Chapter Text
“Times up.” The words tasted like rust on Eddie’s tongue, but the contract was already dissolving into embers between his fingers. The frozen moment shattered—Dustin’s wail ripped through the air as Steve and Billy wrenched free from the kids’ grasping hands, their wings flaring in perfect, terrible unison as gravity inverted. The chasm swallowed them whole.
Silence. Then—
The sulfur hit Steve’s lungs first, thick as tar, choking his gasp into a wet cough. His wings—once radiant—now dragged like lead weights through the viscous air. Chains slithered around his wrists before his vision cleared, silk-lined and humming with enchantment.
"Easy, pretty thing." Eddie's voice curled through the gloom, closer than expected. A claw traced the hinge of Steve's jaw, oddly gentle. "Wouldn't want you to singe those lovely feathers."
Steve jerked back—or tried to. The chains tightened, silk biting into flesh. His halo flickered weakly, casting sickly light over the obsidian floor. Beside him, Billy thrashed against his own restraints, wings smoldering at the tips where hell's air gnawed at celestial grace. "Fuck you," Billy snarled, but the words lacked their usual heat. His pupils were blown wide, drinking in the dimness like a man starved for light.
Eddie sighed, stepping back to perch on the arm of his throne—bone polished to a mirror sheen, velvet worn thin where his claws had worried at it. He studied them both like a collector admiring new acquisitions. "You're making this so dramatic," he murmured, plucking a grape from a bowl Steve hadn't noticed. Juice ran black down his wrist when he bit into it. "I won’t torture you. Unless," his grin sharpened, "you're into that."
Billy lunged, chains snapping taut. "You son of a—"
The manacle around his throat glowed crimson, cutting him off mid-snarl. Eddie watched, amused, as Billy choked on his own fury, veins standing stark against his golden skin. Steve’s wings flared uselessly—his own collar thrummed with hell’s magic, the runes searing into his flesh like brands.
“See? That’s why we can’t have nice things.” Eddie twirled a claw, and the pressure eased just enough for Billy to gasp. “Relax,” he murmured, “I don’t *want* to hurt you.” The throne creaked as he leaned forward, wings rustling like dry leaves. “But you *did* sign the contract. You should’ve read the fine print.”
Steve’s fingers twitched against the silk restraints. The chains weren’t cold—they pulsed with a feverish warmth, thrumming in time with Eddie’s slow, deliberate breaths. “What fine print?” he gritted out.
Eddie’s grin didn’t reach his eyes. He snapped his fingers, and the contract materialized in midair, hovering between them. The parchment was singed at the edges now, their signatures glowing like embers. Billy squinted at the swirling script, his breath hitching as the words rearranged themselves—revealing clauses buried beneath glamour.
*"The undersigned agree to serve as consorts to the Crown of Hell for no less than one celestial cycle."*
Billy's snarl tore through the chamber, wings flaring wide enough to scatter embers from the braziers. "Bullshit." His chains rattled as he strained forward, fangs bared. "That wasn't—"
"Written in ink you could read?" Eddie plucked the contract from the air, running a claw along the edge where the script shimmered like oil on water. "Mmm. Classic loophole." He leaned in, close enough for Steve to count the fractures in his halo—jagged cracks where grace had leaked out long ago. "Should've brought a lawyer, sweetheart."
Steve lunged, teeth bared—not at Eddie, but at the parchment. The contract dissolved into smoke before he could touch it, leaving only the taste of burnt sugar on his tongue.
Billy’s laugh was a raw, broken thing. "Consorts?" He spat the word like venom, but his wings trembled—not with fury, but something darker. Recognition. “And why would you want *us*? Why not some seraphim or—or *archangel*—” His voice cracked on the last word, gaze flicking to Steve’s halo, now flickering like a dying candle.
“I don’t need to explan my reasoning to the likes of you,” Eddie hummed, turning the contract idly between his fingers—only for Billy to lunge again, chains screeching as they bit into his wrists. His teeth snapped inches from Eddie’s throat, close enough to stir the loose strands of hair curling at his collarbone. Eddie didn’t flinch. He just exhaled, slow, and pressed a single claw to the hollow of Billy’s throat.
“You’re *hungry*,” he murmured, and the way Billy’s breath hitched wasn’t from pain. Steve could see it—the way Billy’s pupils dilated, the sweat beading at his temples. Hell’s air was thick with temptation, and Billy had always burned too hot for his own good. “You’ve been starving up there, haven’t you? All that righteousness, all that *denial*—” His claw traced downward, leaving a thin red welt in its wake. “I can *smell* it on you.”
“Here in Hell, there is only one rule; don’t cross the devil, but beyond that you can give in to your hearts greatest desires.” Eddie whispered, his breath warm against Billy’s ear, his lips curled into a wicked smirk. Billy snarled, but the chains around his wrists trembled—not from resistance, but from the way Eddie’s claws trailed down his chest, leaving faint, glowing marks in their wake. Steve watched, his breath shallow, his own restraints tightening as if reacting to the tension thickening the air.
Eddie’s fingers curled around Billy’s chin, forcing his head back. “You could have everything,” he murmured, his voice like smoke, “no more hiding.” Billy’s throat worked as he swallowed hard, his golden skin flushed with something deeper than anger. Eddie’s thumb brushed over his bottom lip, pressing just enough to part them. “Tell me, Billy—”
A shudder ripped through Billy, his wings twitching violently—and then Steve’s voice cut through the haze, ragged but unwavering. “Stop.”
Eddie’s grip loosened fractionally, his gaze flicking to where Steve strained against his chains, halo sputtering like a guttering candle. “Jealous?” Eddie purred, but the taunt lacked its usual bite. His claws lingered on Billy’s jaw, smearing gold where Billy’s sweat mingled with hell’s sulfur.
Steve bared his teeth. “You don’t *touch* him.” The chains hummed, responding to the holy fury in his voice—but the silk wasn’t burning him anymore. It throbbed, warm and slick, like a living thing savoring his defiance.
Eddie’s grin faltered. His claw froze mid-stroke against Billy’s pulse, where the skin bloomed gold and feverish. “Or what, Angel?” But the taunt was hollow. “I don’t quite think your in a position to be calling the shots, do you? You *did* sign the contract.” He exhaled—a sound like embers collapsing—and stepped back, wings rustling with unspent tension.
Billy gasped as the pressure eased, his chest heaving. Sweat dripped from his brow, sizzling where it hit the obsidian floor. His gaze locked onto Steve’s, pupils blown wide with something feral and pleading. The chains around his wrists pulsed crimson in time with his ragged breaths.
Eddie tilted his head, studying them like a puzzle. His tail flicked idly, the barbed tip tracing patterns in the air. "You two are *fun*," he mused, voice dripping with dark amusement. "All that tension. All that—" His nostrils flared. "*Wanting*."
Billy snarled, but it came out breathless. His chains clinked as his fingers flexed—halfway between clawing Eddie's throat out and dragging him closer. The marks Eddie left still glowed faintly on his skin, pulsing like embers. Steve could smell it—the ozone-tang of celestial restraint unraveling, the honey-thick scent of Billy's desperation.
Eddie spread his wings—a dark canvas of scarred membrane and jagged bone—until they cast a shadow that swallowed both angels whole. His throne groaned as he settled back, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, tail flicking like a bored cat’s. “Alright, saints,” he sighed, twirling a claw in the air. “Let’s hear your counteroffer.”
Eddie plucked a grape from the obsidian bowl beside his throne, rolling it between claw-tipped fingers before popping it into his mouth with deliberate slowness. Juice—dark as damned wine—dribbled down his chin. He licked it away, watching Steve’s throat bob with swallowed rage. "Tick-tock, pretty things," he drawled, tail flicking against the throne’s armrest. "Or do you *like* being trussed up like feast-day lambs?"
Billy’s chains rattled as he wrenched forward, the silk biting into his wrists. "Go fuck yourself," he spat, but his voice cracked—halfway between fury and something raw, something *hungry*. The scent of scorched feathers curled between them, thick with the metallic tang of grace bleeding out.
“I would be careful how you speak to me, it could determine your fate.” Eddie murmured, claw tracing the rim of the obsidian bowl. The silence that followed was thick—punctuated only by the drip of sweat from Billy’s brow sizzling against the floor.
Steve’s chains tightened imperceptibly, silk whispering against his skin like a lover’s touch. His halo flickered, casting jagged shadows across Eddie’s face. "You want a counteroffer?" he gritted out. "Fine. Let him go." He jerked his chin toward Billy, whose wings twitched violently at the words. "Take me instead. Fully. Permanently."
“Hmm. No deal.” Eddie’s grin didn’t waver, but his tail lashed once—sharp—against the throne. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, claws steepled. “See, that’s the thing about contracts,” he mused, plucking another grape. Juice dripped onto the floor between them, hissing where it hit sulfurous stone. “They’re binding for *both* parties.” His gaze flicked to Billy, still panting, gold-streaked sweat carving paths down his chest. “And I *like* this one.”
Billy snarled, but the sound dissolved into a gasp as Eddie twirled a finger—his chains slithered tighter, silk cinching around his thighs. Steve lunged forward instinctively, wings flaring despite the weight of hell’s gravity. The silk around his wrists pulsed hot in response, thrumming against his skin like a second heartbeat.
Eddie watched them both with hooded eyes, tail flicking lazily. “You two are *adorable*,” he purred, dragging a claw down Billy’s sweat-slicked chest. The contact left a faint, glowing trail, and Billy arched into it despite himself, a broken noise catching in his throat. “So protective. So *desperate*.” His gaze slid to Steve, lingering on the way his halo sputtered like a candle in a storm. “But you’re not in Heaven anymore, sweetheart. Your in Hell, where I make the rules.”
Steve’s chains groaned as he strained against them, his wings shuddering under the weight of hell’s gravity. “Then change them,” he gritted out. His voice was raw, stripped bare. “Let him go. I’ll—I’ll stay. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Steve, no—“ Billy’s protest died in a choked gasp as Eddie’s claws dug into his shoulders, pinning him back against the throne’s armrest. The demon’s breath ghosted over Steve’s cheek—sulfur and something unnervingly sweet, like burnt honey. “Oh, angel,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing the damp hollow beneath Steve’s eye. “You don’t even know what I *want*.” His tail coiled possessively around Billy’s thigh, the barbed tip pricking through the fabric of his robes. “But you’re about to find out.”
Eddie snapped his fingers, Steve braced for agony—for hellfire or claws or the searing weight of damnation pressing into his bones—but the only pain was the sudden rush of blood returning to his wrists. He stumbled forward, wings flaring instinctively to catch his balance, only to find Billy already on his feet, golden skin flushed with something darker than anger.
“What—why—“ Steve panted, rubbing his wrists where the silk had left faint, glowing marks. The chains lay discarded like shed serpent skins, still twitching with residual magic. Billy staggered upright beside him, chest heaving, his wings half-spread in a defensive arc.
Eddie was already halfway across the throne room, his tail flicking dismissively. “Got another appointment,” he muttered, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with exaggerated nonchalance. “Demon lord stuff. Very important. Can’t be late.” His claws lingered on the doorframe, tracing the carved infernal script like he was stalling. “Make yourselves at home,” he added, voice dropping into something almost hesitant. “Just—don’t touch the hellhounds. Or the cursed artifacts. Or the—actually, you know what? Stick to the east wing. It’s… less stabby.”
Steve blinked. “You’re *leaving* us?” His wings twitched, sending a shower of gray-tinged feathers drifting to the floor. The sudden freedom sat wrong in his chest—too light, too empty, like a bird shoved from its cage mid-storm.
“I’ll collect you both at sundown,” Eddie muttered, avoiding their gazes as he adjusted the cuffs of his jacket with unnecessary precision. His tail flicked irritably behind him, betraying the tension in his shoulders. “The kitchens might’ve left something edible. If not, blame the imps—they’ve got a *thing* for charred offerings.” He waved a clawed hand vaguely toward the eastern corridor, where the torches burned a sickly green.
Billy didn’t wait for Eddie to finish. He shoved past him, shoulder knocking against the demon’s with deliberate roughness, and stormed into the hallway. Steve hesitated just long enough to see Eddie’s fingers twitch—as if he wanted to reach out—before following Billy into the gloom. The doors slammed shut behind them with a finality that rattled Steve’s bones.
“Prick.” Billy kicked a loose ember across the corridor, its glow painting his bare chest in hellish light. His wings—once radiant white—now hung dull and ashen at his back, feathers frayed at the edges like burnt parchment.
“Billy!” Steve hissed as the other angel kicked another ember, sending sparks skittering across the obsidian floor. “You can’t just—swear like that!”
Billy spun on him, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead, his halo flickering weakly in the sulfurous gloom. “The *fuck* I can’t,” he snarled, wings flaring wide enough to send a gust of ash swirling through the corridor. “Were in hell sweetheart! Pretty sure the standards for ‘angelic’ went down the shitter the second we fell.” His voice cracked on the last word, but the venom stayed sharp, laced with something raw and jagged—something Steve recognized too well.
Steve opened his mouth—some half-formed protest about decorum or dignity—and then shut it with a click. The air was thick with the scent of burning feathers and something darker, something sweetly rotten beneath the sulfur. His own wings twitched, sending another shower of gray-tinged feathers drifting to the floor. Right. *Hell.* Where Eddie’s claws had traced Billy’s pulse like a lover’s caress, where the very stones seemed to whisper *give in, give in, give in—*
“Bark!”
Steve halted mid-step as something small and wriggling barreled into his legs. He looked down into three pairs of adoring red eyes—one set slightly higher than the others—and a lolling tongue that dripped drool onto his bare feet. The pup wagged its tail so hard its entire body wiggled, knocking into Steve’s shins with happy little thumps. A cracked leather collar hung loose around its neck, a charred name tag dangling from it: *Dart*.
"Oh, hey there," Steve murmured, crouching despite Billy's warning snarl. The hellhound—barely larger than a terrier—immediately rolled onto its back, presenting a belly mottled with glowing ember patterns. Steve's fingers hovered over the smoldering fur. "You're just a baby, aren't you?" The pup whined, paws paddling the air, and Steve's resolve crumbled. He scratched gently between the middle head's ears. It let out a noise like a teakettle purring.
Billy grabbed Steve's wrist, yanking him upright. "Are you *brain damaged*? That's a fucking *hellbeast*." Dart whined louder, scrambling to its feet to butt against Steve's ankles. The left head sneezed out a tiny flame that singed Billy's robe hem. "See? *Trick.*"
“But….puppy.” Steve protested with a pout that had no business being that effective in Hell, reaching out to scratch under Dart’s middle chin again. The pup collapsed into the touch with a blissful groan, all three tongues lolling as its tail thumped against the floor. One of its heads sneezed again—this time coating Billy’s foot in ember-flecked slobber. “Aw, c’mon. Look at him. He’s just a widdle—”
Billy’s eye twitched. “Finish that sentence and I’m throwing you into the sulfur pits myself.” He swiped at the drool with a disgusted snarl, only succeeding in smearing it further. The pup—taking this as an invitation—immediately pounced on his foot, gnawing happily at his ankle.
Steve scooped Dart up before Billy could punt him into the abyss, cradling the squirming bundle against his chest. The pup’s middle head licked his collarbone, the other two nuzzling into the crook of his elbow with tiny, rumbling purrs. “He’s coming with us,” Steve declared, dodging Billy’s swipe. “Look at him—he’s practically skin and bones. Probably trapped here like we are.”
“Angel, that thing is fatter than a cherub after harvest feast,” Billy hissed, snatching at Dart’s scruff as the pup dangled happily from Steve’s grip, all four paws kicking in midair. One of its heads belched a tiny smoke ring. “Hellhounds don’t *get* trapped—they *are* the trap.”
Steve adjusted his grip just as Dart’s tail thwacked Billy square in the jaw. “Then why’s he got a name tag?” He flipped the charred collar, revealing crude infernal script burned into the leather—*Property of E.M.* beneath a doodle of a fanged smiley face.
“It’s probably part of some sick illusion—” Billy lunged, fingers grazing Dart’s collar, but Steve twisted away with a burst of wingbeats that sent ash swirling around them. The hellhound yipped excitedly, tails wagging as Steve banked sharply around a stalactite, Billy’s snarl echoing off the cavern walls. “Steve, I swear to fucking—”
“No!” Steve laughed breathlessly as Billy lunged again, twisting midair with a flap of his ash-streaked wings. Dart yipped excitedly, paws paddling as Steve banked sharply around a stalagmite—Billy’s fingers grazed his ankle, but he kicked free with a giddy burst of speed. The pup’s tail wagged furiously, smacking Billy’s nose as Steve swooped lower. “You’re gonna have to try harder than that!”
“Steve give me the damn dog!” Billy roared, launching himself off a jagged outcrop with wings that still carried the muscle memory of heavenly grace—even if their feathers were now streaked charcoal-gray. Steve twisted midair, clutching Dart tighter as the pup yipped excitedly, all three heads lolling in the wind. Billy’s fingers grazed Steve’s ankle, but he kicked free with a giddy burst of speed that sent them spiraling around a stalagmite dripping with molten ichor.
“Catch me first!” Steve taunted, banking sharply as Billy snarled—his halo flickering like a dying star. Dart’s tail smacked Billy square in the forehead as Steve dove into a narrow crevice, wings scraping against the sulfur-crusted walls. The pup sneezed a tiny fireball that singed Billy’s already-frayed robes. “Aw, he likes you,” Steve cooed, dodging another grab.
Billy lunged again, teeth bared—but his wings faltered mid-beat, the ashen feathers shuddering under Hell’s weight. Steve saw the exact moment he gave up: Billy’s shoulders slumped, his breath ragged as he slumped against a stalagmite. “Fine,” he spat, swiping sweat from his brow. “Keep the damn mutt. But when it eats your face off, don’t come crying to me.”
Dart whined, squirming in Steve’s grip until he set him down. The pup promptly darted away before trotting to Billy, dropping a half-chewed hellmoth carcass onto the scorched leather with a proud yip. Billy stared at it. "What the fuck is wrong with this thing?"
Steve grinned, nudging Dart’s flank with his foot. "He’s trying to apologize." The pup whuffed, nudging the offering closer with a wet nose until Billy groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face.
"Disgusting," Billy muttered—but his fingers twitched, hovering over the moth’s singed wings before flicking it aside. Dart pounced, swallowing it whole, then promptly vomited a tiny plume of smoke onto Billy’s foot again.
Steve snorted, covering his mouth too late. Billy’s glare could’ve melted stone. “Oh, shut up,” he growled, stomping down the corridor. Dart trotted after him, stubby tail wagging, leaving sooty paw prints in his wake.
The east wing smelled less like sulfur and more like old parchment—still hellish, but tolerable. Steve traced a finger along the walls, surprised to find them warm, veins of glowing magma pulsing beneath the obsidian like a sleeping giant’s heartbeat. A tapestry hung crookedly, depicting Eddie lounging on a throne while lesser demons brought him offerings. Someone had embroidered a tiny frowning face on his chin.
Steve held in a chuckle, reaching to straighten the tapestry—only for Dart to barrel past him, skidding into a towering stack of scrolls. The pup yelped as parchment rained down, one unfurling midair to reveal a charcoal sketch of Eddie—sleeping, wings curled tight around himself like armor. The strokes were hurried, almost tender, and Steve’s breath caught at the vulnerability in the demon’s relaxed jawline. Billy snatched it before it hit the floor, his scowl faltering as his thumb brushed the smudged edge where Eddie’s claws had dented the paper.
“C’mon, lets keep going,” Billy muttered, tossing the sketch aside—but Steve caught it, folding it carefully before tucking it into his sash. They rounded another corner and froze. The doorway ahead wasn’t carved from obsidian like the rest of Hell—it was pale birchwood, the frame etched with tiny, clumsily carved stars. Steve pushed it open with a creak, and the scent of lavender and singed wool washed over them.
Inside was chaos. A rocking horse with flame-maned hooves stood in one corner, one leg gnawed to splinters. Tiny black-winged onesies hung from a line, their hems still smoking. A mobile of damned souls—softened into cherubic shapes—spun lazily above a crib big enough for three hellhound pups. Steve stepped on a stuffed hellbeast, its stitching burst open to reveal cotton stuffed with ash. “Eddie… built a nursery?” he whispered.
Billy snorted, kicking aside a charred rattle shaped like a screaming skull. “Probably stole some poor bastard’s kid,” he muttered, but his fingers lingered on the crib’s rail, tracing where the wood had been sanded smooth—no splinters, no jagged edges. Hell didn’t do smooth.
The door slammed open behind them. Eddie stood there, chest heaving, claws digging into the frame. His pupils were blown wide, the usual playful smirk replaced by something raw. “Out,” he hissed. The command crackled with infernal power, sending the mobile spinning wildly. Steve barely had time to grab Dart before Eddie’s tail lashed out, coiling around Billy’s wrist and yanking him backward. “Now.”
Billy snarled, wings flaring, but Eddie twisted his grip—not enough to hurt, just enough to steer—propelling them both into the hallway. The door slammed shut with a thunderclap, the sound of wards snapping into place vibrating through the floor. Eddie exhaled sharply through his nose, claws retracting as he dragged a hand down his face. “Stupid,” he muttered, tail twitching. “Should’ve boarded it up. Burned it. Fucking—”
Steve clutched Dart closer, the pup whining as Eddie paced, his boots leaving scorch marks on the stone. The demon’s wings were half-spread, the membrane stretched taut like he was ready to bolt—or fight. “Eddie,” Steve started, but the demon whirled on him, fangs bared.
“East wing’s *safe*,” Eddie spat, tail lashing. “No curses, no traps—just books and shit. *This*—” He jabbed a claw at the sealed door, the wood already darkening under his touch, “—isn’t part of the tour. Forget you saw it.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he turned abruptly, striding down the hall without checking if they followed.
Billy caught Steve’s wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. “Don’t,” he warned, low and rough. But Steve shook free, trailing after Eddie, Dart wriggling in his arms. The demon’s shoulders were hunched, his wings dragging like shattered things.
Dart whined, squirming until Steve set him down. The pup trotted ahead, pausing to nose at Eddie’s boot with a soft whimper. Eddie froze mid-step, his tail twitching violently before he crouched, claws retracting as he scooped Dart up with surprising gentleness. The hellhound licked his chin, leaving a sooty smear across the demon’s sharp jawline.
Steve hesitated, then stepped closer. “You built that room,” he murmured, watching Eddie stiffen. “Not for stolen kids. For—for yourself.”
Eddie’s claws flexed around Dart’s scruff. “Fuck off, angel,” he rasped, but there was no heat in it—just exhaustion, the kind that hollowed bones. His thumb rubbed absently over the pup’s middle head, smoothing between its twitching ears.
Billy shoved past Steve, wings bristling. “Cut the shit. What’s with the crib? You planning to whelp demons now?” His sneer faltered when Eddie didn’t rise to the bait—just curled tighter around Dart, his tail wrapping protectively around the squirming bundle. The silence stretched, thick with embers and something worse: understanding.
Steve reached out without thinking, fingers brushing Eddie’s elbow. The demon flinched, but didn’t pull away. His skin burned hotter than Hell’s forges. “Eddie,” Steve murmured, “who were you waiting for?”
Dart whined as Eddie’s grip tightened momentarily before relaxing. His laugh came out jagged. “No one. Everyone.” His claws traced the pup’s collar—*Property of E.M.*—before flicking the tag away. “Hell’s a long fucking fall, sweetheart. Longer when you land alone.”
Steve opened his mouth—Eddie’s hand shot up, silencing him with a snap of claws. The demon straightened abruptly, tossing Dart onto his shoulders where the pup settled like a living mantle. His grin returned, too sharp, too practiced. “Enough sob stories. You’re *starving*—don’t lie, I can hear Billy’s stomach growling from here—and I,” he spun on his heel, robes flaring dramatically, “am a *gracious* host.”
Billy scoffed, but Eddie was already striding down the corridor, tail flicking dismissively. His wings flexed—once, twice—shedding their earlier slump as if shaking off water. By the time they reached the grand hall, he’d conjured a gilded mask that covered his brow and nose, leaving only his smirk visible. The effect was ruined slightly by Dart sneezing embers into his hair.
"Feast," Eddie declared, gesturing to the banquet table laden with roasted meats, fruits dripping with syrup, and goblets of something that shimmered like liquid starlight. Steve’s stomach growled despite himself.
Billy eyed the spread like it might bite. "Poisoned?" he sneered, nudging a platter.
Eddie rolled his eyes, snagging a piece of chicken between his claws and popping it into Dart’s waiting maw. "Please. If I wanted you dead, I’d’ve let the sulfur pits do the work." He licked the juice from his fingers, watching Steve’s throat bob. "Besides—" He leaned in, breath hot against Steve’s ear, "—consorts taste better when you’re *well-fed*."
Billy’s growl rattled the goblets. He shoved between them, wings flaring wide enough to knock Eddie back a step. "Back off, *demon*."
Eddie’s grin didn’t waver, but his tail lashed once—sharp, irritated. "Touchy." He plucked a grape from the table, rolling it between claw-tips before popping it into his mouth. Juice dripped down his chin. "Eat or don’t. Starvation’s a *boring* torture."
Steve’s stomach growled again, louder. He reached for a loaf of bread—charred at the edges but steaming soft inside—only for Billy to snatch his wrist. "Don’t," he hissed, nostrils flaring. "Smells wrong."
“Billy. One celestial cycle. Thats how long we will be here, might as well get used to it.” Steve said softly. He wrenched his wrist free and tore off a chunk of bread, hesitating only a second before shoving it into his mouth. The taste exploded—honey and hearth-smoke, the crust crackling like autumn leaves underfoot.
“You can sit down you know,” Eddie drawled, lounging back in his throne-like chair, tail draped lazily over the armrest. Dart scrambled onto the table and promptly buried his snout in a bowl of spiced wine, three sets of ears flapping happily as he slurped. “Unless you prefer looming. Very intimidating, very—” His smirk widened as Billy’s wings twitched, “—*heavenly*.”
Steve swallowed another bite, the honeyed warmth settling deep in his hollow stomach. The food wasn’t poisoned—he’d know by now—but Billy remained rigid, fists clenched at his sides. Eddie watched them both with amused detachment, swirling his goblet absently until Steve reached for a slice of roasted pear glazed in hellfire syrup.
Steve found a chair and sat—gingerly, testing the carved bone legs—before grabbing another slice of bread. He froze when the chair lurched beneath him, sliding smoothly across the floor without a sound. The ornate backrest bumped lightly against Eddie’s throne, stopping with perfect precision just close enough for their shoulders to brush. Eddie didn’t look at him, just sipped his wine, but the corner of his mouth curled as Steve stiffened.
Billy’s wings flared violently. “The *fuck*—”
Eddie’s tail lashed—not at Billy, but at the empty space beside him. Hellfire unspooled from the demon’s claws like molten thread, weaving through the air in a serpentine flick before snapping taut around the legs of a high-backed chair. The seat jerked forward with a screech, skidding across the obsidian floor fast enough to scatter embers. Billy snarled, planting his feet—but the moment his thighs hit the chair’s edge, the damned thing *tipped*, dumping him backward into its plush depths with a muffled *whump*. The armrests folded inward, pinning his elbows gently but firmly against his ribs.
"*There*," Eddie purred, swirling his wine. The goblet’s contents shimmered a violent crimson, casting jagged shadows across his smirk. "Now we can all *civilly* enjoy supper. Like *grown-ups*." His tail flicked again, and the chair scooted neatly into place on his opposite side—far enough that Billy couldn’t reach across to throttle him, close enough that Steve could see the muscle jumping in Billy’s jaw.
Billy strained against the restraints, wings thrashing uselessly against the chair’s velvet back. "Let me go, you *fucking*—"
“*Billy*—“ Steve hissed under his breath, tearing his gaze away from Eddie’s smug profile to glare at his companion. The words tasted bitter—Eddie *had* dragged them here, *had* laughed while they were chained—but the table groaned with honest-to-Heaven delicacies, the goblets shone like captured constellations, and even the damned chair restraining Billy was upholstered in what looked like celestial silk. Hell or not, this was a gesture. Maybe twisted, maybe mocking—but a gesture nonetheless.
Steve straightened his spine, the remnants of his halo flickering weakly as he pressed his palms flat against the table. “Thank you for the meal,” he said, crisp and clear, ignoring Billy’s incredulous snarl. He reached for the pear again, deliberately slow, and took a bite so exaggerated it made Eddie’s eyebrow twitch. Juice dripped down his chin—he caught it with his thumb, licking it clean without breaking eye contact.
Eddie’s tail stiffened. His claws dug into the armrests, leaving thin trails of smoke in the velvet. “Manners,” he mused, voice dripping with false sweetness. “How… *adorable*.”
Billy lunged against the chair’s restraints—or tried to. The moment he tensed, the silk bindings slithered tighter, molding to his biceps like a second skin. Eddie didn’t even glance his way, just watched Steve lick syrup from his fingertips with a gaze that burned hotter than the pits below.
“Please release my ma—my friend,” Steve said evenly, fingers curled around his goblet—still untouched. The liquid inside shimmered unnaturally, casting prismatic shadows across his knuckles.
Eddie’s grin didn’t waver, but his tail flicked—once, twice—before the silken restraints dissolved into smoke. Billy surged forward, wings flaring, only to freeze when Steve’s hand caught his wrist. “*Eat*,” Steve murmured, pressing a honey-glazed fig into Billy’s palm. “Or are you scared?”
Billy’s snarl cut off mid-breath. He stared at the fruit, then at Steve’s steady gaze, before shoving it into his mouth with a growl. The taste hit him like a punch—molten cinnamon, the tartness of damned pomegranates, the ghost of something achingly familiar. *Home.* His wings shuddered.
Eddie watched, rapt, as juice dripped down Billy’s chin. “Good, right?” he murmured, claws drumming the table. “Stolen from Heaven’s orchards.” His grin widened at Billy’s sharp inhale. “Oh, relax. Your precious archangels won’t miss *one* tree.”
Steve’s fingers tightened around his goblet. The liquid inside swirled violently, catching the hellfire light—shadows flickered across the surface like wings in flight. “You *stole* from Heaven?” His voice cracked. “That’s—that’s *impossible*.”
“God owes me a favor—several actully—but that’s a *long* fucking story,” Eddie chuckled, swirling his goblet lazily before tossing it back in one smooth gulp. The liquid left his lips stained black, tendrils of smoke curling from his tongue as he exhaled. “Point is, stealing fruit’s the least of my sins, sweetheart.”
“Wait, back up—God? The one we serve? Owes *you*?” Billy’s fingers crushed the fig, pulp oozing between his knuckles. His wings twitched—still gray, still grounded—but the rage in them burned white-hot. “Bullshit.”
Eddie’s tail flicked dismissively, coiling around the leg of Steve’s chair. “Technically, she’s my sister. Or whatever.” He shrugged, plucking a grape from the table and popping it into Dart’s waiting maw. The pup chomped happily, ember-drool sizzling on the tablecloth. “Long story short: Dad had a thing for fire, she got the good wings and a kingdom of happiness, and I got the horns and a kingdom full of lava.” His grin was razor-edged, but his claws dug into the armrests. “And *she*—well. Let’s just say guilt makes for *great* bargaining chips.”
Billy’s wine goblet shattered in his grip, shards embedding in his palm. He didn’t flinch. “You’re *lying*.”
“I’m not, but enough about me.” Eddie flicked a claw, and Billy’s bleeding hand healed instantly, the shards dissolving into smoke. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin propped on his knuckles. “Tell me something *true*, angel. Why’d you *really* trade places for those brats?” His gaze flicked to Steve’s stomach—subtle, but not subtle enough. Billy’s growl rattled the chandelier.
Steve’s fingers tightened around his goblet. The liquid inside swirled violently, shadows dancing like wings in flight. “They’re *kids*,” he said, voice thick. “They deserve—”
“Yeah. No.” Eddie’s tail lashed, knocking over a candelabra. Hellfire licked up the spilled wax, casting jagged shadows across his smirk. “Heaven’s crawling with fledglings, last I checked. You picked *those* six.” His claw traced the rim of Steve’s untouched goblet. “Why?”
“Well for the most part their our kids, we raised them.” Steve stated, eyes flicking to Billy, who had gone unnaturally still.
“Yours? You have kids?” Eddie’s smirk faltered—just for a breath—before returning sharper. His claws tapped against the goblet, the rhythmic *clink* echoing louder than it should. “Could’ve sworn angels weren’t allowed to—”
“We raised them,” Billy snapped, wings bristling like stormclouds. His fist clenched around the crushed fig, pulp oozing between his fingers like sinner’s blood. “Not *bred* them. You think Heaven lets angels fuck? Fuck *no*.” His laugh was a jagged thing, edged with old shame. “Chastity vows. Purity laws. All that *holy* bullshit.” His gaze flicked to Steve—just for a breath—before hardening. “We found the—“
“Billy. It’s okay. We can tell him, he won’t tell anyone.” Steve’s fingers curled around Billy’s wrist, thumb tracing the pulse point there—too fast, too human. “We weren’t supposed to,” he murmured, gaze locked on Eddie’s unblinking stare. “But we did. We mated. Had kids.” His voice cracked on the last word, wings shuddering as he gripped the goblet.
Eddie’s tail froze mid-flick. The hellfire in his goblet hissed, dying abruptly. “You—*what*?” His claws dug into the table, leaving scorched grooves in the obsidian. “Angels *can’t*—when I was—they stopped that?”
Billy’s laugh was bitter enough to curdle milk. “Oh, they *stopped* it alright. Smote the last pair who tried.” His fingers twitched toward Steve’s stomach—aborted the motion, but Eddie didn’t miss it. “We hid ours. Six eggs smuggled into the nurseries, passed off as foundlings.” His wings mantled defensively. “They were *ours*.”
Eddie’s tail lashed once—twice—before coiling tight around his own thigh. His claws flexed, puncturing the table. “You—*fuck*.” His voice cracked like a whip. “You think *that’s* why they sent you after me? Not the contract, not the—” He choked on the word, fangs glinting as he bared them. “They *knew*. Knew you’d trade yourselves. Knew I’d—”
Eddie snarled—not at them, at the air, at the unseen weight of Heaven’s machinations—and his horns *cracked* as they elongated, curling viciously toward the ceiling. Fire bled from his pupils, dripping down his cheeks like molten tears. “*Out*,” he gritted, claws shredding the armrests to ribbons. The command reverberated through the hall, shaking the chandeliers. “Go to my chambers. *Now*.”
Steve stumbled back, wings flaring instinctively, but Billy planted himself between them, fists clenched. “Like *hell* we’re—”
Eddie’s roar shook the walls. Flames erupted from his shoulders, licking up the tapestries as his horns—now grotesquely elongated—scraped the vaulted ceiling. His claws gouged deep furrows into the obsidian floor, molten rock bubbling in their wake. “*GO*,” he snarled, voice layered with something deeper, older—the hiss of sulfur and the groan of tectonic plates. The fire between his horns pulsed like a heartbeat, casting jagged shadows across his contorted face.
“Steve lets go,” Billy growled, yanking his wrist free—but Steve was already moving, scooping Dart into his arms like a shield. The hellhound pup whined, licking at Steve’s trembling fingers as they backed toward the arched doorway. Eddie didn’t follow. He remained hunched over the ruined table, tail lashing like a whip, his breath coming in ragged, smoke-filled gusts.
“What was that?!” Billy hissed the moment the chamber doors slammed shut behind them, his wings still flared wide enough to brush the obsidian walls. Steve barely heard him—his fingers trembled where they clutched Dart, the pup’s three heads nuzzling anxiously at his wrists. The scent of burnt sugar and charred velvet clung to Steve’s robes, mingling with the metallic tang of his own fear.
“I don’t know,” Steve whispered, pressing his forehead against Dart’s middle head. The pup’s ember-hot tongue licked his temple, leaving a sooty smear. “But we need to—” He froze mid-sentence, wings twitching as a low, rhythmic *scritch-scritch* echoed from the corridor ahead. Billy shoved Steve behind him, hellfire sparking between his clenched fists—only for both of them to recoil as a large figure rounded the corner.
The demon moved like smoke given form—limbs too long, joints too fluid, the shadows themselves clinging to his frame as if reluctant to let him pass. His horns were shorter than Eddie’s but twice as thick, curling like ram’s horns over a mess of curly dark hair. One eye gleamed like polished obsidian; the other was a hollow socket wreathed in flickering hellfire, tendrils of flame licking out like a cat’s restless tail. “Masters,” he rasped, voice the sound of gravel and grinding bones. He bowed low, the spiked pauldrons on his shoulders glinting as they caught the torchlight. “Lord Eddie says... you sleep now. This way.”
Steve shot Billy a wary glance—Dart squirmed in his arms, whimpering as the man extended a clawed hand toward them. “Um—who are you, exactly? And where’s Eddie?”
“I am Gareth,” the demon rumbled, his molten eye flickering as he straightened. The shadows clinging to him writhed like restless serpents. “Lord Eddie’s general. And *he*—” He jerked his chin toward the sealed dining hall, where the muffled sound of shattering crystal still echoed, “—is currently redecorating. Violently. And *burning things*.”
Billy’s hellfire sputtered out. “Fuck’s sake—”
Gareth shuffled forward, armor clattering. “Follow,” he insisted, his hollow socket flaring brighter when Billy didn’t move. “Unless you *want* to see a prince of Hell throw a tantrum. Trust me—you don’t.”
Steve exhaled, nodding. Dart whined as Gareth turned, leading them down a corridor lined with tapestries that *moved*—angels falling, their wings blackening mid-descent. Billy’s fingers dug into Steve’s wrist. “This freaking art,” he muttered, but his voice wavered.
Gareth’s claws clicked against the obsidian floor. “Lord Eddie’s chambers,” he announced, stopping before a door carved from a single, massive bone. It pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart. The demon pressed his palm to it, whispering something that made the hinges bleed black smoke. “He’ll come when he’s done… whatever *that* was. Until then make yourselves comfortable.”
Billy scoffed, peering into the dimly lit room. “Comfortable. Right.” The chamber sprawled before them—half-luxury, half-ruin. Silk sheets tangled with throw blankets, a grand canopy bed draped in shadow, shelves lined with human trinkets: a rusted music box, a cracked vinyl record, a child’s stuffed bear missing an eye. Steve’s breath hitched.
Dart wriggled free and scampered over to a pile of shredded velvet in the corner—what might’ve once been a throne cushion, now serving as the hellhound’s nest. Steve’s fingers lingered on the music box, its tarnished hinges creaking when he lifted the lid. A warped melody plinked out, notes stretched thin from centuries in hell’s heat.
Billy hummed along to the melody unconsciously, his fingers twitching—then froze as if caught in heresy. His wings bristled when Gareth chuckled from the doorway.
"Eddie likes human things," Gareth said, nodding to the vinyl on the shelf. "Says they're more honest than hymns." His molten eye flicked to Steve, who was tracing the bear's remaining button eye. "That one's his."
Billy scoffed, but his fingers twitched toward the record—its label peeling, the words *Master of Puppets* barely legible. "Demon lord collects toys. Cute. Did he steal it from some dead kid?"
Gareth's shadow-serpents coiled tighter. "No," he rasped. The word dripped like acid. "They were his *before*."
The music box wheezed to a stop. Steve's fingers hovered over the bear—its fur matted with something dark and sticky. "Before... Hell?"
Gareth's claws flexed. "Before the Fall." The words landed like stones. He turned toward the door, his armor creaking. "Sleep. Or don't. Either way, don't touch the—"
A crash echoed from somewhere deep in the palace—glass shattering, metal rending. Gareth's eye-flame flared violently. "Fuck. He's in the archives." The demon bolted, his shadow-serpents dissolving into smoke as he vanished down the corridor.
The giant doors slammed shut behind Gareth with a sound like cracking ribs. Steve barely had time to register the lock clicking—a wet, organic sound—before Billy was already clawing at the hinges, his fingers scraping uselessly against enchanted bone. "Fucking—*hell*—" Billy snarled, kicking the door hard enough to send pain ricocheting up his thigh. The door didn’t even shudder.
Steve sighed as he made his way over to the bed, sinking onto the silk-draped mattress. The fabric smelled faintly of sulfur and something else—something warm, like spiced wine left to evaporate in sunlight. His fingers traced the embroidered sigils along the headboard, their threads shimmering with latent magic. "Billy," he murmured, watching the other angel pace like a caged beast, his gray wings twitching with restless energy. "We're not getting out that way."
Billy whirled on him, fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked. "You're just gonna *sit* here?" His halo flickered erratically, casting jagged shadows across his face. Another crash echoed through the palace—closer this time—followed by the unmistakable shriek of rending metal. Dart whimpered, all three heads ducking under Steve's arm.
“What choice do we have?” Steve murmured, sinking deeper into the silk. His fingers curled into the fabric—Eddie’s scent clung to it, that dizzying mix of hellfire and crushed juniper. Another distant crash made the walls tremble. Dust rained from the ceiling, catching in Billy’s ashen wings as he prowled the perimeter like a trapped storm. “Might as well rest while we can.”
Billy’s snarl cut through the dim light. “Rest? While that *thing* tears apart his own kingdom?” His nails scraped the obsidian walls, leaving jagged marks. “We should be *running*.”
Steve exhaled, pressing Dart closer as the pup whined. Another crash—closer now—sent tremors through the floor. The music box toppled, its warped lullaby sputtering into silence. “And go where, exactly?” Steve murmured. “We’re in *Hell*, Billy. There’s no outrunning him here.” His fingers traced the sigils again, their magic humming under his touch like a sleeping beast.
Billy’s wings flared, sending shadows skittering. “So we just *wait*? We stay compliant? What exactly are you suggesting? That we stay here like—” His voice cracked. “Like *pets*?”
Steve flinched. Dart whined louder, pressing three wet noses into his ribs. Before he could answer, the door groaned—not from Billy’s assault, but from the outside. The bone frame pulsed once, twice, then split open with a wet, organic sound.
Eddie stood in the threshold, silhouetted by the hellfire still licking at his claws. His horns were streaked with fresh soot, one pauldron hanging half-off his shoulder, and his iridescent wings—usually so meticulously preened—were ragged at the edges, shedding feathers that turned to embers before they hit the floor. He blinked at them, pupils blown wide, chest heaving like he’d fought his way through the nine circles barehanded.
Then, like flipping a switch, his shoulders rolled back. His grin slid into place, too-sharp and practiced, though his fingers trembled slightly as he righted his pauldron with a theatrical sigh. "Well," he purred, stepping inside with deliberate lightness, "looks like someone redecorated *my* archives without asking." His voice was honeyed chaos, but his claws left gouges in the doorframe where he gripped it too tight.
Billy lunged—Steve barely caught his wrist in time, hauling him back as Eddie tilted his head, amused. "Tsk. And here I came to *apologize*." His grin didn't reach his eyes, which flickered between them like a dying torch. Dart scrambled from Steve's lap, circling Eddie's boots with frantic whines until the demon crouched, running trembling fingers through the pup's fur.
Steve exhaled. "Your general said you were... redecorating."
Eddie's laugh was a cracked thing, too loud in the trembling silence. "Oh, just purging some outdated literature." His claws twitched around Dart's scruff—too tight, then abruptly gentle when the pup yelped. The air smelled of burnt parchment and something acrid, like tears boiled down to salt.
Steve watched Eddie's throat work as he swallowed. The demon lord's chest rose and fell too fast beneath his ruined tunic, the edges still smoldering where hellfire had licked too close to his skin. "Gareth's dramatic," Eddie muttered, avoiding their eyes. "It was just—" His wings rustled, shedding another feather. It dissolved into sparks before hitting the floor. "*Nothing*."
Billy scoffed, jerking his wrist free from Steve's grip. "Bullshit. We heard—"
"Everything?" Eddie's grin turned jagged, his claws flexing around Dart's scruff. The pup whined but didn't pull away, one head nudging Eddie's trembling knee. "Bet it sounded *real* scary from in here." His voice dripped mockery, but his wings twitched—a shudder that sent another shower of embers drifting to the floor. “The mean scary demon lord throwing a fit.”
Billy bared his teeth. “You’re *unhinged*.”
Eddie’s grin faltered. His claws scraped absently over Dart’s ribs, the pup’s middle head lolling in contentment despite the tension. “Yeah,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Been hearing that a *long* time. You’re not the first.” The admission slipped out raw, too honest—his shoulders stiffened immediately, wings pulling tight like he could physically reel the words back in.
Steve moved before he could stop himself, crossing the room in three strides. Eddie recoiled, but Steve caught his wrist—the demon’s skin was fever-hot, pulsing with unstable energy. Up close, the damage was worse: cracks spiderwebbed through Eddie’s iridescent scales, veins of hellfire visible beneath his skin where the power threatened to rupture him entirely. “Eddie,” Steve said softly, thumb brushing the fragile hinge of his wrist. “What did you find in those archives?”
“Careful, little angel,” Eddie hissed, but his claws retracted—like he couldn’t bear the thought of scratching Steve. His gaze flicked to Billy, who stood frozen, defensive. “You don’t know what you’re playing at.” The words were a threat, but his voice cracked halfway through, the tremor betraying him.
Steve didn’t let go. Eddie’s pulse rabbited against his palm—too fast, too hot, like a star collapsing inward. Beneath the bravado and the scorched silk, the demon lord smelled of singed feathers and salt. “Show me,” Steve murmured, tightening his grip when Eddie tried to pull away.
Eddie’s laugh came out mangled. “You don’t *want* to see.” His claws flexed, scraping Steve’s wrist—not deep enough to draw blood, but close. Behind them, Billy snarled, halo flaring bright above hus head. Eddie’s gaze flicked to him, something desperate flashing behind the mockery. “Go ahead, blondie. Burn me. Might do us all a favor.”
Steve didn’t flinch. His fingers slid up Eddie’s arm, tracing the cracked scales there—the heat beneath them pulsed like a second heartbeat. “Try me,” he said, quiet as a prayer.
Eddie shuddered. His wings twitched, sending another cascade of embers drifting to the floor. Dart whined, pressing all three heads against Eddie’s thigh as if to anchor him. “You think I *want* to be this?” Eddie’s voice cracked open, raw as a wound. His claws flexed, not in threat but in helpless frustration. “You think I *chose*—?”
Billy took a step forward, his halo flickering uncertainly. “Chose *what*?”
Eddie’s breath hitched—a sound too jagged for his usual theatrics. His claws flexed around Steve’s wrist, not tightening, just... holding, like he was afraid Steve would dissolve if he gripped too hard. “Chose to be *this*,” he rasped, gesturing wildly at himself—the cracked scales, the frayed wings, the throne room of broken things. “Some fucking *monster*.”
Steve’s thumb brushed the pulse point beneath Eddie’s scales. The demon’s skin burned hotter there, as if his heart was trying to claw its way out. “You’re not a monster,” Steve murmured, and Eddie *flinched*, like the words physically hurt.
“How can you be so sure of that, you don’t even know me.” Eddie spat, yanking his wrist away from Steve’s grasp with enough force to send a few loose scales fluttering to the floor. They shimmered faintly before dissolving into smoke. He raked a clawed hand through his tangled hair, gesturing vaguely toward an ornate dresser in the corner—its surface carved with twisting serpents and half-melted candles. “There’s spare clothes in there,” he muttered, voice rough. “Something that won’t reek of holy water and regret.”
Before either of them could respond, Eddie was already halfway to the door, his ruined wings dragging behind him like a tattered cloak. Dart whined, trotting after him, but Eddie shook his head sharply. “Stay,” he ordered, voice cracking. The pup whimpered but obeyed, sinking onto his haunches with a pitiful whimper. Eddie hesitated—just for a heartbeat—his fingers twitching at his sides before he vanished into the corridor, the door slamming shut behind him with a sound like a ribcage collapsing.
Billy exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “What the *fuck* was that?”