest, hoping the warmth of his skin would ease whatever discomfort plagued him. Nothing worked.

Adam sighed and sank onto a fur-lined mat, exhaustion settling into his bones. “Come on kid. I’m tired. You’re tired. Can you stop crying?” There was an urge to shake the baby but Adam knew better. He remembered a time when Cain had been a baby and well, no one taught him and Eve on how to be parents. They just remembered one incident where he was rocked a little too hard and he got hurt. He’s fine now but now they knew better.

Abel hiccupped, his cries softening into pitiful whimpers.

Adam huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s all it took? Giving up?”

The baby fidgeted, his tiny fingers curling against Adam’s collarbone.

Adam shifted him carefully, cradling the fragile body closer. Abel was so small. So warm. It unsettled him, how delicate the boy felt in his arms.

Lucifer’s child.

His

child.

The weight of that truth settled deep in Adam’s chest, heavier than he cared to admit. Abel should not exist. He was never meant to. And yet, here he was, breathing softly against his father’s skin, trusting him completely.

A quiet sigh left Adam’s lips as he leaned back against the rough stone wall of the shelter. He ran a calloused hand through Abel’s soft curls.

“I guess you’re stuck with me, huh?” he murmured.

Abel let out a tiny, contented sigh and nuzzled closer.

Adam closed his eyes, smiling exhaustedly, rubbing his back gently as he hummed a melody he remembered from his days back in the garden.

The present was far less forgiving than the past.

Adam sat on the edge of Abel’s bed, watching him through the dim, flickering light of the room. Abel lay on his side, curled in on himself, muscles taut like a coiled spring. His golden hair was a tangled mess against the pillow, but his face was turned away, like he was hoping if he ignored Adam long enough, he’d give up.

He wouldn’t.

Adam could tell Abel wasn’t sleeping. His breathing was too shallow, too controlled, like he was forcing himself to be still rather than letting sleep take him. Every so often, his fingers twitched, gripping the blanket too tightly, only to loosen again moments later. The kid was trying—but failing—to convince himself he was fine.

Adam sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’ve been awake for hours.”

Abel didn’t respond.

“You can’t keep this up,” Adam continued, his voice quieter now. “You gotta sleep sometime.”

“I
said
I’m fine,” Abel muttered, barely above a whisper.

Adam snorted. “Yeah? And I’m the King of France.”

Abel’s jaw tightened. His fingers curled into the fabric of his blanket again.

Adam leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, I get it," he said, and for once, he wasn’t just saying it to fill the silence. "You don't wanna let your guard down. But, kid, your body’s gonna give out before your will does. You're not built for this."

Abel exhaled sharply, shifting just enough that Adam caught a glimpse of his face. His eyes were dull with exhaustion, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. His body was tense, rigid with discomfort, and now that Adam was paying closer attention, he could see the little winces Abel kept trying to hide.

"You hurting?" Adam asked.

Abel hesitated, then gave the smallest nod. "Took something earlier. Didn’t help much."

"Great," Adam muttered. "So not only are you exhausted, but you're also in pain, and you're
still
refusing to sleep. Yeah, that sounds healthy."

Abel scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. Just tired resignation. "I
can’t
sleep," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes, I feel like—" He stopped himself, swallowing hard. "...like something's gonna happen."

Adam didn’t need him to finish. He already knew.

Hell was not a place for restful sleep. It was a place of paranoia, where nightmares didn’t just stay in a person’s head. Abel was on high alert, waiting for something to go wrong, for someone to take advantage of his vulnerability the moment he let his guard down.

Adam hated it.

“I know you don’t feel safe,” Adam said, his voice softer now. “Hell’s not exactly a place for sweet dreams. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Abel’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against the sheets. He didn’t look at Adam. "That doesn’t change anything," he whispered. "Because the moment I fall asleep, you
can’t
stop what’s in my head."

Adam frowned. There was no easy fix for that. No amount of reassurance would erase the years of ingrained fear that Abel carried with him.

But he still had to try.

Adam exhaled and rubbed his face, thinking. Then, after a long pause, he said, "Then don’t sleep alone."

That got Abel’s attention. He finally turned his head, blinking at Adam with wary confusion.

Adam shrugged. "It worked when you were a baby."

Abel scoffed. "I’m
not
a baby."

"Well, you’re sure as hell acting like one, throwing this big ‘I don’t need sleep’ tantrum," Adam shot back.

Abel huffed and turned his face back into the pillow.

Adam let out a short, amused snort. "You’ll always be
my
baby."

Abel stiffened, clearly bristling at that. "I died as a grown man," he muttered. "I never even
had
kids of my own. There was no one else to—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

Adam knew what he meant. There had been no one but family in those early days, no outsiders, no strangers. It was just them, stumbling through a world that was still raw and unfinished, struggling to survive. Abel had never gotten the chance to be a father. Never held a child of his own.

But Adam had.

And Abel—his little golden-haired son—had been his second.

Adam’s expression softened as he looked down at him. “Doesn’t matter how grown you think you are,” he said, voice quieter now. “You’re still my kid. You always will be.”

Abel exhaled sharply, but he didn’t argue.

Adam shifted, leaning back slightly. "Look," he said, "I get it. You’re not some helpless little thing anymore. But I was there when you were. And I’ll tell you this much—you were the tiniest, most
precious
little thing I’d ever seen. You fit right in my arms, curled up all small and warm." His tone softened further, almost fond. "I used to carry you everywhere. You'd hold onto my fur pelt like a little monkey."

Abel was silent, his face half-hidden in the pillow.

Adam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Point is, I’m always gonna see you as my kid. Doesn’t matter how much time passes. Doesn’t matter if you’re taller or stronger or an angel or a fallen one. To me, you’re still
my baby
—something small and precious that needs love and protection.”

Abel let out a quiet breath, something unreadable flickering in his exhausted eyes. He still looked reluctant, still afraid to let himself go, but the fight was dimming.

“You’re ridiculous,” Abel muttered.

Slowly, hesitantly, he shifted just a little closer.

Adam didn’t say anything. He just reached out, resting a steady, grounding hand on the back of Abel’s head.

And finally, after what felt like hours, Abel’s body sagged, exhaustion winning out.

…
……
Soon, almost too soon, Lucifer had returned.

Adam felt it before he saw him—like the air itself tensed, waiting for something grand and terrible to happen. He didn’t turn right away, keeping his focus on Abel, whose breathing had finally evened out into something resembling sleep. The kid had been fighting it for so long that Adam wasn’t about to ruin his first real rest after such an ordeal

But he
felt
the presence behind him. Closer now.

“I’d forgotten how much he looks like me.”

Adam exhaled through his nose, his fingers absentmindedly carding through Abel’s tangled hair. “Figured you’d show up eventually.”

Lucifer chuckled, soft but edged, stepping into the dim light of the room. “You make it sound like I’m late for something.” His voice was smooth, indulgent, but there was something
off
in the way he said it, something Adam couldn’t quite place.

“You
are
late,” Adam muttered. “Not just for this.”

Lucifer was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, “I know.”

Adam finally turned, meeting those too-bright golden eyes, eyes that mirrored Abel’s almost perfectly. Lucifer stood just within the doorway, his usual confidence dimmed, his expression unreadable. He was dressed as impeccably as ever, not a hair out of place, but there was a weariness there—something deeper, something that went beyond mere exhaustion.

Adam studied him. “You look like shit.”

Lucifer huffed a quiet laugh. “Charming as ever.” He stepped closer, his gaze flickering back to Abel, still curled up against Adam, still small despite the years, despite everything. His expression shifted, something unspoken passing through his features. “Has he been like this the whole time?”

Adam sighed. “More or less.”

Lucifer didn’t say anything. He just looked at him—his son, his secret, the child no one was meant to know existed.

Adam knew that look. It was the same one he had worn when Abel was a baby, when he had spent hours just
watching
him, memorizing the way he breathed, the way his tiny fingers curled in sleep.

It had been centuries since then. And yet.

“He’s too much like you,” Adam said, not unkindly.

Lucifer’s mouth twitched in something like amusement. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Adam huffed. “It is when his kindness and naivety resulted in this.”

Lucifer’s smirk faded. His gaze lingered on Abel, his expression unreadable. “I never wanted this for him.”

Adam scoffed. “Yeah? Well, neither did I.” He ran a hand down his face, tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. “But we don’t get to choose, do we?”

Lucifer was silent.

Adam sighed, adjusting his grip around Abel’s shoulders. “He still won’t talk about what happened.”

Lucifer’s jaw tightened. “He doesn’t have to. Not if he doesn’t want to. Abel wasn’t some clueless child anymore—he was a grown man, or at least, he had been once.

Now he was almost a pure angel.

Lucifer had heard only little things about Abel when he was growing up, wishing to all creation that one day he would be united with him. Imagine Lucifer’s shock and disappointment when his son not only had been murdered by his half-brother, but that he went straight to Heaven.

A place Lucifer couldn’t go anymore.

He never told anyone, not even Lilith, of the small mementos he’d saved from his short time with his first born. His favorite item was a leather-skinned animal hide that he made that served as a wrap to hold his son when he walked around.

Those weren’t the happiness days, but Lucifer cherished them nonetheless the less.

And then Sera and his brothers came…

Lucifer shook his head, trying to focus on the present.

Adam watched him carefully. “You gonna say something, or just stand there looking dumb?”

Lucifer’s lips curled into something like a smirk, but there was no real amusement behind it. “You’re still as blunt as ever.”

Adam shrugged. “And you’re still a coward.”

Lucifer’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he let his gaze drift back to Abel, who was still curled up against Adam’s side. He looked so much like he had centuries ago—small, fragile, too precious for the world that had been so cruel to him.

Lucifer took another step forward, lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. His movements were careful, as if afraid to disturb the quiet.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Adam sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then welcome to fatherhood.”

Lucifer huffed a quiet, humorless laugh. He wanted to counter that. He had Charlie after all and he was her father. But he hadn’t been the best father. Not if it was so easy for her to leave him — or had he abandoned her?

His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out but didn’t dare. “I should’ve been there.”

Adam didn’t argue. “Yeah. You should have.”

Silence settled between them, thick with everything unsaid.

Lucifer finally, finally reached out. His fingers brushed gently against Abel’s tangled hair, barely touching, like he was afraid Abel might disappear if he held on too tightly. His voice, when he spoke again, was quieter. Almost broken.

“I don’t deserve him.”

Adam studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Probably not.”

Lucifer let out a quiet, breathy chuckle. “You’re supposed to disagree.”

Adam smirked. “Since when have I ever told you what you want to hear?”

Lucifer huffed, shaking his head. His hand lingered in Abel’s hair, fingers ghosting over soft curls. “Do you think he’ll ever forgive me?”

Adam looked at Lucifer as if he grew a second head spontaneously, “he doesn’t know you. And it’s supposed to stay that way.”

“But why? What does it matter anymore? He’s fallen Adam.”

“Like Mother like Son,” Adam grumbled.

“It means whatever Sera said about keeping this a secret is over. Abel is my son and I want to be part of his life. Or afterlife! Or whatever! I just want to be there for him.” In the most quiet voice, Lucifer uttered, “he’s my baby too.”

All Adam could do was sigh, “he’s been through enough. Maybe don’t tell him right now.”

“Fine. But he will know soon.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Abel woke slowly.
For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no immediate rush of pain, no gut-churning panic clawing at the edges of his mind. Just… numbness. A dull, empty sensation settled deep in his chest and refused to move.

His body felt weightless, disconnected, like he wasn’t quite attached to himself anymore. The sheets beneath him were soft—too soft. The air smelled different, unfamiliar. He wasn’t at the V Tower anymore.

But he wasn’t in Heaven, either.

He blinked blearily, trying to focus. The room around him was dimly lit, the glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows against the walls. The furniture was mismatched but warm, the kind of place that tried too hard to feel comforting.

Something about it unsettled him.

Where was he?

His breath hitched as memories threatened to surface—flashes of cold hands, an empty voice, the sensation of something crawling beneath his skin. He shoved it all down before it could take hold, burying it under the heavy weight of denial.

It didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

His chest felt tight. Too tight. But he forced himself to move, sitting up slowly. His body ached, sore in ways he refused to acknowledge. He felt… hollow. Something inside him had cracked wide open, and all that was left was this vast, space.

The door creaked open.

Abel snapped his head up, his breath catching for just a second before he forced his expression into something neutral.

Adam stepped inside, his usual gruff expression softened with something Abel didn’t want to name. Pity, maybe. Concern. Whatever it was, it made his stomach twist.

“You’re awake,” Adam said.

Abel mustered up a weak smile. “Morning, Dad.”

Adam’s face didn’t change. He just studied Abel carefully, like he was looking through him rather than at him.

Abel hated that look.

“Where am I?” he asked, keeping his voice light, and casual, like none of this bothered him.

Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “At the princess of Hell’s ridiculous hotel. It’s… a long story. You were brought here after we got you out.”

“Oh.” Abel nodded, pretending to process that. He shifted slightly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. “Right. That’s—” He exhaled a soft, breathy chuckle. “That’s good. Better than the alternative, I guess.”

Adam didn’t laugh.

Abel kept smiling anyway.

Something about that made Adam’s jaw tighten. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

Adam’s gaze darkened. “Smile.”

Abel blinked, tilting his head in mock confusion. “What, I can’t be happy to see you?”

Adam exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer and sitting down at Abel’s bedside. “Cut the act, kid.” His voice was softer now but still edged with something firm. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Abel kept the smile in place. Forced it to stay, even as his face ached with the effort. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam let out a slow breath. “Abel.”

The sound of his name—his real name, not just some half-hearted mockery of it—made something in his chest tighten. His fingers twitched, gripping the blanket too hard.

“It didn’t happen,” he said.

Adam’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Abel’s voice didn’t waver. “It didn’t happen. I’m fine.”

Adam stared at him for a long moment. Then, leaning forward slightly, he said, “Abel.”

The way he said it—careful, deliberate—made Abel’s stomach churn.

“I said I’m fine,” Abel repeated, sharper now. His hands clenched into fists in the sheets, but his smile stayed in place, stretched thin over something raw. “I don’t know what you think happened, but—”

“You don’t have to do this,” Adam interrupted. His tone wasn’t harsh, wasn’t accusing. If anything, it was gentle. And that—that—was worse.

Abel swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Adam’s expression didn’t change. He just looked at him, quiet and knowing, like he could see straight through the cracks Abel was trying so desperately to hold together.

Abel’s throat felt tight. He wanted to laugh, to make some joke, to say anything that would make this conversation end.

But his voice wouldn’t come.

He looked away instead, focusing on a spot on the wall, on the blanket, on anything that wasn’t Adam’s unwavering gaze.

It didn’t happen.

It didn’t happen.

If he said it enough, if he believed it enough, then maybe—

Adam sighed.

A heavy hand landed on top of his own, grounding him. Warm. Real.

Abel flinched before he could stop himself.

Adam didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He just let his hand rest there, firm but not forceful, steady without demanding. “Abel. We saw.”

Abel felt something crack.

He sucked in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as his vision blurred. His whole body felt too tight, too small like his skin wasn’t enough to contain everything inside him.

Adam exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “I saw the end of it,” he said, voice quieter than usual.

Abel didn’t move. He didn’t react at all. For a second, Adam wasn’t even sure he had heard him. But then, slowly, Abel’s fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it tight.

Adam continued, keeping his voice steady, careful. “Lucifer and I got there as fast as we could. He—” Adam hesitated, his jaw tightening before he forced himself to go on.

Abel swallowed but said nothing.

Adam sighed. “Lucifer tore through that place like an angel of damnation. He wanted blood. I wanted blood. But by the time we got there, it was already…” He stopped himself. It didn’t need to be said.

Abel finally moved, just barely. His shoulders tensed. “Is he still around?” His voice was eerily flat, emotionless.

Adam hesitated. “No.”

Abel grew silent. Too silent.

Adam watched him, searching for something—anything—in his son’s expression. But Abel didn’t give him anything. No anger. No sadness. No relief. Just… nothing.

Finally, Abel turned his head, his dull, empty gaze meeting Adam’s. “Thank you.” His voice was quiet. Almost mechanical. “For saving me.”

Adam felt a pit in his stomach. That wasn’t how Abel was supposed to sound. There should have been relief, or even anger—something. But there was nothing.

Before Adam could respond, Abel took a slow breath and said, “But I never want to talk about it again.”

Adam opened his mouth, then closed it.

There was a lack of light in Abel’s eyes that hadn’t been there before.

He looked at his son—the boy who had once been so full of life, of kindness, of stubborn, naive hope—and saw only a hollowed-out shell.

Adam clenched his jaw, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wanted to say something, anything, to fix this. But what could he say? What could he do?

After a long, heavy silence, Adam finally exhaled and nodded.

"Alright, kid," he murmured. "Alright."

He didn’t push any further. Didn’t tell Abel to talk or to feel anything. He just sat there, watching him with an unreadable expression, like he was trying to figure out how to fix something that was already broken beyond repair. But there was no fixing this. Adam knew it. Abel knew it.

The weight of unspoken words hung between them, thick and suffocating. Abel could feel Adam’s eyes on him even as he turned away, heading for the bathroom without another word. His steps felt sluggish like he was wading through tar, his limbs heavy with exhaustion he couldn’t even begin to acknowledge.

The moment the door shut behind him, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He peeled off his clothes—slowly, deliberately, like shedding a layer of something wrong—and stepped under the scalding stream of water.

…

…

…

Abel stood under the hot water for what felt like hours.

He scrubbed his skin until it was raw, dragging his nails over his arms, his chest, his neck—anywhere he could still feel it. But it didn’t work. No matter how hard he scrubbed, the filth wouldn’t leave him. It wasn’t real filth. He knew that. But it felt real. It clung to him like a second skin, like a sickness burrowed deep into his bones.

The scalding water ran down his face, washing away the soap, the grime, the sweat. But not the feeling. Never the feeling.

His hands shook.

He sucked in a sharp breath and squeezed his eyes shut.

Not real. Not real. Not real.

When he finally turned off the water, the bathroom was thick with steam. The air felt heavy, pressing down on him, suffocating. He grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist with mechanical movements.

He caught sight of himself in the mirror.

He wished he hadn’t.

The person staring back at him didn’t look like him. His skin was too pale, his eyes sunken, lifeless. There was nothing behind them. Just emptiness.

Abel turned away before he could look any longer.

He dried off quickly, throwing on the clothes that had been left for him—simple, comfortable, nothing like what he had been wearing at the V-Tower. It felt strange, to put on something new, something clean. It felt undeserved.

Taking one last breath, he stepped out of the bathroom.

Adam was still there, sitting in the chair by the bed. He looked up immediately, eyeing Abel like he was trying to gauge how he was holding up. Abel forced himself to smile.

Adam frowned.

“You hungry?” Adam asked, standing up and stretching like this was any normal day. “I figure you haven’t eaten in… hell, I don’t even know how long.”

Abel hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he was hungry. He didn’t feel hungry. He just felt… numb. But he knew what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to keep going. Keep functioning.

So he nodded. “Yeah. Food sounds good.”

Adam studied him for a second longer, then nodded. “Good. ‘Cause some people wanna meet you.”

That gave Abel pause. His smile didn’t falter, but something in his stomach twisted.

People?

Who?

Adam must’ve seen the flicker of hesitation, because he clapped a hand on Abel’s shoulder, guiding him toward the door. “Don’t worry. They’re not gonna bite. Well, most of them won’t.” He smirked. “They’re a weird bunch, but they’re good people.”

Abel swallowed, still feeling that gnawing unease in his chest.

But he kept smiling.

Kept going.

Because what else could he do?

Adam led Abel through the dimly lit halls of the Hazbin Hotel, his pace steady. Abel followed in silence, hands in his borrowed pockets, shoulders hunched. He tried to seem casual, but Adam saw through it.

Abel had always been easy to read. Even as a child, his emotions had been plain on his face. But now, something was different—the light in him had dimmed.

Adam clenched his jaw. He couldn’t think about that now.

At the top of the stairs, he glanced at Abel. “Ready?”

Abel forced a smile. “Sure.”

Adam didn’t believe him.

Still, he led him down.

The lobby was warm but unsettling—soft lighting, mismatched furniture, a once-grand chandelier overhead. Abel’s eyes swept the room, taking in the odd collection of demons.

A tall blonde woman stood near the center, chatting animatedly with a smaller, gray-haired girl. Her red eyes were unnaturally bright, her presence like sunlight breaking through a storm.

Something about her felt familiar.

“Abel, this is Charlie,” Adam said. “She runs this place.”

Charlie turned at her name, eyes lighting up. “Oh! You must be Abel!” She stepped forward, offering a warm handshake. “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Abel hesitated before taking her hand. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”

Her grip was firm, comforting.

“I hope you’re feeling better,” Charlie said gently. “We want you to feel safe here.”

Abel nodded but didn’t respond. Safe wasn’t something he felt anymore.

The excitable girl beside Charlie beamed. “And I’m Niffty! It’s so nice to meet you! Are you single?”

Abel blinked. “Uh—”

Adam clamped a hand over Niffty’s mouth. “Maybe don’t interrogate him immediately.”

Niffty giggled as he let her go, then darted off to tidy something that didn’t need tidying.

Abel exhaled—then froze.

Standing near the bar was someone he recognized.

Angel Dust.

The white-furred spider demon leaned lazily against the counter, cigarette in hand. When he noticed Abel staring, he smirked.

“Well, well, well. Ain’t this a small fuckin’ world?”

Cold settled in Abel’s stomach.

Angel Dust had been at the V-Tower. He was one of them.

His fingers twitched.

Angel exhaled smoke and waved a dismissive hand. “Relax.” His smirk softened. “I ain’t gonna bite.”

Before Abel could respond, another voice cut through the air—smooth, rich, amused.

“My, my. What an interesting guest we have today.”

Abel turned—his body went rigid.

A tall, sharp-dressed demon stood nearby, red eyes gleaming like bloodied rubies. His grin was too wide, too sharp like he knew exactly what reaction he was pulling from Abel.

Alastor.

The Radio Demon.
Alastor tilted his head, smile never wavering. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear boy.”
Abel swallowed hard.

Adam clapped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let him get in your head,” he muttered. “He’s just like that.”

Alastor’s grin widened.

Abel forced himself to breathe.

Beyond Alastor, a pale-skinned woman with long white hair and a magenta eye stood silent. When Abel’s gaze met hers, her eye widened slightly.

He knew her.

Not personally, but from before. From Heaven.

She had been an angel.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

Too many faces. Too much noise.

But Abel was used to pushing through. Used to smiling even when he didn’t want to.

So he shoved everything down, lifted his head, and grinned.

“Nice to meet you all.”

Someone took his hand and Abel was soon staring directly into the red deer-man’s eyes.

“I forgot to introduce myself. The name’s Alastor! Pleasure to meet you dear! Quite the pleasure!”

The tension cracked. A wave of nausea hit.

Adam caught him as he staggered. “Abel—hey, breathe,” he murmured, steadying him as he coughed into his hand. “It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Abel’s mind wasn’t in the present anymore.

Vox’s hands on him. His voice like static. The neon glow of the V-Tower burned into his vision. And that name—Alastor—dripping from Vox’s lips like venom.

His stomach twisted. Someone pressed a napkin into his shaking hands.

“Here, dear.” The voice was light, musical—wrong.

Abel flinched. He knew who it was before he even looked up.

Alastor.

That grin hadn’t faltered. If anything, it seemed brighter.

Abel wiped his mouth hastily, heart hammering. The room felt small, everyone staring.

“I-I’m fine,” he forced out. “I’m fine.”

Adam frowned. “You don’t have to do this right now.”

But Abel shook his head. Stopping meant losing. He had to keep moving.

He forced a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry about that. Guess my stomach’s just not used to Hell yet.”

Charlie looked at him with concern. “You don’t have to push yourself—”

“Eh, happens to the best of us, kid,” Husk muttered from behind the bar. “You’ll get used to it.”

Abel barely heard. His focus was still on Alastor.

Angel Dust, however, noticed Abel’s trembling hands, the way his eyes darted between Alastor and the floor like he was trapped.

“Hey,” Angel said, sharp but casual. “Y’know, what helps with stress? A drink. Several drinks.”

Abel huffed a small laugh. “Not sure I’d hold my alcohol well right now.”

Angel winked. “Lightweight. Good to know.”

Despite himself, Abel felt some tension ease. He wasn’t okay. He knew that.

But for now, he could pretend.

A firm touch on his shoulder made him blink. His vision refocused.

Vaggie crouched in front of him, magenta eye steady.

“Hey,” she said. “You with me?”

Abel inhaled sharply, then exhaled shakily. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Vaggie didn’t look convinced. “You recognize me, don’t you?”

Abel hesitated. Lying was pointless. “Yeah. You were… an angel.”

Vaggie’s jaw tensed. “Yeah. A long time ago.”

Silence settled—heavy, but not uncomfortable.

Vaggie crossed her arms. “Listen… I don’t know what you’ve been through. But I do know what it’s like to fall.”

Abel swallowed hard.

“It messes with you,” she continued. “Makes you question everything—your worth, your memories.” She exhaled. “But you’re here now. Not in that tower.”

Abel looked away. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Vaggie tapped the table to draw his gaze back. “I know. But it will.”

Abel held her stare. Something about her certainty anchored him.

Then, the scent of something warm and sweet pulled Abel from his thoughts. He blinked, his gaze drifting toward the far end of the room—toward the hotel’s dining hall, where a shirt figure in a white suit stood stacking an absurdly large plate of pancakes.

A fuzzy image came to Abel for a moment, but he quickly blinked those thoughts out of his head.

The other’s golden hair caught the dim lighting of the hotel, his red eyes gleaming with something unreadable as he carefully adjusted the plate. When he turned, finally acknowledging Abel’s presence, his smile was sharp yet warm.

“Oh!” Lucifer said with a smile, lifting the plate effortlessly. “Abel! You’re awake.”

Abel stiffened. Something about the way Lucifer said his name sent an odd shiver down his spine. He forced himself to nod quietly.

Lucifer approached, setting the plate down in front of him with an air of practiced grace. “I took the liberty of making you something. You look like you could use a good meal.”

Abel glanced down at the stack of pancakes, golden and fluffy, butter melting over the top, syrup drizzled just enough to be inviting without drowning them. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the Devil, but it wasn’t this.

“I—uh. Thanks?” He eyed the food warily before looking back at Lucifer. The man was watching him with a strange kind of intensity. Not threatening. Not cruel. But something ‘soft.’

Lucifer’s smile softened, just a fraction. “You should eat,” he said, voice dipping into something gentler. “It won’t fix everything, but it’s a start.”

There was something almost… familiar about his tone. Something that made Abel’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite understand.

Still, he hesitated, unsure of how to react. He had dealt with demons before. He had survived them. But Lucifer Morningstar wasn’t just any demon. He was the Devil.

And yet, he had made Abel pancakes.

Charlie, who had been standing nearby, gave Abel a reassuring nod. “Dad’s a little much,” she admitted, nudging him playfully. “But he means well.”

Lucifer let out a low chuckle. “High praise Dear Char Char!”

Abel hesitated another moment before finally picking up a fork. The first bite was warm, buttery, with just the right amount of sweetness.

And for the first time in a long time, Abel felt something almost like comfort.

Lucifer’s gaze lingered on him, the ghost of a wistful smile on his lips. “Does that taste good?”

In truth, his mouth was dry and the food tasted like ashes. It wasn’t that the food was disgusting, far from it, but he had no appetite. And forcing himself to eat was unpleasant.

He felt his lip shake but he smiled, “it’s delicious!” He forced himself to take another bite. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone. Always the people pleaser.

Lucifer smiled and wanted to reach out and pat Abel, but he hesitated and lowered his hand. His eyes darted over to Adam, who had just walked into the dining room. “Oh, man! This looks great!” Their eyes met for a moment, both silently communicating with each other.

Now wasn’t the time.

But…when would be?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Abel remained quiet as the days passed. He smiled and nodded, did his best to seem okay, but he felt like he was dying on the inside. Like the last light he had to his being was flickered out.
And he felt immense guilt for so much.

For being weak.

For being a burden.

For being a pussy like his dad used to call him.

Speaking of his dad. He noticed his dad being closer to him. Physically. It was unusual but he didn’t hate it. Adam was the only familiar thing in Hell and he wanted to stay with him.

Despite being the fifth oldest human in existence, he felt like a young child again who was looking for his dad to protect him.

Adam wasn’t stupid. He could see the way Abel was withdrawing, the way his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way he kept himself busy just to avoid
feeling
. It wasn’t new—Abel had always been the type to shove things down until they festered—but this time, it was worse.

Adam caught him staring off too often, hands clenched into fists at his sides like he was bracing for something. He heard him toss and turn at night in the room they shared, his breathing unsteady, ragged. And most of all, he saw the way Abel flinched when someone touched him unexpectedly.

Abel didn’t talk about what had happened.

Adam didn’t push.

He
wanted
to. God, he wanted to sit him down, shake him,
do something
—but he knew Abel. He knew forcing him would only make him dig his heels in deeper.

So Adam did what he could. He stayed close, made sure Abel ate, sat with him even when neither of them spoke. And when Abel subtly leaned toward him, just a little, just enough to seek comfort without asking for it, Adam let him.

They never talked about it.

But Adam made sure Abel
knew
—he wasn’t alone.

One night, Adam was drinking, so Abel sat at the bar with him, absently stirring a non-alcoholic drink he hadn’t taken a sip from. The hotel was quieter than usual, most of the others already heading off to their rooms.

“You sure you don’t want a nightcap?” Husk asked as he was wiping down the bar.

Abel nervously smiled, sweating a bit, “no thank you. Alcohol isn’t really my thing.”

“Pfft! This stuff barely does the job,” Adam finishes off his fifth shot. “Heaven had the best alcoholic drinks! And you never got a hangover from it! Good shit!”

Husk blinked slowly, “sorry. We only have blasphemy drinks here.” He rolled his eyes and went about his cleaning.

Stumbling through the door was Angel Dust, who looked exhausted beyond compare. He walked over to the bar and sat down on the stool next to Abel.

Angel let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples as he slumped forward against the bar. His makeup was slightly smudged, his usual crisp, cocky demeanor dulled by sheer exhaustion.

“Yo, Husk,” Angel muttered, voice hoarse. “Pour me somethin’ strong. I don’t care what.”

Husk gave him a flat look but complied, setting a glass in front of him. Angel downed it in one go, barely reacting to the burn.

Adam chuckled, already tipsy. “Rough night?”

Angel snorted, swirling the ice in his glass. “Ain’t they all?”

Abel glanced at him, suddenly feeling small in comparison. Angel looked like he had been through hell—figuratively and literally. And yet, he was still here. Still drinking, still
talking
, still… moving forward.

Meanwhile, Abel could barely stand to exist in his own skin.

“You look like shit,” Adam commented.

Angel smirked wryly, but there was no real humor in it. “Thanks, toots. Always love a confidence boost.”

Abel hesitated before finally asking, “Are you… okay?”

Angel turned to him then, blinking as if he’d forgotten Abel was even there. He studied him for a moment, then scoffed, shaking his head. “Kid, you ain’t been here long, so let me give ya a little reality check.” He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. “I ain’t ever
okay
. None of us are.”

Abel frowned. “I didn’t mean—”

“Relax, I ain’t mad.” Angel exhaled, tapping his claws against the counter. “Just statin’ facts.” He glanced at his empty glass, then at Abel, tilting his head slightly. “You’re the one who got messed up by Vox, right?”

Abel’s stomach twisted. He gripped his glass a little tighter. “...Yeah.”

Angel let out a humorless laugh. “Consider yourself lucky.”

Abel stiffened, not sure he had heard that right. “Lucky?”

Angel gave him a sideways look, eyes dark. “Yeah. Lucky. ‘Cause it was just
once
for you.” He gestured loosely to himself, his multiple arms flexing before he let them fall limply to his sides. “Me? It’s
all the time
. ‘Cause that’s my job, sugar. I don’t
get
to say no.”

Something in Abel cracked.

He had been drowning in his own pain, consumed by it, suffocated by it—but Angel Dust was sitting right in front of him, speaking so casually about horrors that made Abel’s stomach churn.

“I…” Abel didn’t know what to say.

Angel gave him a lopsided smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What, didn’t think it was that bad? That I just whore myself out ‘cause I
like
it?” He chuckled, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. “Val owns my soul, sweetheart. I don’t get a say. If he tells me to spread my legs, I do it. If he tells me to smile while doin’ it, I do that too.” He rolled his eyes, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “Welcome to Hell.”

Abel felt sick.

He had been so focused on his own suffering, so lost in his own pain, that he hadn’t even considered how much worse it could be.

How much worse it
was
for others.

He clenched his jaw, looking down at his untouched drink. His own pain hadn’t lessened, but now it was tangled with something else—guilt.

Guilt for being weak.

Guilt for thinking he was the only one suffering.

Guilt for
surviving
, when others had it so much worse.

He felt the last flicker of light inside him fade, swallowed by the crushing weight in his chest.

Angel sighed, rubbing his face before glancing at Abel again. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to be a downer. Just… been a long fuckin’ day.”

Abel forced himself to nod, but he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling settling in his gut.

He thought he had already hit rock bottom.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

…

…

…

Adam was
sloshed
.

Abel had seen him drunk before, but this was on another level. He swayed on his feet, a lopsided grin on his face as he slung an arm around Abel’s shoulders, nearly toppling them both over.

“You’re so
little
,” Adam slurred, blinking blearily at Abel. “You
used
to be little. Then you got
big
. But you’re still little.”

Abel sighed, adjusting his grip to keep his father upright. “Yeah, yeah, I’m “tiny”. Let’s get you to bed, Old Man.”

Adam gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Old?!
Old?!
I’ll have you know, I was
the
peak of human excellence!”

“You were literally the first human
ever
,” Abel deadpanned.

Adam nodded sagely. “Exactly. The
blueprint
. Everyone else is a cheap copy.”

Abel shook his head, leading him toward the stairs. It was slow going, with Adam stopping every few steps to either rant about something random or nearly faceplant into the floor. Abel had to practically drag him up the last few stairs, gritting his teeth as he half-carried his father down the hall.

When they finally reached their room, Abel fumbled with the doorknob while Adam leaned against him like a dead weight.

“You’re strong,” Adam muttered. “Good kid. Good son.”

Abel paused for half a second before pushing the door open. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you lying down before you pass out on me.”

He guided Adam to the bed, lowering him down as carefully as possible. Adam flopped onto the mattress with a grunt, staring at the ceiling with unfocused eyes.

Abel pulled off his father’s boots, setting them aside before tugging a blanket over him.

Adam let out a tired sigh. “You’re a good kid, Abel,” he murmured, his words still slurred but softer now. “Always been a good kid. I—” He cut himself off, blinking up at the ceiling as if he had forgotten what he was going to say.

Abel hesitated before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You should sleep.”

Adam turned his head slightly, looking at Abel with an expression Abel couldn’t quite place. “You don’t talk to me much,” he muttered. “Not really.”

Abel stiffened. “That’s not—”

Adam snorted. “It’s okay. I get it. I was… I wasn’t
great
at the whole dad thing. Never knew how.”

Abel looked down, his hands tightening into fists on his lap. He wanted to say “
You tried”
or “
You did your best”
—but the words wouldn’t come. Because it wasn’t that simple.

Instead, he just muttered, “Go to sleep, Dad.”

Adam hummed, closing his eyes. Within moments, his breathing evened out, the exhaustion finally catching up to him.

Abel sat there for a long time, staring at nothing.

His chest felt tight.

He should sleep. He
needed
to sleep.

But as he sat there, the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Darkness pressed against Abel’s vision, heavy and suffocating. His body felt weightless, floating in an abyss, yet at the same time, he was bound—
restrained
. The sharp, cold bite of leather straps dug into his wrists and ankles, pinning him down.

A dim, sterile light flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows across the pristine white walls. The room was too bright, too clean, and the hum of machinery buzzed in the background like a swarm of unseen insects.

No, no, no—

Abel struggled, but the restraints wouldn’t budge. His breath came in shallow, panicked gasps as an all-too-familiar voice filled the space around him, smooth as silk yet crackling like static.

“Well, well… look at you.”

The voice dripped with mockery, amusement curling around every syllable like smoke. Abel’s chest clenched as Vox stepped into view, his neon blue eyes glowing with sick pleasure.

“I must say, you were
such
a fascinating little project,” Vox continued, tapping a clawed finger against his chin. “But I can’t help but wonder… did I
break
you too soon?”

Abel’s throat tightened. His fingers curled into fists, nails digging into his palms as he willed himself to stay calm. But his body betrayed him, trembling under the weight of his own fear.

Vox smirked, leaning down so close that Abel could feel his cold breath against his cheek. “Oh, don’t look so
scared
, sweetheart. This time, I’m going to take my
time
with you.”

A scalpel gleamed in his other hand.

Abel’s pulse thundered in his ears as the blade dragged lightly over his chest—not cutting, not yet, just
teasing
. The pressure sent a shiver down his spine, his skin crawling with the phantom sensation of past wounds, of blood pooling beneath him, of the unbearable
heat
of machinery pressing against his back as Vox
carved into him like he was nothing more than a canvas
.

“You should be
grateful
, you know,” Vox whispered, lips curling into something twisted. “You’re alive because of
me
.”

The scalpel pressed harder—

Abel
screamed
.

………
—He lurched upright, gasping for air.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his body drenched in cold sweat. The room was dark, the only sound was his ragged breathing. His hands flew to his chest, his stomach, his arms—
no blood, no scalpel, no restraints—

‘It wasn’t real.’

But his body didn’t
believe
that.

Abel swung his legs over the side of the bed, running a shaky hand through his damp hair. Adam was still passed out beside him, snoring softly. Abel didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to explain.

‘I just need a drink’.

No alcohol—just
something
cold. Something real.

Moving carefully, he slipped out of the room and padded down the quiet hallway, each step feeling like it took too much effort. The dream clung to him, the ghost of Vox’s voice slithering through his mind.

By the time he reached the dimly lit hotel bar, he wasn’t alone.

Standing near the counter, a plate in hand, was someone Abel hadn’t expected to see at this hour.

Lucifer Morningstar.

Unlike his usual, well-kept appearance, Lucifer looked…
tired
. His golden hair was slightly disheveled, and the ever-present glimmer of amusement in his red eyes dimmed. Before him was a project of some kind. Abel took a closer look. ‘We’re those rubber ducks?’

Abel hesitated. He didn’t know Lucifer well. He’d seen him around and heard people talk about him, but he hadn’t spoken to him beyond a few polite exchanges.

Lucifer, however, noticed him almost immediately.

“Ah,” Lucifer said, straightening. The exhaustion vanished in an instant, replaced by his usual suave demeanor, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Abel exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms, hugging himself. “Something like that.”

Lucifer hummed knowingly, “Been there.” He looked at his son and he felt his heart lurch.

Abel resembled Adam so much.

His round cheeks, his eyes…unlike Charlie who was his carbon copy but taller and female, Abel was nearly Adam’s copy.

Lucifer turned his gaze away, focusing on the rubber ducks on the counter. He didn’t know why he had started arranging them—maybe it was a distraction, something mindless to keep himself occupied. Or maybe it was because his hands wouldn’t stop shaking if he let them sit idle for too long.

Abel shifted awkwardly, glancing between Lucifer and the absurd collection of ducks. “Uh… are you… okay?”

Lucifer let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, you know how it is. Endless responsibilities, the weight of Hell on my shoulders, family drama—” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Abel winced, “family drama?”

Lucifer looked sheepish, “yeah. Sorta. It’s nothing you should worry yourself with.”

“Well too bad did you, I’m a worrywart,” Abel huffed out a tired laugh, though it felt forced. He wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Lucifer studied him carefully. Even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion carved into Abel’s face, the way his shoulders sagged like he was carrying something too heavy to bear.

The boy was suffering.

And it was Lucifer’s fault.

Not in the way Abel probably thought—he had no idea what they truly were to each other—but Lucifer couldn’t help but feel the weight of his own choices pressing down on him. If he had fought harder all those eons ago, if he had kept Abel by his side, would things have been different? Would Abel have been spared from whatever horrors had been inflicted upon him?

A sharp pang of guilt settled in Lucifer’s chest, a rare and unfamiliar sensation. He didn’t get
guilty
—he was the King of Hell. Guilt was beneath him.

And yet…

He pushed the feeling aside, instead focusing on the young man before him. “Nightmares?” he asked, his voice softer now, lacking its usual flamboyant flair.

Abel hesitated for a moment before nodding, not trusting himself to speak.

Lucifer hummed, tapping his fingers against the counter. “They don’t go away, you know.”

Abel frowned. “Oh...”

Lucifer chuckled, shaking his head. “But they get easier to manage. Eventually.”

Abel wasn’t sure he believed that. The nightmares felt permanent like they were burned into his skull.

Lucifer picked up one of the rubber ducks, turning it over in his hands. “You remind me of someone,” he said absently.

Abel raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess, my dad?” Abel was used to hearing that, along with many questioning how someone as brazen as Adam could have a son as docile as a lamb?

Lucifer stiffened, but his smile didn’t waver. “Yes, well, the resemblance is… undeniable.” He hesitated, then added, “But no, not Adam.”

Abel tilted his head. “Then who?”

Lucifer’s grip on the duck tightened for just a fraction of a second before he let out a breath, shaking his head. “Just someone I used to know.”

Someone he had
lost
.

Someone who was now standing before him a grown man and not as the baby he could still remember holding in his arms.

Silence stretched between them. Abel glanced down at the counter, rubbing his arms as if trying to warm himself up. He didn’t know why, but standing here with Lucifer made him feel… less alone.

Lucifer felt it too.

Abel’s gaze drifted back to the rubber ducks on the counter, a bizarre but comforting sight. "So… you like rubber ducks?" he asked, trying to break the tension with some semblance of normalcy.

Lucifer's lips quirked into a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know. I think it’s just... something to focus on.” He met Abel's eyes again, this time with a flicker of warmth. "I suppose they remind me of something simpler. Something... before everything got complicated."

Abel chuckled weakly, the sound laced with exhaustion. “Yeah, I get that.”

As the silence stretched, just as Abel was about to say something else, the door to the bar swung open with a creak that broke the moment. Both Abel and Lucifer turned, only to see a familiar figure stepping into the dim light. Alastor. His red eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity as he grinned, hands clasped behind his back, a mischievous twinkle in his gaze.

"Ah, what do we have here?" Alastor’s voice, like always, was smooth and unnervingly cheerful, but there was an edge to it, a sharpness that sliced through the already tense air. His smile widened as he looked between the two of them. “Lucifer, I must say, I never expected to find you here so... contemplative. And with company, no less.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed the warmth that had briefly flickered in them vanishing as quickly as it came. “Alastor,” he said, the name coming out as a near hiss, dripping with disdain. He didn’t bother hiding the irritation in his voice. The two had always had a strained relationship, clashing at nearly every opportunity.

Abel felt awkward, especially hearing his name and Vox’s voice echoing in his mind.

Alastor tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence. “Oh, don’t mind me. I was just passing by.” The radio demon hummed to himself, seemingly having eyes on him, one set full of disdain and the other filled with worry.

Alastor could work with this.

He went into the kitchen grabbed the container filled with sweet tea, a Southern classic, and poured himself and Abel a glass. He walked back over and placed the cup in front of Abel. “Here. I’m not one for sweets or tea, but his drink has always been a comfort.”

Abel blinked and picked up the glass cup with both hands and meekly took a sip, being cautious of accepting drinks from others.

“It’s…good,” Abel mumbled as he put the cup down.

Lucifer frowned and glared at Alastor, “Must you be here? You’re obviously making Abel uncomfortable.”

“Oh, my deer sovereign. The last thing I would want is to make Abel uncomfortable. After all, we have so much in common.”

Abel sputtered, “we do?”

“Of course! We both have been victims of Vox’s abuse,” Alastor stated.

Abel stiffened, his fingers tightening around the glass as an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. He hated the way Alastor said it so casually, like it was nothing more than an unfortunate footnote in his existence rather than the defining nightmare of his life.

Lucifer’s expression darkened, his sharp red gaze flickering between Abel and Alastor with a barely contained fury. “Is that so?” His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, but the weight behind it was suffocating.

Alastor’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Oh, but of course! Why, Vox and I have quite the
history
, though I imagine dear Abel’s experiences were
far
less enjoyable than mine.” He chuckled, as if the mere thought amused him, and took a casual sip of his tea.

Abel shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Alastor meant by that—what could be
worse
than what Vox had already done? He could feel Lucifer’s gaze burning into him and could sense the tension thickening between the two ancient demons like a storm about to break.

Lucifer’s jaw clenched, his nails tapping against the counter in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “And what, pray tell, are you trying to accomplish by bringing this up?”

Alastor hummed, swirling the tea in his glass. “Oh, I wouldn’t
dream
of making Abel uncomfortable. Quite the opposite! I simply thought he should know that he’s not alone.” His eyes gleamed as they flicked toward Abel, his smile widening just a fraction. “That there are others who understand. Others who have
survived
.”

Abel swallowed thickly. He didn’t like this—didn’t like the way Alastor spoke as if they were kindred spirits, as if their suffering had somehow bonded them. He didn’t
want
to be anything like Alastor.

Lucifer seemed to have the same thought because his hand curled into a fist against the bar. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he muttered, voice dripping with venom.

“Oh, come now, Lucifer,” Alastor chided playfully, tilting his head. “Surely, you can’t object to me offering some
support
to the boy? You, of all people, should know how important it is to have someone
looking out
for him.”

There it was. The sharp twist of the knife.

Lucifer’s expression didn’t change, but Abel saw the way his fingers tensed against the counter, the way his shoulders squared just slightly. It was subtle—so subtle that Abel almost missed it—but there was something dangerous simmering beneath Lucifer’s carefully constructed mask.

Alastor
knew
.

Abel didn’t understand how, but something in the way Alastor was looking at Lucifer—like a predator circling something
injured
—made it clear that he was playing with information Lucifer didn’t want in the open.

And Lucifer
hated
it.

“Abel is none of your concern,” Lucifer said coolly, his tone laced with a quiet warning.

Alastor’s grin didn’t waver. “Oh, but I think he is,” he replied smoothly, lifting his glass in a mock toast before taking another sip. “After all,
he is part of the Hotel family after all, and shouldn’t family always look out for each other
?”

Lucifer went still.

Alastor simply stayed smiling.

Abel was confused.

Lucifer’s lips parted as if he were about to speak, but then he stopped himself. Whatever retort he had died in his throat, replaced by something
else
. For the first time since Abel had entered the bar, Lucifer
looked away
.

And that was all the confirmation Alastor needed.

His grin stretched wider. “Ah. Well then.” He finished off his tea, setting the glass down with a soft clink before pushing himself up from his seat. “This has been
delightful
, but I think I’ll take my leave for now.”

He gave Abel a small, knowing nod before turning toward Lucifer one last time. “Do take care of him, won’t you? It’d be such a
shame
if anything happened to him

again

.”

Lucifer’s fingers curled tighter against the counter, but he said nothing.

Abel felt like he couldn’t breathe.

And then, just as quickly as he had arrived, Alastor was gone, the echo of his laughter fading into the hallway beyond.

The silence he left in his wake was deafening.

Abel turned slowly to Lucifer, heart hammering against his ribs. “What was that about?” His voice was quiet, but the demand for answers was clear.

Lucifer exhaled through his nose, composing himself. When he finally met Abel’s gaze again, his expression was unreadable.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

But Abel didn’t believe that for a second.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Working at the Hazbin Hotel had become… routine.
Abel wasn’t sure when it happened, but the days had started to blur into a cycle of cleaning, cooking, and brainstorming redemption exercises with Charlie. The structure helped. It gave him something to focus on—something to keep his mind occupied, to keep the nightmares at bay. Not that they ever truly stopped.

He’d pleaded with Charlie to let him help. Begged, really. It had taken days of convincing, multiple reassurances to Adam that he wouldn’t be in danger and an unspoken agreement that if anything went wrong, he’d pull back. Eventually, Charlie relented.

It wasn’t so bad. Cooking required precision and focus—chopping, stirring, measuring. The rhythmic motions helped settle his nerves, even if the idea of eating his own meals made his stomach twist. Cleaning kept his hands busy, even if scrubbing the floors raw didn’t erase the phantom sensation of Vox’s cold touch. Helping Charlie design redemption exercises gave him purpose, even if he wasn’t sure he believed in the very thing she was trying to achieve.

But he was tired.

So, so tired.

The exhaustion had crept in slowly, sinking into his bones like a weight he couldn’t shake. Sleep evaded him, slipping through his fingers no matter how desperately he reached for it. The hunger? That had come later. At first, it was unintentional—missed meals here and there, an afterthought in the rush of keeping busy. But soon, the thought of food became unbearable. The few times he forced himself to eat, it sat like lead in his stomach, nausea curling up his throat until he decided it was easier to just… not.

One particularly difficult day, Abel was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of soup. The rich scent of herbs and slow-simmered broth filled the air—warm, inviting, suffocating. He swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea clawing at his gut. Across the counter, Angel Dust leaned against the cabinets, tossing a butter knife in the air and catching it between his fingers like a circus trick.

"So lemme get this straight," Angel drawled. "Charlie’s got us doin’ some trust fall crap today again?"

Abel hummed in vague acknowledgment, adjusting the heat on the burner. His vision swam for a moment, but he ignored it.

Angel snorted. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'trust' like lettin’ some random asshole catch ya while you pretend you don’t got wings."

Abel didn’t respond. The words felt too distant like they were coming through a thick fog.

Angel paused, ears twitching as he studied him. "...Yo, you good?"

Abel blinked. The kitchen was tilting, the edges of his vision blurring like wet paint dripping down a canvas. He tightened his grip on the wooden spoon, but his fingers felt numb.

"Abel?" Angel’s voice sharpened. "Hey—"

The spoon slipped from his grasp.

Then, the floor rushed up to meet him.

Distantly, he registered the sound of shattering glass. Someone shouted his name. The world wavered, flickering between dark and light, sound muffled like he was underwater.

Then—nothing.

…

…

…

A sharp, burning sting tore through Abel’s nose, yanking him violently from the depths of unconsciousness. His body recoiled on instinct, a choked gasp wrenching itself from his throat as his eyes flew open.

The world swam in and out of focus—blurry shapes, shifting colors, voices pressing in from all sides. His senses lurched, overwhelmed by the acrid tang of ammonia still clinging to the back of his throat.

"Ugh—" He turned his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the nausea rolling through him.

"He's awake!" Charlie’s relieved gasp was the first thing he registered, her voice tight with worry.

"Jesus, Abel—" That was Adam, his tone hovering somewhere between concern and exasperation.

"Don’t try to move yet," Vaggie ordered, her voice crisp but gentle. Abel forced his eyes open again, blinking rapidly as his vision swam back into focus.

He wasn’t in the kitchen anymore.

Instead, he was lying on the couch in the hotel’s parlor, a folded blanket thrown over him. The room was too bright, the lights casting a dull ache behind his eyes. Vaggie knelt beside him, pressing two fingers to his wrist with clinical precision, her brows furrowed in concentration.

Charlie hovered just behind her, wringing her hands together. Adam stood rigidly nearby, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was holding himself back from shaking him.

And then there was Lucifer.

He loomed just behind them all, hands clasped in front of him, his eyes filled with genuine worry.

Abel swallowed, his throat dry. "W-What…?"

"You passed out," Vaggie answered, voice clipped. "Angel and Husk carried you in here." She shot him a sharp look. "When was the last time you ate?"

Abel opened his mouth. Closed it.

A beat of silence.

Vaggie’s expression darkened. "That's what I thought."

Charlie inhaled sharply. "Abel, why didn’t you
say
anything? You—" Her voice broke, guilt flashing across her face. "I didn’t even notice—"

"I'm fine," Abel croaked, but even he didn’t believe it. His body felt like lead, limbs unresponsive, head pounding. The weight of exhaustion pressed down on him, suffocating.

"Fine?" Adam snapped, taking a sharp step forward. "You
collapsed
. That’s not
fine
, Abel!" His jaw clenched, frustration barely masking the raw fear underneath.

Abel tried to laugh a bit, forcefully, “Look missing a meal or two shouldn’t affect me. I’m like, technically dead right?”

While technically true, the way it sounded made everyone shiver, especially Lucifer, who held his hands so tight within himself that he began to shake a little.

Vaggie spoke up, “Your human self has been dead for thousands of years, but now you’re in Hell. We do experience things like ‘hunger’ now.” It’s taken a few weeks after she’d been in Hell and it took a while to recognize hunger within herself. Sure eating was normal and they did it in Heaven, but hunger came with a necessity. Heaven had no need for that. Food was plentiful as hunger was no longer a thing.

A cold rag was suddenly placed on Abel’s forehead, making him look up and see the winged cat sinner above his line of sight for a moment.

“Thanks, Husk,” Vaggie said. “Now just say lying down for a while. And eat something. No arguments."

Abel swallowed thickly, his mouth dry as he tried to find a way out of this conversation. His stomach twisted—not with hunger, but with a gnawing discomfort at being the center of everyone's concern. He
hated
this.

Charlie sat beside him on the couch, her expression filled with guilt. “Abel… you’ve been pushing yourself way too hard.”

“I just wanted to help,” he mumbled, voice hoarse.

“You
are
helping,” she insisted. “But not at the cost of your health.”

Adam let out a harsh breath, raking a hand through his hair. “You really think this is okay?” His voice was tight, his usual stoicism cracking under the weight of something deeper. “That
this
—” he gestured vaguely at Abel’s weak state “—is just fine?”

Abel flinched but didn’t answer.

Lucifer, who had remained silent up until now, finally stepped forward. His movements were slow, controlled—too controlled. It wasn’t his usual theatrical grace; it was careful, deliberate. His crimson eyes locked onto Abel’s golden ones with a sharpness that sent an uneasy chill down Abel’s spine.

“You
scared
them.” Lucifer’s voice was quiet, but it carried a weight that made Abel’s breath hitch. “You scared
me
.”

Abel’s fingers curled into the blanket draped over him. “I didn’t mean to,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lucifer exhaled, something flickering behind his eyes—something deep and buried, something Abel couldn’t place. “You need to take care of yourself,” he said, softer this time. “Penance does not come through self-destruction.”

Something about that hit Abel harder than he expected. He wasn’t sure if Lucifer meant it in a broader, philosophical sense, or if he
knew
—if he had
realized
something about him that even Abel hadn’t yet put into words.

The silence stretched.

Then, Husk broke it.

"Alright, enough with the dramatics." He reached over, setting a steaming cup of something dark and rich-smelling on the table beside Abel. "Drink. And don't even
think
about arguing."

Abel eyed the cup warily. "What is it?"

"Hot chocolate," Husk muttered. "Figured you'd actually stomach this better than anything solid right now."

Abel hesitated, but the heat radiating from the cup was oddly grounding. Slowly, he reached out and took it in his hands. The warmth seeped into his fingers, the scent of cocoa oddly soothing.

Charlie smiled encouragingly. "See? Small steps."

Abel took a tentative sip. It was rich, slightly bitter, but undeniably comforting.

Maybe… maybe he
could
try. Just a little.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in the soft, eerie glow of Hell’s eternal red haze seeping through the curtains. Adam snored lightly, sprawled out on his bed, his back rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Abel, however, lay stiff as a board in his bed, eyes squeezed shut, breaths slow and controlled.

He wasn’t asleep.

He
wanted
to be. God, he wanted to sink into unconsciousness, to slip away from the exhaustion weighing on his body, but the moment his guard dropped—even for a second—his mind betrayed him. The shadows crept in, the ghosts of old horrors lurking just beneath his eyelids.

Then, the door creaked open.

Abel’s breath hitched, his entire body tensing. He forced himself to stay still, to not react. ‘

Maybe they’ll leave. Maybe if I don’t move, they won’t notice I’m awake.’

Footsteps, slow and deliberate, moved across the room.

He could feel it—
someone
was there. Watching. The weight of their presence settled over him, and his chest tightened, every nerve in his body screaming to
run
. But he
couldn’t
run. His dad was right there. He couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk them noticing, couldn’t risk waking his dad and making this worse—

The footsteps stopped beside his bed.

Abel fought to keep his breathing even, his fingers curled into the sheets. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, loud enough that he was sure
they
could hear it.

A hand—gentle, cautious—pulled the blanket up over his shoulder.

Abel nearly flinched. ‘

They’re touching me—they’re touching me—‘

But nothing else came.

No pain. No cruel words. No force pinning him down.

Just warmth.

A moment passed. Then another.

Then, just as silently as they had come, a hand—light as a feather—brushed against his back.

Abel tensed.

It was barely a touch, but the sensation sent a sharp jolt through him. His back
hurt
. The dull, lingering ache where his wings had once been never truly left him, a constant reminder of his fall. Some nights, the pain was tolerable—a distant throb he could ignore. Other nights, it was unbearable, an echo of something stolen from him, of something he had once been.

Tonight, it had been particularly bad.

But then—

Heat.

A warmth bloomed beneath the touch, sinking deep into his skin, deeper still into his aching muscles and fractured bones. It wasn’t fire, wasn’t the searing burn of Hell’s infernal heat—it was different. Smoother. Softer. It seeped into every raw nerve, every damaged part of him, soothing instead of scorching.

The pain dulled.

Then, it faded altogether.

Abel’s breath hitched, his fingers twitching against the sheets. His body felt… lighter.
Freer.
He hadn’t realized how much the pain had been weighing him down until it was suddenly gone.

The hand lingered for a moment longer, its warmth still radiating into his back. Then, with the same careful touch, it withdrew.

Abel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

His mind swam, hazy and sluggish. The exhaustion that had been pressing down on him before now tugged at him more insistently, lulling him toward sleep. His body, finally free of pain, sank deeper into the mattress, as though it
belonged
there, as though he
deserved
rest.

He barely registered the sound of retreating footsteps, of the door clicking shut once more.

All he knew was the lingering warmth on his back.

But something about the touch, the presence… it healed him. The realization struck him.

Lucifer.

It had been

Lucifer

.

Lucifer has healed him.

Like a parent would.

The thought lodged itself in his chest, unfamiliar and heavy. He curled in on himself beneath the blanket, unsure of what to do with it. Unsure of how to process the strange, foreign feeling creeping up his throat.

He wasn’t sure when exhaustion finally won.

But for the first time in a long time… sleep came easier.

…

…

…

Outside the door, Lucifer stood frozen, his hand still resting against the wood as if grounding himself. His face was unreadable, his usually perfect composure cracking at the edges. His fingers twitched, clenching into a tight fist at his side.

He had only intended to ease Abel’s pain, to ensure the boy was resting. But the moment his magic flowed through him, he
felt
it—the unmistakable presence of something else, fragile yet persistent, nestled deep within Abel’s being.

Lucifer inhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as a storm of emotions crashed over him.

Shock.

Confusion.

Anger—not at Abel, never at Abel—but at the situation, at whoever had done this, at how
wrong
it was that Abel had been suffering in silence, that no one had noticed. That

he

hadn’t noticed sooner.

A tremor ran through him, and before he could stop himself, he hissed under his breath—

"Fatherdamnit."

The word tasted bitter in his mouth, heavier than any curse Hell could conjure. He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to regain control.

This wasn’t something he could ignore.