Archive of Our Own

Some days, Vaggie felt like another guest of the Hazbin Hotel, rather than its manager. There was something to be said for how fucked up everyone in the Hotel was- a collection of messed up souls trying to unlearn their past, doing their best to change.

Despite her longing to never return to Heaven’s pearly prison, Vaggie had embraced the nature of the hotel with rigour, she’d poured everything she had into its rotting walls and touchy-feely exercises Charlie had so dedicatedly designed. Bled for the project that was supposed to help people change- and sometimes it felt like enough. 

Heaven’s teachings were fucked up, she knew that now, relishing in her every chance to name it- only to spend her nights haunted by grief, mourning for every soul in Hell she’d taken, seeking forgiveness in strong, warm arms,  knowing she’d never do enough to earn Charlie’s wide smile and understanding gaze but dreaming of it anyway. 

It was Vaggie’s own brand of redemption she was chasing, one much more worthy than anything Heaven could ever offer.

Most days were fine. She lived as Vaggie, Charlie Morningstar’s partner and Manager of the Hazbin Hotel. Her sleep was restful, her past firmly behind her. Hell served as a soothing balm to the memories that haunted her, such a visceral contrast to the bright skies and perfectly preened perfection of heaven that it was impossible for Vaggie not to feel safe under its burning red sky, amongst the chaos and mess of Pride Ring it was easy to feel protected.

It was nothing like Heaven, Sinners and Imps were nothing like the Virtuous Souls and Angels from Above, and Vaggie spent every day feeling grateful for that fact.

Things didn’t always feel so easy- Charlie revered Heaven and the idea of redemption too much for Vaggie to so easily be able to forget her past- but for her partner, Vaggie could endure it. 

Charlie’s hope and optimism was nothing like the toxic venom Adam and Vaggie’s fellow exorcists would spit about Hell’s resident human souls, it burned away her doubts in a rage of hellfire. She saw the belief Charlie held in Sinners, and latched on to it with desperate abandon- along the way, Vaggie had begun to believe in Sinners too, finding faith not in meaningless songs and promises of eternal peace, but in the messy honesty that was making mistakes.

Now, the days were easier, her past was behind her. Finally , Vaggie was starting to feel like she could abandon the monster she had once been, allowing the memories of her old life to burn away under the shelter of the Hazbin Hotel. For a moment, she could almost lose herself in the blissful lie that she’d always been a sinner, and Hell had been the only life she had ever known.

With how different Hell was to Heaven, it was easy to fall for such an easy lie, shoving her old life behind any associations with Grace and the pearly gates that had kept her trapped for so long.

It was almost too easy to begin to depend on those contrasts, and trick herself into believing that she was getting better.

It had been her idea, and Vaggie had been so confident in suggesting it.

Lucifer was the creator of the original sin, the King of Hell, if anyone was going to have a solution for redeeming sinners or even stopping the exorcists, it would be him.

Charlie’s hesitation had been understandable, Vaggie had seen her girlfriend’s shaky relationship with her father first hand, and there was no denying the pressure she carried from the rest of Hell by being his daughter, but he’d also been the one that got her this hotel in the first place. And sure , Vaggie also found it super weird that Lucifer had allowed the exterminations to happen, but there had to be an explanation for that- there had to be a reason he’d so willingly worked with Heaven to condemn sinners every year.

Her first clue should have been the appearance of the King himself, if only she’d been thinking .

With the palpable mix of nerves and anticipation in the room as they all waited for Lucifer’s arrival, it had been easy for Vaggie to mask the way her entire body had immediately locked up when she sensed it, presence heavy in the air, stifling in its familiarity, and something entirely other than the rest of Hell. The instinctive reaction to duck her head was an old and practised one, and a habit she’d repressed ever since leaving Heaven behind- now back in full force.

Divinity .

There’s no time for Vaggie to raise any alarm, no time to panic or warn Charlie before the door is being swung open- but it isn’t blinding pearly Grace that bursts past those doors. Instead, Charlie is being swept into a hug by the figure of a being that can only be Heaven’s supposed antithesis- Lucifer. 

Yes, the King of Hell’s image is plastered throughout Hell- but none of it did him justice.

God’s most beautiful , she’d once read. Heaven loved to repeat that temptation never comes in undesirable forms- it’s what made sin so easy, a man so weak as to fall for it, and why she had to spend her whole life resisting. Or so they had preached.

Lucifer shared many traits with Charlie, actually. Traits that had her girlfriend standing out in a crowd even despite her hellish colour scheme of red, with her blonde hair and alabaster skin, seemed almost amplified in her father. Apple cane and snake-embellished crown atop his head like some proud proclamation of the first sin, Lucifer strode into the Hazbin Hotel with a beacon of energy. He is bright and joyful, wrapped in a pristine white and a sharp contrast to everything in the room, to everything in Hell,  

Vaggie was so used to the grime and dark shades of Hell that it almost hurt to look at. If Lucifer was aware of that, or cared at all, he didn’t seem to show it. Sin of Pride, indeed.

But even then, it wasn’t those traits that had the anxiety catch in her chest, panic clawing at her instincts to run, hide, pray, bow, revere - no, that was the result of the momentary flicker of someone else that she caught in Lucifer’s features, a striking similarity that anyone familiar with Heaven’s power structure would find impossible to overlook.

Archangels had never bothered with most of Heaven. The running of its divine walls was left to the Seraphim, who even then seldom bothered with most of the lower ranking angels, let alone the ascended human souls. The Archangels were a mystery, a whisper in the air, the overseers of everything- the executor’s of God’s will. Vaggie had never met them before and even Adam, the first man, didn’t mention any by name. Still, Vaggie had encountered one, once , and she’d never forget their face, never forget the way their Grace had made her feel-

Leading the small group of exorcists, Adam had stopped firmly in place as they turned a corner. It had only been her sharp reflexes that stopped her from crashing into Alice. She followed their leader’s gaze, wondering what had been so important that not even Adam was willing to approach, what might dare interrupt Adam from his meeting with the all-powerful Seraphim.

Her eyes fell not on the Head Seraphim, but on the other angel speaking with- no, to , her. 

Arms folded at his back, figure tall and poised, this angel was the pinnacle of strength- she didn’t need to get any closer to sense the waves of Grace that wrapped around him, the favour of God apparent even without prayer or gift- it was written into the perfection of his design, the strength of his form. 

The Archangel had not so much as turned to glance at Adam, yet the first man made a hasty and carefully silent retreat from the otherwise empty hall. They all follow in his steps without question.

She can’t help the final glance she throws the Archangel’s way, a moment of weakness- curiosity burning through, has her drinking in his stern-faced appearance, despite the hot fear that runs in her ichor at his presence.

God’s strength. Michael .

Vaggie flinches away from the sight of Lucifer, from the memory forcing itself to be known in her head.

How stupid of her to have forgotten that on top of everything else, Lucifer was a fallen angel. So much like her, yet so entirely different .

Voices carry on in the background like a murky echo, it’s a fight to cling to the words. Foolish . This was such an important moment for them all, such an important moment for Charlie , and here Vaggie was losing her focus in the middle of it all. Some kind of partner she was.

Forcing her racing thoughts to the back of her mind, Vaggie drags her gaze back to Lucifer, who had- at some point- made his way further into the hotel, Charlie close at his side as she talked to the King, along with Alastor-

Wait, Alastor.

Oh fuck no .

Vaggie loses it for a few minutes and somehow she’s managed to allow Alastor of all people to talk to Lucifer- if he’d already screwed this up for them, Vaggie would never forgive herself for the lapse in attention that let it happen. How could she have screwed this up already? Fuck fuck fuck-

Fortunately, they move on before Vaggie can rally herself to jump in- sure now that would only encourage Alastor, not stop him. 

“This is Vaggie-” Charlie’s warmth is there one minute, heavy and comforting at her side, and gone the next, she misses it immediately, “She’s my girlfriend!”

For the first time, Vaggie meets the full attention of Lucifer staring back at her with those same crimson eyes as Charlie, the weight of that Angelic presence is focused solely on her, and it takes everything in Vaggie not to recoil. For a second, she swears those eyes flicker upwards, rove at the space over her shoulders, but it’s over before she’s even sure of what she saw.

Vaggie isn’t sure what to do, what to say . Does she bow? Offer praise? Bring up the hotel? But this isn’t just the King of Hell, or the Devil, he’s Charlie’s Dad -

Before Vaggie can worry too much, she’s aware of a blindingly wide smile, a genuine one- it’s real and honest and nothing like the sneer she’d somehow felt she’d seen on those features before.

“-Put it right there, Maggie!-”

Then, there’s a tight warmth around her, arms pulling her into a hug, and Vaggie can’t help the smile that grows on her face in return, or the relief that pools in her chest untying the knot that had slowly been coiling since her first brush of divinity earlier. 

“-Awh, she’s so pretty, ha ha!...ha-”

Lucifer’s spirited voice chimes in her ears even as he pulls away, and Vaggie doesn’t even mind that he got her name wrong.

That divine presence is still fixated solely on her, but more important now is the beaming smile, the enthusiastic warmth Lucifer had offered her. 

She’s reminded so much of Charlie, standing watching the couple excitedly, that all memories of Archangels and Heaven and Obedience flee from her mind entirely. She feels herself relax, her tongue becomes untied, as she sees the soft smile on Lucifer’s face when he looks between Vaggie and Charlie, and can’t believe her luck.

“It’s-It’s lovely to meet you, ah, s-sir.” Awkward . Awkward and clumsy and not at all poised or put together, she almost wants to melt in embarrassment, but Lucifer doesn’t seem to mind the nerves. Nor does Charlie, with how she gently presses to Vaggie’s side, hand brushing her own, before moving on to introduce her dad to the rest of the guests. Vaggie watches with a matching smile of her own, nerves soothing.

Lucifer, it seemed, was every bit the dreamer Charlie had gushed about from her childhood. It was easy to see where she had gotten that burning hope from, the brightness that lit up a room- such a quality was unbefitting in Hell, really.

Again, Vaggie wonders how someone like this could be allowing a massacre like the exterminations to take place.

Then again, Heaven had a way of snuffing out any brightness they didn’t approve of. She remembers how dull Charlie had seemed, after returning from her meeting with Adam, hope for the hotel dimmed to a tentative hum in a single meeting and wonders if the same had happened for Lucifer. 

The two were so similar already, that had to be it.

“I love that you want to see the best in people but…these sinners? Y’know, they’re just the worst.” Something drops in Vaggie’s stomach. Whatever she had been expecting Lucifer to say, it hadn’t been that .

Sharpened nails trace the outline of an apple, the movement is slow and repetitive and Vaggie focuses on the steady rhythm. Its sheen glints under the overhanging light of Heaven’s sun. Just as quick, the hand flashes away from the cane, grasping to the railing. She doesn’t keep up with the rapid movement, head feeling thick with fog.

Lucifer speaks again, his voice the only thing that rings through her rising stress.

“I-I don’t know how much you can realistically expect from them in Heaven.”

His voice is soft and dismissive. Gentle but detached. It’s a familiar tone, the reminder sits like lead in her chest. People didn’t speak like that in Hell; they tended to be honest and brash, if crude. 

“You’re an angel- pitying life, even as pathetic as the lives of sinners, is understandable , but they don’t deserve it. And they wouldn’t pity you, if it was you on the end of their spear.”
“Now you’ve seen Hell, you understand why we need to do this. Those sinners can’t be allowed to keep growing in numbers.”

That bright smile from earlier was gone too, something burning in his eyes as Lucifer looked out over Pentagram City- looking down at the Sinners below.

Something about it made Vaggie turn away.

Not even the Fallen Angel’s quick dismissal of Heaven did anything to soothe as comfort to the relentless push of memories that threatened to burst forth. Desperately, Vaggie clung to the heady scent of sulphur that was so common in the air, the dirt and rust of the hotel’s walls, all lit under the red sky. Red, not blue .

She hadn’t expected this, she hadn’t accounted for this possibility.

“‘ Our people’ , Charlie, are AWFUL!” Lucifer’s cry broke through her thoughts, the words becoming a jumble in her head. Attention was slipping from her grasp faster than she could control, she was no use to anyone like this, no use to Charlie -

She’d been so confident Lucifer would be on board with their plan, instead she had the King of Hell standing out on a balcony, hardly able to look at the Sinners below, dismissal of their damned souls dripping from his voice. Uneasy hands toying at the apple atop his cane.

Despite his apparent withdrawal from hellish society, Sinners still revered Lucifer greatly- his image was everywhere . They feared him, praised and idolised the Devil in equal measures, but apparently the feeling was not mutual. The angel who had given the first gift to humans, and now he could hardly stand to look at them.

A sudden crash from below shook the balcony, forcing Vaggie away from her steadily spiralling thoughts. 

“What now ?” Hadn’t they been through enough already? Didn’t they have enough to worry about?

She grasps on to the loud yells and blasts that had already begun to follow downstairs, the familiar destructive chaos that tended to follow in the Hotel’s wake was enough to ground the raging memories of Heaven for now, and Vaggie revelled in the bliss. Grip tightening on her spear she follows Charlie though the portal Lucifer conjured, the scene that greets them is nothing short of disastrous. The hotel entryway was destroyed, rubble everywhere and ongoing shots still being taken at the hotel, the rest of their group rallying against the attackers, Damn it , they were being attacked. Again. And while hosting Lucifer , no less.

Like this was going to help convince Lucifer to put his faith in the hotel, especially if they couldn’t get it under control fast . It wouldn’t be fast enough to erase the incident from Lucifer’s memory, but maybe if he could see the way they worked together…

The steady flow of a fight entices Vaggie to join in, to be useful for once all day- but still, a part of her waits for Lucifer to intervene. He could end this in a heartbeat, with an effortless wave of power- yet he doesn’t.

Surrounded by the carnage and fires, the echo of taunting enemies amplified over the noise, Lucifer stands unmoved and perfectly poised, surveying the damage like it's a spec of dust on the countertop, a mild inconvenience rather than their entire foyer being under bullet-lined siege. 

Next to her, Charlie looks horrified as she takes in the scene, a visceral contrast to her father, who only sighs heavily when another cannon takes out a patch of wall, disappointment lining his features. Still, he does nothing to resolve it, watching only in an unaffected apathy.

He expected this , it hits Vaggie like a cannon to the Hotel wall.

This was how Lucifer saw sinners. Suddenly, Vaggie understands exactly how the King of Hell could have allowed the exterminations to take place, a massacre focused only on sinners. 

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree .

Despite herself, Vaggie feels something fracture between her ribs, a wave of disappointment rushing through her. She doesn’t know when that spark of hope had blossomed, that Lucifer would get it, get her , that she’d find someone who understood how it was to fall from Heaven, and how fucked up their whole belief system was- but Lucifer speaks, and all Vaggie can remember is Adam’s disdain for the human souls damned in Hell, the Angelic Council’s easy dismissal of sinners. The detached chill to their gaze.

Ever since losing her wings, Vaggie has never felt so alone.

“Ya see- this is exactly what I’m talking about Charlie,” Vaggie’s spear sits heavy against her skin for the first time in years, it’s impossible to not hear Lucifer, his voice carries effortlessly over the sound of their burning hotel, calm and so confident , with that melodic chime that hurts , “You build something nice, you invite people in and offer them everything, and they just bring violence and chaos to your doorstep!”

The fire is burning under her feet, hot hot hot , burning , 

But all she can focus on is the all-encompassing tune of Lucifer’s words, the heedy fog crossing her own mind as they swim behind her eyes. For a moment it isn’t the burn of fire that flashes behind her eyes, but the blinding glow of Grace, the light of Heaven burning down, a portal opening to the depths, damning the fate of countless sinner souls-

Steps away, a chandelier threatens to break free, about to fall on Nifty, and Vaggie sees it all- she can get there in time, she can, but her feet won’t move, she’s stuck, and Lucifer is still talking -

“It doesn’t matter how well intentioned you are, they’re always going to disappoint you .”

With only seconds to spare, Sir Pentious rushed past her, pulling Nifty free before the chandelier had the chance to break free and squash her under its weight. The scene snaps her back into her body, finally.

That moment of dissociation had almost cost them, her weakness had almost hurt Nifty. Vaggie was supposed to be over this, done with Heaven- and she was , she hadn’t had a nightmare about them for years, had never frozen up like this before. It was pathetic.

Frustration wells within her, from her shaking hands, the pristine condition of Lucifer’s coat, white against the burning blacks and reds of the destroyed foyer, anger that people thought they could try to attack Hell the hotel and that they’d succeed -

“All of you, get a safe distance, I’ll take care of this .”

She itches to fight. To feel the rush of battle, defending her home. Anything other than that rushing ache from before. The want to be better, to forget-

It’s not a chance she gets, not when a clawed hand is lowering her weapon like it’s a silly straw in a knife fight- the dismissal pricks at her skin, but she doesn’t get in Alastor’s way. This wasn’t her battle to fight, and Vaggie knew it.

To the side, Charlie and Lucifer were still watching on, with wildly contrasting expressions as they took in the scene of bloodshed at the overlord’s hands. 

Vaggie remembers, oh how she remembers , the close-mindedness of Heaven. Their preaching and prattling that haunted her for years- even now, sometimes she couldn’t stop the snarl in her thoughts at particular scenes of sin, the way she’d been in Hell for seven years now, but could hardly stand indulging in some vices- the fear that gripped Vaggie in those moments had been suffocating, lessons she hadn’t yet managed to unlearn- no matter how much she hated herself for it.

She looked to Lucifer, who’d turned his back to the grisly scene, expressing a perfect painting of smug knowing, but there was a flicker in the upright tug of his mouth, an uncertain flash in his eyes that Vaggie knew she was the only one to spot.

A sense of feeling returned to her legs, compelling Vaggie to move forward. The loan sharks outside were still screaming, but she couldn’t hear it- not over the careful way Lucifer held on to the apple atop his cane, the delicate way he was sure not to look too closely at the sinner blood in the carpets. It all contrasted the prideful tilt to his head.

She itched to say something but before she could find any words, Lucifer was speaking again, 

“Charlie, Sinners are violent psychopaths, hellbent on causing as much pain and destruction as they can.” He laughed, and nothing about it sounded honest. She’d heard that kind of laugh before. Any rebuttal she could offer fell silent at the sound, “There’s really no point in trying.”

And Lucifer….Lucifer would know, wouldn’t he?

The assuredness of his dismissal rang through Vaggie’s head, and it was easy to find herself lost to memories. Slipping, yet again.

She’d wondered the same, hadn’t she? Alone in bed, as Charlie bled herself dry for the dream of a redemption hotel, Vaggie had pulled the blanket tight around her and ignored the burn between her shoulder blades, asking herself what Charlie could possibly see in these sinners, what chance the damned could ever have of getting to Heaven. They were filthy, tainted, hopeless causes who’d only corrupt Heaven- and why would they even deserve redemption in the first place, when sin is such an abhorrent act?

Vaggie hadn’t thought that way in years , she’d found a home with their self-renovated hotel of patchy DIY, even friends in their new guests and staff, and hadn’t even realised how quiet her old doubts had become. How stupid she’d been, to hope that they were gone, and now she found her resolve wavering, and all it took were a few words, a moment of weakness…

But still, Charlie didn’t waver, she didn’t break. Brave, wonderful, determined Charlie, still reached for her father- and Lucifer’s carefully constructed act dissolved for his daughter. Dismissal bled dry for mourning, detachment was only a facade for rejection, and it was Charlie who revealed that truth. Charlie who reached for the Fallen Angel, and encouraged them to have faith . 

In Lucifer’s eyes, Vaggie saw love. Burning bright and honest, wrapping around Charlie with a golden sheen that felt warm and gentle, nothing like the barricades of gold that Vaggie had been so used to. 

The coil in her stomach loosened at the sight, and it was impossible to stop the smile that grew back on her face. 

Lucifer and Charlie wrapped each other close in a hug, so real, so genuine , and Lucifer promised to get Charlie the meeting with Heaven. He held her hands and gave hope to her project. 

It isn’t for the sinners’ sakes, Vaggie knows that, but she clings to it nonetheless. She knows how this story starts, with a dreamer and the one who supports them. Heaven can’t break that, they can be challenged.

Change is possible.

In the six months that pass before the next extermination, Lucifer doesn’t make a reappearance. Vaggie pretends not to see the way Charlie occasionally thumbs at her dad’s contact on her phone, and they both lose themselves in the chaos of trying to prove redemption is possible before it’s too late, and preparing for the worst should they fail. 

Things aren’t always easy, returning to Heaven had been a cruel torment Vaggie had never wanted to re-experience, but now her big secret was out and Vaggie hadn’t felt more free to breathe in…well… ever . 

How she could have ever assumed Charlie would hate her for what she had been was ridiculous, this was the same Charlie who had nearly cried promising Vaggie she’d never take her back to Heaven again if Vaggie didn’t want to, who’d held her close through the throes of night terrors that followed in the days after their meeting with the Heavenly Council, and had stuck by Vaggie for seven years without wavering. 

It was a love she didn’t deserve, a devotion that Vaggie returned tenfold as she lost herself in redemption initiatives for the Hotel, and spent sleepless nights on battle strategies against the exorcists.

In the end, it hadn’t been enough. They’d still lost Sir Pentious and Razzle, and if Lucifer hadn’t shown up…

But he had , and that was the part Vaggie would choose to focus on. The hotel was back, bigger and stronger than ever, and so far Heaven hadn’t brought the subject of exterminations back up (they’d been suspiciously quiet, actually. But when Charlie had mentioned as much to her dad, Lucifer only brushed her worry off- insisting he’d heal with whatever the angels had to say, when the time came. Vaggie was sure he’d have a fight on his hands with Charlie should the day ever arise).

As far as Vaggie cared, Heaven could stay silent. She never wanted to see so much as a shiny glow of divinity ever again.

For a while, she felt hope blossom in her chest. Vaggie felt safe , Charlie now knew about her dark past, everything seemed to be shaping up for the best. Their group had fallen into an easy rhythm about the Hotel- even Lucifer, who agreed to move in and now occupied a wing for himself (effortlessly waved into existence- it had been an image from some of Charlie’s earliest designs for the Hotel, her biggest dreams brought to life) blended well with the group- although he did keep some careful kind of distance from time to time. Vaggie could understand that kind of hesitation better than most. The worry of getting close .

With everything going so well, it was almost too easy to believe her past was truly behind her, the last dredges of haunted memories thwarted with the leader of the exorcists dead, and Heaven going quiet, finally letting Vaggie put her past to rest. 

Her recent freakouts brushed off as nothing more than the result of stress, they’d been flukes- she was past that now. Vaggie could even talk about Heaven without any of her old panic pooling in her stomach. Sure, some days the guilt still weighs like soul scales on her shoulders, but as far as seeking forgiveness for past mistakes go- she’s in good company.

All it takes is a gentle hum to send all her falling all the way back.

While most of the Hotel’s renovations were complete, Charlie is ever a perfectionist (something Vaggie now suspects she got from her dad)- her newest idea involved an outdoor space for the Hotel. Something about regular exercise and ‘productive movement’, even ‘nurturing skills’- it left her pouring over a pile of sketches with her dad, surrounded by a mess of papers in the middle of the foyer as they muttered between themselves.

Everyone else had gathered around the bar, content to chat idly and watch while the father-daughter duo immersed themselves in work. The scene brings a smile to Vaggie’s face, one she doesn’t bother trying to conceal, even when it catches the attention of Angel, who’s happy to point it out to the group, “Wow, who drugged heart-eyes over here? I ain’t seen someone more moony since I filmed a ten-way gangbang.”

Vaggie didn't even bother with a retort, as an echo of groans rang around the bar, “Keep talking like that and I’ll ban porn talk from my bar.”

“C’mon Whiskers, that’ll be like bannin’ me !”

“Exactly.”

The teasing back-and-forth carries on as Vaggie finds her attention drawn away by the movement, gaze back on the brainstorming pair as Charlie takes a couple of steps back, no doubt waiting for Lucifer to take charge of the creation component, so was their routine. Charlie was a designer, a planner, then Lucifer would help bring it to life ( far too easily. It took them years to get the hotel looking half-decent, only for Lucifer to rebuild the entire thing better than ever in a matter of an hour or so. A fact Vaggie was pretty sure everyone was still slightly bitter about).

Charlie claps her hands excitedly at the golden tendrils of magic, but otherwise says nothing as Lucifer begins to focus on his task, losing himself to creation in a matter of minutes. 

The image is a soothing background, one that continues to catch straying glances as everyone continues to chatter and joke, raised glasses clink as Husk warns them not to smash the glassware- something they all know he doesn’t care about, really.

Then, a delicate hum fills the air and the room falls to silence. Ice pools in Vaggie’s stomach, the hot burnings of dread edging in. 

Lucifer sang on, lost in the golden glow pouring from his touch.

The music is light and melodic, filling every empty space in the foyer with its soft tune. It feels like joy and acceptance, and something beyond any of their comprehensions- yet, it was impossible to fear this unknown. Lyrics begin to lap over the melody, sung in a language lost to life, older than humanity, it sang of a contentness that surpassed anything they’d ever known. A hum that felt like home .

To Vaggie, it sounds only like empty air and shackled wants, wraps around her throat like a chain. She knows where she’s heard such a melody before, recognises it instantly. It’s different now.

In Heaven, such a melody was always delivered as a choir piece, six voices effortlessly harmonising with a perfection that could only have been designed such a way- but even then, there had been no denying the imbalance of the song. Always rendering Heaven reverent of their voices, and always weeping with an absence that left the tune sounding oddly…mournful. Like something was missing.
As Lucifer continues to sing, Vaggie now has a feeling what.

Around her, everyone else was listening with captivated attention, their voices fallen to silence. She can only imagine the awe they’re feeling, the warmth seeping into their bones, wonderment at the heavenly hymn, to all but her.

Celestial Harmonies .

The songs of the Almighty’s favourites. The hymns of the blessed, and this one, the song of creation . Right from the vocal cords of the devil himself.

Vaggie wanted to run . To get as far away as possible from the gentle hum, the soft words in enochian that filled everybody else with wonder for the harmonies that filled Heaven’s walls, reminding all of the powers above them, who to thank for the gift of existing.

Vaggie doesn’t turn and flee. She can’t . Not with Charlie so happy right before her, shiny tears of joy shamelessly welling in her girlfriend’s eyes, the blanket of peace that filled the foyer of the hotel, a moment of reprieve for their weary minds. Certainly not with the unawareness of Lucifer’s demeanour that tells Vaggie the fallen angel has no idea what he’s singing, not quite, and she will not be the one to remind him.

Tonight, she can endure this.

Silently, as the others listen, transfixed, Vaggie reaches behind the bar, fingers latching to a bottle of Husk’s strongest. It's something amber and potent, it will burn going down, and her nose will wrinkle in distaste- but Vaggie can’t find it in herself to care, pouring a heavy hand into her cup and taking a swig.

The harmony will not be blocked out, but Vaggie does her best anyway to ignore it’s lul, the chains it pulls around her heart. Soft melodies command her, and she feels helpless to its voice,

Be in wonder of me. 

Pray. Bow. Kneel. 

Obey .

Where everyone else finds bliss, Vaggie feels the old chains tighten.

It doesn’t get easier, Vaggie realises.

The feeling of freedom that had finally become her day-to-day was gone, all her progress erased even though Lucifer hadn’t really sung since that day, the unease hadn’t left her. It felt as though the floodgates had burst open, and every minor thing was slipping past her carefully built protections.

Protections she hadn’t even thought she needed anymore.

The issue is, Vaggie liked being around Lucifer. Really, the King of Hell is so much like his daughter that Vaggie didn’t know how she couldn’t appreciate Lucifer’s presence- so often spirited and enthusiastic, if a little socially awkward (but she supposes spending the better part of your hellish life in isolation could do that to someone), Lucifer was always willing to try . Even for all his seeming disdain for sinners, he was never impolite to anyone in the hotel (except Alastor, but those two had their own weird dynamic going on…Vaggie didn’t want to try and figure it out) and was often outright friendly- always happy to lend a hand in the past, whenever Vaggie asked.

In some ways, she appreciated the kindred spirit nature of it all. She didn’t know anybody else who’d experienced Heaven before so having Lucifer around helped. 

He was always there to bitch about Heaven’s politics when the topic had Vaggie uncomfortable and tongue-tied, jumping in to save her from the weight of angel questions when she didn’t know what to do, and she knew it had been Lucifer that taught Charlie how to wing-preen- which felt like an extension of acceptance from Lucifer she didn’t feel she deserved. The fallen angel’s presence had been a greater source of comfort than Vaggie could possibly have predicted.

Until it really, really wasn’t.

She’d only wanted to get some training in, a bit of light sparring, anything that would keep her mind occupied. It had been months since she trained alone- in the weeks before the extermination, everything had been done as a team, and it had really felt that way- nothing like the independent kind of style Vaggie had been shoved into as an angel, but free to rely on others, free to have that choice.

Charlie, being her whimsical and opportunity-seeking self, had taken Vaggie’s decision as inspiration for some team bonding exercises, insisting she’d been wanting the chance to try out their newly created outdoors space.

Although Vaggie had been hoping for some alone time to process her thoughts, she didn’t complain when Charlie insisted on turning the session into a team challenge- hoping that maybe company was the change she needed. A refresh.

Even Lucifer had been dragged along for the session, even though he tended to avoid them, citing that he ‘did not want redemption with Heaven, or even for the angels to think that, thanks though pip’ and making his escape with a quick kiss to his daughter’s forehead. If Vaggie were honest, it was an excuse she could entirely empathise with. Still, it seemed Charlie’s pleading eyes had been too much for Lucifer to resist today.

Between their group, Charlie had handed out ‘weapons’- that ranged from blunt-ended tridents to razor sharp knives, their challenge was to work together to defeat conjuried ‘enemies’, swapping weapons as often as possible to play to everybody’s strengths. Charlie seemed to be borrowing heavily from the extermination battle today, maybe recognising how close they’d all been in their combat styles.

The only two not a part of the group were Alastor and Lucifer, who were stood together on the outskirts of the open plains. A dangerous pair to put together, Vaggie had thought, but Charlie had pouted about it being ‘too easy’ if they were going to be fighting too, so instead they were going to be conjuring the dummies.

No possible way that could go wrong , Vaggie had wanted to sigh, but instead only shot her girlfriend what she hoped was a confident smile- although some of the others seemed less thrilled about the Radio Demon and King of Hell being in charge of what they’d be fighting today.

It started off pretty fun , the shapeless blobs that were supposed to be their targets had soon morphed to possess familiar characteristics- it had started with a duck-like bill, another with deer antlers (that Husk had driven into with her spear a bit too hastily), then devil horns. The obvious persistent teasing had generated more than a few snarky comments,

“I ain’t the only one seeing this, right?”
“Not again . They need a hobby. Both of them. Different hobbies .”
“Think they’ll take requests?”
“Can those two just fuck and get it over with already?” “ANGEL!”

Whether the difficulty was supposed to be increasing, or Alastor and Lucifer had started to have a bit too much fun with their magic (that, or they’d overheard Angel’s comment and had decided to punish the majority), Vaggie couldn't say for certain- but there was no denying that the figures had started gaining more demon-like shapes, and they were getting stronger, more proficient.

At some point, Vaggie had regained her spear, and not long after completely abandoned the weapon-swapping part of the challenge. She hadn’t been the only one, so it had hardly been noticeable, but as the enemies kept getting more skilled, it became easy to forget she was part of a team at all.

Too reliant on the need to win, feeling the familiar rush from the heat of battle work its way under her skin, Vaggie didn’t realise the moment she’d abandoned all reason, focusing solely on her senses, everything else becoming a blur as her sisters teammates fought on. This is the high she’d been chasing, the moment of mental peace she needed.

The flow of strike, parry, chase, dodge was a familiar dance, one that she could lose herself in easily- too easily.

Conjurations left a mark, a tangible aura if you were trained enough to sense it- and Vaggie had been one of the best. Even when the conjured foes shared a shape, it was easy to sense the difference- Alastor’s had just underlying touch of sulphur and brimstone, hellish in nature, whereas Lucifer’s…they were creations, creations that stank of Grace. The kind of power that had once meant love , and now sang only of pain, pain, betrayal, hurt -

Something in her snapped as one collapsed to dust at the strike of a spear, the potent smell faded from the air along with it. In its place, another grew, just as imposing as the last, and Vaggie pounced .

They fell to her spear, every single one of them, silenced. All the brutality she’d sworn to leave behind, Carmilla Carmine’s careful training, gone in a snap of fear . Vaggie was relentless, brutal, the sole defender of the hotel against these beings that reeked of Heaven and she couldn’t let them get close, couldn’t, wouldn’t, not to her, not to the others, not to Charlie-

Then, without warning, the battlefield is empty. Every enemy, gone . She looks around, spear in hand, alone.

No, not alone. Around her stand several others, eyeing her with caution in their gaze, weapons forgotten some time ago, left hanging limply in their hands..

Her friends .

Vaggie froze, staring at each of their faces, twisted in some combination of fear and concern, confusion peppered between them as she said nothing. Surrounded. She’s surrounded. By her friends . She’s safe, surrounded by friends.

Before she can register what’s going on, she feels it again. Nearing, getting closer.

Spear tight in hands, she prepares to charge, until the full weight of it hits her, overcome with the urge to stop .

Stop, for the presence of something more . Head bowed for your superiors, the Divine. Old habits, decades of training pressing on her head, urging her to revere .

It felt loud, powerful , impossible to ignore. Terror had her in its grip, but nobody else around her seemed to sense it either. None of them seemed alarmed. Their expressions were open and honest, real , and focused on her .

Vaggie bit down on her tongue, hard . Forced her grip to relax in her hands. Breathe. Slow. In, and out.

You’re in Hell. You’re in Hell. Your name is Vaggie, you aren’t in Heaven . Breathe .

Everyone parted slightly, making a gap in the semi-circle surrounding Vaggie that allowed Lucifer and Alastor to fit into place. 

“What happened?”
“Oops, did someone get a little over excited~”

Voices overlapping, Vaggie fights to clear through the rest of the fog, shame quickly overtaking her senses. What had happened? Had she seriously lost control, just like that? The weight of everyone’s full attention falls solely on her, the outcast, the one holding the spear, and it takes everything she has not to flee. To turn away from their worry, their care, the unasked question of just how much they saw-

A warm hand settles on her shoulder, she longs to reach for more of it.

“Vaggie?” Charlie looks back at her, and finally the rest of the fog clears away.

Charlie steps closer, eyes wide with concern, and Vaggie hates that it’s her who put that look there. Gently as she dares, she reaches for the hand on her shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze.

She dares to meet everyone’s gaze again, hoping her expression comes off as one that isn’t too frazzled, “Sorry, guess I, uh, lost myself there. Competitive spirit, you know?”

For a second, she holds her breath, but then the group descends into a cacophony of reassurances, and she relaxes, knowing they bought it,

“I’d not worry about it, toots, besides that battle anger? Hot.” Angel winked, throwing a knowing look Charlie’s way, who had the grace to try to hide her blush behind a hand.

Vaggie doesn’t have it in her to get flustered, not right now, with the hot flashes of shame still raking their way up her spine. She didn’t lose control, ever , and just like that, she’d fallen into old habits? Allowing rage and fear to cloud her mind so quickly...what was with her lately?

A question cuts through the noise, Vaggie misses it the first time. Charlie nudges her gently, pulling her from her thoughts. Following her girlfriend’s pointed look she meets Lucifer’s gaze, from his place sandwiched between Alastor and Husk he’d taken a couple of steps forward, still maintaining a careful distance. 

She didn’t know what she’d missed, but it was clear Lucifer was waiting for an answer before moving any further, head tilted at the slightest angle as he met her gaze, expectant.

“Sorry, uh, your majesty, what?” She cringed internally at how flat she sounded, the awkwardness of being under so much attention burning through.

He smiles, something about it patient and understanding, the kind of honesty that made her want to look away, “I said, would you like me to heal your ankle? It looks pretty bad.”

Looking down, Vaggie is jarred by the sight of a deep gash on her leg, wide and weeping steady rivulets of gold. The injury is so severe, Vaggie wouldn’t be surprised if it had hit the bone of her ankle.

The pain begins to register in the back of her mind, a dull ache she knows will only grow as the adrenaline dies down. Lucifer looks back at her patiently. 

Demons don’t get healed. Hell isn’t gentle. Vaggie doesn’t want her injury sewn up with the wave of a hand, she doesn’t want the aching sting down her left foot to go away. She wants the gritty scar it will leave in its wake, the kind of damage that was always deemed too unsightly for Heavenly walls.

She likes her missing eye, now marred with a cross she carries with pride.

The idea of healing the gaping wound fills her with revulsion, but the weight of Charlie’s gaze is on her expectantly, everyone waiting on Vaggie to give her say so. Everyone, expecting her to do the logical thing, the sensible thing, nobody else would ever even consider saying no when the chance to heal is so simple. 

Bile burns at the back of her mouth, Vaggie meets Lucifer’s gaze and offers a nod. For a second the King still doesn’t move, the exception being the smallest waiver of his eyebrows, but it’s gone in a flash and Lucifer is getting closer, closer -

He doesn’t even waste time kneeling, stopping only a few paces from where she’s stood Lucifer bends swiftly at the waist, a single gloved hand hovers over the gash for only a second, until there’s a soft glow of gold, and the wound immediately begins to knit itself back together.

The Grace rolling off her skin is revolting , too gentle and warm and painless. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in years. It’s impossible to suppress the way she recoils from the touch, and fortunately nobody else seems to notice her stumble. Nobody except Lucifer, who’d already risen to offer her a reassuring smile, “It might sting a bit while the skin knits back together, sorry about that.”

She offered a weak smile of her own back, but didn’t correct him on the assumption.

“Woah, that’s a pretty neat trick.” Cherri tilted her head, peering down at Vaggie’s ankle- somehow now a public spectacle. At least they weren’t looking at her like a loose cannon anymore.

“Oh-ho, that’s nothing. Healing is pretty rudimentary stuff, been a while since I’ve used it though.”

Soon, the conversation drifts away, and Vaggie takes the opportunity to look down at her foot, gaze searching the space where the open wound had been only seconds earlier. In its place was perfect, unmarred skin. Not even her clothing had been spared from the minor miracle, any fabric that had been stained with the shine of ichor had been wiped clean. Any proof of her earlier injury, erased, leaving divine perfection in its place.

Vaggie hated it.

In Hell, imperfection was perfection, difference was allowed and there were no standards to uphold. She’d revelled in the demonic-cross-animalistic qualities to Hell’s resident sinners, the way that character bled shamelessly from every building in the damned afterlife. The slight unsightliness that is sightly.

Each of her friends carried a wound that Heaven would never permit to be visible, and Vaggie was now pridefully amongst them.

All except Charlie, and Lucifer. Lucifer, who had healed her injury without pause, who’d seen the mistake she’d made, and removed it without even a wave of his hand. Lucifer, who had created a shiny new hotel in place of the rotting wounds of the old one. Perfection and beauty, right down to his own daughter. It shone in the murk of Hell.

Flawless skin stares back at her, pristine stretches where she knew there had once been a gaping stab wound, or a vicious slash to her side. She wished there was a scar in its place.

Heaven would never allow such unsightliness, they erased wounds and stains all the same. Suddenly, her clothes were too clean, too polished and put together, too much like the way her skin was without memory, without the marks of her past errors.

Healing is a frivolity in Hell, scars and injuries are part of the trend, a badge of pride, a story .
Healing is expected in Heaven, where everything is so beautiful and perfect and a lie .

She wishes she could see that in Lucifer. She hates herself for wondering how it would look on Charlie.

Scores of Sinners crawl on the ground beneath them, fleeing from the holy light that burned down on Hell. she lets it warm her wings for a second longer as her eyes scour the scene.

To her left, the sound of another scream dies at the end of her sister’s blade. Not to be outdone, her spear strikes in a downward arc, she doesn’t even bother registering the appearance of her target as she pulls the blade from its chest. 

The wet splat registers against her uniform, adding to the crimson that’s already there. The blood feels hot against her skin, even through the layers of fabric. It’s no use worrying about the stains, such things don’t exist in the Heavenly planes- someone will be waiting to purify her body upon arrival. She could never be allowed to be so filthy.

The glowing beacon overhead beckons for her return. It’s only in Heaven’s mercy that the rest of the Sinners are spared for another year. 

The pearly gates do not greet her, but instead an open room- a lobby - that pulls at her memories, screeches of something familiar- but she cannot name what, no matter the sudden urge of want in her chest. 

For some reason she expects a rush of comfort to embrace her as she enters the room. It never does.

The space is vast and empty, walls of pearly white encase her, shining with embellishment of gold. Underfoot is polished tile, she doesn’t know why she had expected plush, stained carpeting. Nothing is so filthy in Heaven.

In the corner rests a smoothie bar, perfectly maintained and inviting of health, preserving the holy body. She feels vaguely nauseous at the sight, for some reason she can’t stand to look at the empty space behind its bar, nor the decoration of white pillars overhead. Her body gravitates towards it by instinct, driving by muscle memory although she has no recollection of ever visiting this place before.

Everything about it feels familiar.
Everything about it feels wrong.

Worst, was the emptiness of the vast and holy interior. She felt cold, she felt alone. Which was ridiculous, she had her sisters, even if they weren’t with her now. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there should be people here, loud voices that bounced from the walls. 

Instead, there stood a small group of angels by the staircase. They weren’t supposed to be here, she was sure.

She’s never met any of them before, but she knows who they are immediately- the weight of their presence is undeniable. The Seven Archangels stand, illuminated by divinity, casting a worship-worthy painting against the otherwise empty canvas of the wall. Were it not for the Archangels’ presence, the furnishings would look empty, missing some sort of important feature to decorate the rooms.

No.

Wait.

She has met one of them before. The familiarity strikes her as the group turn to look down at the recently-arrived exorcist, her eyes catching on the smallest of the group, standing in the centre. She can’t remember from where, but she knows him, she’s sure.

Blond and rosy-cheeked, with a bright demeanour, but the eyes….they’re wrong. They don’t fit . A vibrant shade of blue shines back at her, matching perfectly with the subtle piping of his robes, a perfectly soft hue befitting of Heaven…and yet it feels wrong .

Lucifer smiles back at her, and when he opens his mouth to speak, she doesn’t know why the sight of perfectly blunt, shiny teeth surprises her, “Ah, you’re back!”

Another glances at her, “Another year of fine work, exorcist. Your ongoing servitude to the Almighty is recognised, for so many years of purging Hell of its filth- Heaven is pleased.” 

Something churns in her stomach at the praise. It must be honour, or perhaps humility for her role in defending Heaven. Regardless, she bows her head to the Archangels in gratitude, gaze momentarily averted, tongue suddenly too heavy to summon speech.

“So much death at your hands, exorcist, I see it upon your soul.” Another speaks, not one she recognises- but the dark nature of their robe is enough to promise his words are true. It’s a compliment, but she cannot stop the shame in her chest. She feels tainted, somehow.

“How impressive!” Lucifer chimes, his nose scrunching in distaste as he continued, “Sinners are just awful aren’t they? Violent, senseless, faithless- not a soul worth sparing amongst them.” Movement catches her gaze as another of the Archangels moves forward, pressing closer to Lucifer’s side. The resemblance amongst the group is striking- not necessarily in appearance, but for the comfort between them all, the similarity of Grace that fills the room, suffocatingly so. 

“Quite so, brother, and why should anyone want to?” Piercing eyes met her own, Michael’s judgement bares down upon her, “It is not as though sinners are as blessed as we are, to experience love, to be able to care - Hell has no place for such things. Believing otherwise would be foolish, and a betrayal of our Lord.”

Lucifer only laughed. She doesn’t know why she had expected him to argue back, can’t explain the well of disappointment in her chest when he only agrees with his fellow Archangel, no spark of rebellion in those wide eyes. Why she had expected to see that there, she couldn’t explain.

The lobby feels even emptier than before

He’s still smiling, so bright and carefree. The expression finally rings for its familiarity.

She remembers;.

“Charlie,” The name fits perfectly in her mind, although no image conjures at the name, she feels a pleasing rush of warmth in her chest, “Where’s Charlie?”

 Lucifer frowns, peering at her like she’s some kind of invalid, “Charlie? Who is Charlie?”

The question hurts, for reasons she can’t quite understand. It’s so much worse when the Archangel looks so confused, empty of recognition. Again, she doesn’t know why.

Who is Charlie? She didn’t know many people, not well, and not outside of her sisters and Adam, but she knew Charlie is important. Charlie had something to do with the lobby, some part of the feeling of wrongness in her being. Charlie. 

And…not just Charlie. There are others too….

“Angel Dust. Husk. Nifty. Alastor. Cherri Bomb.” She looks around the room, the cleanly golden sheen burns . It’s wrong, it’s all wrong. “Where are they?”

“Exorcist, are you allowing your mind to wander, to dream? There is no one here by those names.” The cool tenor of Michael cuts through the growing clarity, piercing down upon her.

“No. NO. There is , there is- they’re real, I-I’m sure of it.”

“It’s quite real in your head, I’m sure.” The dismissal comes quickly, disapproval chases at its heels, “Have you forsaken Heaven, exorcist? Forgot your loyalties?”

“I-I no, I need to go, I need to leave- back, back home. I want to go home. I don’t belong here, please, Lucifer-”

“Oh don’t be silly!” Lucifer’s smile is warm and bright, brighter than it had ever been in Hell, but his eyes…they were cold. Empty. They matched those of the other Archangels easily, the resemblance between God’s favourites was clear.

A warm hand falls on her shoulder, it’s ungloved, and there’s no familiar golden wedding band on those unpointed fingertips. With gentle pressure, Lucifer turns her around, the matching dismissal of the Archangels’ gazes the last thing she saw before her vision was overwhelmed by flame.

She stares into the portal, watching as Pentagram City is consumed by a rage of Hellfire, any hopes of ever returning reduced to ashes.

“Heaven is forever, whether you like it or not.”

Vaggie pulls from the dream with a violent lurch upright, scream caught in the back of her throat.

She’s distantly aware of the hot drag of tears streaming down her face, of air scrambling for purchase in her lungs, all of it meaning nothing as the nightmare runs through her mind like a tortuous film. She could still feel the warmth of blood on her hands, the cold interior of the Hotel- desecrated by Heaven, purified like none of it had ever meant anything, as though it had never been real -

“Vaggie?”

Fractures break through the memory, a soft weight falls on her shoulder- it’s gentle, slow, Vaggie recoils momentarily- but the hand doesn’t chase her, nor does it pull entirely away. She feels the dip of the mattress beside her, the warmth on her shoulder, and leans back towards that soft touch.

Another sob tears from her chest, and carefully the arm winds around her. Vaggie wraps herself into the embrace, desperately clutches at the blurry sight of long blonde hair, messy from sleep, the familiar scent that embraces her as Vaggie tucks her head into Charlie’s neck and finally takes a breath.

At Charlie’s presence, the panic inside her begins to soothe. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I’m here-” Comfort plays like a tireless hum as she fights for breath, fingers tracing a repetitive motion into her back. Grounding.

She allows herself to focus on the rhythm, the back and forth motion Charlie paints into her skin, back and forth, back and forth. Breathe. In and out. In and out .

Slowly, air returns to her, the burning behind her eyes stops- but still the light touch doesn’t pull away, not until Vaggie is ready, pulling herself from the embrace as visions of the room blink into existence.

At some point Charlie had switched a lamp on, filling the room with a warm orange glow. It bounced off the red and black colour scheme so favoured by the entire Hotel- a detail which hadn’t been forgotten in the revamp. Photos scattered across the walls, some framed, others hastily taped up until they figured something out, there was a blemish on the far wall where Charlie had accidentally burned a hole. She drank in the scenery greedily, clutched as its dark colour scheme and uncoordinated, unfinished design choices.

An arm brushes against hers, fingers interlace with her own.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

The offer is quiet, but no less confident, and hangs between them without pressure. It was a familiar dance now, a habit formed by exchanges of nights with nightmare-interrupted sleep, somewhere along the lines they’d fallen into an easy rhythm of comfort and talking in the aftermath. But tonight’s was different, they both knew. She’s never felt so….scared, before.

Vaggie opens her mouth, but the words die on her tongue. She closes it soundlessly, shoulders drooping forward without permission.

As though sensing her struggles (and maybe Charlie could, Vaggie would believe in a second that her girlfriend could sense her emotions) Charlie leaned closer, falling into the blind spot of her missing eye. Still, Charlie moves slowly before pressing a tender kiss to her temple, always giving Vaggie enough time to pull back, but Vaggie never does.

“Heaven just…I…” She sighed, words failing her again, “It’s silly.”

Charlie pulls back into her line of sight, bedraggled and more beautiful than anything Vaggie could ever deserve, and for a moment she does nothing more than search Vaggie’s face- as though the tale of her nightmare would be written in the tear tracks she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. Finding nothing, Charlie only frowns- but she doesn’t ask further. She doesn’t press. 

Vaggie doesn’t know what her girlfriend saw that encouraged her to drop it, but she’s thankful for it, instead taking the quiet offer for them both to lie back down, wrapped in each other’s arms.

She’s had countless nightmares from her time as an exorcist, never ending memories that robbed her of rest, but none of those terrors had been so…visceral. 

Charlie’s breath begins to slow, but there’s the telltale flicker of eyelids that Vaggie knows means her girlfriend isn’t sleeping. She won’t until they both can. For a second, Vaggie only admires it, the way the night light illuminates her features, the soft pink hue on each cheek that shines against pale skin, a single strand of hair tickling at the forehead. 

The softness of those lips, how much love they gifted, pressed softly to Vaggie’s temple only minutes ago.

“Charlie?” 

Her voice is barely above a whisper, it’s heard all the same.

“Mhm?” Bleary eyes open, raw and vulnerable and intimate . A sight she’s seen countless times before, and can never get enough of.

“This is real, isn’t it? It’s real.” The weight of the blanket presses down on them, Charlie’s body is warm against her own, and the light of Heaven shines down from the window on Vaggie’s back, “Hell is real.”

Arms wrap tighter around Vaggie, pulling her closer, and it feels like permission as much as understanding. Vaggie clutches back, and lets the words soothe her to rest,

“This is real, I promise.”

Charlie doesn’t bring the subject up again the next morning, or the days that follow, Vaggie takes her quiet as a thankful reprieve and pushes on. At some point, it had been easy to convince herself that ignoring the problem would make it go away eventually, that if she paid it no mind, eventually everything will take care of itself.

It’s worked for her before- that's how it happened when she first ‘fell’, right? The feeling of Heaven being torn from her, banished from the Pearly Gates, it took time to get used to- maybe that was all she needed now, too. Time, she just needed time.

Lucifer’s helter-skelter presence around the Hotel helps, Vaggie can admit as much only to herself. Whatever private affairs kept the King of Hell busy certainly made things easier for her to handle- her nerves were still frayed, but days when she wasn’t confronted with the fallen angel were kinder to her dreams.

It had almost been enough to convince herself that everything was fine, that she was fine, until the day the Hotel was attacked and Lucifer decided to get involved.

Normally, the King of Hell preferred to stay out of what he called ‘Sinner Affairs’, and was content to allow Alastor to deal with attacks on their Hotel (something Alastor always seemed to enjoy, creepy as that was), or the other hotel inhabitants when the threat was harmless enough.

Today’s raid wasn’t so mild, they’d been unfortunate enough to attract the attention of some down-on-their-luck overlord after Charlie had attempted- and damned near succeeded- to recruit one of their souls to the Hotel.

How infuriating that the Hotel’s own resident overlord was elsewhere at the moment, leaving the rest of the residents to sort the problem out by themselves.

It was hardly like they’d needed Alastor, anyway- after all what was one minor overlord, when they’d dealt with exorcists in the past?

Vaggie was practically itching for a proper fight, and Charlie had surprised her by standing firm at her side, pitchfork in arms and seething with rage of her own as she’d made a charge for the lion-like sinner, the picture of a vengeful demon.

Everyday Vaggie thought she couldn’t fall more in love, and everyday Charlie proved her wrong.

The fight had begun in their favour, but it doesn’t take long before their home advantage runs up short- turns out, with the full might of their own henchmen, and soul magic at side, even a minor overlord can pose a threat. 

It probably didn’t help that their own resident Princess of Hell had been quickly overwhelmed by other minor sinners- none of them could even get close to the overlord that steered clear of the frontlines, arrogance painting his features as they neared the hotel, destructive aim becoming more and more pointed with time.

Vaggie felt the edgings of dread curl in her stomach, back against Charlie’s own, while all they could do is hold the fort- but even one of them going down might mean the end of their solid defences. They hadn’t prepared for anything like this before, and if something didn’t change soon-

Their saviour comes in a blaze of hellfire, literal hellfire.

A single blast is all it takes to send the overlord flying backwards, landing flat on his back in the centre of the pentagram burnt into the ground leading up to the hotel.

Fury etched into his features, the overlord begins to spit curses as he finds his footing, but then rage-filled eyes trail up, up, up, catching on the one who attacked him- and he freezes. Just as quickly, he drops back down to his knees, eyes wide and all signs of fight replaced, unwaveringly, with terror as he stared up at the figure in the air, to whom Hell’s crimson skies served only as a backdrop, burning down upon this sinner with wrath.

This overlord who had come for his daughter, attacking the Hotel he cares about, clearly planning the attack for when Alastor would be absent, believing it to be an easy fight, an assured victory.

This, the overlord had not been wrong about- the fight was easy, over in an instant. Its victor clear.

The King of Hell had come out to play.

Lucifer stares down upon the now pleading overlord, disdain written clear across his features- fire burning in those gold-pupiled eyes, red burning like the skies of Pride Ring he so ruled. Wings beating against windless skies.

There was no need for the demonic form, Vaggie was certain. Overlords were nothing in power compared to Lucifer, he could have removed this threat without even moving from whatever business he’d been previously attending to- but perhaps the Devil had pride on the mind today, or even a message, as he bared down on them all from his place floating above the Hotel, the burning light surrounding him almost hurt to look at.

Sure, Vaggie had seen him like this before- but during the extermination maybe she’s been too distracted by the adrenaline and her victory over Lute to feel it, too preoccupied with her concern for Charlie to really think about it- but now, Vaggie wonders if she’d been looking away from Lucifer on purpose, intentionally avoiding gazing upon this form. 

The vision before her now sent her straight to her knees, a mirror of the overlord still prostrating at the centre of the Hotel’s pentagram. If Lucifer could hear the sinner’s prayers, he did not care to listen. 

Bile began to climb up her throat, it was an effort to resist the urge to throw up; or flee; or beg for forgiveness.

Still airborne, Lucifer struck an imposing figure with the burn of hellfire at his command, wrath intermingled dangerously with the radiating power beneath his wings, the way even the other planets in the sky seemed to dim next to the devilish morningstar. Maybe that was the problem- hellfire, serpentine adornments, sharp protrusions of horns, they were all decorations- prideful reminders of his position over them all. But none more so than the unavoidable truth beneath that glow, the disdain in how he regarded the sinners below him. 

It was all too angelic.

Wings held Lucifer aloft, flapping effortlessly against a non-existent wind. Six of them. Six wings - she’d seen six wings before, encompassing in their might, the silent indicator of power- the might of favour. And beautiful, always so beautiful .

Wings that carried the burning gaze of eyes, so many eyes, all burning down upon this sinner with the same judgement as the two in Lucifer’s own head. Unescapable, all-seeing, an image burnt into the minds of every being in Heaven, whispers of warnings that kept human souls virtuous on Earth,

We see all, we know all
Do not hide from us

A feature gifted from The Creator who favoured their kind, a mirror of The Omnicient’s will, passed to the most favoured of Heaven, who had not taken His gift even after condemning Lucifer to fall.

Most painful, was the gentle glow of it all, soft and white and pure against the burning red skies.

The damned could never escape from the burning gaze of The Almighty, eternally would they endure Divine Punishment, feeling the might of Heaven’s judgement.

Divinity touched Hell. It encases and is its King.

Vaggie burns .

When Lucifer speaks, it is rageful, full of scorn. Dripping with disdain, for this sinner who is lesser.

“You ’ ve forgotten your place. Are you so quick to forsake me , do you forget what you are, sinner ?” 

All thoughts slip past her grasp like sand, slaves to the blinding panic wrapping around her like a vice. The vision from above burns into her retinas, even as she finally turns her head away, fear rushing through her veins, feeling returning to her legs-

“Clearly, you sinners need a reminder of who is really in charge here-”

Lucifer hangs alone in the skies, but when he speaks, the voice is not singular, 

“Mercy is not for the damned, I am your judgement-”

Before Vaggie can do anything, regain any sense of control, she is running. Desperate to get away, she can’t do this, she can’t, she can’t -

Nobody can see her like this. She just needs a break. Just a break. And to get away-

At some point, stone becomes plush carpeting under her feet, familiar walls of the Lobby greet her but it’s still not enough, not this time. Breaths escape in shallow huffs, unrelenting to the harsh dig of nails against flesh, unwilling to bow to the old rhythms she’d practised so well with Charlie-

Wait. Charlie . “Vaggie? Oh, Vaggie , shit- it’s okay, I’m here, you’re-you’re not alone. Wait I’ve got you hold on-” Soft hands wrap around her own, unfurling tight fists, but the contact doesn’t move closer, not at first. Vaggie takes this time to focus on the change in setting, the person standing before her now, holding her so gently, and lets the familiar features offer a soothing balm.

Blonde hair, alabaster skin, free from any impurities or scarring- almost too perfect, but there’s that skewed smile, the unique form of Charlie that held her so close, and it looks like home. With a strangled cry, Vaggie tears her hands out of Charlie’s gentle grasp, only to burrow herself in her partner’s arms.

For a moment Charlie just lets herself be held before returning the embrace. It’s impossible to say how long the couple stand there, wrapped in the silence of the Lobby, broken only by Charlie’s soft assurances, (‘ you’re at the hotel, you’re safe, you’re with me- charlie ’) and Vaggie’s own panicked breaths- it wouldn’t be surprising if the race of her heartbeat was also echoing through the walls- but Charlie doesn’t move an inch, not until the panic finally recedes from Vaggie’s mind, and she gently begins to pull away-

As her laboured breaths settle, Charlie begins to lead them both to the sofa nearby, hands still holding Vaggie’s own even as they sit down- careful to keep Vaggie in the corner of her eye, even as she begins searching for the words.

Vaggie rushes to beat her to it, embarrassment welling up where panic had been only seconds before, “Charlie, I’m sorry, I just got a bit, ugh-” Her mind went blank, “...stressed, I guess. Overwhelmed. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It was silly, really.”

For a beat, Charlie only looked at her. Crimson eyes searching Vaggie’s expression for something , desperation to fix just another thing that’s broken-

No, stop . She cares about you, so much. And we’re not broken .

“Vaggie, I…. please , what’s going on.” The grip on her hands momentarily tightens, as Charlie’s gaze becomes forlorn, edging on desperate as she looks back at Vaggie.

“Y-You’re jumpy and volatile and distant - which is okay, sometimes we need distance!- but you’ve been having more nightmares than ever and I know they’re different and you aren’t talking about them , even though I know they’re bothering you and I know you’ve been avoiding my Dad and-” She breathes, it’s deep, shuddering, a break in her steadily building ramble, and Vaggie hates herself for doing that to Charlie. 

Charlie takes a deep breath, and opens her eyes again, “ Please, tell me what’s wrong. Is it me? Is it Hell? I guess Dad is the King of Hell and that’s kinda intimidating so I totally get it if it freaks you out or makes you uncomfortable-”

The ridiculous, inappropriate urge to laugh boils in Vaggie’s throat, a twisted kind of amusement for just how wrong Charlie could have gotten this.

Clearly, some of that amusement was showing on her face, because Charlie paused immediately. Vaggie realised it was to give her time to talk.

The silence hung between them, unrelenting.

A part of Vaggie itched to brush off Charlie’s worry, to fall back into old habits and offer a half-baked truth that would ease her partner’s mind, push the recesses of her damage to some dusty corner and let it fester- but she squashed that urge quickly. She isn’t the fallen angel she’d once been- she was better than that, and Charlie deserved better than that.

Another deep breath, Charlie waits. Patient, understanding. 

“It’s…heaven. I just- I’ve been thinking about heaven lately, and I can’t stop , no matter how hard I try it isn’t going away and-” Charlie’s expression softens, the edgings of panic immediately soften and Vaggie continues, “It’s getting worse, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”

A thumb traces circles into the back of her hand, Charlie doesn’t go anywhere, “How about we start by talking about it?”

It’s phrased as a question, an offer.

Talking. Yeah. Just words, she’s talked to Charlie about plenty in the past- and Charlie to her. This was no different. Vaggie…Vaggie can do that.

She nods, staring down at their interlaced hands as she finds the words.

“You were right when you said it was something to do with your Dad but…it’s not because he’s King of Hell, or your Dad , or anything even close to it. Actually, it’s the opposite.” Despite herself, Vaggie laughs. It’s low and quiet, the bitter edge to it surprises her. But when she speaks again it’s much quieter, hardly audible over a particularly shrill plea outside, gone ignored, “He just…he really reminds me of Heaven, sometimes.”

Something in Charlie’s expression changes at the quiet admission. A flicker of an eyebrow, the downward twitch of her lips. The expression is impossible to read.

“He doesn’t mean to, I know I promise! But sometimes, it’s just…he’s so similar to them , and it’s so stupid because he’s literally the Devil , the King of Hell , but there are moments when it’s just…he’s there and I feel like I’m back in Heaven, and I can’t stop it-”

A thumb swipes gently at her cheek, pulling her from the steady rambling. Vaggie hadn’t even noticed a sole tear slipping past her eye.

Charlie pulls her hand back, but doesn’t move away. “I-I can’t pretend to know what you’re talking about, I can’t sit here and say I know what Heaven put you through but…that doesn’t mean you should be dealing with this alone , Vaggie. We’re a team...we're all a team.” She pauses, gaze flickering hesitantly back to the front door- where the others were still dealing with the trouble from earlier, “I don’t- I want to help you, Vaggie. And you deserve help, damn it - you deserve help from someone who can actually understand what you’re going through and I just…I wonder...maybe we should talk to my Dad about it. See if there’s anything he can do, tone down whatever it is that reminds you of Heaven, at least?”

Horror rears itself in Vaggie’s mind.

Charlie looks back at her with so much hope, the raw determination that always comes with the beginnings of a great plan, and she hates that it’s going to be her that breaks it.

Desperation edges at her tone, and Vaggie can’t stop the way her hands clutch now to Charlie’s shoulders, beseeching, “Charlie, Char, no . I- we can’t . We can never tell your Dad about this, it would kill him.” 

Charlie may not get it, but Vaggie does. It may hurt Vaggie to be reminded of Heaven, but it would kill Lucifer to be likened to the Angels. She doesn’t even want to think about how the fallen angel might feel, to be told he is still so similar to the ones who cast him out, forced to realise how much of Heaven and their toxic teachings the King of Hell hadn’t been able to shake.

Vaggie wouldn’t do that to him. She refused.

“But Vaggie, he-”

“ It’s not his fault , Charlie.” Vaggie sighed, guilt coiling in her gut as Charlie’s expression fell into one of helplessness as she started to realise the same truth Vaggie had confronted long ago. “He doesn’t mean to do it, he just….it’s a part of who he is, Charlie.”

Because that was the cruellest part of all, that there was truly nothing they could do about it. Even after thousands of years, Heaven’s influence and control remained steadfast- their beliefs too heavily ingrained, twisting into the vines of something poisonous that had destroyed so much of Lucifer’s faith in humans. Too much, still, of Heaven, still in the design of the Almighty’s favourite, damned to never forget where he came from. Damned to never forget Heaven.

They hadn’t stripped Lucifer of his Grace, his Divinity maintained above everyone else in Hell- but for what reason, Vaggie couldn’t say. Heaven never did anything without reason.

“It’s- it’s not fair Vaggie. On you or Dad, and-and you both try so hard for everyone else, but I didn’t, I had no idea - urgh, it’s so cruel .” The cry tears from her throat in a strangled gasp.

Charlie’s eyes were wide, brimming with tears, and Vaggie hates herself for being the one to put them there.

Charlie, who only ever wanted to help , built a Hotel out of nothing to try and save her subjects, to redeem the souls of people she didn’t even know- yet she was helpless when it came to the two people closest to her. Forced to watch them struggle with invisible traumas, placed beyond her understanding, shackled out of reach.

Charlie is right, it isn’t fair.

“I know it’s not fair, and I wont- I can’t even start to understand what your Dad’s been through, but ...it's not always bad, you know? A lot about him is different too,” She offered a careful smile to Charlie, “He loves you- so much, and he’s so kind , like, actually kind. He means it. Not like- not like Heaven could be.” A tentative smile grows on Charlie’s face, and Vaggie is so distracted by the change that she doesn’t realise this is the first time she’s said that out loud, “And he asks questions! So many questions, and he’s always challenging the rules- or he just doesn’t care about them and it…it’s different. And that helps , it’s just…there’s bad times.”

An understatement. Fortunately, Charlie doesn’t challenge her on it- it was hard to feel deserving of such an understanding partner.

“Dad…he never talked about Heaven, not really . Mom was the one who told me about what they did to him, and even then she…I mean…she’d only ever been in Eden, you know?” Charlie wasn’t looking at her, focused on their hands, still lightly wrapped together, “He never talks about it, not like you do. I want to help you Vaggie, so much, but I don’t know what you dealt with. You deserve more help than I can offer here.”

“Maybe…I can tell you more about it?” Vaggie suggested, interlacing Charlie’s fingers with hers, “I mean, that way I talk about Heaven, and you have the information to help- right?”

Charlie’s gaze flickers away, hesitant, “I don’t know Vaggie, I still think my Dad could help you more than I could-”

“That could make him worse Charlie,” She didn’t know the extent of what Lucifer was dealing with, and Charlie definitely didn’t- Vaggie knew someone hiding the worst of their pain from loved ones when she saw it, but she would respect Lucifer’s privacy enough not to push any further, “And…I’m not sure I’m ready for that either. Can we…can we just try , first?”

Charlie looks back at her, and Vaggie watches as hesitation melts away into something softer, shoulders slumping inward, “I- Okay. Okay, we can try, but promise me - if it doesn’t work that you’ll rethink talking to my Dad about this?”

Vaggie paused, reluctance rearing its head, but nevertheless she squeezes Charlie’s grasp within her own, offering what she hopes is a reassuring smile, “I promise.”

They’d have a long way to go, but as Charlie beamed back at her- removing one hand from their embrace only to bring it up, gently cupping Vaggie’s face in her palm, she leaned in close, their foreheads brushing against each other, and she smiled, “Thank you.”

The chaos of Hell outside their doors echoed through the empty lobby, accompanied by the cheering chimes of their friends- no doubt the overlord from earlier now taken care of. Vaggie allows herself to feel the weight of it wrap around her shoulders, the mess that was so uniquely Hell , with Charlie holding her so close, and lets herself hope.