Work Text:
Lucifer slides a page of his homework across the table to me, all without looking up.
I look it up and down, and obediently begin transcribing his clumsy, grade-school printing into a respectable script.
Still squeezing his quill awkwardly between his palms, he begins his next page.
I'd suggested to him, years ago, that he should teach himself to write all over again by holding his quill in his teeth, or maybe even between his toes.
He'd nearly strangled me to death with my own collar, and I haven't brought it up again.
I finished my own homework two hours ago, but will still be sitting at this desk another two, at least, helping him finish his. I wouldn't mind it, except that his answers are invariably better than mine, and always leave me bitterly aware that, even now, he's better at everything he does than I could ever be.
I finish the page, pull out my DDD and patiently wait for the next.
“Oh…” There's a calendar notification, blinking in the corner of my screen. “We're going to have to finish this later, I'm afraid. You have a playdate tonight, Master.”
(My cursed tongue can't call him anything else, and the word burns and lingers like bile every time it drips past my lips.)
He glances up so I can read his sullen eyes.
I'm not going.
“You know you don't have a choice,” I sigh. “Lord Diavolo insists that-"
I don't care. I'm busy. I'm not going.
(It's almost impressive that he can interrupt me without actually saying anything.)
“Master, please,” I sigh, as I leave the table to help him switch chairs, “must we go through this every week?”
Yes. It's the best part of every week.
That actually makes me chuckle. It was, believe it or not, something resembling a joke, which means he's acquiesced. I pull his chair away from the table, slide one arm carefully under his knees and the other under his arms, then bow my head so he can get an arm around my neck.
I pick him up, being careful to keep him cradled against my chest, kick my leash out of the way, and ease him into his wheelchair.
Back on That Night, I'd been certain that I knew what would follow. Lord Diavolo would execute me for all the unthinkable things I’d just done, and that was fine. I had made my peace with death, and was ready to sleep.
I'd thought for sure I knew what would follow for Lucifer, too. His beloved Lord Diavolo would heal him, as best he could, and anything he couldn't fix, he would surely replace with a magical prosthetic. I'm not half as powerful as Lord Diavolo, but even I can make a chicken talk – giving Lucifer his voice back, along with everything else I'd taken, would have been child’s play for the Demon Prince.
But he didn't.
He left him just as he was, broken and mute and crippled beyond repair, and when Lucifer had finally swallowed his pride and tearfully begged him to reconsider, Diavolo had given him a cruel present, instead.
It was a black, wrought iron wheelchair. It's beautiful, but its message was clear: that Lord Diavolo had no intention of ever forgiving the demon who had destroyed his Exchange Program, and any hope that it could ever be rebuilt.
And me? Well, I didn't get executed, unless this is my own personal hell and I just don't know it yet. (And that's not out of the realm of possibilities, mind you.) I had come out of That Night believing myself the master of perfectly ironic punishments.
Diavolo immediately proved me wrong.
For all his bluster and light-hearted merry-making…
He IS the Demon Prince.
He knows, even better than I, that death does not beget suffering. It ends it. Execution would have been too good, too easy, too merciful, for me.
He wanted me to suffer. He wanted us both to suffer.
Together.
Forever.
He gave Lucifer a wheelchair.
He gave me a collar. My black iron leash is eight feet long, and permanently affixed to the back of his chair.
We are both bound to that damn chair, now.
And to each other.
My real punishment, of course, isn't having to kick my leash out of the way every time I walk around, nor is it having to sleep on the floor beside his chair (I borrowed Mammon's old bed, so it's not so bad), nor is it never being allowed a moment of privacy.
My real punishment is that I have no choice but to serve him. I bathe him and I dress him; I bring him to his classes and speak on his behalf before the student council; I help him eat his meals, write out his homework, use the bathroom, and get into bed.
The ironic thing is, all those things I just mentioned?
They're his real punishment, too.
“Do you remember where you left off last time, Master?” I dutifully ask, as I wheel him down the hall.
I try not to. Do I really have to do this?
“Yes, Master. You know you do. Last episode, Gershin – she was the half-human, half-fey handmaiden to the cruel queen, remember - she'd just found the magic pipes, and was-"
I remember, he sighs. Thank you, Satan.
“You’re welcome, Master.”
We didn't always get along so well. For the first thirty-odd years, we fought like two cats with their tails tied together. I don't know which took longer: me coming to terms with being a slave, or Lucifer coming to terms with needing one.
…We don't mind each other, now.
I knock on the door, and am immediately greeted with:
“No entry without the pass-"
“The password is: Let me in this instant, or I will hang you by your ankles from the dining room chandelier.”
Lucifer smirks. He's finally getting used to having me speak on his behalf, and I try my best to do him justice.
“Oh! OH! LUCIFER, IS THAT YOU?!” The door swings open, and Levi, bubbling with excitement, wraps his startled brother in a bear hug.
Lucifer looks at me. His eyes are wide and uncomfortable. GET HIM OFF ME PLEASE
“Hehehe,” I chuckle, as I gently pry Levi away from the chair. “He's excited to see you too, but you know he hates being touched. It makes him all squirmy. Surely you can empathize,” I smirk.
“Oh no, I totally forgot! I'm an awful brother! Apologize to him for me?!”
Lucifer rolls his eyes.
“He's mute, not deaf,” I sigh, as I wheel him into the room. “You can apologize to him yourself.”
“Arrgh! Oh man, I suck so bad! I'm so sorry, Lucifer! I totally know how much you hate being hugged; I'm such a loser for forgetting something that important. I'll understand if you want to cancel; it must be such a chore having to hang out with me once a month. I'm boring, and lame, and you're not interested in any of my-
Levi. Shut up.
“Levi, shut up,” I sigh, doing my best to echo the softness in Lucifer's eyes. “You know none of that is true. Do you have everything ready?”
“Of course! Everything's queued up, and I made popcorn and everything!”
Lucifer quirks an eyebrow at me.
How the hell does he expect me to eat popcorn?
“The same way you do everything else,” I smirk. “By using me.”
I park Lucifer's wheelchair beside the couch buried up against Levi’s jellyfish tank and carefully clear off a few stacks of manga and magazines and Akuzon catalogues. I help Lucifer into the corner seat, and drape a blanket over his legs. (They get cold, but he doesn't realize it.) Once I'm certain he's comfortable, I wind the slack out of my leash, drape it over the arm of his wheelchair, and sit on the floor at my Master's right hand.
Levi fires up episode 125, then drops onto the other end of the couch, being very, very careful to give Lucifer all the personal space he needs, this time, and passes him a bowl of popcorn.
Lucifer sighs, but accepts the thoughtful gift nonetheless, and sets it in his lap. I make no move to feed him any, yet. I'll wait until Levi's engrossed in his anime (which won't take long), so Lucifer doesn’t have to suffer being watched while he's fed.
Levi finally spares a quick look at me, like he's noticing me for the first time. (That happens all the time, now. Living in Lucifer's shadow has rendered me, at best, a polite afterthought.) “Oh, Satan! Are you comfortable down there? Do you wanna borrow my gaming chair or anything?”
“I'm fine,” I smile. “But thank you for asking.”
“It's still so weird seeing you… you know…”
“As a slave? Yes. Trust me, I know,” I chuckle. “But I'm learning to live with it. He's not a bad Master, really.”
Lucifer purses his lips, and spares me a sympathetic look.
Some days, I almost think he feels as bad for me as for himself.
“What? No, no, that's not what I meant,” Levi mumbles, with his attention already glued back on the brightly- colored screen, “you're a natural. It's like you were born to serve him.” (Lucifer and I swap expressions. Now he's smirking, and I'm rolling my eyes.) “I meant it's still so weird seeing the two of you getting along. Ok, so Gershin is just learning to play the magic pipes she found in the satyr’s forest, but the queen keeps trying to…”
I pull out a book. This isn't my playdate, after all, and a respectable slave's place is to be seen, not heard. Keeping a diligent watch on my Master out of the corner of my eye, I leave them to their marathon.
An hour in, and Lucifer looks so bored he could kill himself. He can't interrupt Levi’s rambling commentary, though, nor can he get up and leave.
All he can do is sit and watch, and try to be polite about it.
He catches me looking, and sighs.
He keeps spoiling the endings.
“I know, Master,” I smirk, as I turn back to my book. “Be patient. Only six more hours.”
I don't look up again until Levi starts bawling his eyes out. “Can you believe it?! It's unthinkable! How can he just leave her like that, out in that cursed pond, after all she did for him?!”
Lucifer sighs. He's not watching the show anymore; his soft eyes are fixed on his sobbing little brother.
He always loved us.
Every last one.
Even Mammon.
…Especially Mammon.
It's too late to take it all back, though.
He reaches across the couch, taps Levi on the shoulder, and beckons him over.
Too absorbed in his heart-breaking cartoon to realize how out-of-character the invitation is, Levi throws himself into Lucifer's lap and bawls into his shoulder. "It’s soooooo not fair! She loved him! She trusted him, sooooo much, and he betrayed her! How could anyone do something so terrible?!”
Lucifer pulls Levi into his arms, and gently strokes his hair. His dark eyes are damp, too.
But I don't think he's crying over a cartoon.