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Millions of years later, once humans have finally evolved from apes in trees to semi-functional beings that are able to question the many mysteries of the universe, they will say that God – be it the one guy or one of many depending on what human you asked – created soulmates.
Mammon, however, knew 'God' and knew for a fact that the guy had as little knowledge about the existence of soulmates as the average human. Mammon doubted his 'Father' even knew much about what exactly created the universe, the humans, the demons or even he himself. Mammon thought that maybe it was all created by whatever ancient, unstable magic that powered the universe and the three worlds. But. Well. He didn't know that. Not really. Not for a fact.
What he did know was that whoever or whatever it was had damned him to his fate the minute he was created.
When he was young, too young really, he'd never understood why the other angels shied away from him. Why older angels tugged their charges out of his way, why Michael watched him with sharp eyes from behind a sweet smile, why Raphael glared at him like he'd committed some unforgivable sin each time he dared to breathe too loud.
But he'd grown and he'd aged and he'd finally understood the meaning behind the dark letters that branded the inside of his wrist. Oh. Well. He'd understood as well as anyone else did. The last words his soulmate would ever say to him.
And they were, well, they were damning. Or more accurately one word out of the eight was damning. Singling him out as something other. Aligning him with the enemy they were fighting, the enemy they were training him to fight.
The word marked him as bad. A monster under the bed. A ticking time bomb, though ticking time bombs were still something far beyond the humans' capabilities of invention at the moment.
But Mammon had decided, with a brain that had not yet fully developed, a brain that was comparable to the one of a ten-year-old human child, if they had already labelled his very existence as bad then what was limiting him from acting however he wanted. What was binding him to the stuffy expectations bestowed upon the other, good angels.
So what if Michael dragged him off to punishments that gave him nightmares throughout his allocated sleep cycle. So what if Raphael hissed at him that should he continue along this path he would surely Fall, alone into the depths of the Devildom to be ripped apart and devoured by the savage demons. It's not like anything had really changed from before.
Except, things did change.
Simeon, was a Seraph like Michael and Raphael. Simeon, unlike Michael and Raphael, generally stayed out of his way.
Except, today he stood in front of Mammon with a soft smile, next to a tall, severe looking Seraph that Mammon had never seen before.
Logic suggested this was Lucifer. The Fourth Seraph. God's favourite son and most likely successor, who generally liked to keep to himself deep within the walls of the Celestial Palace and far away from lower ranked angels like Mammon.
Except, now Lucifer was here right in front of Mammon. And, well if this was Mammon millions of years in the future with an adult brain and an adult vocabulary, he'd say he was well and truly fucked.
But it isn't and he doesn't, so all Mammon can do, as he is now, is consider the pros and cons of making a run for it. But before he can decide, Lucifer is kneeling before him and reaching for his right hand. The action alone had him freezing in place, unable to even twitch when Lucifer drags his arm towards his face to get a better look at those pitch-black letters.
So Mammon stands and he waits, for the disgust, for the judgment. And he doesn't have to wait long, before Lucifer is snorting – an undignified callous sound – and rolling his eyes.
"Idiots," Lucifer hisses.
His voice is deep and steeped in the expected disgust and judgment, even as his gloved thumb gently traces the words on Mammon's wrist.
Simeon giggles – a musical little laugh – behind his hand.
When Lucifer finally lets go of his hand it's to grip his own pure white shawl and tear off a long strip of it.
Mammon jolts at the sound it makes. The sudden movement makes Lucifer look back up to make eye contact with Mammon. There's a small, barely visible smile at the corner of his mouth.
That smile leaves his face as he takes Mammon's wrist back into his hands, but his touch remains gentle, though firm, as he winds the piece of his shawl around Mammon's wrist. And Mammon watches as those wretched words leave his sight for the first time in the centuries he's been alive.
"Don't let these words or anyone else determine who you are, who you want to be, what you want to achieve. You are bright and you can be great as long as you don't let this drag you down. Now, what do you want Mammon? What do you really want?"
Lucifer's eyes are intense, a deep red that stares straight into his. They command respect. Even from fellow Seraphim like Michael and Raphael.
That's what he wants, Mammon decides. To be strong and powerful, surpassing even the other seraphim. Second to none other than maybe Lucifer.
So Mammon puffs out his little chest and says in what is his most serious voice, "I wanna be a Seraph."
Lucifer startles. Visibly reeling back, before his face lights up with amusement. "Then go for it. Go for what you want and take what's yours. Don't let anything stop you."
He will, Mammon decides, because no matter what Raphael says there was never any harm in being a little greedy.
Lucifer, following that first interaction, becomes a much more permanent fixture in his life, while Michael and Raphael tend to keep their distance.
"It's because it is obvious how much Lucifer adores you," says Simeon, who has also become a more frequent visitor, when he asks about it.
And it is Lucifer, who apparently adores him, who teaches him – somewhat accidentally – to swear like a sailor.
And it is Lucifer, who apparently adores him, that Mammon kind of, sort of sees as the older brother he never expected to have – 'kind of', 'sort of' only because of the embarrassing number of times he'd slipped up and accidentally called Lucifer 'Dad', a word he'd never used before.
And it is Lucifer, who apparently adores him, who finally tells him more about what soulmates really are and how despite them being as sure a part of a human's anatomy as a beating heart was, they were a rare phenomenon among creatures like angels and demons who lived indefinitely once they reached their prime, unless their lives were forcibly ended. Angels created with soulmarks – lasts words that were tattooed in dark ink on to their skin in their soulmate's own script and how morbid was that exactly – usually lost said soulmates – either romantic or platonic – to the war with the demons.
Lucifer nor Simeon had any markings. Nor did Levi, Asmo, Beel or Belphie when they eventually came along. Lilith, however, had in large, chicken-scratch letters that wrapped around her left ankle;
Meeting you was a blessing
And though Mammon did not actively think about his own words anymore, he still wondered as the war continued on and on, when he would finally hear them, even as his ranking rose and he moved past the frontlines and to a place as Lucifer's right hand.
He wondered and waited and waited and wondered right until the impossible happened and the Demon King was more or less succeeded by his son who called for a truce to a war where both sides had long since forgotten the reasons behind.
Life continued on. God became less active and Michael took on more of his duties even as Lucifer was groomed to take his place. Lucifer's trips to the Devildom became more frequent, his eyes now sharper and his voice tighter with each return home. Lilith's, far less known, trips to the human world also became more frequent, her face more flushed and her smiles softer with each return home.
Life continued on. Until it reached its boiling point.
Lilith had healed a dying human. Lilith who should not even have been in the human world had healed a dying human.
"He said the words," she said, showing off her ankle where words that were once a bold black had faded into a pale scar, face set in stubborn determination even as God and Michael ordered for her execution.
She went after what she wanted and didn't let anything stop her. She was bright and beautiful, bull-headed and brave. She was his baby sister and he loved her to death and it was about time he proved it. Luckily for him the others seemed to have come to the same conclusion.
Later when all is said and done and they'd lost Lilith – and they’d lost Lilith and they’d lost Lilith and he’d lost his baby sister – but gained Satan – who is small and angry and unstable but who Mammon already loves with every last part of his shattered heart. After their bodies and lives have changed beyond recognition. After they've had their chance to cry and scream and grieve both separately and together, Mammon stares at his wrist under the eternal night sky of the Devildom. Lucifer's shawl, that had survived centuries wrapped around it, had burned to a crisp during the Fall. Those damning words were bared for the world to see, and damning they were because in the end, after everything, they had been right. They had all been right. He was never meant to be anything other than what fate had written into his skin.
Is the big, bad demon crying over me
As the years pass, Mammon stops resenting the words as much as he once did, starts thinking that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to have always been fated to belong in the Devildom. Gone are stories the angels had woven about a world of endless darkness crawling with nightmarish creatures and ruled by an evil king, that awaited anyone who crossed the line up in the Celestial Realm. In its place is a world lit by bright stars and an even brighter moon, full of carnivals and festivals and parties, ruled by a lonely prince who shamelessly pined for his Fallen enemy and only dreamt of a time when the three worlds could live together in harmony. Gone were the strict rules and dress codes of the Celestial Realm, in its place was a world where Mammon really could do whatever he wanted, this time without any limitations. He could be the biggest, baddest demon around and no one could fault him for it.
So, no maybe he didn't resent the words. Damning they may be but maybe there was fun to be had in being damned.
That, however, didn't stop him from covering his wrist. Because of habit? Because of some lingering sense of discomfort at the sight of the words? He wasn't sure. But he cycled through a variety of coverings from ripped cloths to wrist guards to leather straps, nothing ever lasting as long as Lucifer's shawl.
However, the significance of Mammon's right-hand changes when he feels the burning sizzle of a pact mark being inscribed on to his palm. That he resents. A collar and leash chaining him to some nobody human that he was supposed to babysit.
He resents it. Until he doesn't. Until one day he stops and looks at it and feels only a distant sense of satisfaction. Until they're slotting into each other's lives easily like they were always meant to be there. Until it becomes something he's proud of.
Until the human comes to him for comfort, for protection, for entertainment. Until he's going to them for those very same reasons, because with them he can just be him – a perfect mix between the kind, hardworking angel he had been expected to be and the big, bad demon he was now supposed to be. Because with them he doesn't have to keep up the act. Because they've never seen him as anything other than just Mammon.
The unfamiliar ever-present warmth of their pact draws in his focus so thoroughly that those hidden words are pushed far into the back of his mind.
Because who needs some soulmate who had condemned him, who would mock him on their deathbed, who would never see past his numerous masks, who was always destined to leave him, when he could have them.
So he doesn't even think of it as he follows them as far as Barbatos allows him to, before Lucifer's hand on his shoulder stops him.
They turn back to look at him, from across some invisible line that he isn't allowed to cross.
"Well," they say with a smile that doesn't quite reach their eyes, "we had a good run."
"It wasn't funny the first time and it ain't funny now you dipshit!"
They laugh, sounding more real than their smile had looked. "But what if I get lost in time-"
"Shuddup!"
"But–"
"BUT NOTHIN'!”
“Mam–”
"Just, hurry up and come back home."
That shuts them up. That shuts them up in a way he hadn't been expecting. Their body tenses, even as their eyes widen and the colour drains from their face. And the only thing keeping him from sprinting towards them when they take a shaky step back towards him, is Lucifer's unforgiving grip on his shoulder.
Barbatos calls their name. Voice soft but warning. And he isn't sure what they see in his eyes when they turn to face Barbatos but it causes their shoulders to relax as they take a deep breath. When they turn back around to look at him their smile is small and resigned, their eyes sad.
"Bye, Mammon." They say with a crushing sort of finality that clogs his throat and has him choking on his words even as Lucifer's hand steers him back towards the others.
He'll never see them again. But he, as he is now, will never exist long enough to find that out.
It had just been an ordinary day. Ordinary for them at least. It had just been a silly little prank to finally give the human and Lucifer some alone time so that they could finally start getting along.
A sob tears itself through Mammon's throat as he buries his face in their hair. Distantly he is aware that Asmo is crying into Satan's shoulder, that Levi is hovering anxiously over them letting out pitiful little wet hiccups, that Lucifer and Beel are somewhere behind him, facing away. That somehow, somehow, Belphie's there. Saying his name in a way that's mocking – twisting it with hurt and anger and bitterness.
But Mammon doesn't care. Or better yet Mammon doesn't hear it, not really, because everything is passing by him in a blur. Everything but the human he is cradling in his arms.
Their neck is a dark ring of purple bruises and their bones shift unnaturally under their skin when he pulls them even closer towards him. Something warm and sticky and familiar coats the hand that is cradling the back of their head.
His heart hurts, beating too fast to be contained in his chest, his breath is pushing out past the lump in his throat as panicked wheezes, he can barely see them through the sheen of overflowing tears. The world around him stops and starts. Passing by too fast and too slow. His body rebels – every inch both numb and burning – and his mind, for once, is hauntingly silent. But still. Still, he begs and he begs and he begs. For them to look at him, to stay with him, to just please keep breathing.
Their eyes find his, glazed over with pain, their breaths stuttering in their chest. And they smile. Soft and sweet and dripping with a bone deep fondness. They raise their hand in slow jerking movements, letting it drop before it can reach his cheek. They sigh as if they're disappointed in themself.
Finally, they say in a voice that is lilted in a way that means they're teasing yet so soft that he has to bend even closer to hear them, "Is the big, bad demon crying for me?"
Mammon freezes, for a second, just a second, as he stares blankly ahead at Asmo's shoes before the words finally catch up with him.
"You – you jerk," he sobs into their shoulder, hearing their little huff of laughter before their body goes slack.
Mammon isn't really sure who he is. Though after a life time of questioning who he was or who he should be, maybe that wasn't saying much.
He's got two different sets of memories and two different sets of experiences. He remembers watching his human walk away and waiting for a return that never happened. He remembers clutching his human to his chest while they died in his arms. But his human is here, with him now, curled up against his side and staring blankly at the wall.
Maybe he's neither of them or maybe he's both. Did it matter? Wasn't he better off than his human who wasn't even sure which version of themself was alive? Which version of themself had died in his arms? He hugged them closer. Did it really matter though?
Both Mammons had lived the exact same life until just a day ago. Both Mammons had those exact same words written on their wrists. He'd heard the human speak those words, he knew who is soulmate was but they were both alive now.
So what did that mean? Had his words changed? Were they still his soulmate? Should he bring it up when the last few hours were still so raw, when both their cheeks were still streaked with drying tear tracks? He's never really been one for patience so maybe –
The human shifts in his arms, pulling away to sit up in their bed. They scrub furiously at their cheeks before they move even more, slipping off the bed.
They grab the bottom of their T-shirt and pull it off in one swift movement. Mammon yelps, flailing around and closing his eyes as his face bursts into flames.
They're silent for a second and then they say, "Mammon." Their voice is firm, unwavering. A command.
He opens his eyes.
Their body is smooth, unblemished by broken bones and colourful bruises and torn skin.
They're not looking at him. Instead focused on a point on their chest that they are lightly scratching at.
He scoots over to the edge of the bed to get a closer look.
There are words there. Not the pitch black of a regular soulmark or even the dull red of someone who had lost their soulmate. Instead, the words form a long pale scar. Old and faded, like someone had carved the words into their skin decades ago.
Just hurry up and come back home
He can feel their eyes on the side of his head. Boring in. Assessing him.
His own scan the words over and over again. He remembers saying them in that other timeline, remembers how they had reacted.
Almost unconsciously his hand slips to his wrist, unwinding the cloth wrapped around it.
Is the big, bad demon crying over me
Words that looked like they'd scarred over a lifetime ago.
The unnatural moment of silence drags on between them until Mammon finally breaks it.
"What does this mean," he croaks, only then realizing just how dry his throat is.
"That we beat the system?" He doesn't look back up at them but he thinks they shrug.
"So now what?"
"Now... Now we can do whatever we want."
And that. That doesn't sound all that bad.