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If anyone were to ask what prompted his sudden desire to perform such a task, the Avatar of Greed wouldn’t have been able to answer. He hated work, manual labor most of all. Nothing short of a miracle would ever convince him to willingly do so. As it is, he was surprised no one was around to stop him. The pop of shifting air pressure from unsealing your old room was loud enough to alert anyone in the vicinity. Even Beel, who raided the fridge every night like clockwork, wasn’t awake, despite the late hour. It was probably for the best. He was the last person Mammon wanted as a witness to his crime, standing inside with a collection of equipment: a bucket of paint, a few brushes, tarps, and a box with some old newspaper. It wasn’t much, but it was apparent what his plans were. He shut the door with a soft click, dropping the scandalous paraphernalia on the floor and taking in the preserved time capsule.
It was like you had left only yesterday. Your books were stacked on the table in neat piles and bed made without a single wrinkle. A few framed pictures hung on the limited wall space, memories from your time in the Devildom, though you’d taken most with you. Even your scent still lingered, faint but distinct, sending a sucker punch to his gut. Mammon’s hands clenched in time with his heart, willing away the burning pressure building behind his eyes. He hadn’t even started yet! Damn, this was going to be more difficult than he thought.
Spectral visions played out in the space around him. A memory of barging into your room to find you reading a DevilStyle magazine. Your face went beet red when he swaggered up to you, catching a glimpse of his centerfold as you rushed to hide it. You looked so adorable he couldn’t help but tease you and your lobster face, which only made it worse. Not that he could complain about what happened next, you trying to smack him with pillows leading to a laughing tussle he ended up winning.
Another of a time you laid together, snuggled up under blankets sucking any and all the warmth he could give you. You clung to him like a koala as he ran his slender fingers through your hair. He always marveled at how soft it was as if his Father had gifted you with silk for strands. He suspected Asmo played a part, but he’d never give him the satisfaction by saying anything. You’d spent what felt like hours prior chasing away his negative thoughts with words of praise. Words he could hear even now in the quiet emptiness of your former room. You were the first to stand up for him in front of others, to show kindness to his scummy, worthless self, and he loved you for it. Nine hells did he love you for it.
Why the fuck did ya have to leave?
As the ghosts faded back into the recesses of his mind, Mammon’s feet carried him to your wall of memories. Most were meaningless, anime and band posters the brothers had given you. Collages of movie tickets, pamphlets, flowers, and cards were suspended in shadow boxes, beautiful museums of ‘The Life and Times of You: Devildom Edition.’ But one picture caught his eye, bringing his body to a screeching halt. He reached out a trembling hand but stopped short as his heart began to race. Inside, a part of him was screaming, pleading to leave your room untouched. To reseal the vault keeping the precious treasures you left behind secure, just in case. But he knew better. You weren't coming back. No matter how often he howled into the endless Devildom nights, wishing upon counterfeit shooting stars, you were gone, and there was nothing he could do about it.
So what was the point of conserving a haunting reminder of someone who slipped through his fingers?
With quaking hands and a lump in his throat, Mammon lifted the picture from the wall, rushing to place it face down on the bed. He’d wrap that one last, the memory too painful to handle right now. Before continuing, he shook out his limbs in a poor imitation of a Taylor Swift song. It didn’t help much with all the reminders of you surrounding him. But it was worth a shot. One by one, he gathered the remaining framed items and brought them to the table. He blanketed each in the newspaper he’d got, stacking them in the box in newspaper sandwiches for added protection. As the Archdemon of Greed, he knew better than anyone how to protect precious things.
His first task done, he moved to the second, placing the books carefully on the top shelf of the bookcase. Like the pictures, most were textbooks and Devildom novels you couldn’t take with you. No matter how much you’d begged, it was too risky to set them loose upon the human realm with the exchange program still in its early stages. If you’d returned for another year, you might have been allowed.
He found himself growing steadier as he devoted attention to his chore. As much as he'd hate to admit it, keeping his hands busy helped focus his mind away from complicated and heartbreaking emotions. It's why he'd spent the last however many weeks and months - maybe years at this point, he couldn’t remember - gambling, doing modeling gigs, whatever he could to keep busy. He’d conned his brothers into believing it was all for the Grimm. A believable enough story given his past transgressions. Only those who knew how to read him would’ve ever seen the truth behind the mask.
One of the books slid from his fingers, landing spine face up on the ground. He could hear Satan’s voice chewing him out in his head as he lifted the book without bending the pages. Thank Diavolo he wasn’t there to see such a careless act from the second eldest, or he’d never have heard the end of it. He watched something drift from the pages to the table as he placed the novel next to it, his heart dropping to his stomach once he realized what it was. Picking up the delicate green plant, another flashback crashed into him like a cold arctic wave.
"Hey, Mammon! Look!" you called to him from across an open field, the setting summer sun bathing you in golden light. If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear you were an angel, glowing with such radiance he’d gladly burn from your holy fire just to gaze upon your perfection. He’d brought you to the human world for a day, wanting to spend some alone time with you. It was one of the few places he could think of where his brothers wouldn’t interrupt for one reason or another. It’d been a while since he’d had you to himself, and he’d be damned - well, even more than he already was - if he didn’t make the most of it.
He trotted up to you, closing the distance with a warm, loving smile. "Whatcha got there?"
You presented your prize, recently picked and standing proud between your fingers. "A four-leaf clover. I've never actually found one before! I have to take this back and press it." He watched as you searched your bags for something, ending up failing and asking him for a tissue or handkerchief to keep the fragile trefoil safe from harm.
"Why? Is it worth somethin'? It doesn’t look like much," he commented with a frown. He mused whether he could sell it for Grimm as a rare human world talisman. Not that he’d steal it from you, of course. Maybe when you’d first arrived, but now that he knew you, he wouldn’t dare. But he could ‘make’ more-
"Maybe not to you,” you scoffed at him, folding the clover in a cloth, slipping it into your bag. “It's a symbol of good luck, something I think you could benefit from.”
“Oi! What’s that supposed to mean?!”
He turned on you with a growl, causing you to laugh, all too aware of the empty threat. Still trying to catch your breath, “Just that you can never have enough, I swear. Plus, I found it with you.” A sudden shyness washed over you, adding a rosy tint to your cheeks that melted Mammon’s heart. “You mean so much to me, and I wanted to keep it to remember today and the time I spent with you. We don’t get to spend a lot of time just you and me so, I’m happy I found something so rare to remember a day just as special.”
He’d kissed you then, tackling you to the ground in a fit of giggles rolling in the field, sending dandelion seeds floating away on the wind.
That day was so long ago now, current circumstances tainting the once beautiful and inviting emotions with painful stabs of yearning. He felt tears welling in his eyes as he placed the trefoil in his open palm. The clover had long since dried, threatening to crumble in his hand. A hollow, lifeless shell of its former self, not unlike how he’d been feeling as of late. It was so brittle, weighing nothing, almost as if it wasn’t there at all. Like it was all a part of his imagination. Like if he crushed the defenseless charm, the memory would fade with it, floating off like dust in the wind, never having existed. He flexed his palm under the plant as he contemplated. It wouldn’t take much. All he had to do was make a fist. Press his fingers into the flat of his hand, and it would disintegrate.
But could he do that to you?
A couple tears fell onto a leaf, sending it on a tilt and shocking him out of his reverie. He hurriedly wiped the salty liquid from his face with his unoccupied hand before opening the book it had come from. Using a thumb and forefinger in a gentle hold, he placed the still intact good luck symbol back within the confines of its pages, setting the book on the top shelf along with the rest. No, he couldn’t do that to even memories of you. Like you’d said, the time you spent together was too rare and special to let it go.
The demon finished storing the remaining books, scanning the room to plan his next attack with a groan. This was the one part of his scheme he was looking forward to least since it required significant heavy lifting. He didn’t lack in strength despite his lean frame. He just didn’t enjoy using it for jobs like this. With a deep breath in and out, he began sliding furniture away from the walls, except for the single stone wall that the bed was pushed against. Any decorations that adorned the walls were placed on the table before he laid tarps on the floor to protect it from the incoming paint. Once he was satisfied with the barrier he created, Mammon opened the can he’d brought.
A noise in the kitchen startled him; the can only partially opened. He rushed to close it before the intruder noticed the scent. Slipping out his phone, he glanced at the time and cursed. Midnight, which meant the odds of the noise being a ravenous Archdemon of Gluttony raiding the fridge was high. That also meant he couldn’t continue until his younger brother had gone. His nose was the most powerful of those in the house, surpassing a beagle by a considerable margin. Unfortunately, the astringent smell of fresh paint was difficult, if not impossible, to mask. He could only hope the scent hadn’t drifted out of the room yet.
Mammon kept as still as possible, even covering his mouth to avoid alerting Beelzebub. The door muffled the clinking and sliding of glass a bit, but the Avatar of Greed’s demonic hearing helped in that regard. As time passed, he hoped Beel was nearing the end of his foraging. He continued to wait in the stifling silence of your former room, listening as Beel finally shut the refrigerator door, his heavy footsteps fading as he walked back to his shared bedroom. Mammon paused for a moment longer, the still noiselessness suffocating in a way your room never used to be. He had to be sure he was alone before carrying on.
Once he determined it was safe, he reopened the paint can, filling the room with its chemical fumes. Starting with the wall closest to the door, he grabbed a brush and started painting, taking special care around the edges and wall sconces. To be honest, the physical action was unnecessary. He could’ve used magic to redecorate the room, which would’ve taken a lot less time and energy on his part. But the act was strangely therapeutic, a few swipes of his brush covering up the old to make way for something new. He’d chosen an earth tone to complement the tree growing by the bed. It was more vibrant than the former color, giving the room a livelier feel that he thought would fit better. He wondered if you’d like it as another knot started tightening in his throat.
As he finished up the last wall, your scent had vanished, swallowed up by mephitic vapors that permeated the space. His clothes were speckled with the earthen color, dried smears littering his hands as proof of his misdeed. Setting the brush down, he gasped at the final result. None of the tasks he undertook flipped his world like this one, requiring every ounce of courage not to scrub the walls clean. As he predicted, the color enhanced the space well, but it didn’t look right. The room had been unchanged for thousands of years. None of the brothers had a reason to be there before your arrival. But the paint changed everything about the space. Even though the furnishings remained the same, it looked like a sad reproduction. Almost fake, like those apartment sets created for TV shows. Like every word, every memory within the room had been wiped away, and the scummy second-born was the culprit.
His feet dragged as he wandered to the bed, his body suddenly heavy. He’d done what he set out to do, but at what cost? Like leaves in fall, the pieces of you that still existed within those four walls were being swept away on a noxious breeze. Covered up by an opaque gloss to hide the stains you left behind. And it was all his fault. Lucifer had sealed the room to prevent such extreme acts of violence against the innocent space, knowing all seven of them were working through the stages of grief. The Archdemon of Greed found ‘fighting’ to be a more apt term than ‘working’ as many refused to entertain the thought of your disappearance.
Sitting on the bed, he took the picture he’d left and flipped it, letting snippets of his pent-up emotions spill through tears. It was taken a week before the end of the program and included everyone you’d met during your time in the Devildom. The brothers had been fighting over you, landing you squished amongst them with Solomon, the angels, Diavolo, and Barbatos finding space where they could. But Mammon’s favorite part? You’d decided to give him bunny ears as they took the shot, turning him into a spluttering tomato-faced mess when he saw it. He grumbled about it for days after, but you knew his deal. You’d singled him out by doing that, and oh, if that didn’t make his heart burst into fireworks.
Now, it caused his heart to throb, his whole body aching, sick from the pain. How in the nine hells was he supposed to cope with this? The last time he’d felt even a shred of this hurt was when he thought Lilith had died. The only thing that’d kept him going then was being a role model for his younger brothers and a caretaker to Satan since Lucifer was too broken up to function. But now? Now, in the desolation of the room, he had nothing to occupy his mind from the torrential downpour of anguish and despair, chants of ‘gone’ and ‘never coming back’ echoing in his skull.
Why the fuck did ya have to leave?
"Mammon? What are you doing in here?"
Lucifer had stopped by the kitchen to make another cup of coffee - his fourth just tonight, but who’s counting? - when he’d smelt virulent odors wafting from your old room. At first, he’d been angry, preparing to scold whoever had entered the room blatantly ignoring the eldest’s directive. But upon opening the door to see the white-haired felon sitting on the bed leaning over and stroking a picture, he thought better of it. Realizing Mammon hadn’t acknowledged his arrival, he shut the door, his ruby eyes sweeping over the altered space. The walls caught his notice, tarps and an open can of paint still in place on the floor. It didn’t take long before he put two and two together.
"It’s a nice choice of color. It accompanies the tree quite well."
Still, his greedy brother didn't answer, his head bowed, not even noticing his elder brother’s presence. Lucifer stepped over to the depressed demon with all his usual grace, careful not to jostle him much. He sat next to Mammon and glanced at the picture he held. He felt his throat close up at the sight, sorrow pushing its way out of the bottle he’d shoved it into. Lucifer knew better than most the torment your leaving inflicted on his favorite brother, on him. It didn’t matter that you didn’t have a choice. Nothing could have stopped the utter destruction left in your wake. You were human, and some things can’t - or shouldn’t - be changed, no matter how much the avatars wish they could.
He placed a hand on Mammon’s shoulder, feeling the slight tremble in his frame. He could tell Mammon was fighting an inevitable breakdown. Lucifer looked at him, a tight-lipped smile on his face.
"Why'd they have to go?"
Mammon’s quiet voice caught him off guard, the surprise apparent in Lucifer’s tone as he responded, "What do you mean?”
"Why'd they have to leave?” The demon of Pride watched as his brother turned his tear-stricken face, deep ocean eyes swirling with pain. “They were happy here. We were happy. Why couldn't they stay? Why couldn't this be home for them? Why couldn't… just why?"
"You know why."
Mammon tossed the picture on the bed in frustration. "Oh, fuck Diavolo and his damn program-”
"It has nothing to do with the program." Lucifer met Mammon’s side-eye with a frown. This wasn’t the first time they’d discussed this, yet it seemed it always came up. As if Mammon meant to forget, forcing Lucifer to reiterate it again. "They're human. They've always belonged to the mortal realm. Did you really want to watch them become tainted with our darkness? Watch their bright soul turn black with sin?"
"At least they'd still be here," the demon of greed mumbled.
Lucifer’s frown deepened. "Mammon."
"GAH! No, damn it! I just…" he cut himself off with a sigh. "No, I wouldn't. Doesn't stop it from hurting so damn much."
Lucifer squeezed Mammon’s shoulder. "Grief is the price we pay for love. It will get easier. Maybe not tonight, or even tomorrow. But it will, and we'll all help each other to get there. That's what brothers are for."
Mammon met his brother’s gaze, blue eyes reflecting in the unspent tears glistening in Lucifer’s. His arm dragged on the collar of Mammon’s paint-stained shirt until a hand grasped his opposite shoulder, pulling the greedy demon into a side hug. He couldn’t remember the last time his brother hugged him, let alone showed an ounce of affection. But the next gentle squeeze he gave broke what was left of Mammon’s self-control, the younger leaning his head on the shoulder of the oldest. Lucifer swayed left and right, rocking them both while resting his head against a mop of white fluffy clouds, his thumb tracing circles into Mammon’s shoulder.
Lucifer’s shoulder grew damp as Mammon cried in silence, the bed creaking as they swayed. Despite the years of punishment and torment, they’d rekindled their bonds with heavy-handed help from you, a hefty undertaking the family loved you for. Would they have repaired the thousands of years of damaged relations? In time, perhaps. But you saw things in a way that made them see with new eyes. You threw off blankets and tore open closets. Baring truths and skeletons that were hidden long before your arrival. You didn’t care who got hurt in the process because hurt leads to healing. It took an extreme amount of suffering on your part for him to grasp that dichotomous concept.
Lucifer raised his head, looking down at his favorite brother’s exhausted face. "When's the last time you slept?"
"Dunno. Been havin' trouble."
The eldest didn’t need to ask why. More than once, he’d heard Mammon’s quiet singing along to a recording of your voice on his late-night rounds. It was a lullaby you used to sing for Luke when he couldn’t sleep, one the sneaky demon of Greed had surreptitiously taped without your knowledge, no doubt with the original intent to sell. When you left, he shared it with his family, another way to keep your memory alive within the lamentable house. Now, when they missed you most, the melody would float through the hallways creating a discordant harmony as they listened at different intervals.
Giving his brother a light shake, "Go rest. Don't concern yourself with class tomorrow. I'll inform your teachers.”
Mammon disentangled himself from his brother’s hold, scrubbing his face with dirty palms. He rose from the bed on shaky legs, rubbing his neck with both hands, his voice hoarse from weeping. "I can't. I gotta… clean this up. I need ta get this box inta storage, and I need ta… I need-"
"Mammon." Lucifer clasps his shoulders, forcing the demon to meet his soft crimson orbs. "Go. I'll take care of this."
"But-"
"Go."
Mammon gave the Morningstar a once over, a glimpse of the empathetic older brother he used to know bleeding through the ever-present mask of arrogance. A veil he’d convinced Lucifer to wear in perpetuity, to be strong for the rest of the family. It succeeded a little too well, the demon of Hubris feeding into his sin, turning a tyrannical dictator with sadistic tendencies. It took your nosy attitude and loving heart to break down the cement wall he’d constructed. To show him that vulnerability isn’t weakness. That he could take pride in his brothers without diminishing his own. Now it was in the way he held Mammon’s shoulders, a firm gentleness that grounded him. In the way his ruby stare implored the younger to heed his advice.
Blue sunrise eyes swept over the room one last time before giving Lucifer a quiet nod and shuffling out. The eldest released the breath he’d been holding with a drawn-out sigh, surveying the chamber and rubbing a hand over his mouth. True to his word as always, he cleaned up after his brother’s mess, magically whisking away the soiled tarps and paint supplies and box of newspaper-bound pictures to their respective locations. With another flick of his wrist, the furniture slid back into place, leaving the singular framed picture on the bed as the remaining source of chaos.
Silent as a mouse, Lucifer collected the discarded photo and made for his study, resealing the chamber on the way out. The fireplace glowed orange as wood crackled and spit, warming the chilled confines of his office as he entered. He faced the shelves where he stored Demonus looking vacantly at the still held item. It was a good photo, to be sure. One that captured everyone whose lives you’d altered for the better. But it wasn’t his favorite.
He placed the frame standing on a shelf of pictures, plucking his favorite from the line-up. It was a candid shot of you and Mammon running in the hallways of RAD, likely from Lucifer before a scolding session. Mammon was behind like he was chasing you with a look of adoration on his face while you beamed with excitement. It never made it to print since the eldest had snatched the camera from Mephistopheles under the guise of protecting his family’s pride. What would the student body say of Lucifer being outwitted and outran by a stubborn human and his idiot of a younger brother? But that picture made him prouder than he ever thought possible.
Mammon, the High Demon of Greed, his stupid, idiotic, scummy, adorable, favorite little brother, had finally let someone in. Let someone see his beautiful golden heart lying beneath the false gilded tough-guy persona. He would’ve followed you anywhere, his north star in the dark Devildom sky. How was he to know you’d go somewhere he couldn’t follow? How was he to know you’d never come back? Instead, he sings along to your lullaby, dreams of sunshine and floating dandelion seeds, of bunny ears you gave him by happenstance, all while wondering why. Why did you slip through his fingers like the Grimm he so desperately fails to keep?
He’ll eventually pick up the scattered pieces of his heart off the cold Devildom ground, putting them back together with help from his brothers. But until then, he will grieve and weep, always wondering if he was too late.
Just like a crow chasing the butterfly
Dandelions lost in the summer sky
When you and I were gettin’ high as outer space
I never thought you’d slip away
I guess I was just a little too late
- Excerpt from The Crow and The Butterfly by Shinedown