Chapter Text
Abel sat on his bed. In the room. Lost in thought. He had become the new leader of the exorcists. He didn’t know why—until he overheard a conversation between Lute and Sera.
They were talking about his father’s death. He had been killed.
Abel stood in silence, just listening. He didn’t say anything about it, acted like he hadn’t heard. Pretended he hadn’t eavesdropped.
Lute yelled at him and tried to hit him after he attempted to take his father’s guitar from her hands. He also noticed his father’s broken halo. Then Sera intervened and ordered Lute to return Adam’s belongings to Abel. He had the right to take what remained of his father.
And here he was. Sitting in the room. Staring at the dim, nearly lifeless halo of his father. It flickered weakly, growing grayer, duller, losing its light, its life. Abel felt that his father was still alive, but maybe beyond saving. He had been killed with an angelic weapon. And the faint flicker of the halo was his father’s final breath. The last hope of seeing the light again...
There was a chance his father would become a sinner in Hell, but no. As they said, “he was killed with an angelic weapon.” He wouldn’t be reborn, wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t be there anymore. Wouldn’t hand him a bag of wings. A box of pizza. Wouldn’t hand him a Coke. Wouldn’t feed him anymore or say:
“You may be a bastard, but I still remember how you tried to survive. It was pathetic.”
Yeah. Abel knew he had been pathetic. He tried to survive. Tried to feed the family alone, to become his father’s favorite. But he did it too clumsily, too fearfully, too inexperienced. He was pathetic. So pathetic that his father had to feed him himself. Hunt animals, bring them home. He dressed Abel. Took care of him. He was there, even if he felt disgust toward him. He was there. More than his mother. More than Cain. More caring than either of them. He was more caring... even if he was an asshole, he was still a father. A father who simply pitied his weak son.
Abel sighed, tightening his grip on his father’s halo. He felt empty and weak. He didn’t know what to do—then the halo went out. It died. It went dark right in his hands. His father’s halo faded in his hands, and Abel felt like his father had died in his arms. Like he stopped breathing. He did. Abel felt pity for his father. He had endured so much pain. He had gone through too much... too much. He suffered for too long. That’s why Abel didn’t panic, didn’t cry. He accepted it—his father deserved peace. He would finally sleep. But now, forever.
“Why so sad, Abel?”
Abel flinched. Something inside him began to twist, something like disgust. That voice... that damn voice...
“What are you doing here, Lucifer..?”
Abel didn’t look at him, but chills ran down his back, because that creature was staring directly at him—from somewhere. Behind, or in front. Abel didn’t know where he stood.
“I just wanted to see you. My son.”
Abel closed his eyes. The disgust grew. The audacity. That audacity was killing him.
“Don’t call me that...”
Abel opened his eyes and frowned. He began slowly looking around, searching for him.
“Oh, but you know, your mother—”
“Please... stop...”
Abel spoke softer now. He saw no point in resisting. He wanted to run. He wanted to scream—anything not to hear those words, please, no.
“Why not? I say it because I want to. And because...”
Lucifer appeared before Abel. He was too close. His eyes stared at Abel, who tensed at the breath on his cheek, since Abel was facing sideways, frozen.
“I always wanted a son.”
Abel shuddered as Lucifer’s hand gently touched his cheek, stroking it with his thumb. So lovingly—more than his father ever had. The touch made Abel feel worse, and turning his head, he slapped Lucifer’s hand and backed away on the bed.
“Don’t touch me...”
He clutched his father’s halo to his chest, staring at Lucifer in front of him, who narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t say such things... especially to me.”
He didn’t move. Neither did Abel. They both went silent for a moment before Lucifer continued:
“You’re perfect, you know that? A human child. Especially the son—of Adam. But... you’re perfect. More perfect than him... too perfect. Too naive, childish. Just like Charlie, but more important, right?”
Abel frowned. He didn’t respond. He didn’t like where this was going.
“Please... leave. Leave me alone... don’t say your disgusting things and stop comparing me to your disgusting daughter...”
He wasn’t afraid to speak his mind, and that amused Lucifer. If Adam had said that, Lucifer would've already killed him. But Abel... Lucifer didn’t take him seriously, found it amusing. Thought it was cute. Too cute.
“Oh... ha ha... consider Charlie almost your sister, even if you won’t accept it. But you would’ve been the perfect son for me, if only you accepted—”
“Stop it! Leave me alone, damn it!”
And with those words, Abel grabbed his father’s guitar from the bed and, swinging it at Lucifer, tried to hit him—but Lucifer turned into black dust before Abel could reach him.
He stood there for a few more seconds, holding the guitar, glowing with golden light from his energy and anger. Abel felt rage. Disgust and emptiness. Lucifer had made it worse. He always did...