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Damian pouted petulantly and stamped his foot, crossing his arms like a child. He knew how bratty he probably looked, how he sounded, like a spoiled toddler being refused candy, but his dad was actually being unfair this time! He had a reason to be upset!
“Come on, dad! That's so stupid!” He snapped loudly, immediately feeling the urge to sink back and retreat the second the words left his mouth. Tones like that are what got him in trouble, most days, but he pushes onwards regardless. Even in spite of the gnawing feeling that he'd made some great mistake. “I just don't understand, everything was going fine-!”
“You were restrained and nearly killed by Safe Haven law enforcement.” His father booms, cutting through any further arguments that could've helped Damian in this fight. “I don't care what supposed ‘reasoning’ they had, or what lack of communication brought it about. You were attacked. You were hurt. You could’ve died.”
The words were firm and all-consuming, reminding Damian of the still present burns healing around his neck, the charred, ugly skin hidden beneath bandages. He subconsciously curled in a little tighter on himself, ears lowering just enough to be noticeable.
“B-but dad, I-”
“No.” A large, clawed hand raised, and it was like Damian lost the ability to speak. Not because he was scared, but because deep down he knew he’d lost this battle before it had even begun.
“I know you've made… friends, up there.” The ancient demon mutters, barely contained irritation budding in his tone. He'd never been a fan of the kids Damian got along with on the surface. “And perhaps I'll let them visit you every now and again, but I cannot in good conscience permit you to go up there any longer. It's proven itself to be more of a risk than it’s worth.”
There’s a tense moment of silence, not a sound between them. Until, of course, Damian broke it.
“D-daddy, I…” He stammered softly, pitch black tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He'd known from the start that he had to be careful, that this arrangement and his father's confidence in it were rocky at best. But still, like always, he found a way to ruin it. To fuck it up for everyone.
For all he knew, Tenta and Styx were currently enduring punishment on his behalf. Because he just couldn't keep his head down and his emotions in check.
“I-I'm sorry…” He finally finished, voice catching in his throat. It was still sore and somewhat raw from the tools he'd been restrained with. The phantom sensations of crackling electricity in his veins still buzzed just beneath his skin, lifting the fur on his arms to stand on end.
“Tentadora informed me of how you've felt in recent weeks. That you’ve felt unsafe since the first… misunderstanding.” The demon turns back around to meet Damian, features softening at the black teartracks now striping the boy’s face. He gently reaches out a paw, the claws gentle and soothing as they come to rest on his son’s furred cheek. The soft padding of the overlord’s thumb easily rubbed away the blood-like substance, a soft grumble of contentment and comfort rumbling in his chest when the boy nuzzles into it. “I should've held my ground the first time this happened. It was clear their word wasn't to be trusted.”
“Such a life, one of tension and anxiety, is not one befitting my son. You deserve better than such mistreatment, yeled.” That gentle hand cupped Damian's face, urging him to look up and meet blood-red, thin-slitted eyes.
His free hand reached up and encircled Damian's throat, not tightening or threatening. Simply resting there. The thumb wiping away his tears moved up to press into his forehead, where a hidden, upside-down cross began glowing.
A fuzzy sensation filled Damian's head, making his thoughts foggy and his body feel weak. If it weren't for his father's touch grounding him, he would've likely fallen over. Then came an unfamiliar tingly feeling, spreading over the skin and fur of his neck, uncomfortable yet somehow soothing. And then, suddenly, it all disappeared, along with the itchy soreness that came with his burns.
He'd been healed, he realized. He knew his dad could do that, but… he'd never been hurt enough to be on the receiving end of it.
The artificial fogginess had retreated, but that didn't stop him from feeling weak and exhausted, practically collapsing into his father's waiting arms, humming contentedly when he was gently picked up and held close to a broad chest. The deep red lighting constantly filling the castle dimmed, the majority of it blocked out by Lucifer's black cloak, hanging over the rabbit's form like a curtain.
His father began to speak again, but Damian didn't have the mental strength to take in the words anymore. It was probably something stupidly sappy, anyway.
The next thing the prince knew, he was curled up in bed, heavy, warm blankets encasing him in the perfect little cocoon. He felt a pleasant scratching just below his left ear, causing it to flick and twitch subconsciously. An amused rumble filled the air for a moment, before the claw retreated. And just like that, Damian was gone, out like a light in his freshly made bed.
《 ♡ 》
As Lucifer gently shut his son’s door, intense red eyes sharp with hidden rage, he finally let the deep-seated growl in his chest rumble outward, slightly rattling the picture frames on the walls. He was quick to disappear down the hall, shadowy frame growing larger with every second he spent thinking about what could’ve been. What his son could’ve endured. The pain, the humiliation that came with being treated like some lab rat. The mere thought made him want to let loose on anyone and anything unlucky enough to be in his sight.
But he resisted. He couldn't do that. Not now, so close to his son’s chambers. So far from those who really deserved his ire.
It could be argued that, perhaps, Lucifer himself was more at fault than anyone. And, to an extent, he would agree. But he couldn't exactly use his rage productively if it was directed at himself.
No. No, the ones responsible resided on the surface. The self-important imbeciles who had managed to convince him his son would be at all safe up above. Attending a school full of weak, mortal beings. He should've seen right through it. Right through their sickeningly sweet smiles, their nervous sweating. He knew better.
They had seemed far more worried about how Damian would interact with other students, with the public, with authority. How ironic that the worry should've been the other way around.
Despite his seething disdain, his growing anger, his footsteps were silent. His face was no more enraged than it normally was. The most that could be said was that his demeanor, typically calm and somewhat regal, had turned icy. The maids and such walking the halls by him each cowered or dashed away at the mere sight of him. He was angry, and even if it didn't show on his face, it was obvious to anyone he crossed paths with.
Surely Narissa would understand. That he had to meet these supposed peacekeepers in person. That his destructive habits couldn't wait much longer, not if he didn't get his hands on one of the fools who caused this horrid oversight.
He needed to enact some sort of punishment. Some sort of retaliation.
As he's come to learn, no mortal can truly understand or regret what they did wrong without punishment befalling them first. And… perhaps he was being a bit harsh. But, it should be well-known by now, that of all the things you would be stupid for messing with, Lucifer’s family was at the top of the list.
When the King of Hell himself has made it clear just how he handles such crimes, for all the realm to see, directly committing them should be considered an act of suicide. Those pathetic “cops” were lucky he’d had an injured and traumatized son to tend to, otherwise they’d have been dead and in Hell the moment he'd arrived.
As… unexpected, as it was to admit… he would happily start another war for his family. Not for the free will of mankind, or his rule over Hell, but for his son. His wife. The beloveds he’s come to accept he would never be able to live without should they die. He'd sooner beg his father for death before such a fate came to pass.
Whispers of shadowy creatures echoed through the halls as he approached the throne room, candles flickering and ground trembling as he drew nearer. Demonic energy surged around him, curling up the walls and through the cracks of doors in pitch black shadows, like desperate hands reaching from the darkness.
His wife already knew of Damian’s altercation, and was likely waiting for when her husband would come back to her, pleading that she agree and permit him to reach the mortals himself. He didn't need that permission, but… he felt much safer in the decision when she agreed, knowing it was likely the best choice. She tended to have a much more level-headed approach to such matters, quite the contrast to Lucifer’s explosive, chaotic rage.
If he were to trust anyone else with Damian’s recent incidents and the resulting consequences, it would be Narissa.
So when he stormed into the throne room most rudely, and stared down the current advisers speaking with his wife until they finally got the hint and left, it didn't much surprise her.
“Calm yourself, my love,” She sighed calmly, brows furrowed slightly in irritation. “I already know why you're so upset, but seething and brooding at our staff won't solve any of our problems.”
“Damian is no problem.” Lucifer growled deeply, prompting a raised brow from the queen. He knew he was being nitpicky and irrational, short-tempered, but was that really so unexpected coming from him?
“You know what I meant, darling.” She replied breezily. She reached out an elegant hand to gently tug at his sleeve, her lidded eyes looking up at him from under exhausted veils, beckoning him to sit with her as usual. “Come, my love, rest for a moment. He will be fine, nothing has happened that can't be helped. We will handle this with the ease we handle every other issue.”
Her gentle prodding had always weakened him, but what really broke his resolve was the tiredness in her eyes. Being the silent, powerful one of their relationship, of their leadership, had always taken its toll on her.
People liked to assume Lucifer was the powerhouse when it came to decision-making and dominance over his domain, but, in reality, he only dished out punishment. On rare occasions he would go out and make peace or have meetings with other leaders, but the majority of decisions were left up to his beloved. He was starting to consider lightening her workload, if only to better gift her the luxurious life he'd promised her all those years ago.
Finally, he obliged, brushing his thumb over the slightly visible bags under her eyes, lament wisping in his features.
“...Apologies, my love. You are clearly in just as much distress as me.” He sighed, a small smirk crossing his face when she only chuckled.
“I'm not so sure about that. After all, I'm not the one cracking demonic symbols into the walls.” They both shared a soft laugh at that, pressing their foreheads to each other in a silent expression of solidarity. Affection.
“We will ensure Damian's safety, my love. His safety and his happiness. All we have to do is stay calm, and keep our heads.” She finally whispered, the gentle assurances easing Lucifer's ancient, blazing heart.
“I don't doubt you'll pull us out of this mess, as you have every time, querida…”