Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One-shot

…

“Shit.”

A collection of colorful swear-words slipped unconsciously from his mouth as he turned the sink on and ran his hand underneath the cold water from the faucet. Mammon grimaced as he observed the shallowly bleeding wound on his palm, slicing near-horizontally across middle, the blood dripping and mixing with the tap-water. He’d been slicing some vegetables for dinner tonight—as it was his day of the week to cook—when his hand had slipped and he’d up slicing across his palm.

Mammon sighed, waiting for the wound to stop bleeding so profusely, before turning the knob of the cold-water off with his uninjured hand. He crouched down to open the cabinet underneath the sink to retrieve a bandage and ointment, sifting through the contents of their kitchen’s first-aid kit.

“Is everything ok, aniki?” Beelzebub poked his head in the kitchen; a worried gleam in his amethyst-colored eyes. He looked like he’d just gotten home from practice—athletic bag slung over one shoulder and sweat making his orange hair a shade or two darker and stick to his forehead. “What happened?” Beel deposited the bag on a nearby stool and crossed the room quickly to Mammon’s side when his gaze landed on the opened first-aid kit.

Fond warmth blossoming in his chest, Mammon merely rolled his eyes and ruffled Beel’s hair. “Everything’s fine—” He emphasized the word, “—I just had a small mishap while cutting up vegetables to stir-fry for dinner tonight.”

Beel’s gaze followed his gesture to the already-cut-up vegetables, the cutting-board, and the discarded—slightly bloody—knife. The tension in his shoulders marginally eased, “You’re such a clumsy older brother, aniki.” Beel scolded softly. He grabbed the ointment and squeezed a liberal amount onto his finger before outstretching his other hand, palm-up. Mammon rested the back of his injured hand against Beel’s and watched, bemused, as his younger brother applied some ointment to the wound and then placed a square-shaped bandage on the cut, wrapping gauze three times around the bandaged site.

Flexing his fingers, Mammon couldn’t resist the small—admiring—smile that formed on his lips. His little brothers could be so adorable at times. “And you’re such a worry-wart, Beel.” Mammon countered, resuming his activity of slicing up vegetables. “Dinner will be ready soon—you might want to go wash-up before Luci notices and delays dinner even further.” He commented, carefully cutting up the few remaining food ingredients to avoid any further mishaps.

A pout sat on Beel’s lips. “But, I’m hungry—” He trailed off.

Mammon grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and tossed it to his younger brother. Beel reflexively snatched it mid-air. “Was practice that exhausting?” Mammon questioned, grouping the vegetables together and retrieving a large wok from the cabinet to the left of the stove-top.

Beel shrugged, devouring the apple, and then grabbing another. “Not really, but I didn’t bring nearly enough snacks.”

Mammon watched him grab a third apple and contemplated hitting him with the dish-rag. “Beel—you should really go shower—you know how Luci gets about cleanliness during dinner.” He worried at his lower-lip with his teeth. Their oldest brother was slightly pickier about dinner-time, especially when they were all able to sit-down to eat together—breakfast wasn’t entirely a group-time thing as sometimes Lucifer had to go in early to meet with Prince Diavolo and Barbados, Beel went in earlier for morning practice, or Satan would leave before them to talk to the professors about something in class.

Belphegor, Leviathan, and Asmodeus were also late-risers—well, late to leave, as the former two were prone to sleeping-in and the latter spent as much time as possible in the morning, primping himself for the day.

Therefore, breakfast was left as a grab-and-go type of situation, with one of them usually set to wake-up to make breakfast, but they didn’t focus on eating it together.

Mammon busied himself by turning the stove on, drizzling some vegetable-oil on it to keep it from sticking. He then added the vegetables and stirred them to get them to cook evenly—he’d already put in enough rice in the rice-cooker and pre-cooked some grilled chicken that only needed to be heated up. Lately, Mammon had been feeling inspired to cook better meals than his typical sandwich-spread or cheeseburgers—something that could probably be pinned on spending more time with Luke and Simeon.

Luke had a penchant for cooking—celestial and human-world foods—that Mammon had used to have before the fall.

“You’ve been more into cooking lately, aniki.” Beel noted, brow furrowed.

Shrugging, he added the sauce that he’d made earlier with Luke. “I guess so—Luke and I have been going over a lot of recipes lately.” Mammon answered the unasked question of why without taking his eyes away from where he was cooking.

In his peripheral, he noticed Beel’s hesitation-laced nod. “It smells delicious.”

Mammon grinned brightly over at him. “Thanks, Beel. I hope that you like it.” He glanced at the clock, humming under his breath. Even though Lucifer did end up scolding Beel for his lack of a shower in between practice and dinner, it hadn’t been too severe, as Beel—for whatever reason—continued to stick around as Mammon finished cooking.

…

In the back of his mind, he could almost hear the scolding words of Lucifer and feel the enchanted ropes allowing him to dangle from the ceiling of the entryway foyer. But, his fingers twitched as he considered the golden statue in front of him—a desire to possess the item strong enough that his eyes flickered with gold—and he tried to list reasons to himself to not just take the stature. It wouldn’t take much for him to get caught—not like he could hide a statue of a crow somewhere in his room that Lucifer wouldn’t be able to find it.

But—he really, really wanted it.

Crows were his symbol after-all.

Mammon had just got done working at Hell’s Kitchen, an eight-hour shift that made him drag his feet as he walked home in the sleepy side-streets of devildom when he’d spotted a golden crow in a display case for a closed antique store. The only way he’d been able to spot the glow of the statue was due to the street-lights dotting the sidewalks of the typically busy street. At least, in the daytime of Devildom, it was busy, but with the vast majority of stores closed on this block, there was significantly less activity.

He was pressing his fingers consideringly against the glass before he could even think. Briefly, he could see his glowing golden eyes in the reflective glass, but his attention was being primarily driven to stare at the stature, picturing how it would look in his room.

In his possession. It was such a pretty item and Mammon could hear a whisper of a sound, urging him to just take it. It wouldn’t even take that much effort to just break the glass and snatch the crow, tuck it under his arm and carry it home with him.

Mammon almost considered the crow as being made for him. Gold like his eyes when he gave into sin and like his precious credit-card. A crow like his favorite animal—the animal he was most communicative with. Half as tall as him. Wings outstretched like it was about to take flight—reminding Mammon of days in the Celestial Realm when he was able to use his two sets of wings to fly and when he was teaching his younger brothers to fly as well.

Would it really be so bad for him to just take it?

He didn’t even want to sell it, though, he knew that it would cost a pretty large amount of grimm if he could get his hands on it. Mammon dug his fingernails into his palms, averting his gaze away from the temptation.

A sharp sting derailed his thoughts and he startled. Mammon uncurled the fingers of his left hand to quickly observe the still-healing cut that he’d made a few days ago during meal-preparation. His nails had dug into the cut and reopened the wound, fresh blood leaking down his fingers. With a full-bodied sigh, the tension of want and spark of sin replaced with the stinging pain from the shallow wound as Mammon turned on his heel—leaving the crow statue behind in search of a bathroom.

Something inside of his mind twisted that day.

…

Locking himself inside his bathroom, Mammon ran his fingers through his hair—grimacing. His chest was pulsing and his fingers itched to take—take—take. On a good day, his greed was easier to control, it was easier to distract his mind with other things—sometimes even using his brothers to keep himself from acting out publicly. The bad days were typically random, though, but it made it ten times more difficult for him to gather his bearings and remind himself how poorly it was going to end up if he gave into the impulse.

Asmodeus had ordered a new collection of perfumes from the Devilgram market-place and opened them in the living area with a giddy smile as the rest of the brothers had been idling in the room—doing their own separate things.

Initially, Mammon had considered it almost nice. It’d been a while since they’d spent any bit of time together wherein someone wasn’t arguing—much to his displeasure, it was usually himself on the receiving end of someone else’s ire. Not that it wasn’t deserved half of the time—what with Mammon giving into sin more than he reasonably wanted to.

Once again, though, his greed had surged at the perfume collection—a sharp desire to take and sell them because he knew how expensive they were to buy and he could sell them for cheaper while still making a profit margin himself because he hadn’t bought them. Mammon had barely even made an excuse before leaving the room to refrain from taking—and to avoid hearing anymore about where Asmodeus would place the items. Maybe if he didn’t know, it’d be easier to forget about them.

Mammon had used that tactic before and it worked some of the time.

Inhaling and exhaling a large breath, he plopped down on the floor, stretching his legs out before him and leaning his back against the door. Mammon closed his eyes and continued taking deep breaths, trying to put a leash on his greed—he’d done it before, resisted stealing from his brothers before, though he wasn’t always successful.

Lucifer would never let him get away with it, either—hanging him upside down for hours on end, until all of the blood felt like it had rushed to his head. Most of the time it was entirely his fault as he’d been unable to control his sin and the threat of being subjected to his brother’s punishment typically kept him under control. Another stinging part of it was facing the disappointment of his brothers and their typically commentary of it being expected from him as a scumbag—idiot—dumbass—pathetic brother that they hardly even wanted anymore.

A stark reminder of the crow incident made him pause with consideration.

How—how had he managed to quell his sin?

Mammon eyed his left palm—the cut had long-since healed in the weeks that had passed, a thin, white scar remaining that would probably disappear completely in the next few days. Originally, the ointment had been meant to heal it within a week, but Mammon had deterred the healing process with his daily activities.

Digging his nails in had distracted him from the crow entirely and he’d managed to avoid stealing it in the way that his greed had wanted.

With newfound determination, he stood. Mammon opened the drawers, searching through them for his fabric scissors. Some detached part of himself was recoiling in horror—chanting in his ear that this was a terrible idea. After a few minutes of searching, he finally found what he was looking for. He placed his pointer and middle finger through the hole and opened the scissors, pressing the sharp interior to his wrist before he could even think.

Blood pooled near-instantly against the blade, dripping down the sides of his arm the harder he pressed. Mammon blinked a few times, staring detachedly down at his arm, before registering what it was that he was doing.

He drew the scissors back like he’d been burned and threw them across the room. They landed with a clink against the shower wall and then fell to the floor with another small noise. Mammon clutched his bleeding wrist tightly, trying to stop the flow of blood, feeling the liquid gather against his fingers.

Gritting his teeth, he sank back to the floor and thumped his head against the door.

He couldn’t believe that he had just done that.

It wasn’t something that he’d ever even considered.

Sometimes, his brothers could be vicious—Asmodeus, in particular, but Mammon had never taken the words to heart. He knew that his brothers could get frustrated and sometimes, it was easier to just shout meaningless words at someone that you cared about rather than lash out at someone more politically important.

There were less repercussions too.

He didn’t even know why he’d done something so stupid.

Mammon exhaled, taking his hand away to see if the blood had slowed down at all. To his relief, it had. He frowned, suddenly noticing that his greed—the desire to take—take—take nearly completely gone.

Had it actually worked?

A small bit of pain—hardly a pinch—and his sin had receded to the point where he could hardly notice it. Mammon eyed the cut with consideration, a million thoughts tracking through his mind, it still stung quite a bit, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been initially.

Like, a passing bit of pain.

Besides, Lucifer used the pain of his punishments as a way to deter Mammon from giving in to his greed so often—would it really be so wrong if Mammon took control preemptively so that his brother wouldn’t have to resort to something like that anymore. Maybe—Mammon thought, hopefully—he could actually have control over his greed for once so that he could stop disappointing Lucifer.

…

It happened a few more times in the months since he discovered how he could resist sin properly this time.

Each time, there was a moment of recoil—a moment where he was absolutely convinced that he was doing something grotesquely wrong, but then he would feel his greed melt away from his shoulders and there would just be a relief. Like a release of pressure.

Mammon had stopped throwing the sharp, clothing scissors away from him each time—he also hadn’t completely healed the wounds, unbothered with ointment and using a spell to do so, figuring that if he just bandaged and wrapped them then he would be absolutely fine. He’d thought it’d be more difficult to hide the bandages and the reason they were there—though he wasn’t exactly sure why his first instinct was to hide them, he’d found a perfect way to manage his sin without costing them anything, but somehow he knew that if he allowed for someone to know, there’d be some sort of repercussion.

Now that he’d finally found a solution, he didn’t want it to be taken away.

Hiding them came easily though, his modeling agent had actually seen a glimpse of them and considered them a new style from the human-world that carried-over, but they were typically covered partially with the sleeves of designer jackets and hoodies.

After that, it was pretty easy to just convince anyone who thought they were real and he was injured that they were just part of the shoot and his modeling campaign. Although, the only individuals that had pointed them out were Beel, Lucifer, and Simeon.

If he were being honest, he had been a little terrified that Lucifer wouldn’t believe him—having known him long enough to know his tells—but, his older brother had seemed to buy the story well-enough that Mammon had felt a little freer. He was managing his sin better than ever—disappointing his brothers less and less. Of course, there were times when they would accuse him and Lucifer would punish him, but they’d later find out and Mammon would be released from the enchanted ropes as soon as they could.

It wasn’t always right away when the missing items would be found—but, it happened soon enough that Mammon wasn’t necessarily bothered by it anymore. At least, that’s what he told himself whenever he felt the slightest hint of doubt and hopelessness.

(—his arms were becoming covered in scars and lines from his resistance of his greed, but he didn’t bother to heal them, because it would be a waste to heal such small things, especially when larger injuries did occasionally happen to the brothers.

And, sometimes, when he was bored in class, he would pick at his arms. Fidget with the bandages and even pick at the scratches that peeked out from them. Sometimes, they would bleed and Mammon would snap out of whatever mindless haze he’d become stuck in. Other times, he would just watch the small amount of leaking blood with a type of morbid fascination.

Sometimes, he would pick at them when Lucifer was in a particularly scolding mood—just to distract himself so that the words didn’t land as harshly as he knew Lucifer didn’t want them to—).

Everything was fine, though. Absolutely fine.

…

“Mammon—what did you do?” A voice derailed his thoughts from the homework problem he’d been working on at the counter in Purgatory Hall while Luke was cooking from a recipe book that he’d ordered online. They were trying out some of the English-human-world food, though Mammon found that it relied less on seasoning—at least, not as much as the other human-world countries. He glanced up from the problem to arch a questioning eyebrow at where Simeon was hovering beside him.

Mammon tilted his head to one side, noting the blend of concern and worry and fear in Simeon’s expression. He couldn’t quite understand what he’d done to garner such an expression, though he could chalk it up to be something relating to his brothers accusing him of stealing something once more. “Oi—what did my beloved brothers accuse me of doing this time?” Mammon remarked, running a hand through his hair after he dropped the pencil he’d been using on the table.

Simeon opened and closed his mouth a few times. Mammon waited for him to gather his bearings—honestly concerned. Had something major gone missing? Had something in Prince Diavolo’s vault gone missing? That was the only event in which Mammon had honestly feared Lucifer’s wrath. “It’s nothing like that.” Simeon stuttered after a moment.

Tension whooshed out of him with a large exhale. “Thank Diavolo—you scared me to death, Si.” Mammon scolded.

A flinch. Mammon exchanged a glance with Luke, before the younger, golden-haired angel took a step towards Simeon. “Is everything alright, Simeon? You look a bit pale.” Luke’s observation made Mammon notice the same.

He furrowed his eyebrows, concerned for the angel. “Luke—” Simeon started, “—could you please leave the room for a minute? I need to talk to Mammon about something.” The older angel sounded like he was truly struggling. In a way that Mammon hadn’t seen him behave since the Great War.

Luke looked like he wanted to protest, but Mammon quickly sent him a reassuring smile—an attempt mirrored by Simeon—before the younger complied, grumbling under his breath as he scooped the book he’d been excitedly telling Mammon about while the demon half-listened into his arms and left the room. “What’s up, Si?” Mammon spun around in his chair, hands on his knees as he peered up at Simeon.

Simeon stared. He stared for several, long, minutes. “Mammon—” He started, clenching his jaw, “—can you please give me your arm?”

Trustingly, Mammon laid his arm on Simeon’s palm, the other wrapping his fingers around Mammon’s wrist. He froze, feeling the fingers of Simeon’s other hand draw up his sleeves to reveal the bandages on his arm. Mammon’s throat went dry and he was unable to meet Simeon’s gaze as he stared at the stark contrast of tan fingers against the white bandages as Simeon swiftly undid them.

His stomach flipped. He should be running as far away as possible—making a quick excuse and fleeing from Purgatory Hall—but he found himself frozen. Glued to his seat. Nausea swirled in his gut. Simeon’s breath hissed out of his teeth as he uncovered the white, pale pink, and red marks on Mammon’s forearm.

Simeon’s knees buckled. Mammon reached out with his other arm to catch his former angelic brother. They wound up on the floor, Mammon’s wrist still clutched tightly in Simeon’s hand while his forehead rested against Mammon’s shoulder. Mammon lifted his other arm to wrap loosely around Simeon. “Si—I—” Mammon started, attempting to explain that it wasn’t at all the way Simeon was thinking.

Mammon knew that Simeon would assume that Mammon had a death wish, which meant that he would have to explain why this was a good thing. That he’d been able to subdue his greed through the marks that barely even hurt. “Please—don’t—Mammon.” Simeon whispered, free arm wrapping around Mammon’s waist and squeezing as tightly as he could.

He stayed quiet for a few minutes, breathless. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Si. I promise, it’s really not.” Mammon promised, voice higher than it would usually be due to the tight grip Simeon had on him.

“Then—what could it possibly be?” Simeon lifted his head to stare at him, demanding the truth with his eyes. “If you’re not hurting yourself—then, is someone else hurting you? The witches? Is it them? Why have you not told your brothers? Me? Anyone? You’ve been wearing bandages for months.” His voice raised with each question.

“It’s not like that, either.” Mammon protested. “It just helps me repress my greed, Si. That’s all.”

“What.” The word didn’t even sound like a question.

Mammon swallowed, not liking the way Simeon’s expression had gone stone-like and cold. He attempted a smile, “I know that you’ve noticed that I’ve gotten better about my greed. I’m not acting out so much and I don’t steal things nearly as much as I used to. It’s really working, Si—” A hint of excitement blossomed in his voice, unable to completely suppress himself from finally sharing the good news.

Simeon interrupted him. “Working? Working? Mammon—this—this isn’t ok.”

His smile dimmed; excitement doused by Simeon’s incredulous tone. Mammon knew that he could convince him, but it looked like it’d be more challenging than he thought. “I’m being honest, Si. It’s really helping with my greed. Whenever it starts to act up, there’s just a small pinch, and then it’s gone. Lucifer doesn’t even have to punish me so much anymore and I’m not disappointing my brothers nearly as much as I used to.” Explaining himself made him feel like he was blowing up a balloon, the air being sucked from his lungs, but it was also freeing in a way.

The angel put a hand over Mammon’s babbling mouth, eyes looking suspiciously wet. “Mammon—” He stared, the name choked out, “—Mammon, you’ve been cutting whenever your sin acts up.” Mammon stared back at him, wanting to gesture to his blocked method of verbal communication and Simeon exhaled. “You don’t have to say anything—just nod or shake your head.” Simeon ordered.

Mammon nodded once.

Simeon let go of Mammon’s wrist and took his hand off his mouth to wrap his arms around him. Mammon allowed the embrace, briefly wondering why Simeon was holding on like if he let go—Mammon would disappear into nothingness. Like he would truly fade away if Simeon didn’t hold onto him.

He was trembling as held Mammon tightly and the demon felt wetness seep into his RAD uniform, starting at his shoulder. “Si—Simeon—you’re ok, everything’s ok—” He tried to reassure the angel.

Truthfully, Mammon didn’t understand why the other was so sad—sad enough that he was crying into Mammon’s shoulder. He looked up helplessly, spotting Luke in the entrance, obviously returning to the room for something. There were tears on Luke’s face and Mammon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

Between one blink and the next, Luke barreled into them both. “Luke—hey—don’t cry. Why are you crying?” Mammon was being squeezed by them both, the combination of their arms tightly holding him.

“You—you can’t die, Mammy. Please—please don’t go.” Luke begged through the heavy sobs that were shaking the smaller angel. In that moment, Mammon could almost see an overlay of Leviathan begging him not to leave in the Celestial Realm when he had to attend to his duties, clutching onto him as tight as he could.

The words registered and Mammon rapidly shook his head. “Calm down—Lu-lu, I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere.” Mammon promised. He couldn’t help but correct himself a minute later—near-automatically in his admittedly weak defense. “Other than back home to the House of Lamentation later before bed, but that’s in a few hours.”

Luke shook his head, stubborn. “No—I don’t want to lose you.”

Mammon freed his arm to run his fingers through golden-blonde curls. “You’re not going to lose me, Luke.” He assured the angel. “I’m right here, aren’t I?” Mammon added.

“But—if you hurt yourself—then—then I will.” Luke stuttered.

Mammon’s throat dried. He wished that Luke didn’t know that part—he wouldn’t understand, being so young and an angel. He wouldn’t understand that pain was a necessity for Mammon to not act on his greed. “He’s right—Mammon. What if you hurt yourself and go too far? What if they get infected? What if—if you die? You’re playing with fire.” Simeon didn’t bother to mince his words.

Dying—that wasn’t at all what Mammon was trying to do. “I’m controlling my greed the best way I know how to.” Mammon stated. His words sounded feeble even to his own ears and he didn’t understand why he was getting so affected by their insistence that what he’d been doing for months was so wrong.

Simeon pulled back suddenly and Luke filled the space he left behind. “Do your brothers know?” Simeon’s words were spoken so lowly that Mammon could barely hear them. He wrapped his arms around Luke, staring up at Simeon with wide-eyes.

He shook his head to clear it. “No—I don’t think so, at least. I know that they wouldn’t have a problem with it—it helps me control my greed, which has been such a problem for them for so long. I just didn’t want to tell them because I was kind of ashamed of how long it took me to figure it out.” Mammon lowered his head sheepishly.

Luke sniffled against his mid-section. Simeon pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “I’m going to tell them. Lucifer, at the very least, needs to know. And Mammon—this needs to stop.” Simeon remarked.

Mammon furrowed his eyebrows, frustrated that Simeon wasn’t even trying to understand where he was coming from. “Why? It’s working, Si. It’s really working.” Mammon insisted.

Simeon shook his head. “You’re destroying yourself.” He stated, words gone quiet. “And you don’t even realize it—when I came in, did you even notice that you were picking at a cut? Your greed wasn’t even activated, Mammon, and you were picking.” Simeon added and Mammon’s eyes widened.

“That’s—that’s not—I wasn’t—” Mammon couldn’t remember if he had. He didn’t think he had been; he’d thought that he’d just been doing homework. The thought of telling Lucifer meant telling all six of his brothers. “Don’t tell Lucifer.” He pleaded.

“I have to.” Simeon insisted. “He needs to know.”

“No—he doesn’t. Please, Si. Simeon, please. It’s not like that. I’m not—” Mammon wasn’t even aware of how tightly he was holding onto Luke. The younger angel let him get away with it, though. Maybe he knew that the demon needed contact—needed to hold something or the weight in his lap so that he wouldn’t flee.

“But—it is like that, Mammon.” Simeon regarded him sadly.

Mammon lowered his head, closing his eyes. Defeat slumped his shoulders. “Please, Simeon. I’ll—I’ll stop. I’ll never do it again, just—don’t tell him.” Mammon promised. He didn’t know if he could stop—but he’d say and do anything if it meant that Lucifer didn’t find out before Mammon was ready to tell him how he’d been controlling his greed.

Simeon exhaled. “You—You have to promise. Pinky promise.” Luke insisted.

He looked down at the determined younger angel. Mammon closed his eyes once more. “Mammon—” Simeon started.

He nodded sharply. “Alright.” Mammon exclaimed. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. “Alright.” He repeated, “I promise that I’ll stop. That I’ll never cause myself pain like that again.”

The only question was—how? How could he stop himself from resorting to those tactics when they’d worked so well for months. “You come to me.” Simeon remarked suddenly. The words were so abrupt that Mammon looked up at him with his head tilted to one side, curious. “When your greed starts acting up, you send me a text and I will help talk you down.” Simeon volunteered.

Frowning, Mammon considered the offer and then shook his head. “I can’t ask that of you. It’s not fair, Si.” Mammon protested softly.

“That’s the only way that I don’t tell Lucifer.” Simeon stated the condition clearly.

Mammon swallowed. “Ok.” He gave in.

…

Breaking the habit was near-impossible some days and Mammon still struggled to completely understand why both Simeon and Luke had been so adamant that what he’d done was so wrong, but he knew, instinctively, that Lucifer might react the same way. No—Lucifer might have an even worse reaction. It wasn’t until Simeon had forced him to tag along with him to a renowned therapist that valued patient confidentiality, that Mammon started to get an inkling that he had been self-destructively hurting himself to stop him from giving in to his sin.

Some days—Mammon couldn’t help himself—and he would call Simeon sobbing because he was deathly terrified that Simeon would contact one of his brothers before he could stop him. Simeon would always rush to where he was and hold him tightly, all the while, murmuring an onslaught of soothing words at a low, humming volume.

Luke had reattached himself to Mammon’s side—a protective chihuahua that didn’t want to let him out of his sight and would instead leap to his defense whenever someone said something that slightest bit upsetting for Luke.

The younger angel had even come close to attacking an irate Asmodeus when the other had been teasing Mammon in front of RAD one day—telling yet another joke about Mammon killing himself that had set Luke off into a long-winded rant about how those words can destroy people. Mammon had sent his startled younger brother an apologetic glance before dragging a still-fuming Luke away before the damage could be considered too severe amidst the surprised laughter from Belphegor at the angel’s threats. Luke had then proceeded to latch onto Mammon tightly, silent tears cascading down his face as he quietly pleaded for Mammon to stay and please don’t leave me.

After that day, Mammon had started to rely on Simeon and Luke more—sometimes contacting them randomly with activities to do. It took a few minutes for him to realize—to his embarrassment, Simeon had been the one to point it out to him—that his greed was becoming activated by hanging out with them. That his greed was even further goldening his eyes whenever they showed him affection and love.

…

“I still can’t understand how you can like Luke so much—” Asmodeus was ranting as the seven brothers settled in the living room to watch a horror movie for Belphegor and Beel’s birthday. Mammon blinked at his younger brother, surprised by the sudden-bout of ranting as his light-brown-haired brother sat beside him on the couch. “—the chihuahua can be so irritating.” Asmodeus concluded, caramel eyes glowing with slight contempt.

Leviathan rolled his eyes from where he was seated, thumbs moving rapidly as he played a game on his switch. “Are you still salty about Luke threatening you?” Levi questioned with an amused smile.

“I’m sorry—Luke threatened Asmo.” Lucifer blinked, looking startled.

“Yeah—you missed it, old man.” Satan sniffed.

Mammon sighed, wondering how he could defuse the situation before Lucifer could turn it around on him. Beel entered the room slowly as he followed Belphie, the younger carrying a bowl of popcorn. He furrowed his eyebrows, tossing the orange-head a concerned look. “Is everything ok, Beel?” Levi also seemed to notice that Beel looked a bit off.

The consecutive attention went to one of the birthday twins. “You are looking awfully pale over there, Beel. Did you not have enough dinner?” Asmodeus fretted slightly, standing up so that he could make his way over.

Mammon locked eyes with Beel, noting that the younger was already looking unblinkingly at him. He tilted his head to one side, confused. “Beel—” He started.

An oomph escaped his mouth as Beel barreled into him, tucking his face into Mammon’s stomach with his arms wrapped around him. Mammon froze, arms outstretched awkwardly before one hand went to Beel’s hair to ruffle it. “Beel?” Belphie’s questioning voice drew Mammon’s attention to him and he glanced from one brother to the next, bewildered.

Mammon exhaled, lowering his gaze to Beel’s head of orange hair. “I’m not sure what happened between dinner and now—but, everything’s going to be ok, Beel. Take your time. We’ve got all night to do whatever you birthday boys want.” Mammon declared, running his fingers through Beel’s hair while the other hand drummed against Beel’s upper back. “Maybe you missed cuddle time with the Great Mammon—is that it?” He added, arching an eyebrow at the lack of a response.

“Shut up, Mammon.” The rest of their brothers said in practical union.

“You’re all just jealous that you don’t get Great Mammon cuddle time.” Mammon stuck his tongue out childishly. He adjusted slightly, sinking further into the couch, as he tried to make himself more comfortable to support the larger male.

Wetness against his stomach made him tense, smile slipping off his face. Mammon looked down, fingers stalling where they were. “Mammon?” Lucifer questioned, crouching beside them.

Mammon tried, unsuccessfully, to get Beel to lift his head. “Beel—are you—Lucifer—he’s—I don’t—” He fumbled for words for a few minutes, glancing back and forth between the two. “Why are you crying, Beel? What’s wrong?” Mammon finally asked after swallowing several times.

A sob was muffled against his stomach. Mammon’s gut churned. Belphie nudged Lucifer out of the way and quickly splayed himself across his twin’s back. Mammon felt a little heated, trapped beneath them both. “Beel, please tell me what’s wrong. Why are you so upset and clinging to Mammon?” Belphie questioned.

“That’s the first time in a while that you haven’t addressed me as a scumbag, weird.” Mammon teased, shuddering. At Belphie’s flat, unimpressed look, he cringed and shook his head. After a few minutes of being squished, Beel finally sat up, eyes red-rimmed and wet. Mammon cupped his cheek in one hand, swiping the tears with his pointer finger. “Now—care to share what happened? Was the food bad or something?” Mammon knew that the last question might be insensitive, but he really had no idea what had brought this on.

After a few seconds, Beel latched onto his wrist with both hands, clutching tightly to his arm. Mammon froze slightly when his thumb rubbed purposefully against one of the silvery, barely noticeable unless viewed closely scars. They were ridges under Beel’s fingers. “Why?” Beel’s voice was a whisper.

Asmodeus cleared his throat, “Why—what? Am I the only one completely lost?”

Mammon ignored the collective glance shared between his five brothers. His throat was completely try and he pursed his lips. “Why?” Beel repeated.

He exhaled. “It was a long time ago, Beel.” Mammon answered. His voice was quieter than usual.

Beel shook his head vehemently. “It couldn’t have been. They’re not healed.”

“I forgot to use some ointment.” Mammon sheepishly admitted.

“What even is this conversation?” Belphie interrupted.

Mammon spared him and the others a quick glance, Beel not even bothering to look at his twin, before turning back to lock eyes with purple-orange eyes. “I’m all better now, Beel. You don’t need to be so worried.” It took a few seconds for it to click. “Is that why you got so quiet during dinner—were you that worried? You could have just asked—” Mammon rolled his eyes; voice deliberately light.

Beel interrupted. “Mammon—” He startled slightly; it was the first time in a long while that Beel hadn’t called him aniki. “—you have scars all up and down your arms. And you don’t think I should be worried.”

Mammon flinched. He attempted to yank his arm back, but Beel held fast to it. “Beel—” He started; a note of warning slipping into his voice. The anger swelled inside of him and then whooshed out a second later when he registered the visceral fear in Beel’s gaze.

“What in Diavolo is he talking about, Mammon?” Levi cut in.

He sighed, “It’s nothing. Ok?”

Lucifer grabbed his other arm, expression darkening as he felt the raised lines underneath his ungloved hands—he must have removed his black gloves when Mammon wasn’t paying attention. Clearly, he hadn’t been paying enough attention if Beel noticing was any indication. His older brother clenched his jaw—fury and wrath pouring out of him. “Who do this to you?” Lucifer’s voice was a low rumble.

Mammon knew better than to attempt to yank his arm away, though he refused to meet anyone’s gaze. He felt exposed and raw in a way that he hadn’t felt in months. “I—I made a mistake.” Mammon admitted cautiously. “It’s really not a big deal—Simeon—” He choked slightly on his words, the wrath in the room increasing exponentially.

“The fuck does that angel have to do with it?” Satan growled.

Shit—he’d made a bad situation even worse. “He didn’t do anything to me—come on Luci—you know Simeon—he would never hurt me like that.” Mammon insisted. “I promise—he helped me.” Mammon added.

Lucifer scowled. “How.” His form flickered, demonic side slipping.

Mammon swallowed. He stared at his exposed forearms, wishing the ground could open up and swallow him into a deeper part of hell. “Like—like I said, I made a mistake, ok? I didn’t know it back then—but I did.” Mammon couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He had to, though. Otherwise, his brothers would rampage against Simeon—who’d done nothing but help him. “I—I started—um—cutting to control my sin. Simeon caught me and made me promise to stop and I did. I don’t do anything like that anymore.”

The room went so silent that a pin could’ve been heard dropping.

It could’ve been minutes. Or, it could’ve been hours.

He was too intent on studying his forearms like they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Beel suddenly crushed him into another hug, squeezing him tightly around the middle and Mammon wrapped his arms near automatically around him in response. The younger’s face was buried against his stomach and Mammon’s breath whooshed out of him as arms wrapped around his shoulders. Lucifer clinging to him—setting aside his pride—to do so. More arms wrapped around them, Belphie climbing on top of Beel’s back to cling to them both. Satan also joining them, sandwiched between the back of the couch and Belphie as he buried his face in Mammon’s neck.

Levi and Asmo joined their huddle as well; eyes wet. “You’re not allowed to die, Mammy—never do anything like that again.” Satan growled the words, rumbling them against Mammon’s neck.

Mammon laughed lightly. “I know—and I won’t. I promise.”

Even still, none of his brothers let him go for a long, long time.

And, when they did, they clustered together in a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor and put on a comedy instead of a horror movie. Lucifer and Levi claimed the spots on his sides while Beel made himself at home on his lap with Belphie clinging to both Beel and himself. Asmo reached across Levi to hold onto his shoulder and Satan curled up in between his leg and Levi’s. Privately, Mammon thought they were all scared that if they released him—if they stopped touching any part of him—that he would disappear somewhere outside of their reach and they would never see him again.

Chapter Text

Part 2: Overprotective Brothers

…

Resting his chin in his palm, Mammon attempted to focus on the reading assignment he was completing for his History class—keyword being: attempted. His eye twitched as the text blurred in front of him, eyes straining from the couple of hours he’d dedicated to doing his homework and his fingers absently picked at his arms, the familiar ridges under the pads of his fingers were slightly comforting and grounding in a way.

Despite the time that he’d put into completing the assignment, he was inching through the questions at a snails’ pace. It made him feel small and dumb and Mammon exhaled at the direction of his thoughts.

Simeon had insisted on being present when Mammon was studying in the initial months after he’d discovered what Mammon had been doing to himself—but Mammon had resorted to heading to the library without telling him tonight because, although his greed flourished under the affection and attention Simeon showered on him, he really wanted to be able to muscle through one assignment on his own.

It was nice to be cared for—Mammon would never deny that in his private thoughts—but, recently, the care had started to feel a little stifling. It made him slightly restless. After Belphie and Beel’s birthday, the attention had become especially poignant with his brothers adding their own presence in his life. He could barely step foot into the kitchen without two or more of his brothers following him inside and barely even letting him handle the kitchen knives—Beel was especially terrible about the kitchen knives.

They’d had to buy new ones after the others had been thrown out—and Mammon kept finding that his brothers were purposefully dulling some of the knives that they allowed for Mammon to use to prevent him from even risking any harm.

Lucifer also hadn’t laid a hand on him since that day—his punishments ceasing near-immediately—and had even started to avoid him a little bit recently. Mammon could feel his older brother’s gaze on him nearly at all times, but the conversations had become a little stilted and awkward.

Thumping his head against the book, Mammon groaned to himself. He couldn’t believe that he was letting his thoughts drift so much and he resolved that maybe he would need an extension on this assignment. He went to thud his head against the table but was stopped by a warm hand darting between his forehead and the table and Mammon startled.

Opening his eyes, he stared at the hand for a second before looking to his side. A disgruntled Satan stood next to him, one hand on the table while the other held a few hard-cover books that he’d doubtlessly been intending to check-out from the RAD library. “Hey Satan—” Mammon grinned at his brother.

Satan deposited his books on the table Mammon had his own school-work spread out on. “What the hell are you doing here by yourself? And hitting yourself with books?” The avatar of wrath narrowed his eyes at Mammon.

He arched an eyebrow. “Relax, Tan. I have an assignment that I’m working on.” Mammon frowned at his textbooks. “Well, trying to at least—I’m probably just too stupid for this, you know how it is.” He grimaced.

“Saying that is you being an idiot, Mammy.” Satan retorted. He dragged Mammon’s answer-sheet and textbook over to himself to give it a quick perusal. Mammon’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead—was Satan intending to help him? His genius younger brother? Mammon had thought that the other had already given up on tutoring Mammon in anything a couple of centuries ago, realizing how hopeless it was.

“So, why are you here, Tan?” Mammon leaned forward, propping his elbow on the table.

“I’m checking out some books.” Satan rolled his eyes. “You really shouldn’t be by yourself—Mammy. You’ll—” His younger brother trailed off, eyebrows furrowing and his lips pursed as he thought over his words.

Mammon frowned, studying the side-profile of Satan. He exhaled, fidgeting with his sleeves. “I’m not going to do anything, Satan. I promised, remember?” Mammon reminded the other. It’d only been a little over a week since the birthday party and Mammon couldn’t decide if he was relieved that his family knew or irked by his own inability to keep things hidden.

Satan’s emotions flared. Mammon watched him, air stilling in his lungs, wondering if the blonde would lash out in a library of all places. After a few minutes, Satan seemed to get his emotions under control. “And yet, you were going to bash your head into the table without me stopping you.” Satan pointed out. His teeth were gritted and jaw locked into place—as he marked a few lines of text for Mammon to look over.

“It’s not like I’ll get a concussion from hitting my head on a table, Tan.” Mammon rolled his eyes.

“It’s the principle of the thing, Mammon.” The words were a practical shout and Mammon flinched. He pressed his fingers against the inside of his right wrist, glancing downwards. “What am I supposed to think? It’s like every single time I look away, you’re hurting. What am I supposed to even do?” Satan’s voice turned pleading and Mammon stared at him with a wide-eyed look of surprise for a split-second.

“You don’t have to do anything—” He started.

“Yes I do—otherwise, I’m going to lose you.” Satan shouted.

Mammon latched onto his brother. He wrapped his arms around Satan’s shoulders and tugged the younger towards him. Satan thumped a fist lightly against Mammon’s stomach, but there was a clear lack of force in the blow. His eyes were wet and he rested his cheek against the top of Satan’s blonde head of curls. “You’re not losing me, Tan.” Mammon wished there was more that he could say—more of an assurance that he could give to chase away the fear that lingered inside his own family. “I promised.” His voice cracked; raw with fierce emotion that allowed for tears to fall from his eyes.

Satan’s tears were silent. The front of Mammon’s RAD uniform grew wet from the sheer number of tears the represented his grief. “I’m scared, Mammy. I’m terrified that the day I lose sight of you—that none of us know where you are—that we’ll never see you again.” Fear threaded through his words.

“How do I help?” Mammon wondered aloud. “I don’t know how to make you not scared of that. I wasn’t—” He licked his lips, throat suddenly dry. “—at least, in the moment, I don’t think I was trying to kill myself or anything like what you’ve all been thinking. I was just trying to quit acting on my greed and I know now that it wasn’t healthy. Simeon’s damn shrink drilled that into my head enough times—” He rolled his eyes as he recalled his therapy sessions, “—but I was never trying to leave you all.”

“Why don’t you want to leave us?” Satan’s words were a low murmur.

Mammon hummed, looking down at his brother in confusion.

The other refused to budge from where he had his face against Mammon’s chest. His arms tightened their grip around Mammon’s waist. Huffing, Mammon waited for his brother to gather his thoughts, one hand lifting to run fingers gently through blonde locks. “We’ve done so many shitty things to you—said awful things—and you stay with us. You let us hurt you—” Satan’s voice trailed off.

Exhaling, Mammon tried to collect his thoughts. “We’ve all done shitty things to each other, Tan. None of us are innocent. I’ve been over-run by greed to the point where I stole and sold your things.” He reminded the demon bluntly. A bitter realization settled in his chest—his brothers were blaming themselves, weren’t they? They blamed themselves for Mammon’s self-harm. “There’s nothing that you guys could have done differently that might have changed anything, Tan. I thought I found something that would stop my greed and I let it get too far—that’ll never be on you. I’ll never blame any of you.” Mammon concluded softly.

Satan exhaled heavily; shoulders shaking. He pulled back and Mammon cupped the side of his face, wiping the tears that remained with his thumb. “I’ll help you with your home-work assignment if you read to me later.” The request reminded him of when Satan was younger—in the initial years after the fall when Mammon and Asmo were the only ones to cater to Satan and raise him. Mammon used to read to him whenever Satan struggled to sleep—mainly when Lucifer was in one of his drunken moods.

“Sounds like a fair trade.” Mammon grinned, knowing that Satan had filled his quota of sensitive moments and would instead try to return to their normal behavior. Well, Mammon mused as he side-eyed Satan—half-listening to the explanation—a new, maybe even better normal.

Maybe it’s not so bad to have help with his assignments.

…

A weight against his chest made his body slightly startled awake—which was followed by a low murmur that had Mammon stilling in his bed. His bedroom was dark, curtains closed over the windows, and Mammon had to blink a few times to get his vision to adjust. His arm prickled with pins-and-needles and his fingers twitched as he tried to curl them even slightly, Mammon grimaced to himself—knowing that it would take a while for the feeling to fade enough so that he could fall back asleep.

Brow furrowing, he turned his head, trying to get himself to fall back asleep. Hair tickled his face and he wrinkled his nose, eyes opening and realizing what that weight was. Lifting his free hand, his fingers trailed over pale features and straight hair and Mammon’s lips twitched at the corners.

It’d been since the Celestial Realm—the last time that Belphegor had snuck into his room to sleep with him after a nightmare. Mammon wondered to himself what sort of bad dream had caused Belphie to seek him out now—when he normally would have gone to his own twin brother.

Mammon sighed heavily, knowing that it probably had something to do with the discovery from Belphie’s birthday—which was now a few weeks ago. Belphie had started sneaking into his room at night, something Mammon had only noticed when he awoke to indents beside him on the bed and a numb feeling in his arm. It was the first time that Mammon had awoken with Belphie still there.

He knew, from his conversation with Satan, that his brothers were struggling with what Mammon had done to his arms—plus the fact that he refused to use any potions to heal those scars—and he wished there was a way he could make it better.

Wished that he’d done a better job of preventing Beel from finding those scars in the first place. If he had, then this wouldn’t have been a problem—the fear that he’d forced into his own brothers wouldn’t exist and everything would be the slightest bit easier.

They acted like he’d disappear at any moment. Not even Simeon had been so overbearing when he’d found out—though Simeon had made him attend therapy, which Mammon realized that he might actually need to schedule a session soon because the guilt he was feeling for letting his brothers find out was a bit overwhelming.

Squeezing his eyes shut once more, Mammon tried to keep the emotions at bay. He inhaled and exhaled shakily—wanting to know what he should do to make his brothers feel better. To get rid of the fear. It sucked to be at fault for that.

“Just go to sleep Mammon.” Belphie murmured. He jabbed fingers into Mammon’s temple, making him blink and pull away. When he glanced down, he saw glowing purple eyes staring up at him, expression lined with tired irritation.

“I’m sorry, Belphie.” Mammon apologized; voice thick.

Belphie flicked him on the forehead. “Don’t be. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

He chuckled lightly. “I appreciate the protection, little brother.” Mammon remarked. “I’m still sorry that I ruined your birthday.” He cringed at the memory, exhaustion making his tongue a little loser. He’d never actually apologized to Beel or Belphie about what had happened that day—a day that was meant to be about them.

Growling, Belphie flicked him again. “Shut the hell up. If you say that again, I’ll keep flicking you.” Belphie’s threat was half-hearted at best. Mammon sensed that his brother, like Satan, was set on preventing Mammon from even having another bruise. “You didn’t ruin my birthday.” Belphie added quietly. “Now, go back to sleep.”

Mammon sighed. “Love ya, Belphie.” He ran his fingers through Belphie’s hair soothingly. He slipped into a world full of safe-dreams, briefly sensing that Belphie was using his powers as the avatar of sloth to keep him safe from nightmares.

…

“Asmo? What are you doing here?” Mammon blinked, surprised to see his brother show up on the fringes of one of his photo-shoots. He’d just finished modeling for a new line of men’s casual-wear in an outdoors setting and after taking a sip of water and a quick perusal, he’d spotted his light-brown-haired younger brother on the fringes of the shoot, a few shopping bags on one arm.

He'd passed a thought to pretending they hadn’t seen each other, but there had been a pallor to Asmo’s skin that concerned Mammon to the point that he was wandering over to his younger brother before he could fully think the action through.

The photo-shoot was practically finished anyways—just a few sideways shots remaining, but Mammon figured that those could wait a little bit longer so that he could briefly check on one of his baby brothers. “Is everything alright—you’re looking a little pale.” Mammon remarked, hesitantly outstretching a hand to press his palm against Asmo’s forehead—checking for a temperature.

Asmo grabbed his arms with his hands, feeling the bandages that Mammon had started to wear as a style—mostly to cover up his scars from his manager and any of his modeling gigs—with trembling fingers. “You—” His brother started; voice choked.

Mammon got the sense that he should probably get them somewhere a little private, without the on-lookers, and quickly shot a glance to his manager. “I’ll be right back; I’m going to go freshen-up for a second.” Mammon told the other quickly, who waved a dismissive hand at him, and he quickly got Asmo out of there and dragged him gently to the bathroom. “What’s going on Asmo?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the bathroom counter, giving Asmo a minute to collect his thoughts.

Asmo ran his fingers through his hair, looking like he couldn’t decide how he wanted to respond. Mammon waited, patient despite the concern spreading through his body—with every beat of his heart. “Those bandages—those damn bandages—they’ve been in your photo-shoots for months—” Asmo started.

He sighed, knowing that Asmo had abruptly put those pieces together. “Asmo—”

“Don’t.” His brother cut him off, vitriol soaking his words. “Just, don’t.” Mammon clamped his mouth shut, not knowing what to say. He’d experienced the tears from Satan—and from Beel—and Belphie flicking him on the forehead anytime he even looked slightly guilty. The anger was new—and coming from Asmo of all people instead of Satan or Levi or even Lucifer—and surprising. “Were you ever going to tell us? If Beel hadn’t found out, would you have ever told us?  You went through all of this effort—” Asmo gestured to Mammon’s bandaged arms, “—to hide it.”

Mammon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “Maybe.” He answered honestly. “I’d like to think that in a few years I would have.” He wrapped his arms around himself snugly.

Asmo laughed—there was no amusement in the sound, though. Mammon flinched. “You probably wouldn’t have. It was like pulling teeth to get you to admit—” Asmo started.

“Because I knew that it would hurt you all. I was trying to protect you.” He interjected.

“Protect us or yourself?” Asmo countered.

Mammon felt furious at the implication that he cared more for himself than his beloved brothers. “You all are falling apart—none of you want to leave me alone. Because you all are scared that you’re going to lose me. I never wanted you to have to feel that way—like, any minute, what you have as a constant could be taken away from you.” Mammon raised his voice slightly.

His brother also raised his voice in response. “Because our brother tried to kill himself and was able to hide it from us.” Asmo’s words made Mammon freeze. His brother’s tears were fast, two streams down his face.

It was heart-breaking to see anyone he cared about cry. Mammon wrapped his arms around his emotional brother, squeezing tightly. “I wasn’t going to—” Mammon started; voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve told you to kill yourself in the past. I’ve told you no-one would miss you.” Asmo’s voice broke at the words. His brother’s shoulders shook with barely restrained sobs. Mammon closed his eyes, trying not to sob as well because of the pain his precious brother was going through. “I did this to you and I don’t know how to fix it. How to undo what I’ve done. I never wanted you to actually believe that I meant what I said.” Asmo continued.

“Asmo, look at me.” Mammon raised his brother’s chin, gently resting their foreheads together. “I know that you didn’t want me to kill myself—I know that.” He didn’t add that he knew that now. Adding that would break Asmo in a way that Mammon knew he would never be able to fix. “I’m not going to list out my exact thoughts and feelings when I did what I did—but I will tell you what I’ve told almost every-one of our brothers, I never once thought that it was something that you did. I will never blame you—and there is absolutely nothing you need to be forgiven for on my end.” He assured his younger brother sternly.

“You’re so precious to me, Mams.” Asmo whispered.

Mammon chuckled. He wiped Asmo’s tears—slightly envious, that even when Asmo was crying, his younger brother was still a beautiful person. “You’re precious to me too, Asmo. I’m going to go finish my photo-shoot and then we can go treat ourselves for the day, alright. Let’s finish your shopping spree, together.” Mammon promised.

Asmo nodded. “I hate the bandages, I’ll hate them forever, I think.” He wiped at the puffy skin below his eyes, cringing. “You owe me a trip to the sauna.” Asmo pouted, “My eyes are now going to be all puffy.” His brother observed himself in the mirror.

Mammon turned to look at their side-by-side reflections in the large mirror. He adjusted his black shirt and knew that the make-up artist would want to do some touch-ups before they finished with the final shots. “Wait for me to finish up here?” Mammon flicked his gaze to Asmo—finding that his younger brother was already looking at him.

“I can see why you’re a model.” Asmo murmured.

Mammon grinned. “Awww—was that a compliment, Asmo?” He slung an arm over his brother’s shoulder. “Ya really do love me, don’t ya? Can’t blame ya for loving The Great Mammon.” His grin widened—radiating playful smugness.

Asmo rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He didn’t disagree and Mammon softened, tilting his head against his younger brother’s. “You’re ridiculous, Mams.”

“Absolutely.”

…

“—you’re in the kitchen.”

“Oh—yeah—hey—do ya want any food?”

“—without supervision—”

Mammon saucily rolled his eyes. “I don’t need supervision to cut up some fruit, Levi.” He remarked, setting the dull knife to the side. It’d been sharp last week when Mammon had bought it, but someone had miraculously dulled the blade. Mammon had a list of suspects in the notes section on his DDD—with Beel and Satan at the very top of that list.

Levi dropped his gaming console on the counter with a loud thud. Mammon arched a questioning eyebrow at him. Levi had his jaw clenched and looked like he was gearing up to say something truly scathing. “We agreed that you wouldn’t go into the kitchen—to cut up things of all things without one of us with you.” His immediate younger brother stated; amber eyes bright with emotion.

Briefly, Mammon glanced to the entrance—Levi wasn’t even attempting to keep his voice down. “I don’t remember being part of that agreement.” He organized the fruit into a little platter with a satisfied little smile playing at his mouth. “’sides, it’s not like I can cause any serious damage with a dull knife.” Mammon pointed out archly. He waved the knife back and forth for emphasis—considered pressing it against a finger but realized that might be too far of a gesture.

“Don’t wave it around like that—what are you? A child?” Levi snatched the knife from him with his tail.

Sighing, Mammon stared at his brother. “You don’t happen to have anything to do with the knives I keep having to buy going dull—do ya?” He suspiciously eyed Levi—mentally wanting to put him at the top of the suspect list in his DDD.

Levi put the knife in the sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop wandering into the kitchen by yourself.” Levi scolded. Amber eyes stared him down as his brother intentionally blocked him from gathering the spoils of his sneaking into the kitchen.

“I smelled something sweet—am I interrupting something?” Beel’s voice came from the doorway. Mammon broke their staring contest to look towards where Beel was—with both Asmo and Satan behind him, the latter having narrowed his eyes at Mammon suspiciously.

“Not at all.” Mammon cheerily stated.

“Mams snuck into the kitchen.” Levi answered at the same time. “He also decided to wave a knife around like a lunatic.”

“Yer a rat.” Mammon narrowed his eyes at Levi. Levi shrugged. “Why are you all acting like yer the older brothers, anyways?” He added, wrinkling his nose distastefully. “All these ridiculous rules and regulations.”

Beel frowned. “Aniki—”

He sighed, massaging his forehead. “You all can’t be with me every second of the day—it’s weird.” Mammon knew that he wasn’t communicating his thoughts right and his frown deepened. He swallowed. “I love that y’all want to spend more time together—it’s sweet and adorable—but I’m getting tired of ya acting like if you don’t, I’m going to get overexcited with a pair of scissors or something.” He wished that his brothers were wanting to be around him under different circumstances.

These ones just felt downright sad. “We’re just worried about you, is that so wrong—you scumbag?” Levi snarked. Asmo elbowed him none-too-gently in the side, sidling up to their brother within a minute to do so.

“It’s not wrong, I didn’t mean it like that.” Mammon pinched the bridge of his nose. Honestly, he was disappointed in himself for not being able to express his exact emotions properly. It was irksome. “I’m worried that yer putting all this pressure on yer-selves to protect me—dulling the kitchen knives—and that one of ya is going to have a breakdown if I get a papercut or accidentally knick myself.”

“Because what if it’s not an accident? How will we know?” Levi countered; voice raising. Mammon briefly wondered if Belphie and Lucifer were going to join their conversation at some point—whether they’d deescalate the situation or harp on Mammon for it.

“You have to trust me, Levi.” Mammon remarked quietly.

“I can’t—”

“That’s the problem, Levi.” Mammon countered. His voice raised slightly—heart thudding unevenly in his chest. He held his brother for a second—inhaling and exhaling with trembling hands. “How do I get you to trust me? Without giving up my right to a breather.” His voice became firm.

Levi opened and closed his mouth—their other brothers falling silent as they watched them. Mammon focused solely on Levi—acknowledging that his other brothers might have an opinion on what was going on, but Levi was the obviously more upset avatar in the room. “I don’t know.” Levi finally whispered. His eyes suddenly latched onto Mammon’s bare arms. “Heal yourself—get rid of those marks.” The statement was abrupt and Mammon followed his gaze, fingers absently tracing the ridges and jagged lines.

He’d never explained why he couldn’t—why he’d refused. Mammon’s lips twisted at the corners. “I keep them as a reminder.” Mammon remarked quietly. “So, I don’t forget the lesson that I learned in the aftermath of making them. Maybe it’s a stupid reason to keep something that will also remind ya of what I did, but I know that if I just erase them—it’ll be easier to pretend that it never happened and that’s not healthy.” He continued to trace the lines, vision un-focusing. Mammon didn’t completely understand his own reasoning for things half the time, he couldn’t expect others to either.

His brother carefully grabbed Mammon’s wrist, thumb brushing against the raised skin with a wince. Levi sighed. “Are you scared that if you erase them—you’ll—you’ll do something again?” The purple-haired demon sounded scared to hear the answer. Mammon heard the others cease breathing momentarily as well.

Denial came easily—but Mammon swallowed the immediate response to think over the question. It might be true, he quietly admitted to himself. “I’m not sure.” Mammon shrugged. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. It would simply make his brothers more fearful. “Either way—I have methods and plans in place if I for whatever reason end up relapsing. Simeon—”

“Damn angel.” Levi murmured.

Mammon raised both eyebrows at him. “Whoa—what’s that?”

Levi scowled. “What’s what?”

He flicked his younger brother on the forehead. “That reaction to Si?”

Levi murmured something under his breath that Mammon didn’t catch. He leaned forward and tapped his brother a bit more gently on the nose. “I’m your brother—not him—I don’t like that—he’s more—” Levi didn’t finish his thoughts and Mammon completed it in his head a second later after a bit of contemplation.

Sighing, Mammon ruffled Levi’s hair. “You don’t need to be jealous of Si, Levi.” That was a sentence Mammon never thought he would have to say. “Si being my friend doesn’t take away from the fact that you are one of my precious brothers.” Mammon remarked softly. He glanced at all of his brothers, “Would it make you more comfortable if I agreed to do weekly check-ins with ya?” The more he mulled over the idea, the more he liked it. And maybe it wouldn’t just help him—but help all of them. They all carried mental scars, his own were just more prominent since the reveal of his physical scars.

An unsure look crossed Levi’s face—skeptical.

“If we all just take an evening to talk—if I share the details of those plans and even signs of when I’m close to a relapse—” Mammon inwardly grimaced at the thought, “—then, would you all agree to ease up on the supervision?”

They exchanged glances, “That’ll depend on how much you entrust us with.” Satan begrudgingly crossed his arms. Mammon nodded to show his understanding after a heartbeat.

“And stop dulling the kitchen knives?”

“Don’t push your luck, Mammon.” His brothers said in practically union—their voices monotone.

Mammon shrugged. “It was worth a shot.” He picked up his fruit platter, linked arms with Levi, and steered them both out of the room. “Can you show me that manga ya were talking about the other night over dinner?” Mammon vaguely recalled the details of the story his brother had been so enthused about, but he figured it’d be a good place to start with putting Levi’s mind at ease.

If he put himself in their shoes, Mammon figured that he might be acting the same way. Levi eyed him suspiciously for a minute, but slowly began talking about the latest manga that he’d been binge-reading.

They were going to be ok—Mammon would do everything he could to make sure of it.

…

“Umm—Beel.” Mammon started, hand resting against his cheek as he stared with wide-eyes at his orange-haired younger brother. He grimaced. “—maybe now would be a good time to stop.” He suggested, noting the way that the demon underneath Beel wasn’t moving.

Beel ignored him, snarling at the bloodied face of the unconscious demon.

Mammon exhaled slowly; hand outstretched cautiously as he slowly made contact with Beel’s shoulder. His brother’s raised fist paused in mid-air and his body angled to shield Mammon from the demon’s nonexistent view. Despite himself, Mammon was relieved that he didn’t have to observe the quickly developing bruises. He also pointedly ignored the other demons around them. “Beel—take a breath.” Mammon had only very rarely seen the normally gentle brother of his like this.

Wrath and angry outbursts were customary from Satan—not Beel. Amethyst-purple eyes glowed brightly as they stared up at him, Beel’s body twisting to look at him from where he remained crouched over the demon. Mammon swallowed the urge to flinch at that particular stare. Instead, he merely reached out to his brother’s bloodied knuckles and gently guided his brother to standing.

His face smarted a bit—the bruise fast-forming from when one of the unconscious fellows at their feet had punched Mammon in the face. They were loan sharks that were angered by the fact that Mammon had already completed his debt to them and had come after him with an inordinate level of interest. Mammon was already planning to make a report to Prince Diavolo—because if they were arrogant enough to pull that move on an avatar of sin, then they were probably doing even worse to more common demons.

Mammon had been cornered after his shift—but his brother had shown up and completely demolished them in between one blink and the next. Honestly, Mammon feared that his brother might kill someone—which would not bode well, as Beel would be locked up.

Beel’s hands cupped his face and Mammon blinked away his recollective thoughts. “Are ya feeling better, Beel?” Mammon questioned, hoping that his brother had emerged from his fully demonic form of mind.

“I should kill them.” Beel stated simply, eyes darkening as his thumb traced over the bruise on the apple of Mammon’s cheek. Mammon rolled his eyes and grabbed his brother’s wrists to prevent him from going back to his pummel-Demon’s-into-the-ground mode.

“No, you shouldn’t.” Mammon stated. He inwardly wondered how present-Beel would react to Mammon’s full-past with the witches but decided to put a pin in that thought. It wasn’t worth considering how long Beel would get himself sentenced to lock-up and punishment. “Let’s just go home, Beel. Get some ice on those knuckles—they’re going to be swollen for a few days if we don’t get a healing spell cast on ya.” Mammon offered.

Beel’s thumb brushed purposefully against Mammon’s bruise.

He rolled his eyes at the silent demand. “And, I’ll get some too, of course.” Mammon assured him. He tossed one last glance to the crumpled forms of the demon loan sharks, before thumbing open his DDD. He sent a quick, explanatory message to Diavolo—pinning his current location as well—with Beel looking over his shoulder, before steering his brother away from the scene. “Ya get to explain the mess to Lucifer this time, Beel.” Mammon suddenly remarked, shivering at the thought of Lucifer’s face when he realized how far Beel had gone.

A snarl broke him from his thoughts of Lucifer’s face. Mammon arched a curious eyebrow at Beel. “Lucifer will probably string them up from the chandeliers for weeks.” Beel remarked.

Given recent events, Mammon might be inclined to agree with him. His brothers were certainly in an over-protective frame of mind—and the loan sharks could not have picked a worse time to gang up on him given that. Maybe he was lucky that it hadn’t been Satan or Belphie that had came upon the scene. “Ya still have to explain why they’re half-dead.” Mammon stated blandly.

They walked home—with Mammon’s arm slung over Beel’s shoulder—in silence for a few minutes. Mammon spotted Belphie at the door; expression pinched with thinly visible concern. He’d doubtlessly sensed that something was up with Beel’s emotions—and had therefore elected to wait for him at the entrance. His fury banked abruptly and Mammon knew that he’d spotted the bruise underneath Mammon’s eye. “The fuck happened.” Belphie glanced first at Beel and then towards Mammon.

“Just finished paying off my debt to some loan sharks.” Mammon grimaced.

Beel scowled. “They’re not moving for a while.” He promised.

Belphie nodded, looking slightly pleased. “Good.”

Mammon sighed once more—if he didn’t already have platinum white hair, his brothers would easily make him go gray. “Beel nearly killing some low-life demons is not a good thing Belphie.” He scolded lightly. He flicked Belphie on the forehead, not even surprised when the forehead-flick was returned without any pause.

Belphie opened the door. “They put their disgusting hands on our older brother—death would be a mercy.” The youngest brother insisted.

“Do you remember where they were?” Satan questioned; expression dark. Mammon realized that the question had been directed at Beel and shot the orange-haired avatar of gluttony a sharp look.

“Ease up, Tan.” Mammon softly reprimanded. An ice-pack was thrust against his cheek, curtesy of Asmo. The avatar of lust had already gotten two ice-packs for Beel’s hands that he passed off to Levi before forcing Mammon to take a seat on the couch. Beel stuck close to his side regardless while Asmo kept the ice-pack pressed there, Mammon’s hand falling on top of Asmo’s.

It was odd to have his brothers so concerned and fretful over him being injured—but not unwelcome. In fact, his heart felt a bit lighter. “They should never be able to walk again for marking up our brother’s beautiful face.” Asmo solemnly remarked.

Mammon glanced at each brother; suddenly immensely grateful it had been Beel that had found him. He had a small inkling that he wouldn’t have been able to pull them away from the blood-lust as quickly as he had Beel. At this rate, Lucifer might be the only brother that would not react with murderous intent. “Are you alright, aniki?” Beel murmured softly.

He wrapped an arm around the larger demon and tugged Beel against his side, “Of course, I am. One of my precious brothers came to my rescue.” Mammon teased lightly. His fingers danced lightly against Beel’s knuckles. “Thanks, little brother.” His words were a soft whisper.

“Of course, aniki.” Beel immediately responded.

To his surprise, Lucifer hardly even scolded them at all. The eldest brother had arrived back home after they’d collectively agreed to get take-out delivered with suspicious stains on his sleeves and a blank-ness to his features and merely patted Beel on the head and squeezed Mammon tightly for a second before retreating to his office to complete some paper-work.

…

Scrolling absent-mindedly through his DDD, Mammon waited impatiently for his older brother in Lucifer’s office. He’d snuck in a few minutes ago, intending to force his older brother to talk to him. Although their younger brothers had not exactly returned to their previous behaviors, they’d gotten significantly better and more comfortable in the few months since discovering Mammon’s scars.

That wasn’t to say that they weren’t still over-protective, because they absolutely were. They probably would be for the next few centuries—by Mammon’s estimate—which he didn’t exactly mind.

His brothers would forever be adorable to him.

The only issue that kept popping up was that Lucifer was still being avoidant for whatever reason. Mammon had given him space—albeit unwilling—but, it was past time for them to have a small chat. He didn’t want to keep moving forward with the whole ‘healing process’ as his therapist dubbed it without his oldest brother. The brother who had practically raised Mammon in place of his biological brother.

Therefore, tired of the fact that Lucifer avoided being alone with him, Mammon had decided it was past time to ambush his brother. He’d get Lucifer to talk to him—even if he had to challenge the avatar of pride directly.

“Mammon—what are you doing up so late?” Lucifer’s voice was questioning. Mammon glanced up from his DDD to spot his brother by the door with a stack of papers neatly tucked under one arm. He looked like he was gearing up for another late-night.

He shrugged. “Wanted to talk to ya.” Mammon watched his brother’s face carefully.

Lucifer’s expression didn’t change. “It’s not a good time, Mammon.” His brother headed for the desk chair and placed the pile of paperwork to his left, grabbing a pen and clicking it open. “We can talk later.” Lucifer added—a few heartbeats later when Mammon continued to stare at him.

Sucking on his teeth, Mammon flicked his gaze downwards. He studied his DDD like it was the most interesting thing in the world, summoning his courage. Part of him wanted to accept the offering—delay the conversation he wanted to have until later.

It was the easiest option—definitely one that would prevent him from making himself feel too incredibly vulnerable. Absently, he thumbed at his sleeves with one hand, finding a loose thread and tugging lightly at it. He’d been delaying talking to Lucifer for months, though.

A long—slightly exaggerated—sigh broke him from his contemplative thoughts. “Is there something wrong?” Lucifer was pinching the bridge of his nose when Mammon flicked his gaze upright—and Mammon wanted to shrink in on himself under the pressure that dark eyes invoked. Retreating did seem to be the better option—but Mammon found that his feet were glued to the floor.

“Ya tell me, Lucifer.” Mammon remarked. He tensed his shoulders and straightened up.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” Lucifer answered obtusely.

Mammon shrugged. “I feel like your avoiding me.” His fingers twitched, wishing to seek comfort from the ridges, but he knew how uncomfortable it could make his brothers when he relied on them to ground himself.

“I’m not.” Lucifer’s swift denial made Mammon wonder if there was any point in pursuing the conversation. He’d geared up to challenge Lucifer’s pride regardless, so he steeled himself.

“Ya sure? It’s the first time we’ve been alone together in months.” Mammon noted.

“I’m not avoiding you, Mammon.” The eldest brother resumed looking at his paperwork dismissively. “It’s really late and we do have class in the morning, perhaps you should leave and get to bed before Belphie worries.” It didn’t surprise Mammon even remotely that Lucifer knew that the youngest would crawl into Mammon’s bed—nowadays, Beel also joined them. It’d lessened to every few days, however.

He planted his feet, relaxing into the sofa cushions. “I’m comfortable right here.” Mammon tilted his head to one side. He slung his arm over the back and curled his elbow so that he could rest his cheek against his palm. “Ya can continue with yer paperwork, don’t mind me.” Mammon waved his other hand in the air, matching Lucifer’s dismissive gestures.

The only sign that Lucifer had a problem was the white knuckled grip he had on his pen. Mammon knew it would only be a matter of time before his older brother tried to physically force him from his office—it was rather unusual that he hadn’t already done so nor threatened to string Mammon up from the ceiling.

Waiting his brother out wouldn’t take too much longer by Mammon’s estimate. His thoughts wondered—wishing that he could understand why Lucifer was giving in so much to his pride and not communicating with him why’d he’d taken the chance to shut Mammon out. He didn’t want to think that Lucifer was maybe taking whatever opportunity he could to rid himself of his problematic younger brother—maybe Mammon’s actions had reflected too poorly on the prince for Lucifer’s pride to take.

It was a rather convoluted way of looking at it—and Mammon considered the thought ridiculous. There were worse things that he’d done and Lucifer hadn’t abandoned him even then. Besides, if that were the case—then his brother wouldn’t have been so vicious with the loan sharks. Barbados and Diavolo had spoken to him about it briefly—concerned for the eldest as they’d never quite seen him so vengeful—and Mammon had explained the cliff-notes version of hat had happened.

He’d harmed himself as a preventative measure for his greed and his brothers had each become overprotective in their own way since. Diavolo had readily given him a swift hug, and they’d assured him that neither one of his brothers would be in any sort of trouble for what had happened.

“Mammon.” His brother’s voice was stern.

Blinking rapidly to bring his attention back to Lucifer—Mammon tilted his head even further, questioning. “What’s wrong with ya, Lucifer? Ya can normally do paper-work regardless of a tornado.” It was definitely an exaggeration. Maybe.

“Are you planning on sleeping here?”

“Maybe.” Mammon drawled. “It’s been a while since we had a sleepover.”

“I have work to do, I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Lucifer’s tone was scolding.

“Then why haven’t ya threatened or hung me from the ceiling yet—if yer so annoyed by me being here?” Mammon countered. He stood up and walked over to plant himself in front of Lucifer’s desk. “What’s going on with ya, Luci?’ His voice softened.

Lucifer’s expression was complicated to summarize it shortly. He pursed his lips at the mention of hanging Mammon from the ceiling. Mammon stared. “You’re over-thinking this, Mammon. I’m not avoiding you.” Lucifer insisted.

Mammon nodded. “Maybe I am. It’s not like we regularly have conversations anyways—even before I got caught.” He could feel the bitter twist to his smile, but he didn’t try to hide it. Mammon folded his arms across his chest and took a step back. “I guess I just figured that you’d be as overbearing as the others, guess you’re the only one that wasn’t bothered since you’re acting so normal.” He shrugged once more and turned to leave—out of the corner of his eye he could see Lucifer’s expression darken.

“How dare you?” Lucifer’s voice was near-deadly.

Despite the fear that Mammon temporarily felt, he merely arched an eyebrow and turned back to his older brother. “How dare I what?” Isn’t this our normal, Lucifer? Nothing’s changed, has it?” Intentionally using a different angle to get Lucifer to admit what was a bit underhanded—but if Lucifer was too proud to admit that he’d pushed Mammon away, then he could play dirty.

Lucifer growled. Mammon pursed his lips—backing away slightly as his brother’s form flickered. His hands were raised in front of him placatingly.

Clearing his throat, he opened his mouth, “Luci—”

“Shut up, Mammon.” Glowing red eyes made an involuntary shiver travel down his spine. Mammon hadn’t expected his brother to react so viciously—he’d bitten off more than he could chew in trying to provoke Lucifer. “You—” Taking a deep breath, Lucifer took steps towards him. He considered backing away—but his feet were glued to the ground. “—you tried to kill yourself—were harming yourself for your sin—” Lucifer griped his hair in one hand, knuckles whitening around the strands.

At the torment radiating off of his older brother—the one who’d raised him—Mammon inched closer. His fingers were trembling, but he steadied his resolve and outstretched his hand to rest against Lucifer’s fisted one. “It’s alright, Luci.” He murmured softly.

Despite the reassurance, Lucifer’s emotions flared. “It’s my fault.”

Shaking his head, Mammon’s denial was obvious. “It is not.” Mammon insisted.

Lucifer shook himself free from Mammon’s hand, backing away. “I’m the one who taught you that pain could be used as a deterrent for your sin. I punished you so much to keep you from acting on your sin. I made you think that hurting yourself was the answer.” Lucifer’s voice raised as Mammon attempted to protesting-ly voice that it wasn’t Lucifer’s voice. “You know—all I’ve done is think over every interaction in the past few centuries. All I’ve done is remember that you started wearing those damn bandages almost a year ago and I never noticed. You kept getting accused of stealing and then it wasn’t actually you—and I was too proud to fucking notice—” Lucifer’s voice dissolved into indecipherable grumbles.

Mammon’s heart plummeted. He lunged himself at his brother—tackling him to the floor. Lucifer let out a shout of confusion as they fell and he twisted to try to cushion the fall for Mammon. “I don’t blame you, Luci.” He softly murmured.

Lucifer struggled to escape Mammon’s koala-like grip. He tightened his hold on Lucifer’s mid-section in response, squeezing tightly. If he let his brother push him away, Mammon had a feeling that he’d never get the moment or chance back. “You should.”

“Satan said the same thing.” Mammon chuckled. At his brother’s huff, Mammon cracked a small smile. “You didn’t hold the knife to my wrists, Luci. You may have helped me believe that—” His throat dried and he tried to think of how he wanted to finish the thought.

“All I do is hurt you, little starlight.” Lucifer remarked.

“That’s not true.” Mammon countered.

“Damn it—yes, it is.” His older brother renewed his efforts to escape. Mammon could tell that he wasn’t using all of his effort to do so because he knew full well that his older brother was stronger than him—meaning that he could easily shake Mammon loose. The realization that Lucifer was holding back because he didn’t want to even risk physically harming Mammon made him feel warmth behind his eyes. “Get away from me, Mammon.” Lucifer demanded; voice so dark that he hardly even sounded like himself.

Mammon squeezed once for emphasis. “No.”

“Mammon—”

“You don’t scare me, Luci—so stop trying to.” Mammon deadpanned. “I know that you’d never hurt me—” He started.

Lucifer interrupted him. “But I did. I’ve been hurting you so badly for years that you thought that I’d be pleased that you weren’t acting on your sin—that you’d found a way to stop.” Damn it, Simeon—you weren’t supposed to tell him that. Angels could be surprisingly vengeful when they wanted to be. “I promised you that I’d never hurt you—that I’d never be like Michael—and I—”

At the mention of that forbidden name, Mammon scowled. “You’re nothing like he was, Luci.” For only a moment, Mammon had made the comparison, but even if he thought that Lucifer might want to cast him away—he knew that his older brother would never act on that thought.

The warmth behind his eyes turned into tears. “I am like him. I hurt you in a way that I can never forgive myself for.” Lucifer’s voice was low—laced with sorrow.

Mammon hiccupped. “Don’t—Luci—please don’t.”

“Starlight—”

“If you can’t forgive yourself—then, make it up to me by not leaving me. You’re not allowed to—to abandon me because you think that it’ll keep me safe—you’re not allowed—” Mammon’s voice broke, sobs escaping him.

Lucifer ceased any sign of struggle or movement. It was only for a heartbeat that the unnatural stillness settled over him, before he was suddenly returning the embrace with more strength than Mammon.  “Don’t cry, starlight.” Lucifer’s fingers through his hair paired with the slight rocking motion that he’d started made Mammon’s tears quieter, but they continued to fall at an even steadier pace. “I’m sorry—I’m making this more complicated than I should be.” Lucifer adjusted them slightly.

They were leaned against the edge of the couch; Lucifer having inched them over and his arms were wrapped around Mammon as the younger slumped against his chest. Lucifer propped his chin on Mammon’s head as tears wet his dress-shirt. “You can’t leave me, Luci. I won’t let you. You’re my brother. You’re my family.” Mammon’s voice was hoarse—barely decipherable and he could hardly get the words out through the sudden lump that had developed. “I let Michael and I can’t go through that again.” He closed his eyes.

He'd half-expected to go into this conversation anticipating to force his brother to talk to him—but yet, Mammon was the one vulnerable and in tears. “I’m sorry, starlight. Your older brother has been acting dumb. I got so focused on protecting you from me that I forgot the big part of being a family is being there for each other. I’m sorry for avoiding you for so long—my shame is no excuse.” Lucifer’s voice was softer than it had been the entire evening.

“You’re right—you’re such a dumb older brother, Luci.” Mammon sniffled.

“I’m sorry, starlight.”

“Love ya, Luci.” His eyelids were heavy. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

Lucifer sighed, though Mammon knew the noise was more fond than exasperated. “I’m suppose that’ll be fine.” Lucifer hummed, “My room or your room?”

Mammon yawned; emotionally exhausted from the conversation. “Mine. I want all of ya.” He already knew that Belphie would have snuck in there. Despite their differences, Mammon knew that they were capable of putting it aside for at least a few hours.

Before he fully passed out, cradled in his oldest brother’s arms and swaying from being carried—Mammon could have sworn that he felt a featherlight warmth brush against his forehead. The gesture soothing and reminding him of when he was a young cherub entrusted to Lucifer’s care.