Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Olive, purgatory’s top supervisor, looked impossibly young for someone who’d been doing this job for centuries — the face of a sixteen‑year‑old who never missed a skincare routine, the posture of someone who’d learned to wait. She tapped the file open on her monitor and read aloud to herself, more out of habit than surprise.

“Rue Bennett. Twenty‑three.” Her voice softened. “Drug mule? Overdosed on a tainted painkiller despite being sober a whole year. That can’t be right.”

Her fingers hovered, then moved to the next file. The screen blinked and a new name filled the pane.

“Nate Jacobs. Twenty‑three.” Olive’s mouth fell open. “Owed Armenians money, lost a toe, a couple fingers… buried alive with a snake?” She blinked, incredulous. “How did I mess this up?”

She scrolled faster, eyes skimming the notes until one line made her actually laugh — a short, disbelieving sound. “He married Cassie Howard?” Olive whispered, half to the screen, half to the empty office. “Oh. This is a huge mistake.”

The fluorescent hum of the purgatory office suddenly felt too sharp, too present, like the lights themselves were judging her. Olive leaned back, palms flat against the desk, and for the first time in centuries the ancient supervisor — trapped in the face of a sixteen‑year‑old who moisturized religiously — felt the full weight of a mistake that could ripple far beyond her neatly archived files.

Footsteps echoed in the doorway.

“Ali was down there the whole time. What happened” Olive said, looking up just as Ali stepped into her office. Her voice cracked. “What happened, Ali. You were supposed to help both of them.”

Ali lowered himself into the chair across from her, shoulders heavy, eyes hollow. He set something on the desk with a soft clack.

A gun.

“I failed them both,” he said quietly.

Olive’s breath caught. “Ali… what did you do with that gun.”

He didn’t look away. “Alamo happened. Strip‑club owner. Druglord. He found out Rue was working with the DEA. He was the one who gave her those painkillers.” Ali swallowed hard. “I killed him.”

The office fell silent. Even the lights seemed to dim, as if purgatory itself was holding its breath.

Olive stared at the weapon, then at Ali — a man who had spent lifetimes trying to save broken kids, now breaking under the truth of what he’d done. The air in the office felt heavier, as if the walls themselves were listening.

She turned back to her monitor, fingers trembling just slightly as she refreshed the screen. A new alert blinked into existence. Olive exhaled, a shaky breath of relief.

“Okay… they’re here. Why are they here” she muttered, leaning closer.

Then she heard it — multiple footsteps approaching, steady, purposeful, unmistakable.

Olive’s eyes widened.

“Oh no. No no no.” She straightened in her chair. “It’s God and the Devil.”

The door swung open before Olive could even pull her expression together.

God stepped in first — looking every bit the aging hippie in flowing white, silver hair loose around his shoulders, the kind of man who smelled faintly of incense and old vinyl records. Behind him came his little brother, the Devil, dressed with the exact swagger and smirk of Crowley from Good Omens, sunglasses indoors, boots too loud for the carpeted floor.

“Hello, Olive. Hello, Ali.” God said, voice warm but edged with disappointment. “I believe I heard we have a mistake on our hands.”

The Devil clicked his tongue, leaning against the doorframe like he owned the place. “A big one, from what I gather.”

Olive straightened in her chair, trying to look like the centuries‑old supervisor she was instead of a teenager caught doing something questionable.

Ali didn’t move. He just stared at the gun on the desk, shoulders heavy, guilt radiating off him like heat.

God’s eyes softened when he saw it. The Devil’s narrowed, amused and annoyed in equal measure.

Olive swallowed hard, the weight of the moment settling over her like dust from a collapsing archive.

“The soulmates… are dead” God said, voice low and ancient.

Olive nodded once.

The Devil burst into laughter — sharp, delighted, utterly inappropriate. Ali reacted instantly, snatching the gun from the desk and leveling it at him.

“Whoa, man, calm down” the Devil yelped, hands half‑raised.

“Calm down, Beezlebub,” God said, not even looking at him. “He just lost his spiritual goddaughter and godson‑in‑law.”

Ali’s jaw tightened. “I lost them before. I’m not losing them a third time.”

Beezlebub scoffed. “How could I forget what happened in Sodom.”

Ali cocked the gun.

Beezlebub’s hands shot all the way up. “I kid. I kid.”

The room went still again — the kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks or something divine intervenes. God sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose like a tired father dealing with two unruly sons and a cosmic disaster.

“Where are they right now” God asked, his voice suddenly stripped of its usual warmth.

Olive’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The monitor refreshed, a soft chime echoing through the office like a heartbeat.

She swallowed. “The Church.”

God closed his eyes, a long exhale slipping out of him — not anger, not relief, something older. The Devil straightened from his lazy slouch, sunglasses sliding down just enough to reveal a flicker of genuine interest.

“The Church,” the Devil repeated, almost amused, like the universe had just handed him his favorite kind of chaos.

God slipped a hand into the pocket of his white, flowing get‑up and pulled out a phone that looked suspiciously like the latest model — sleek, glowing, absolutely not something an eternal being should need, yet somehow perfect in his palm.

He lifted it to his ear.

“Maryam,” he said, tone shifting into that calm, administrative authority that made angels stand up straighter. “Are Fez and Lexi — I mean Michael and Uriel — back in Heaven.”

A pause. God nodded once.

“Good. Have them go down to the Church. They know which one. I’ll be there soon.”

He hung up with a soft click, sliding the phone away as if it were just another divine tool in his endless pockets.

The Devil arched a brow, pushing his sunglasses up with one finger. “Calling in the favorites already. This must be fun.”

God didn’t bother responding with words. He simply reached over and smacked Beelzebub upside the head — a sharp, parental thwack that echoed through the office.

“They were supposed to keep an eye on the two,” God said, rubbing his temples like the universe had given him a migraine. “I wonder what happened there.”

Olive, still pale from the earlier revelations, glanced back at her monitor. The screen refreshed, lines of celestial data scrolling like a confession.

“I blame a little demon named Legion,” she said quietly. “Also known as Cal Jacobs.”

The Devil let out a low whistle. “Ah. That explains the smell of disaster.”

Ali visibly shuddered at the name, the reaction running through him like a cold current. “I knew that man was a monster… but damn.”

Beezlebub’s smirk faltered, just a little — enough to show he remembered Cal Jacobs too, and not fondly.

God folded his arms, the room dimming around him as if the universe itself leaned in. “Legion wears many faces. Cal was one of his worst.”

Ali rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes distant. “Every time I thought I’d seen the worst of him, he found a new way to prove me wrong.”

Olive’s monitor flickered, casting pale light across all their faces. “He didn’t just ruin lives,” she said quietly. “He corrupted them. Twisted them. Rue and Nate never stood a chance with him in their orbit.”

“Okay, Ali. Come with us.” God said, already turning toward the door, his robes whispering across the floor like a tide pulling back.

Ali rose slowly, the weight of everything he’d confessed settling into his shoulders. He glanced once at the gun on the desk, then at Olive — who gave him the smallest, tightest nod, the kind that said go before you think too hard.

Beezlebub pushed off the doorframe with a lazy stretch, sunglasses glinting. “Field trip,” he muttered, sounding far too pleased for someone about to walk into a metaphysical disaster.

God didn’t slow. “This isn’t a field trip. This is cleanup.”

Ali followed, steps heavy but determined, the kind of determination forged from grief and guilt braided tight enough to hurt.

He was halfway to the door when God paused, glancing back over His shoulder.

“You too, Olive,” He said, gesturing with a slow, deliberate sweep of His hand. “You owe these two another explanation. Remember the last time.”

The words hit her like a cold draft.

Olive froze, her ageless face flickering with something ancient — regret, dread, responsibility, all tangled together. The last time. The mistake she’d buried under centuries of perfect filing and immaculate skincare. The one she’d sworn she’d never repeat.

Beezlebub snorted softly. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Olive shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through celestial smugness, then pushed herself up from the chair. Her palms were still flat with tension, but her spine straightened with the authority of someone who had run purgatory longer than most civilizations had existed.

“All right,” she said, voice steadying. “I’m coming.”

Ali stepped aside to let her pass, and for a moment their eyes met — two caretakers who had failed the same souls in different ways.

Then the three of them moved toward the door, the Devil trailing behind with a lazy swagger.

Nate sat slumped in one of the cathedral pews, still wearing the filthy white tank top and khaki pants he’d died in — the same clothes he’d been buried alive in. Dirt still clung to the fabric, but when he lifted his hands into the light, they were whole again. No missing fingers. No blood. No pain.

“How…? Where am I” he muttered to himself, voice echoing through the vast, empty space.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

The familiar voice rang through the cathedral like a bell. Nate turned sharply.

Rue stood a few rows back, wearing a red hoodie, her long curls spilling over her shoulders like she’d just walked out of a memory. Her expression was tired, wary, but unmistakably alive in a way that made the air shift.

“Are you dead” Nate asked, breath catching.

Rue shrugged, stepping down the aisle toward him. “A whole year sober, only to die from a fentanyl‑laced painkiller. Figures.” She stopped at the end of his pew. “What about you.”

Nate let out a humorless laugh. “Armenian loan sharks. First they cut my toe off after my wedding. Then they took a couple fingers. Then they buried me alive in a coffin with a snake.”

Rue blinked, stunned. “Damn.”

Nate leaned back, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. “Yeah. Hell of a honeymoon.”

Rue slid into the pew across from him, studying him like she wasn’t sure if he was real or just another trick of whatever afterlife they’d landed in. The stained‑glass light caught in her curls, turning them into something almost unreal.

Nate swallowed, eyes fixed on her. “You think things could’ve been different between us.”

Rue frowned, thrown by the question. “Different how.”

Nate’s gaze drifted toward the altar, like he was trying to picture a version of his life that hadn’t already burned down. “If we had met before everything. Before the drugs. Before my dad. Before… all the shit that turned us into who we were.”

Rue leaned back, arms folding loosely over her chest. “You mean if we weren’t already broken when we found each other.”

Nate nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. That.”

Rue let out a slow breath, eyes softening in a way that made the space between them feel smaller. “I don’t know, Nate. Maybe we still would’ve messed it up. Maybe we would’ve been better. Maybe we would’ve been worse.”

She looked down at her hands, flexing them like she still expected to see track marks that weren’t there anymore.

“But I think,” she said quietly, “we would’ve seen each other. Really seen each other. And maybe that alone would’ve changed something.”

Nate’s throat worked around a word he didn’t say.

The cathedral stayed silent, holding their honesty like a fragile thing.

“Like Fez bashing me with that bottle after my dad ratted him out,” Nate said, the memory slipping out before he could stop it.

A voice boomed through the cathedral, deep and resonant enough to shake dust from the rafters. “I was trying to save you from Cal. But he only made things worse.”

Nate shot to his feet, spinning toward the sound.

A man in a suit stepped out from between two pillars — familiar jawline, familiar eyes, familiar posture. He looked like Fez… but not quite. Cleaner. Sharper. Older and younger at the same time.

Rue stood up too, breath catching. “Fez! Is that you?”

The man smiled — soft, apologetic, almost fond. “Fez was my earthly name.”

He stepped closer, and the air around him shifted, brightening like the stained glass was bending toward him.

“I’m Michael,” he said. “The Archangel.”

Rue blinked. Nate’s mouth fell open.

Michael continued, voice gentler now. “God sent me down to protect you two and—”

He paused, eyes flicking over their clothes, their faces, the way they stood too close and too far at the same time.

“Lexi — I mean Uriel — should be on her way.”

Rue’s breath hitched at the name. Nate felt something twist in his chest.

Michael gave them a small, knowing smile.

“And trust me… she’s not thrilled about being late.”

The cathedral doors slammed open, the sound rolling through the space like thunder.

Lexi‑Uriel sprinted down the aisle, celestial energy flickering around her like static. She looked exactly like Lexi — same hair, same frantic determination — but there was something sharper in her eyes, something ancient.

“Michael!” she shouted, heels clacking against the stone. “We had one job. Where’s Ali.”

She skidded to a stop beside him, then finally noticed Rue and Nate standing there, very much dead and very much confused.

Lexi‑Uriel’s eyes widened. “Why are they here,” she hissed under her breath, leaning toward Michael.

Michael leaned in as well, whispering back, “Ask Olive.”

Lexi‑Uriel groaned, dragging a hand down her face — a gesture that was both angelic and extremely Lexi.

“Of course it was Olive,” she muttered. “It’s always Olive.”

Rue blinked at her. Nate stared like he was trying to decide whether this was a hallucination or just his afterlife being weirdly on‑brand.

Michael straightened, smoothing his suit. “All right. Now that we’re all here—”

The cathedral doors creaked, then swung open with a force that made every candle flicker.

God, the Devil, Ali, and Olive stepped inside, their footsteps echoing down the aisle like a verdict.

Lexi‑Uriel muttered under her breath, “Speaking of the God and Devil.”

Michael shot her a look, but she just folded her arms, wings flickering faintly beneath her human shape.

God walked with the calm inevitability of a sunrise. The Devil sauntered beside Him, sunglasses still on, looking like he’d been dragged to a family meeting he absolutely intended to make worse. Ali followed, tense and hollow‑eyed, and Olive trailed behind them.

Rue and Nate stood frozen in the pews, watching the procession like characters in someone else’s prophecy.

The air shifted — heavier, brighter, charged.

Whatever this place was, whatever this moment meant, it was no longer just about death.

God stepped forward, taking in Nate and Rue with a soft, almost parental smile. “Hey, kids.”

Rue blinked, glancing at Nate before looking back at Him. “We’re twenty‑three,” Nate said flatly.

God shrugged, smirk tugging at the corner of His mouth. “You’re still kids to me.”

Olive coughed pointedly behind Him.

God sighed, rolling His eyes like someone reminding Him there was an actual agenda and not just cosmic improv. “Right, right… why we’re here.”

The cathedral seemed to lean in, waiting — the stained glass holding its breath.

“We… how do I say this,” God began, searching for the right words.

Beelzebub didn’t wait.

“I think what my brother Yahweh is trying to say,” the Devil announced, beaming like a game‑show host revealing a prize, “is that we royally, spiritually, mentally, physically, emotionally fucked up your lives. And it’s not the first time.”

Rue’s eyebrows shot up. Nate blinked. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose. Lexi‑Uriel muttered something that sounded like unbelievable.

Ali reached out, ready to pop Beelzebub in the back of the head, but Olive grabbed his wrist mid‑swing with the reflexes of someone who had stopped this exact fight a thousand times.

“Not in the Church,” she hissed.

Beelzebub just grinned wider, delighted with himself.

God sighed again — the long, ancient kind that suggested He’d been dealing with this sibling dynamic since the dawn of time.

“Thank you, Beelzebub,” He said dryly. “Very helpful.”

The Devil gave a little bow.

Rue and Nate stood frozen, absorbing the revelation that Heaven and Hell hadn’t just influenced their lives — they’d been actively messing them up for years.

Nate’s disbelief snapped into anger. “What do you mean this isn’t the first time?” His voice echoed through the cathedral, sharp and raw.

Beezlebub scoffed like it was obvious.

Olive immediately slapped him upside the head.

“Thank you,” Ali muttered.

God rubbed His forehead, muttering under His breath, “Sodom and Gomorrah…”

Rue folded her arms. “A little louder, please.”

God threw His hands up. “SODOM AND GOMORRAH!”

The cathedral rang with the force of it.

Rue stared at Him. “What do you mean Sodom and Gomorrah?”

Before God could answer, Michael‑Fez made a subtle, guilty pivot — the kind of pivot that meant run — and took two quick steps toward the nearest exit.

Lexi‑Uriel snagged him by the collar without even looking, yanking him back like she’d been waiting for it.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hissed.

Michael winced, caught. “I just— I thought maybe—”

“No,” Lexi‑Uriel said, tightening her grip. “You’re explaining this with the rest of us.”

Rue and Nate exchanged a look — a mix of horror, confusion, and the dawning realization that their lives had been part of a cosmic pattern long before they were ever born.

And the angels were terrible at hiding it.

“Well? Out with it!” Nate snapped, voice ricocheting off the cathedral walls.

Michael‑Fez winced. Lexi‑Uriel tightened her grip on his collar like she was holding a guilty dog at the vet.

God opened His mouth.

Beezlebub opened his wider.

“Oh, this is rich,” the Devil said, practically vibrating with glee. “You two think this is your first cosmic screw‑up? Sweet summer children.”

Olive shot him a death glare. “Beezlebub.”

He ignored her completely.

God finally stepped forward, rubbing the bridge of His nose like He’d been preparing for this confession since the Bronze Age.

“All right,” He said. “Fine. The truth is… you two have been caught in divine crossfire before. Many times.”

Rue’s eyes narrowed. “Define ‘many.’”

God hesitated.

Beezlebub did not.

“Let’s see,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Sodom. Gomorrah. The Flood. That one Roman incident. The French Revolution. Oh, and that time in the 1920s when—”

Olive slapped him again, harder this time.

“STOP HELPING.”

Ali muttered, “Thank you,” under his breath.

Nate stared at God, jaw tight. “Sodom and Gomorrah? What the hell does that have to do with us?”

Michael‑Fez tried to take another step backward — and Lexi‑Uriel yanked him back like she’d been expecting it.

“Oh no,” she hissed. “You’re explaining this part.”

Michael swallowed. “Okay, so… um… funny story—”

“It’s not funny,” Lexi‑Uriel snapped.

“It’s a little funny,” Beezlebub said.

“SHUT UP,” Olive barked.

Rue looked between all of them, exasperated. “Can someone just tell us what the hell we did in Sodom and Gomorrah?”

God sighed — the long, ancient, I‑am‑so‑tired‑of‑my‑children sigh.

“You didn’t do anything,” He said. “You were there.”

Nate blinked. “We were what.”

Rue’s jaw dropped. “We were WHO?”

Michael‑Fez winced again.

Lexi‑Uriel groaned.

Beelzebub grinned like Christmas came early.

And God finally said it:

“You two have been soul‑bound for thousands of years. Every lifetime, every era, every disaster… you find each other. And every time, Heaven and Hell screw it up.”

The cathedral went dead silent.

“And the last time…” Nate said, turning slowly toward Rue, dread settling into his voice.

Beelzebub let out a long, theatrical sigh. “A demon named Legion caused massive damage to this lifetime. You might know him. He was your dad. And he didn’t come alone — brought a few of his bodies with him. Laurie. Alamo. Those Armenian loan sharks. Cassie… list goes on.”

Rue’s face flushed red, anger and disbelief colliding. She snapped her head toward Lexi‑Uriel. “Your sister was a demon.”

Lexi‑Uriel winced, shoulders tightening. “I only found out during debriefing.”

Michael‑Fez nodded miserably beside her. “It was… uh… a whole thing.”

Rue stared at them, stunned. Nate looked like someone had just kicked open a door in his brain he’d been trying to keep locked.

Beelzebub, of course, looked delighted at first — then his smile slowly collapsed into a groan. “They’re currently being judged by their peers,” he muttered. “And after that, I actually have to be a boss and punish them. Ugh. Paperwork.”

Olive patted his arm like he was a misbehaving toddler. Ali looked like he wanted to cheer.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to process centuries of cosmic chaos in under a minute. “Okay… one more question.” He looked at Rue, then back at the divine lineup. “Did we — I mean… do we love each other.”

Every celestial being in the room nodded.

Rue threw her hands up. “How?”

God’s smile softened — warm, ancient, and annoyingly fond. “You’re my favorite mistakes. Some people,” He added, side‑eyeing Beelzebub, “like Beelzebub’s little Legion punks…”

“I officially fucking hate them,” Beelzebub announced, crossing his arms. “I look forward to turning them into ashes.”

Olive smacked his arm. “You’re not turning anyone into ashes in front of the kids.”

“We’re twenty‑three,” Nate muttered.

“Still kids,” God said.

Rue stared at them all, exasperated. “So let me get this straight. We’ve been soul‑bound for thousands of years, Heaven and Hell keep screwing it up, Legion hijacked half our families, and now we’re… what? Dead and in a cathedral with God, the Devil, and two angels who look like Fez and Lexi.”

Michael‑Fez raised a hand. “In my defense, I didn’t pick the face.”

Lexi‑Uriel elbowed him. “Focus.”

Nate looked at Rue — really looked — and something in his expression cracked open, raw and unguarded.

“So… we loved each other,” he said quietly. “Every time.”

Rue swallowed hard. “Looks like it.”

Lexi‑Uriel lifted a hand. “Except this time. You two really hated each other.”

Nate and Rue exchanged a look — the kind that said yeah… fair.

Ali pointed sharply at God, then at Michael‑Fez and Lexi‑Uriel like he was connecting dots on a murder board. “As God’s right‑hand man — and your boss — I should’ve been informed of this mess the second it happened.”

Lexi‑Uriel threw her hands up. “And we apologize. But when you’re living with a whiny, horny demon and your best friend is a drug addict — no offense, Rue, we’ve been friends since forever—”

Rue smirked. “I mean… what? You’ve been my friend in every lifetime.”

Michael‑Fez laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Same with Nate. Sorry about bashing you with the bottle — it’s usually the other way around. Like in WWII when we were popping those Nazis.”

Nate blinked. “Wait. We were doing what?”

Michael‑Fez nodded earnestly. “Oh yeah. You were a menace with a trench knife. Rue was the one who kept stealing rations.”

“What?” Rue yelped, voice cracking in disbelief.

Olive — now carrying two thick, ancient‑looking books — let out a warm, knowing laugh. “Well, she had to do that to make sure the kids she was hiding were well fed.”

Rue froze.

Nate’s expression shifted — confusion melting into something heavier.

Olive continued gently, “She ended up dying in a concentration camp for protecting them. And Nate… you were in the POW camp next to hers.”

A hush fell over the cathedral.

Ali’s expression softened into something sad and proud all at once. “Oh yeah, I remember that. I officiated your wedding — I was an Army chaplain then.” He exhaled, the memory heavy. “Two days later, Rue was taken to the gas chambers. And Nate was shot by a jealous commandant.”

Nate’s jaw tightened. “Lemme guess. Legion.”

Beelzebub groaned. “Of course it was Legion. That bastard has range.”

God nodded, resigned. “That was that… until 2001, when you two were reborn.”

Rue blinked, stunned. “So we died married.”

Ali nodded. “Married and stupidly in love.”

Michael‑Fez added, “And stubborn. You two kept sneaking notes between the fences. It was adorable and reckless.”

Lexi‑Uriel sighed. “And tragic. Every lifetime, you two find each other. Every lifetime, something tears you apart.”

God looked at them with a mixture of guilt and affection. “This time was supposed to be different.”

Beelzebub snorted. “And then Legion’s little gremlin squad showed up and ruined everything.”

Olive elbowed him. “Language.”

“We’re in a cathedral,” Michael‑Fez reminded.

Beelzebub shrugged. “And?”

Rue and Nate stood there, absorbing the weight of it — the lifetimes, the losses, the love that kept surviving anyway.

Nate’s voice came out low, almost reverent. “We’ve been doing this for centuries.”

Rue swallowed. “And we keep finding each other.”

God nodded. “That’s where everything changes. We’ve decided you two are going back down.”

Rue’s whole body snapped rigid. “I’m going back as a junkie? Hell no.” She spun on her heel and stormed toward the cathedral doors. She yanked one open—

—and immediately walked back in through the opposite door on the other side of the church.

“What the fuck,” Rue yelled, pointing accusingly at the architecture like it had personally betrayed her.

Nate didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I forgot to tell you. This church is like Hotel California.”

Rue glared at him, then at the doors, then at the ceiling like she was considering suing Heaven.

Finally, she stomped back up to the group, muttering under her breath.

Beezlebub snorted. “You can check out any time you like—”

Olive smacked him before he could finish the lyric.

God cleared His throat, trying to regain control of the room. “As I was saying… you’re going back. But not as the versions of yourselves you left behind.”

Lexi‑Uriel nodded. “You’ll remember everything. Every lifetime. Every mistake. Every time you found each other.”

Michael‑Fez added, “And every time we screwed it up.”

Ali sighed. “Mostly they screwed it up.”

Beelzebub raised a hand. “Hey, Legion’s the one who started the mess this round. I’m just here to clean up the demon daycare.”

Rue crossed her arms. “So we’re going back with… what? A cosmic to‑do list?”

God smiled — warm, tired, and a little mischievous. “You’re going back with a choice.”

Nate’s voice softened. “A choice for what.”

God looked at both of them — really looked — with the weight of centuries behind His eyes.

“To finally get it right.”

Ali let out a long, weary sigh. “Actually… you’re going back to the day of Lexi’s little play.”

Rue and Nate snapped their heads toward each other.

“No way!” they said in perfect unison.

Lexi‑Uriel blinked. “Wow. You two really do that every lifetime.”

Beelzebub groaned. “Soul‑bonded idiots. My least favorite genre.”

God clapped His hands once, like He was announcing a field trip. “Yes way. The play. The night everything cracked open.”

Michael‑Fez nodded. “The night you two finally stopped pretending you didn’t care.”

Rue let out a long, tired sigh. “I had just finally gotten sober and didn’t know where my life was gonna be.”

Nate rubbed the back of his neck. “I ended up with Cassie after the play again and… look what happened.”

Lexi‑Uriel winced. “Yeah, that timeline was a mess.”

Michael‑Fez exhaled, the weight of it settling into his shoulders. “I failed Ashtray. That kid was something. Smart. Loyal. But in the wrong universe.”

The room shifted — not with divine power, but with grief.

Rue’s expression softened. “Fez…”

Michael‑Fez shook his head. “Nah. I mean it. Ash was built for a world that didn’t deserve him. And I couldn’t save him.”

Ali placed a hand on his shoulder. “You did what you could. You always do.”

Beezlebub muttered, “Kid had more guts than half my demons.”

Olive shot him a look. “That’s not a compliment.”

Beezlebub shrugged. “It is from me.”

Nate looked at Michael‑Fez, something like understanding passing between them — the kind that only comes from shared lifetimes of loss.

Rue stepped closer, voice quieter. “So… we’re going back to the night everything fell apart.”

God nodded. “Which means you have the chance to make it fall together instead.” He clapped His hands again, brighter this time. “Okay! We’re gonna meet with Death, get this plan in motion.”

A collective groan rippled through the celestial lineup.

Beezlebub muttered, “Great. He’s in one of his moods today.”

Lexi‑Uriel winced. “He’s always in one of his moods.”

Michael‑Fez shuddered. “Last time I saw him, he made me fill out a form about my ‘emotional preparedness.’”

Ali sighed. “He’s thorough. And dramatic.”

Rue blinked. “Wait—Death? Like… Death Death?”

God nodded cheerfully. “Yes. Lovely guy. Bit theatrical.”

Nate rubbed his temples. “Of course he is.”