Work Text:
The broken cup stared up at him indignantly, pieces strewn about miraculously on the free space of the floor in his room. He had just finished his drink when he received a notification about Lucifer taking MC out for a reward for their performance on the last test—effectively ruining the plans that Satan had put together for his time with MC.
His anger bubbled and seeped out unintentionally through his hands with the news. The physical results laid on the floor as an ugly reminder of what he could do if he didn't remain in control. Satan had hoped for this time with them. He had made an effort to secure and make sure his brothers wouldn't be able to get in the way. He started to think maybe he had looked forward to it more than he should have. The proof laid on the floor. He snapped so quickly it was no wonder his oldest brother was able to steal them away from him so easily.
Frustrated with his lapse of control, he gritted his teeth as he crushed the remaining pieces in his hand into dust. He was supposed to be better than this outburst. Especially now more than ever with MC around. Satan frowned as his somber thoughts began. He wanted to stand out to them.
And not simply because he was entirely a demon or for being known for his title.
Unlike his brothers with their angelic pasts, he was… wholly demon. A monster born from unimaginable wrath and pain that wasn't even his to call his own but from the so-called magnificent Lucifer. It felt cruel in a way. He wondered many a time if this was some punishment for being a demon. Stuck with an excruciating amount of pain and sorrow that made him feel heavy inside, he had no closure whenever he recalled it.
No one could understand.
Satan moved slowly toward the broom he had tucked away between his shelves. Sighing, he sluggishly swept the pieces up. With each pass, bits of a past he didn't know, flashes of memories he could never make sense of, sights and places he would never see with his own eyes flashed across his mind.
A sinking feeling started to grow in his stomach. His heartbeat was rising to his ears. A pounding that was all too familiar made it hard to concentrate on the task at hand. Satan's grip started to tighten around the broom, slowly cracking the wooden handle. His anger could be so isolating. How could he talk about it? Especially when that invisible wall seemed to prop itself whenever his brothers reminisced about tales in the Celestial Realm.
Lucifer would be impossible. He could barely get the demon to talk about his food preferences, let alone the traumatic past about the Celestial Realm. His brothers weren't exactly the best at comforting him either, usually circling back to how his anger sets him apart.
A clear reminder that he was different. Other. Alone. Even with his kind, he was an anomaly. Diavolo continuously asked endless questions as if he hadn’t already answered them a thousand times before.
Satan dreaded the almost inevitable questioning about his upbringing and past. Why did it matter so much to those around him? What would they gain? If it was an explanation they wanted for his anger, it was easier to say it was complicated.
Because it was.
The thing about wrath that many people failed to realize was more than just loud outbursts and the flinging of energy. It was more than the shattering outpour of yelling or broken items. It was those moments of solitude where Satan felt so suffocated with blinding fury he couldn't do anything. He couldn't move nor speak but simply shake with seething rage. The horribly lonely instances where all he could do was curl up and let feelings drown him, leaving him choked and cold. It didn't help that he knew he had so many eyes on him waiting for him to snap. Involuntary or not, it was part of the reason he so carefully crafted his cool demeanor persona. Other times he couldn't help but indulge and fall into the exaggerated anger that was the befallen expectation.
Nonetheless, during those dark isolating times, he dreaded the idea of anyone finding him in that state. Seeing him at his worst moments, where he felt burned out from a large puff of vexation—feeling almost empty, felt terrifying. At those times, Satan honestly didn't know who he was or what, for that matter. After the roaring of his senses and flare-up of anger, the dust once again would settle and in its place, the anxiety of what he felt and what he had done would come. The feeling of who he was after the anger made him question his existence.
The regret.
It was much easier to dive into books when they had clear paths. A nice distraction from his plaguing thoughts. Something more meaningful to fill the void in his chest. A comforting presence and something that made sense when everything else about him didn't.
Even so, he couldn't distract himself forever. And Satan always had the same questions go through his mind.
Would he be able to control his anger? It was a constant cloud of doubt that loomed over his head. Was this what Lucifer felt like with his presence in his mind? A nagging air that he couldn't shake nor dispel. He wanted to be known for anything else other than wrath. He was more than that.
He tried to be more than that.
He tried his best to fit in or at least be accepted. But eventually, the looks would start. Almost the same every time, the wary looks people would throw his way. As if he didn't see their side glances. Not that it wasn't for a good reason. He did not hold back if he felt they deserved to feel the consequence of angering The Avatar of Wrath.
Satan questioned if there was a point even to be more than that. Was his effort truly worth it? But he could at least reach a point where he could be left alone. Or at least kept at a distance. “All the better”, he would say to himself and try to convince himself of the supposed notion. He could focus on his reading or wander as he pleased.
Even the comparisons to being called a cat didn't bother him. Maybe he was similar to one because it was easier to scratch them in a warning and leave if it was too much for him. But, on the other hand, Satan would approach those who let him be instead of needlessly entering his space.
Satan was familiar to those who sought him to anger him purposely—knowing what they sought made him more aware of keeping his mask on. The smiling prince and his deceiving smile somehow became part of his introduction.
But MC.... Was different from all others. They had seen through him so easily the first time they met. He couldn't recall when he had last faltered and felt a crack in his mask. Those unwavering eyes looked at him. The him that he wasn't sure he knew, but they seemed to find.
It gave him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't simply The Avatar of Wrath. Perhaps he was Satan who, yes, loved cats but all cute creatures. A Satan that enjoyed art and could find the beauty in undiscovered pieces. It was amazing to think someone wanted to know the intricacies and facets of himself he didn't think he had.
Satan was left dumbfounded with how MC seemed to notice how he liked his coffee simple or the way they caught the drowsy look in his eyes when he had stayed up through the night and would talk more gently in the morning. His favorite times were when MC would accompany him on grocery trips to ensure everyone would get what they asked for dinner if he was on cooking duty. He didn't even have to ask, and they would accompany him with no prompting.
It was those little things that did matter. And they weren't dazzling or big, but they made a difference. Satan wasn't sure what the squeezing feeling in his chest was. But it was very different from the clenching feeling of fury.
A kind of warmth that seemed to fill him that felt strange but not wholly unpleasant. A warm, kindling feeling that would spread through him, comforting like a blanket being placed on him. And not the scorching anger he was so used to engulfing him.
Satan wanted to know what that feeling was, and why it would increase whenever he was around MC.
MC could tend a small garden in Satan's heart with care instead of the barren wasteland hole he imagined he had. Finally, a peace he learned he could achieve and wasn't a struggle to obtain.
Satan wasn't sure when he started to try and hide and present what he deemed a suitable mask. A carefully picked and constructed facade, so meticulously worked on, he didn't notice that it became more than a mask but a wall around him.
Somehow that wall was made of many bricks and glue that weren't all him. It wasn't until MC commented that he realized he had taken a little bit of everyone along the way. Maybe that's why he couldn't pin who he was. Perhaps that was why he didn't have a stand-out trait that made him unique outside of his wrath.
Satan hated to admit it, but he had Lucifer's tenacity, Mammon's dependability, Levi's passion, Asmo's confidence, Beel's kindness, and Belphie's wit.
Altogether, he was an amalgamation of traits.
He was unintentionally taking pieces to add to his fortress. But MC made a door, or maybe it was always there. He suddenly recalled how MC pointed out all the other unique aspects of him. Perhaps he had started by mirroring, but he made those facets his own. So Satan started to see that despite having similar parts, he wasn't a copy. Not a downgrade but not an upgrade either.
He was simply Satan, and that wasn't bad.